#i'm running on like 3 hours of sleep and adrenaline

[familyvideostevie]

you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?" 

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell. 

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says.  "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain. 

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on. 

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch." 

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[greywritesthings]

Too tired to make sense

Spencer Reid x Bilingual!Reader

Fluff

Warnings - None

A/N - I'm still learning so my French isn't perfect! Thanks to @itsleilabxtch for proofreading it <3

This may become a series!

Masterlist

SR Masterlist

You were like a breath of fresh air to the BAU. With Hotch, Reid, Morgan and Emily returning to the team and the newer agents leaving to other posts or retiring to spend time with their families the team looked the same as it had a decade a ago but far less bright eyed and hope filled, apart from you. You were added onto the team as a transfer from the Foreign counterintelligence unit due to your masters and in progress doctorate in forensic psychology and linguistics. You were considered young for the BAU but you had the intelligence and experience so Hotch took you on after a quick interview and a look over your paperwork and completed cases from FCI. He was happy to have a new agent that had a new skill set and didn't carry the same traumas the rest of the team did, he just hoped the job wouldn't break your spirit the same it did the rest of the team. 

You had just been introduced to the team when a case came in. “Crime fighters we are off to Amarillo Texas” Garcia announced as she walked back into the round table room, Causing you to take a seat and look up to the screen she was now standing in front of, you would get settled in later. 

You didn’t get time to get settled in for a week, the case itself was short but so was your sleep. You were doing twenty hour days for six days straight and by the time you reached your hotel, showered and did your other nightly routine items you had a total of two and a half hours of broken and unsettled sleep. It meant by the time you sat down on the jet your brain was running at 2 miles an hour on nothing but adrenaline and shitty police coffee. 

“So, how you feeling after your first case, sweetheart?” Derek asks as he settles in opposite you. “Bien, nous avons attrapé le gars et sauvé une victime, c'est donc une bonne chose, mais je suis tellement fatigué que ce n'est même pas drôle.” “Fine, well we caught the guy and saved a victim so that's good but I'm so tired it's not even funny.”  You smile at him, slurring your words together slightly, not registering the language change. 

You had grown up in England but you were raised by an American Father and French English Mother, it meant you had a mixed accent when you were speaking English if you were exhausted or drunk and that you often reverted back to French.

“What’d you say? I don’t speak that whole French, Italian, Spanish thing. Care to repeat for us English only speakers?” He responds to you jokingly, you still hadn't registered the switch so you were confused, thinking your accent was just coming on heavier than usual. You ask “Qu'entendez-vous par français, italien, espagnol ? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” “What do you mean by French, Italian, Spanish? What's wrong?” Derek continues looking at you in confusion before smiling at you and standing up.”You are clearly too tired to make sense, talk to you later honey” He ruffles your hair as he leaves, going to take up the seat opposite Spencer, whispering something to him as he sits down. Spencer then nods, finishing his page before standing up and making his way over to you. 

“y/n, vous parlez en français, pas en anglais, c'est pourquoi Morgan était confus.” “y/n, you're speaking French, not English, which is why Morgan was confused.” He says as he sits down where Derek just left. “Quoi? Mon dieu, Désolé, je n'avais pas remarqué” “What? God, sorry I hadn't noticed.” You give him a sheepish smile.

“C'est bon, Emily et moi le parlons de toute façon, donc vous pouvez nous parler en français aussi, et si vous voulez dormir, les lits sont libres, on peut y aller ensemble si vous voulez?” “Its okay, Emily and I speak it anyway so you can speak to us in French too, and if you want to sleep, the beds are free, we can go together if you want?” He asks quietly, nodding to the long empty bed behind you both. You smile at him and nod, shifting around to stand up, shivering slightly against the cooler air in comparison to the small cocoon of warmth you had built around yourself during the flight so far. 

You both make your way over to the sofa bed and Spencer sits down first. “Voulez-vous poser votre tête sur mes genoux ? Les coussins sont comme des pierres, croyez-moi.” “Would you like to put your head on my lap? The cushions are like rocks believe me.” He asks, folding up a blanket when you give him a nod and a smile, a small blush covering your features, thankfully not visible in the dim lighting of the plane given that mostly everyone was trying to sleep. 

Soon enough you were settled on the sofa, curled into a ball with your head on Spencer's lap. He had pulled out a book and began reading while you stared ahead or at the floor, at the point of exhaustion where you were unable to sleep. You were growing restless, your foot was tapping against the edge of the seat as you tried counting sheep as a last resort, knowing it wouldn't work when Spencer started talking again, lowering the book in front of you, you noticed he wasn’t just talking, rather reading to you. “Calmez-vous, ma chérie” “Calm down darling.” He whispers to you when he takes a pause in a paragraph. And with him reading the book and the low whirr of the engine you eventually fall asleep.

Taglist - @reidstheyfriend , @oosnapitskat, @lover-of-books-and-tea , @cultish-corner, @pleasantwitchgarden

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[innorogers]

Insomnia

Steve Rogers x OFC (You)

Summary: You couldn't sleep, and Steve neither. So you want to help him with a bedtime story. And he wants you forever.

To say you couldn't sleep is an understatement. You quite literally couldn't even close your eyes for the past few nights. 

It's not something you can control; your brain just works like this: challenges at work are the adrenaline that rushes to your mind, and it just won't calm down. 

So, a 13-hour shift wasn't enough to tire you out; insomnia hit so hard that you decided to head down to the training room to try to drain all your energy.

As you made your way down the stairs, you could hear the distant thudding of fists against a punching bag. 

Upon pushing the door slowly open, you weren't surprised to be met with Steve...without punching gloves.

God, you felt for those knuckles. How can this man be so careless with himself? Not that you have any say in that, of course.

You nodded as he turned around, surprised to see anyone at this hour.

"Cap." you said respectfully, with a tiny voice, looking at the floor as if there's anything wonderful there.

Steve walked over, sweat glistening across his forehead and cheeks, his shirt clinging to his now drenched chest.

"Oh, hi..." He smiled upon seeing you, grabbing a towel from the bench and wiping the sweat from his face. "It's late, what are you doing here?"

"Um..." You didn't think he would talk with this familiarity, but you smiled back. "I couldn't sleep, um...so I just thought I'd try to train myself."

"Ah...insomnia, right?" Steve chuckled slightly, grabbing a bottle of water and taking a few swigs. "I used to suffer with it quite badly too. I used to go to bed and just...stare at the ceiling all night."

"Oh my god." Your reaction was real. "That sounds...terrible."

Steve nodded and slumped down on the bench, leaning back as he took another sip of water. "It is...the only way I got around it was to exhaust myself before bed, but I'm sure you don't need me telling you that."

That statement struck you a little bit. You couldn't help but feel so bad for him. "Cap...that sounds draining. Have you been like that, since...always?"

Steve nodded once again, his hand running through his hair and pushing it back. "Unfortunately, been like it as long as I can remember. I only recently started trying to control it - the army didn't exactly care much about my sleeping patterns..."

"What?" Now you were horrified. "That's so awful. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's alright," Steve reassured with a small smile, his eyes locking with yours for a moment. "I'm used to it. Plus, the army needed me to be the best I could, even if that meant I had to run on 0 hours of sleep."

"Wait, what? Steve, I meant, Cap...that's, that's not right!"

Steve chuckled softly and looked down at his feet for a moment. "Yeah...yeah, I guess it isn't." He was quiet for a moment before looking back up at you with a small smile. "I appreciate the concern, though."

You felt your cheeks were starting to burn, so you looked down again. "Have you tried any pills?" you asked as you watched yourself reflected in the mirror. Oh, you looked so stupid with your gym gear. What were you even doing with a towel and a bottle of water?

Steve nodded, scratching his temple slightly with his thumb. "I've tried just about everything: pills, sleep therapy, meditation, music, literally everything you could think of to help me sleep. I can maybe get 3 hours of sleep max, but that's if I'm absolutely exhausted."

You looked at him. You couldn't believe it. This man, you saw him in and out every day from this campus. He went out so energized, and came back full of scars and wounds, and he couldn't even get some quality rest.

You couldn't help but approach him, your voice as soft as you ever knew it: "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He paused for a moment, looking at you with a quizzical look for a few seconds before his lips quickened up into a small smile. "I mean...there is one thing I could think of..."

"What?"

"Sit next to me." Steve patted a space on the bench beside him, a small smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "Keep me company."

"Sure." 

You didn't even doubt it, and you sat next to him, thinking you were willing to talk for 60 hours in a row if that's what it took to get this man to sleep. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

Steve leaned back against the bench, resting his hands on the metal beside him as he tilted his head slightly to look at you. "There's not much to talk about. My mind just...won't switch off."

"Hmm...maybe, a bedtime story?"

Steve laughed incredulously at the idea, the noise coming from his chest filling the silent room. He found it extremely amazing that he hadn't heard his own laughter like that in a long time.

"A bedtime story? Don't you think I'm a little old for that? I think last time I heard one was… 96 years ago?"

"Well..." God, his laugh was just...magical. You smiled back as your heart melted. "You never know, right?"

Steve chuckled softly once more, his head tilting back as he looked up at the ceiling, a smirk on his face. "You know what...sure. I'll take a bedtime story."

"Alright..." You started laughing too, your frenzied brain starting to do its thing: spinning really fast. 

"Here I go..."

Steve shifted so he was facing you more, leaning forwards with one elbow on his knee. His face was expectant albeit a little amused, and he wondered what kind of a bedtime story you were going to tell.

"Once upon a time, there was a super soldier..."

Steve raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping his lips at the start of the story. "Alright...a super soldier...continue."

"...Who couldn't sleep, so he ran every night up to the hill and asked a fairy living there: 'Hey, little princess, why can't I sleep?' And the fairy replied: 'Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. Is it because the stars are too shiny?' And the soldier looked up at the sky full of stars and shrugged his shoulders: 'Probably...?'"

Steve’s lips formed a soft curve at the beginning of the story, his smile growing with each sentence. 

"How do you know this story?"

You winked at him. "I'll tell you that at the end. “

“So...the fairy thinks about it for a second and says: Well, maybe I can help you. And she goes up, up, up in the sky and starts to collect all the stars one by one, but there are so many of them! And she's so anxious because she wants the super soldier to get some sleep before the army calls...you know, those dumbasses..."

Steve's head tilted back once again as he laughed out loud, shaking his head at the ludicrous but somehow lovely story that was being told, and for some unknown reason, it was making him feel slightly relaxed. 

"That's a lot of stars, huh?"

"Yup..." you heard your voice, and you noticed your joy in making him happy or bringing a little peace to his mind. 

You continued, "So the fairy gets a brilliant idea: 'I'll call every kid on the planet and ask them to wish upon a shiny star, so the stars will fall, and every kid is happy with their wishes granted, and the sky is darkened, and the super soldier gets some sleep.'"

"Every kid? How would they all know to wish upon a star?"

"Because..." You looked at him as if saying, 'duh dude...'

"That's what kids do, didn't you wish upon a star? Ever?"

"Well…I'm not sure I ever did...I…really don’t remember..." He sighed nostalgically.

You looked at him. You wanted to say, "Me neither," but instead, you just responded in a comforting voice, "Well...If you don't sleep tomorrow either, I promise you, I'll go and fetch a star for you."

Steve smiled back at you, your words sending a strange yet warm feeling through his heart. 

"You'd go as far as stealing a star for me?"

And your damn brain worked so fast you didn't even think about what you were saying.

"I'll get every star in the universe for you if you'd ask."

Steve's breath hitched in his throat, there was a strange feeling through his stomach and slightly increasing his heart rate. 

He was quiet for a moment, just looking at you before he spoke again, his own words surprising him. 

"Do you promise...you'd get them all?"

Your heartbeat just stopped at that glance of his, but you nodded. 

"Yes, I do."

Steve took another moment to compose himself, a wonderstruck hitted him as he looked you in the eyes. He was searching your face for any hint of sarcasm or lies, but all he could see was what looked like true honesty. 

"You make a powerful promise...you sure you can keep it?"

You laughed. "What, you don't believe me?"

At the sound of your laugh, Steve's breath hitched in his throat, the noise stirring something deep within him which he attempted to push down. But it was so strong.

"It's not that...I just don't want you to promise something you can't keep."

"I'll keep it." He probably didn't know it, but you were actually vowing, "Every word of it." You replied in a soft voice.

There it was again, that tickle through Steve's stomach. Butterflies everywhere. They came from the air that he breathed, through his chest, to his entire body. 

He smiled at you, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, Steve actually believed someone when they promised him something. 

"I'm holding you to that, you know."

You got lost in his eyes. God, there’s an entire ocean in his eyes. You held your tongue before you said that, so you cleared your throat. "I haven't finished my story."

Steve shifted once again to face you, a smile still present on his face. "Continue...tell me the rest of the story."

"So the fairy gets all the stars of the sky to fulfill the kids' wishes, and the sky finally darkens. She goes back to the soldier, but before arriving, she went to heaven and borrowed some feathers from the wings of the most beautiful angel. 'It's for a kid that can't sleep,' she explains to the angel, and with the feathers and her fairy magic, she makes the most comfortable pillow in the world. And only then, she goes back to the soldier and gives him the pillow: 'There, you will have a good sleep, honey.' And so, the soldier finally gets some rest. The end."

Steve listened to the rest of the story intently, that strange feeling in his stomach returning as waves of a tide.

Damn butterflies. Now they even left a trace of golden glitter shiny things.

He wants those butterflies to stop, but he fails, his eyes locking with yours. "You are good...you are a truly excellent storyteller, you know that?"

"I know, right?" You laughed, and also lowered your voice. "But I'll tell you a little secret."

He chuckled as he leaned back against the bench, arms crossed across his chest. As he was trying to hide something, to push back on something. To take distance. 

"A secret? I like the sound of that."

"You're my only and first audience."

Steve cocked an eyebrow, his smirk returning and his arms uncrossing. "You mean this is the first time you've even told someone that story?"

"Or any story."

Steve's eyes widened at your words, the smirk on his face growing even more. 

"You've never told a story before...like, ever?"

"Ever."

Steve chuckled softly at your response, shaking his head slightly. "You mean to tell me that ever since you were a kid, you've never told another person a story? Not even when you were little?"

You were going to say something, but kept quiet and smiled.

Steve was quiet for a moment before looking at you. 

"Most people tell everyone stories...they don't save up a story for years and years and years to tell just one person...just one?"

You blinked at him. "It's only for super soldiers who can't sleep at night, and you are the first one I've met. But...if you happen to know any other super soldier who is also a superhero and also happens to be...you know, Captain America, the greatest avenger of all times...tell him I have a great bedtime story to share with him in case he can't sleep and is training in the tower at this time of the night...otherwise...then yes, you are the only one."

Steve couldn't help but laugh at your response, the sound filling the room once again and that pang through his stomach returning. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head as he looked at you, a smirk on his face. 

"I'll let you know if I see any super soldiers around."

"Tell him that's a hell of a bedtime story."

Steve chuckled again, his smirk growing wider as he gave you a nod. "You think he'll like it?"

"I don't know, what do you think?" you shrugged your shoulders.

Steve paused, his eyes locking with yours and that feeling in his stomach returning once again. 

He slowly licked across his lips and was quiet for a moment before answering. 

"I think he'll like the story...I think he'll like it a lot..."

You paused for a long moment before you moved your sight out of the window. 

"Well, that would make me very happy, you know?"

Steve smiled back at you, that warm feeling in his stomach slowly spreading through his entire body. There was something about you that he just couldn't quite put his finger on - you made him feel strangely relaxed yet on edge all at once, and he couldn't quite explain it.

"Why?"

"Because..." Your response was honest and sincere. "I don't know, I guess...I guess I just wish all the good things for him."

Steve was silent, his eyes not able to move from your face as he listened intently. It was at this moment that strange pang in his chest became so prominent that it almost knocked the breath out of him. 

Your words were simple, yet they made his heart flutter. He didn't understand why, but he suddenly felt something he hadn't felt in years, a feeling so strong and overpowering yet so gentle.

Steve smiled, his voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper. 

"You...you really care about him...huh?"

You stayed quiet. This was weird, he was asking, yet you felt that those questions came from some kind of reflexive thought, that it was your inner voice asking you. 

So you answered, "I do. A lot."

Steve didn't say anything for a moment, the way you answered so quickly and so honestly made all hesitations and doubts disappear. He is not fighting anymore against it. He found himself looking at you intently, almost as if he were trying to read you. 

His heart rate slowly rose, and those butterflies flew and flew in circles all around within him.. 

He suddenly remembers that he didn't even know your name. You’re such a dumbass, Rogers. Captain America is just an excuse, this is the REAL reason you don’t get dates over 100 years. He tells himself. Could you be more stupid?

"I don’t even know your name." He says in an apologetic tone.

"I'm..." You thought about it and decided to go with your real name, not the one you were known for. 

Steve repeated your name silently to himself, letting it roll off his tongue and hearing the way it sounded as it left his lips. 

He paused for a moment, his face softened with a slight smile as he was saying a breathtaking thought.

"Beautiful name..."

"Thanks." And you blinked at him. "And you are...?"

A subtle laugh flickered on his face at your joke before replying, "Well...you probably know my name already, but...I'm Steve, Steve Rogers."

Your heartbeat skipped a dozen paces, but you played it cool. "I like your name too."

Steve's eyes widened at your words. He hesitated and tilted his head slightly, letting his hair fall into his eyes as he spoke gently. "You're not going to call me 'Cap' or 'Captain America'?"

"Do...do you prefer it?"

A flicker of amusement crossed Steve’s face: "No...I'd prefer it if you just called me Steve...or Stevie."

"Does...anyone dare to call you Stevie?"

Steve chuckled, "No...no one dares, no...but I think I'd be willing to let you get away with it..."

"Alright then, only because you've asked."

Steve's smile widened, a small laugh escaping his throat in response to your comment. He found himself taken aback by the unexpected emotions stirring within him. Every passing moment made him more drawn towards you, captivated by your presence. 

He couldn't comprehend why he was suddenly feeling so at ease, as if he had known you for a lifetime instead of minutes.

It was like homecoming. Instead of greeting for the first time.

Steve sat up straight again, his eyes not leaving your face. He took another moment, gathering himself and taking a breath before speaking, his voice went as gentle and as low as ever. 

"Can I tell you something?"

His gentle voice gave you goosebumps. 

"Is it a secret?"

Steve chuckled nervously, his hands suddenly becoming sweaty and palms slightly clammy, his heart starting to pound against his chest. He shifted slightly so that he was even closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. 

"Hmm, yeah, I guess you could call it a secret..."

"Will I ever be tortured by enemies trying to know this secret?"

Steve laughed, shaking his head and leaning back once again, but still staying close to you. 

"No...no, you won't get tortured, I promise...it's just, something I just want to share with you and only you..."

"Oh, in that case...I better promise I won't tell...You've made me promise a lot of things tonight, Steve."

Steve smiled but noticed that his hands were becoming even more sweaty as he thought, and that his heart was racing like a teenager. 

"Can I...can I lean a bit closer to you for a second?"

Your body literally was screaming to get closer to him, your brain was sending some kind of alert sign, and your heart was about to jump off your chest. So you were practically a mess. You could only do as you were commanded.

“Sure.”

Steve shuffled even closer to you, his leg slightly touching yours, the feeling of just sitting so close to you creating a small burst of electricity through his body. He suddenly realized that he could feel your body heat and how much he was desperate to get even closer, to feel that warmth directly against him.

He took another deep breath before speaking, his voice still as low and as gentle as a whisper, but the butterflies within him were entering in a frenetic dance.

"I'm gonna lean even closer than this, alright?"

No, it is not alright because your heart was going to burst, but could you ever say no to him? 

"Alright." You nodded, unable to move your eyes from his.

Steve inhaled deeply at your response, his body almost aching to be even closer. He leaned in, his leg now firmly pushed against yours, his own body heat mixing with yours.

He was suddenly nervous, the words he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue. He took another deep breath, swallowing and licking across his lips before speaking once again in that same, low, gentle voice. 

"Can I come even closer?"

You held your breath, barely nodded. Just move, MOVE!

Steve didn't need you to say anymore. His body was now fully pressed against yours, his breath catching as he took in your scent. God, you smelled like fresh grass after rain. It was driving him wild.

His head was next to yours, his cheek mere millimeters from your skin, like willow leaves resting on the water, creating ripples through your heart.

"Closer?"

Your mind was blurred. "Please."

That one word was all it took. Steve realized how much he wanted you. He shifted, lifting his leg onto the bench so he was almost sitting next to you, his chest and hips now pushed against you. 

He could feel the heat from your body through his own and he got it, what was that wonderstruck homecoming sensation he had: he never wanted to be without it.

"Is this close enough?" he murmured, his voice nothing but a whisper.

You sighed, your heart pounding in your chest. With a determined look, you put your hands on his face, tracing gentle lines with your fingers.

You looked at him, your gaze holding his, as if you could see forever into his soul.

"No. If you don't mind. I'd like to be closer."

Steve's breath caught, his body burning with desire. He shifted closer, pressing against you, his pulse quickening. You felt his heat, his warmth, his desperate need, and you surrendered to it.

His breaths became shallower now, that strange feeling almost overwhelming within him. 

"How about now?"

"Well...you think...you think that the other...the other superhero that suffers from insomnia could do better?" You slowly put your arms around his neck, and pulled him to yourself. 

"Something...like this?"

Steve gasped, feeling a strong wave of electricity shoot straight to his core as he felt your arms around his neck, your body pressed against his all at once, his arms holding onto your waist, keeping you pulled close to him. His eyes flicked down to your lips as you spoke as he answered. 

"Definitely."

And he suddenly realized how good it felt, how right it felt, how much he wanted to taste you, how badly he could feel that strange, overwhelming feeling in his heart begging him to just give in.

He moved just a little more. And it felt as if he were hanging on the edge of a cliff, his breath caught in his throat as he spoke, his voice a shaky whisper.

"Can I..."

And you moved your lips up, right into his.

And all the butterflies just...flew up, and a thousand golden glitter traces exploded everywhere like magic dust rolled in the wind.

Steve felt a sudden fire ignite within him as his body ached for you, every inch desperate to feel your touch. 

He let out a small moan as he tasted you, the ache growing stronger with each passing second. 

His hands roamed sliding down your back and up to your hair, tangling his fingers in the strands as the kiss deepened. Steve wanted more, he needed more...he just couldn't get enough.

But you broke the kiss, you needed air.

So he had to, too. His breaths coming out sharp and ragged, his heart hammering so hard and fast he could practically feel it in his head. He took a moment to compose himself, his hands holding you still against him, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to control his breathing.

“I…I can’t believe I just did that…” he spoke after a while, his voice coming out as a whisper.

OMG. 

You opened your eyes and blurted out: "But...but...did...but did you like it?" 

RIGHT? Please tell me you liked it or you'll have to present your resignation to Stark tomorrow.

“Liked it?”

Steve’s hand suddenly comes up to gently push a strand of hair back behind your ear.

“I loved it.”

You gazed at him, and of course, your impulse worked so much faster than your sense: "So can we do it again?"

Steve’s eyes widened, a small, incredulous laugh escaping his throat.

“You think you have to ask?”

"And...would you mind if I...take the lead...this time?" You can barely look at him, and your voice is so low that only a super soldier could hear.

"I..."Steve’s heart suddenly skipped. God, you’re wonderfully full of surprises.

"Not at all." Not in a million lifetimes.

"Ok." You inhaled deeply to take charge, but all of a sudden, you stopped. As you were realizing something.

"W-What's wrong?" Steve didn’t dare to speak above a whisper, his mind racing through every possible reason as to why you suddenly hesitated like that.

“Is this…too fast?”

"Oh no." You immediately shook your head: "No, this is wonderful. It's just...my heart is beating so fast and so loud, I don't...I don't even know what to do with it, just...just give me a second to recover. Hold to that thought a little longer."

You wave your face with a hand, as you couldn’t breathe. Is too loud. This is too loud. Your heart was pounding too fast, you were afraid he could hear it. That everyone in this campus could hear it.

"Oh for god's sake!" He laughed so hard. His heart suddenly swelled, the moment was perfect…perfect in a way he never realized possible. He couldn't believe it, how can you be so adorable and drive him to the edge of wildness at the same time.

As you struggle to catch your breath and calm your racing heart, your eyes are drawn to him. His smile, his laughter, the sparkle in his eyes, the way he holds your hand. 

And in a moment of dumbfounded wonder, you find yourself uttering, "Are you even real…?”

He sighed, a long exhale filled with tenderness and emotions he couldn't yet understand. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered back with a smile.

"If I'm not real...your imagination is pretty damn amazing..."

"...I think this is beyond my imagination..."

Steve slowly moved his hand down to your cheek, gently brushing his thumb across the blushing skin: "Trust me, my imagination could never have come up with someone like you..."

"But..." You almost trembled under his touch, and as he raised your jaw to look at you, you finally took the lead.

"This is real." 

And you pressed your lips to his for an even more perfect second kiss.

Steve gasped.

They say marvelous things about the first kisses. But how can they say nothing about the second one?

His heart suddenly accelerating within his chest, overtaken by the sensation of your touch. He couldn't think, head completely foggy, mind blurred, with the only clarity of wanting more. 

His hand suddenly grabbed onto your waist, pulling you even closer to him, his own mouth instantly responding against yours. 

He was losing it to the urge, the need, to get even closer to you, to have all of you.

Your whole body was shivering, and when you got a chance to breathe, you uncontrollably whispered his name with a lost voice.

"Steve..."

And that's just it. 

That’s what set Steve on fire.

He slowly shifted his body, pulling you onto his lap so you were now sitting on his thighs. He leaned forwards to your ear, his hot breath on your neck as he spoke in a low whisper, his own voice almost pleading.

"Say it again..."

You opened your watery and moist eyes, and what you released was almost an uncontrolled begging moan, "Steve..." as you pressed your fingers tightly to his skin, unable to bear all these feelings.

Steve suddenly stopped all action, the sound of his name on your lips mixed with that look in your eyes sending a shiver down his spine.

"God..." He said as he breathed heavily and leaned back. Panting. 

For fucks’ sake. He thinks to himself.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me..." 

It took all the willpower within him not to act on his body's needs, not to press you down into the bench and claim all of you right there.

Your mind was so blurred and your body and heart were reacting so out of control that you had no idea what you were saying. So you just answered spontaneously in between panting breaths, "...Helping you with your sleeping problems?"

Steve chuckled. You were magical. His body was distressed after your reply, but still so pending on everything you made him feel. He looked at your blushed face and heard your agitated breathing. He couldn't understand how you truly had no idea of the effect you had on him, of how badly he wanted you right now. So he took a deep breath in, trying to hold himself back.

"Helping to sleep?" His thumb caressed your lips. "More like keeping me awake..."

"Oh..." As if you had any idea of how that had happened, ending up in his lap with this kiss that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"So do you need another bedtime story?"

Steve chuckled again, your words bringing him back into the moment, grounding him a bit. He looked at you and smiled, shaking his head. "No, that's a wrap for today. But I need to ask you something."

Something he wanted to ask since you sat by his side tonight. But well, is not his fault that he was so easily distracted by you.

"And be honest with me, okay?" He inhaled slowly, and for a strange reason, his nerves rose again when you nodded. He slowly ran his eyes over your face, the way the light from the city below flickered on your skin. 

And for a moment he hesitated in asking, what if the answer was not what he expected?

"Are you...seeing anyone right now...? Like...do you have a...boyfriend...?"

"Oh." From all the questions on earth, this was the last one you expected. So you nodded. 

"Yeah, I do, from Mondays to Fridays, during working hours. Then, I'm allowed to hang around the campus at midnight to find a super soldier, sit on his lap, and kiss him."

Steve's eyes widened when he heard the first part, and then a loud laughter escaped his lips. 

He felt his heart filled with inexplicable joy. Damn, you were good. He was so glad, he couldn't stop smiling, and he felt his soul was full with your hand interlocked with his. As two perfect matched pieces from a puzzle.

"Well...?" You lifted an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

"Are you?" You looked at him as if it were an obvious implication. "Seeing someone?"

"No." He was firm, the small smile still on his face. He looked up at you, slowly shaking his head. "No...I haven't been with anyone for a while...I haven't had any reason to..." And he sighed a gentle whisper, "...up until now, anyway..."

You were terrible at getting indirect answers. Your brain only worked with binary stuff. So you blinked several times, making sure you understood correctly.

"And...can you consider that possibility, right now?"

Steve held his gaze steady on yours, "What if...what if I said I already had someone in mind?"

"Is she...helping you with your sleeping problems? Or...a very good storyteller?"

Steve suddenly let out a chuckle. "Maybe ...but it's not just about the sleep, you know...It's about...having that person there...that one person who's always there for you...that one person who always makes you smile..." As you.

"...that person you can always be yourself around..." As you. He thought, while observing you, expecting your reaction.

"Well..." You nodded, thinking about it seriously. "I....I don't know if I'd be a good fit but...."

"...But...?"

Steve's nerves built again as you paused for a moment, he wanted to know if you were saying what he thought you were about to say.

"But I promise I'll do everything in my power to make you smile...and...and I'll be there...always...and...I'll do anything..." 

Your lack of courage didn't let you finish under the look of Steve's gaze. He was so serious that you started to stutter and couldn't finish those stupid words.

Well done. That sounded so cliche. You couldn't believe yourself.

But Steve sat there, completely stunned and frozen, your words slowly sinking in within his mind. He couldn't believe what you'd just said, how you'd spoken to them with such honesty, such conviction. And you weren't even together yet, you weren't a couple, you weren't...anything, really.

And his stomach was twisting into a knot as he listened to your every word, as he heard the meaning behind them.

A strange kind of calm washed over him, as if a weight was suddenly slowly lifted from his chest. You couldn't have said it better. He couldn't even imagine better, and yet, everything you said was exactly what he hoped you'd say, and those words had calmed and soothed something within him he'd never realized needed soothing.

"I AM SO SORRY." You, in the other hand, were a mess while he was still wonderstruck, thinking that made him feel so uncomfortable. "I'll take it back, I didn't say anything."

"No." He replied immediately. No, don't you dare take that back from me. 

He wanted to speak, wanted to say so much, but the words failed him. So he inhaled deeply, and cupped your face in his hands, pressed his forehead to yours.

"I m, I'm just...stunned, I'm just...marveled."

"Huh?" This emotional rollercoaster was killing you. "Why?"

Steve suddenly let out a small chuckle, your innocence and naivety when it came to your affect on him just kept him in endless wonder. But he had time. You'll find out eventually how important you are. And that makes him smile. That's a wonderful word: "Eventually." Means you have so much ahead of you together.

"Because...I've never heard anyone say the things you just said to me, that's why..."

"Oh." You are not really good at interpreting people's faces. So you just don't know what to say, and to be honest, there's something else you want to ask.

"Steve?"

"Mmh?"

"Can I have your phone number?"

Steve laughed again, God, what a night. How can you be this...amazing? He pulled the phone out, turning it on and pulling up the screen as he spoke.

"Of course you can...here...put your number in..."

"Yeah..." You rubbed your nose. "I don't know my phone number...Maybe...you can search it in the...public contact list? Here, let me help you." You say while entering your complete name in the organization's internal app.

"Oh." Steve frowns. "You don't know your phone number?"

"Well, do you?" You return his cellphone after finding your contact card in the top level section.

"I know EVERYONE'S number." Steve has a smirk on his face, his playful side suddenly coming out.

"Really? WHY?" You wonder. "You're on Level 0, you should have access to everything, you don't need to have to know the numbers by heart..."

"Because...I'm Captain America, I have to know these things..."

You take this joke so seriously, you're shocked. "REALLY? You know...like all the avenger's numbers?"

Steve snorted a laugh, the look on your face priceless. Oh, you gorgeous, adorable being. And he had this urge, of kissing you again, so he smiled, leaning a little closer to you as he spoke, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you closer.

"Yeah...yeah I do...every single one..."

Your eyes sparkled.

"Can I have Thor's?"

"What?" That got him off guard, and he answered really fast. "NO." No way. You stay away from him. You're mine. 

"Why? Does he even use these things?" You were so genuinely intrigued. "Don't you talk to him through a magic mirror or something?"

"W...what..." Steve didn't know what to answer, he was laughing and shaking his head while swiping his contacts. "No, we don't have magic mirrors, I actually do have his number, look, over here 'God Of Thunder'..."

"Wow, did you actually name him 'God Of Thunder'?" You find that incredibly cute.

"Oh yeah...I'm one of those people that put's everything..." He held his phone in front of you.

"...well here it is...there's 'The Mighty Thor', the 'King of Asgard', also 'God of Thunder'...and 'Thunder God'...pick your favorite..."

You look at him while his sight is on the screen of his phone, your voice almost a whisper. 

"And...um...what would be...my contact name?"

"Well..." Steve's eyes were glancing down to his phone at your question, wondering what he would call you. He paused for a moment, scrolling to the section of his contacts list, his thumb hovering over the small, blank box for your name. He thought for a moment longer.

"What would you want it to be...?"

And your words escaped from your mouth before you could think clearly, before you could reply with anything smart.

"What do you want me to be? …to you?"

Steve suddenly froze, his finger hovering over the blank contact name as your words echoed in his ears, filling his mind. 

He straightened his pose, his eyes met yours, looking deep into them, silently trying to figure out what you'd just said.

And he finally exhaled slowly, his thoughts racing through his mind again, unable to form words for a moment. He could only manage a quiet voice, a soft whisper.

"How about...my Everything."

And there was once upon a time, a soldier who couldn't sleep asked for a wish to a fairy.

So there you were, feeling your heart has exploded into a million shining butterflies, and all the stars of the universe have made your wish come true, you took his hand and smiled.

"Your wish is granted, soldier."

END but TBC

Continue to: Chapter 2: Lucid | Chapter 3: Reverie

Hii thanks for reading & thanks for sticking with me this far <3 I hope you liked it and it wasn't too long to boring. This is my first time writing in english, hope it wasn't terrible :3 also, this is my first time setting this thing in tumblr, so fingers crossed it worked out okay ;_; A special hug to this lady who helped me set this up @jamneuromain (I still have no idea how this works)

Love.,

Moon.

[tk-tastic]

Here it is! A compilation of every single Turbo flipnote I made, starting in 2014. Some of the art is rough to look at, but there's a little improvement over time, lol

Video length: 3:16

Sappy, sentimental stuff below...

As a child, my mother banned me from making and posting flipnotes to Sudomemo (and Hatena, which was the original place to upload them). She was extremely strict about when I could use electronics, and how I had access to the internet. She was strict about a lot of things. I wanted to be an animator so badly, I wanted to make art, I LOVED making art; so I would get on late at night, often forfeiting four hours of sleep in favor of making animations on my DSi. And it was the best time of my life. I don't think I will ever be as happy as I was when I was hiding under the blankets with a stylus carefully tracing over every frame of an AMV, I'll never get the same adrenaline rush as when I would hit "upload" on a finished piece.

I was so frustrated in 2014 that I was two years late to the fandom, lol. Wreck It Ralph had run it's course online and people had moved on, I'd missed all the good Turbo art as it was uploaded. But there were stragglers like me on Sudomemo who were still fixated on it. If I ever meet xNightx again I think I'll cry. I hope they're doing alright.

So yes these animations are a bit cringey, and yes they're not my best work, but I was happy when I made them and they're an important part of my art journey, so I'm happy to share them.

I can't believe my first special interest has been revived so severely, lol

[del-thetiredwriter]

Mafia au/Good luck while running away from mafia

intro , part 0.5 , part 1 , part 3

Notes: Hello its been a while . First of all its little longer ususal but I hope you like it. And because of some health issues and some personal stuff I couldnt post anything. I'll try to post whever I have time.

Tags: @morokumi , @hrhqueenfox , @hasty-desert , @oceanside-pixie , @lianreine ,@h3apm3ch4n151m, @cecilebutcher, @ayachansan

Warning: my poor English, gn reader, fight scenes , running away from yandere ...

As you did the paperwork that Leona should have done but didn't, your eye fell on Leona's phone. Someone has been texting nonstop for the last 15 minutes. Whoever texted finally called. It was Vil. You took the phone to Leona. Disturbed by his sleep interruption, the executive of Savanaclaw answered the call and gestured for you to leave. You thought 'weird'. Meeting of executives who don't like each other to death.

"Leona-san, is there a problem sir? May I ask why Vil-san called you?" you asked. "It's not a big deal. You don't need to know."

"Is that so."

-

You gripped the steering wheel tightly. Your hands were shaking with adrenaline because of that fight at the restaurant an hour ago. They found you. Of course they did, but you were so used to your life in this last 1 month that you were taken by surprise for a moment. You should have cleared your mind now. Heartslabyul had already attacked. You could be attacked at any time. You should have been on the alert.

"Well, Y/N pack yourself up. You know them, they know you. There must be a way out. They probably have their men stationed at all the entrances and exits of the city. So it's almost impossible to get out of here without getting caught." you thought.

You opened the glove box. The situation was dire. Since you came to work with Alex this morning, you forgot that you 'cleaned' the car. "Damn" you cursed. All you had now were 3 bullets, a gun , an electroshock device, two morning sandwiches and some cash.It didn't seem like enough for an escape at all. 'I could have gone home and stocked up on some supplies and ammo, but since they found my work place, they probably found the house too. ' you thought. Your thoughts were interrupted by the vibration from your phone. The alarm of the security system you installed in your house was going on. When you looked at the cameras you saw 3 familiar face. You'll recognize those green predatory eyes wherever you see them. "Leona-san."

-

"Looks like the little herbivore has put some little toys in here, huh. Ruggie, turn those alarms off, they're too loud." said Leona as he surveyed the house.

"Leona-san, I told you to sneak in. It was obvious that someone like Y/N-shii was going to install a security system in the house. Now we've cleared our spot." Ruggie whined as he searched for the shutdown system. "Leona-san, what are you trying to do, sir?" ' Jack asked the reclining department manager. " Don't worry , They will come." said Leona lazily. "After all, they have no choice ."

-

"I don't have a better option than this." you sighed.

According to the cameras around the house, there were no men around. You did not know the position of the other executives. But looking at all your years in the mafia, one of the things you knew was that departments weren't going to work together to catch you. Leona was trying to get you on your feet by knowing your current situation, and it seemed like it was the best choice.

You checked inside the cameras one last time. Ruggie and Leona were in the Hall at the entrance, while Jack stood guard in the garage. "Damn, I wish I had a secret passage to the house." you said. Getting Jack first seemed like the best option to get in. "I'm on my really unlucky day… against two different departments in one night, huh."

-

Jack was lost in thought. He was thinking of you as he paced the garage. A month and a half ago, he suddenly couldn't reach you, then found out that you had left the mafia. Why did you leave, what was your reason? Why didn't you say anything to him? Jack felt betrayed. He paused with a small click. The garage door was slightly ajar. You jumped on him before he knew what was going on. You attacked him before he could come to him because of the blow he received and you used the electroshock device. "Sorry Jack." you said while tying it. "But while hunting, always pay attention to the hunt, otherwise you will be the hunted while you are the hunter." you said. Those were the words he said to you when you first went on a mission with Leona. You took the remaining strings and took one last look at Jack and locked the door on him.

-

"Ah~ all the hustle and bustle made me pretty hungry." said Ruggie, taking a bite of the donut he found in the fridge. "But you have to give it credit. Y/N-shii really tried hard. Security systems, cameras. soundproof walls… Who knows what else is in here , right Leona-san?" ' Ruggie asked the man lying in the armchair a few feet away. But the only response that came was a vague grunt. "Oh really, I'm going to Jack's. Call me if you need anything."

Ruggie began muttering to himself as he made his way down the hall. "This soundproofing thing really sucks. I feel like I'm in a horror movie." When he finally reached the garage door, he paused. There was something amiss. The door was locked. "Jack?" 'Oh no!' and with a sharp blow his vision darkened.

'I am indebted to the awful assassination training I received in Pormefiore.' you thought as you tied Ruggie. If Rook saw you in this state, he would surely utter some French nonsense and cry out of delight.

'last hunt' you thought. You had no chance to surprise attack this time, the fight was inevitable.

"You came." said Leona, his back to you as he sat on the sofa. He slowly turned his face towards you and grinned like a hunter playing with his prey. You pointed your gun at him. "Ah~ really, how cold you are. But I wouldn't do that if I were you." he said You looked at the table in the middle of the sofa set, Leona had found all your ammo. Then suddenly he stood up. "Don't you dare do anything wrong, otherwise-" "What," he interrupted. "Are you going to shoot me?" You didn't reply. "You know, I've been thinking a lot about why you left the mafia." He took a step towards you. "After all, you suddenly disappeared without any of us knowing. It was okay, we were very close." He took two more steps. "Don't Approach!" you warned. "Then why? You either wanted a normal life or -" "I said don't Approach !" and you pulled the trigger. Leona fell to the ground with the blow. First a few seconds of deep silence, then a chilling laugh. "Do you really think I'm not prepared for such situations?" he said. Before you could take your guard on, he made a move towards your gun and your gun fell to the ground. "Things might be more comfortable for you if you surrendered easily." said Leona, like a parent scolding his child. You grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter, but Leona grabbed you by the wrists and prevented you from attacking.

"You were supposed to behave yourself when you realized everything. Not running away stupidly." he said, tightening his grip.

You grit your teeth, You hit him in the face with your head. With this unexpected blow, Leona staggered backwards. With your freed hands, you took a handful of black pepper from the Black Pepper jar on the table and punched him in the face with your black pepper-filled fist. Roaring with pain from the dust in his eyes, Leona tried to attack you, but you got ahead of him and activated the booby traps. and Leona suddenly found himself in a ditch.

"You underestimated me, Leona-san. Remember, this is my territory. Even lions can be prey in the territory of the ridges when they are alone."

Without wasting any time, you started filling a bag with supplies and ammo. Meanwhile, Leona's phone started ringing. You picked up the phone on the table and saw the calling number,it was Boss.

"Hello Y/N, how are you?"

You didn't answer. Your old boss, Dire Crowley, was talking as usual as if nothing had happened.

"First of all, congratulations, defeating two of my managers in one night is not easy for everyone." You locked the door of the house while he was talking.

"You know, I'm a very generous person. That's why I wanted to let you know that the arrest warrant has been taken against you and that the whole mafia is after you." '

Oh, what a generosity. Like I didn't know this." you thought.

"But remember, I'm on your side. If you can escape from all, I'll give you your freedom."

"What if I Lose?"

"Then we both know what will happen." And the phone has turned off.

-

"Agh! I was so sure the Kingscholar would catch them." groaned former Savanaclaw manager Ashton Vargas. "But he didn't catch them. You've lost the bet so please let me demand the money." Sam smiled. "It was unexpected even for Y/N." said Trein, taking a sip of his tea. "Would you like to change your bets on who will win?" Sam offered. He grinned mischievously as he pocketed the check from Vargas. "The rightfully of what we're doing is debatable, but it looks like it'll be fun. A little fun never hurt anyone." said Crowley. While looking at Crewel, who is silently watching outside. "Okay, then let me take your bets."

[mxqdii]

hiiii i saw ur chris fic with 'I can see you' and was wondering if u could write one for matt with the song 'you are in love'

I love ur writing so much hope u have a good dayyyy 💗

you are in love - m.s

pairings: matt sturniolo x reader

summary: after dating for awhile, the little moments make reader realize, she's in love.

warning(s): kissing, fluff.

a/n: absolutely sobbing i love this song and thinking of MATT WITH IT??? thank you for requesting this love&lt;3

not proofread

i groan, sitting up seeing the time 11:47PM

there's no use, i just can't sleep. i look over to my boyfriend matt, sleeping peacefully, making me smile.

i get up to put my shoes on but feel someone grab my wrist, looking back seeing matt, sitting up and looking at me.

one look in that dark room is all it took, matt grabbing his keys as i grab my coat.

the car ride filled with his lighthearted jokes and small talk as he pulls up to our usual coffee spot, the time now being midnight.

we order and sit down outside, admiring eachother.

i look down at his chain seeing how bright the light is reflecting off of it, confusion filling my eyes.

"look up" he says, snapping me out of my trance seeing the bright sky filled with stars and a full moon.

the drive home was filled with a silence i could feel, something felt different.

we get home to the completely dark house, giggling our way upstairs, trying to keep quiet.

we make it to matt's bedroom finally, that silence, his arms, everything overtaking me

one of those feelings being realization, i would never tell him this but i knew what it was.

i'm in true love.

the next morning comes sooner then expected, except i wake up alone, and not in matt's arms.

i smell breakfast cooking downstairs and i check my phone seeing the day sunday.

i put matts shirt on heading downstairs.

"goodmorning, you sleep well?" he says with a smile and i laugh at the catastrophe he's made in the kitchen

"is that my shirt?" he says and i ignore his question by asking him one.

"so you kept your word huh? you making breakfast every sunday?" i ask with a smile and he nods, handing me a plate

i smile at the burnt toast he hands me.

finishing breakfast, we take a walk on the sidewalk of the beach, bickering and talking, our hands interlocked the whole time.

we walk for what feels like hours, not even noticing that the sun has started to go down.

spending the day with matt being all i've ever wanted.

we continue our walk, heading to the beach instead of walking on the sidewalks.

we sit on the sand, overlooking the water together and i start to think about us, me and matt.

i think- i think i love him, but does he? is it too soon to say it?

i get snapped out of my trance by matt tackling me, us rolling on the sand together in a fit of laughter.

"matt! stop!" i say in between laughs as he hovers over me with a strange look on his face as our laughter dies down.

"what?" i ask, quietly.

"you're my best friend" he says, looking me in the eyes with pure passion.

and even though i didn't wanna get my hopes up, i knew what it was.

he is in love.

that was yesterday.

my feelings scare me, i can't put them into words, so i've been at my house avoiding it all.

checking the time, it's now midnight. i can't do this anymore, i need to tell him.

driving to matts house, the only sound being the pouring rain, the roads being completely dark, the adrenaline and need to see him and tell him

i pull into the driveway, getting out of my car and making view with matts window

i know its cheesy, but the only thing i could think of doing was throwing rocks at his window.

i grab ones small enough to make a noise, but not enough to break the window.

after a few rocks hit the window, i see him open his window looking down at me with sleepy eyes and a smile

"matt i- come down i feel like an idiot." i yell and he closes his window.

the front door opens after a minute and i run up to him hugging him.

a hug that didn't make me realize anything, a hug that confirmed everything.

the picture of me in his phone case, the midnight coffee runs, it was all so simple i've just never seen it.

i can hear it in the silence, i can feel it when he drives me home, i can see it with the lights out, i'm in love, true love.

the rain falling down my face mixed with the tears aren't much, but it said enough.

"matt i love you, and i didn't know how to put it into words but now i see how clear it is, it's you matt, it always has been, i love you, i'm in love with you." i confess.

" i know baby, i love you too, more then you'll ever know." he says, cupping my cheek and kissing me.

the kiss feeling like the first one i've ever had, a kiss i'll never forget.

i pull away, him putting our foreheads against each other.

i laugh, my tears having a different meaning then they did before, walking up to my car playing the first song i can think of

you are in love by taylor swift

i look over to him and he rolls his eyes

"really?" he says in a sarcastic tone

"cmonnn you know you want to" i tease and he laughs

we interlock hands, dancing, completely drenched at midnight, having the time of our lives.

kicking water at eachother, laughing, dancing, yelling.

this is all i'll ever needed.

we're in love.

[studentbyday]

week 3 / small commitments challenge “There is no race to win. Only a stroll.”

Yes, emerging adulthood is a privileged phenomenon. But with great privilege comes great responsibility and I sometimes feel the need to know exactly what I want in life from career to friendships to romantic relationships to family and how I will handle challenges in each of those domains that may have a chance at or will definitely come my way in order to be responsible. But that's an impossible ask at this stage of my life. I don't even think I can know all of what I want in life for decades to come. I keep changing. And it would not be wise now to run around in circles, chasing my tail, coming to no conclusions, or to rush the decision making process and come to conclusions that aren't well thought out. Sometimes I feel like I should make these decisions faster whenever I see others in my life around my age making them or having made them already or just generally progressing faster in life than I am. And other times, for seemingly no reason at all, I pick up the issues again from the backburner in case this time I stop chasing my tail...but that hasn't happened yet.

We all have different experiences that lead us to our varied and valid conclusions. Perhaps my peers have just experienced enough to come to theirs. Which means I just have to keep exploring different options until I feel informed enough to make those decisions for myself. And when I've made those decisions, I'll have to commit to them fully (well, 99.9%) so that I can be free in mind to become as good as I can at whatever I decide to do. This doesn't mean I'll stop re-assessing my circumstances periodically as that's how one spots better opportunities and improves themselves, but equally important is only changing direction when there are objectively good reasons to, not just because strong feelings of FOMO or self-doubt pull me so (those feelings can and have been useful in telling me when smth is genuinely wrong about my current situation but they can also be to my detriment when they arise primarily because of the voice in my head whose sole purpose is to be a pessimistic nay-sayer/bully).

hours spent stu(dying) 😭 tomato garden (50/10): M: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 Tu: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 W: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅+(1/2 🍅) Th: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 F: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 (so tired, i had to take a nap 😪) S: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 Su: 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅

In other news, the ochem midterm was this week. I studied as hard as I could for it all week, but that meant I didn't start on the new module (not covered on the midterm) for this week, hence the absence of a true weekend 😭 3 more weeks to go (including 1 week JUST to review for final woohoo!! [no that isn't sarcasm, i genuinely need that time lol]) and then we're NOT doing any more ochem at uni (self-study, maybe, but istg never again in a squished timeframe like this 😭). (Also wowwww can you tell i'm tired by the number of times i repeat the same words and emojis in a short paragraph... Adrenaline [or is it the sun? 😒] had me waking up before my alarm all week, averaging 7 hours of sleep a night 😭)

[mothervonmayhem]

Neon Requiem - Band Rivals Hobie x Guitarist! Reader

Based on @rexlroze and @the-kr8tor 's original ideas that just started to eat my brain.

NOTE: I don't write Hobie/Miguel--in fact--I don't write fanfiction at all. As the fandom's resident Chaos Goblin Queen!Spider-Mom writing characters half my age is a bit of a stretch for me. This has not been proofread/edited for foreign language used. All repetitive info, boring shit, and grammatical mistakes are 100% my own and brought to you by the letters ASD and the numbers 5 (as in year-old-child with aforementioned ASD) and 3 (as in hours of sleep that I get each night).

Also, written like a screenplay, so I could turn this into a proper comic coming up. Also also, get you a person who looks at you like Hobie looks at R.

ACT 1 SCENE 1 - FLASHBACK - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, Young teen R is busy wheat-pasting posters for her band's upcoming gig. The posters feature a cybernetic skull (looking suspiciously like Spider-Man 2099 mask) with glowing eyes, the band's name "2099" emblazoned beneath it. As she works, Hobie appears from the shadows, a spray can in hand. He's tagging a nearby wall with a stylized anarchy symbol.

HOBIE (noticing R) Oi, what've we got 'ere? Another lost soul in the concrete jungle?

R (startled, then regaining composure) Hardly lost, mon ami. Just spreading the word about the revolution. Hobie steps closer, examining her posters.

HOBIE "2099," eh? Sounds like a proper cyberpunk outfit. You lot singing about the end of the world or sommat?

R (grinning) More like the rebirth of a new one, through science and technology. It is the brain-child of mon ami, his idea for a band... but he sings like...a cat in heat yowling from inside a Cookie Monster costume. Fun concept though. I'm going to take lead vocals.

HOBIE (intrigued) That sounds painful... but color me impressed, love... You can sing? Right? Not every day you meet a bird with brains, talent, and beauty. R rolls her eyes, but there is a hint of a blush on her cheeks, but before she can respond, the sound of police sirens fills the air.

HOBIE (grabbing R's hand) Bollocks, your dystopian future has arrived! They run through the winding alleyways, adrenaline pumping, until they finally come to a stop in a secluded courtyard.

READER (catching her breath) Merde, that was close!

HOBIE (grinning) Stick with me, love, and you'll never be bored. As they lean against the wall, laughing and trying to catch their breath, a spark of connection flickers between them.

READER (realizing) Wait, I never got your name.

HOBIE (extending his hand) Most just call me Dirty Punk, or Punk for short. He jokes, self-deprecating, he doesn’t want to tell her his name yet, it feels really personal now, like it's just Hobart, it's not that cool. It’s definitely not cool enough to tell her.

READER Punk, eh? Really? Fine, then call me R. Yeah, Punk, I can sing...

SCENE 2 - PRESENT DAY - EXT. CITY STREETS - NIGHT

In a gritty, neon-lit alleyway, READER, a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color, is struggling to wheat-paste a large poster featuring her band "NEON REQUIEM" on a high, hard-to-reach wall.

Suddenly, SPIDER PUNK (aka HOBIE BROWN), a British punk rocker and vigilante, appears hanging upside down on a web behind her.

SPIDER PUNK Need a hand, love?

Reader spins around, eyes wide with fear and surprise.

READER (stammering) Spider-Man! Je suis désolée, It… yeah.. it's exactly what it looks like.

SPIDER PUNK (waving his hand dismissively) Nah, don't sweat it, mate. I'm all for stickin' it to the man. 'Sides, that's a wicked poster you got there.

Reader relaxes, a smile spreading across her face.

READER (relieved) Merci! I thought I was busted for sure.

SPIDER PUNK (flips down from the web and lands on his feet, like a cat) Not on my watch, love. 'Ere, let me give you a boost.

Spider Punk gently wraps an arm around Reader's waist and shoots a web to the top of the wall. They ascend together, Reader grinning as they reach the perfect spot to place the poster.

As they work together to smooth out the poster, Spider Punk notices the band details: Reader, Miguel, and Gabriel. Guitar, Bass, and Drums. Miguel is handsome, long-haired, massive band-mate. Miguel back up vocals and bass he is the epitome of a metal-head.

SPIDER PUNK (chuckling at Miguel's serious metal-head expression) This bloke looks like he could use a laugh.

With a mischievous grin beneath his mask, Spider Punk uses his web shooter to draw a silly mustache on Miguel's serious face.

READER (giggling) Oh, il va être furieux! But it's too funny! My poor brother.

SPIDER PUNK (admiring their handiwork) There, now that's a proper work of art.

As they descend back to the ground, Reader turns to Spider Punk, her eyes sparkling with amusement and gratitude.

READER (sincerely) Merci beaucoup, Spider-Man. You really saved my ass tonight. You should come cheer us on at Battle of the Bands.

SPIDER PUNK (bowing dramatically) All in a night's work for your friendly neighborhood Spider Punk, love. I might be there, afterall, the Spider Punks are playing-band like that is my namesake, innit?

With a wink beneath his mask, Spider Punk shoots a web and swings off into the night, leaving Reader grinning and shaking her head in amazement.

SCENE 3 - INT. BAR - NIGHT

Later after dropping by her hostel room to change and wash up from paste, READER, aka, R is at a bar when she spots the only open spot at the bar. It's next to a 20-something nursing a pint. SPIDER PUNK, aka HOBIE BROWN aka PUNK, a British punk guitarist in his mid-20s, sits at the bar, nursing a pint. His lean, wiry frame is clad in a torn Sex Pistols shirt and tight jeans, held up by a studded belt slung low on his hips. Fishnet gloves adorn his hands, their black polished nails chipped from endless hours of guitar playing. Piercings glint in the dim light, catching the eye and hinting at his rebellious nature. He's in his civvy digs, a signature blend of 1980s anarcho-punk style that makes him look like the second-coming of Jean-Michel Basquiat, all raw talent and unfiltered edge. Lost in thought, an achingly familiar voice, something from a buried memory, suddenly catches his attention. It can't be...

READER, [loosely based on Gwen Stacy's Black Cat] a French metal chick with ever-changing hair color,  also in their mid-20s and equally skilled with a guitar, orders a drink next to him. Her effortlessly cool vibe is a result of her world travels. She is now in her full stage persona costume with all the eyeliner and leather that comes along with it.The two don't recognize each other at first.

READER (to the bartender, in a French accent) Un Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît.

Hobie glances at Reader, a flicker of recognition in his eyes... doesn't he know her? Battle of the Bands? Must be it, mate.

HOBIE (in a thick British accent) Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands, love?

READER (surprised) Oui, how did you know?

HOBIE (smirking) Just a... sense...Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know.

MIGUEL O'HARA, Reader's handsome, *built* Hispanic bandmate, approaches. At 6'7" and 310lbs of pure muscle, he cuts an imposing figure. His younger brother GABRIEL, a softer, sweeter version of Miguel, follows close behind.

MIGUEL (Finds Reader and is by her side instantly, voice dripping with sarcasm and derision) R, you snuck out on practice...just to drink in this hellhole? Is that Jack? No puedo mas... Carnalita...This shit is bad for you.

READER (smiles to her bandmate, she has just arrived but she is hiding her wheat-pasting activities from the stern older band-mate) You worry too much, Miggy, mon ami. We've been practicing all week.

MIGUEL (softens) Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out in an unknown city alone. It's not safe for you, carnala.

HOBIE (puffs a bit, all charm, recognizing Miguel from the poster, he puts it together that R is the same girl from earlier. Hoping to impress this 'brother' of the cute girl, he offers Miguel his hand. Miguel looks him over and is unimpressed, he does not take Hobie's hand) Keeping the lady safe, mate. You can trust me. I'm one of the Spider-Punks.

GABRIEL (shoulders his brother to the side and takes Hobie's hand, gushing) We've heard of you guys, the local punk rock band, yeah? Your drummer is... gahh...Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?

Someone's got a crush on Gwen Stacy.

MIGUEL (scoffing, stepping closer to R) You call that punk noise "rock"? Metal is where the real skill lies...Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude.

HOBIE (visible shift in attitude, he eyes Miguel's massive frame) Never skip leg day, eh bruv?

R stifles a laugh as Miguel's face reddens with anger. Gabriel looks nervously between his brother and Hobie.

READER (trying to defuse the tension) Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord?

HOBIE (smirking, he stands, not as tall as Miguel, but nearly so) Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops.

MIGUEL (grinning fiercely, are those...fangs?) You're on, punk. Prepare to be schooled.

READER (interjecting, her eyes sparkling with amusement) Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non? Who is your drummer, she sounds enchanting.

GABRIEL (nodding) She is, she's go this...energy. Pero, R's right, Miguel.

There is a not so subtle look that passes between the brothers, an undertone of: DON'T RUIN THIS FOR ME MANO from Gabri, Miguel nearly rolls his eyes.

Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?

HOBIE (winking at Reader) Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. Let's give 'em a show they won't forget...later?

READER (brightly, oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Later!

As Hobie saunters off, Miguel glares after him, his fists clenched. Gabriel places a calming hand on his brother's arm.

GABRIEL (softly) Easy, hermano. He's not worth it.

As Hobie leaves the bar, Reader shoots Miguel a disapproving look.

READER (oblivious to the brothers' feelings) Was that really necessary?

MIGUEL (shrugging) Just giving him a taste of what's to come. We're going to blow them away, R.

GABRIEL (sighing) I hope this doesn't get out of hand, their drummer is way better...I wanted to meet her.

READER (shrugs, trying to ease the tension) You will, I'll be yoru wingman, yeah? Gabri. You got this. And mano, Miguel... nothing wrong with being confident, but..just...save that aggro energy out on the stage. Come on, we're going to kick some ass!

MIGUEL (glaring at Hobie's retreating back) Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita, time for practice.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Ig it was closer to 7 years ago? 8 years ago? if I check the actual timeline.

They were like oh shit it looks like you have graves disease really bad we gotta run all these tests, you could die!... For symptoms I had been having on and off since my 20's and telling them about only to be ignored.

Then they were like, no haha it's just the first stages of your immune system tearing your thyroid to shreds and letting it spill all the hormone at once. At this rate there's no need to remove your thyroid because it will die completely within 5 months and fully atrophy.

Are we going to try to stop my immune system from doing that?

No. haha.

What happens when my thyroid dies?

Oh you'll need to be on hormones for life or you'll slowly get so hyperthyroid you can slip into a coma and not wake up. haha, but it's like having and managing diabetes, people live full lives with it.

I'm having severe cardiac symptoms and etc from the obscene thyroid levels, and am unable to sleep for up to 72 hours at a time, can we check back in before 5 months? Maybe do something about the heart symptoms that isn't just knocking me unconscious for 3 days at a time with this blood pressure medication since my blood pressure is still somehow dropping to 60/45 despite the high adrenaline and cortisol and thyroid levels? [my resting heart rate was 120 at the time]

No haha, not necessary, prommy :)

So I took that for the news it was. Within 5 months my continued survival depended on the whims of whether someone would want to give me my meds or not, someone who probably didn't fully understand the severity of the issue, and like many people who rely on insulin, I could be killed by medical neglect at any time. I only had 5 months to live for sure and those 5 months were going to be hell.

I kept having the grave's disease-like symptoms until I figured out on my own to restrict b vitamins and iodine... Off the back of them telling me to slat load for the low blood pressure WITHOUT telling me to avoid iodized salt...

I tried to tell them this had been happening on and off since my early 20's, they told me that "wasn't possible" and "doesn't happen"...

I had one hope and it was that I was right and this had been happening on and off since my 20's and getting better in between.

5 months went by.

Your thyroid is doing fine actually :)

You said it was being torn to shreds. You said I had 5 months.

Yeah but it's fine and your levels are too.

Because I haven't eaten a food with iodine since 5 months ago other then a splash of cream in the morning and have stopped having b vitamins, but my neurologist says I really should be taking extra b vitamins, so just avoiding them in all foods to avoid going hyperthyroid isn't sustainable, so can we maybe entertain removing part of my thyroid so I can have some b vitamins in my diet and don't have to keep myself on the very edge of developing goiter to function?

No. haha. If your immune system keeps attacking your thyroid, it'll just die. You'll notice the symptoms and we'll put you on hormones. If it doesn't keep attacking your thyroid, you'll be fine :)

7+ years and my thyroid just keeps healing itself and taking beatings from my immune system so I have to live on the very edge of having goiter so I don't develop the symptoms of advanced grave's disease at any given time. ... And I had been living that way untreated for gods know how long because the hyperthyroid phases kept getting "diagnosed" as "maybe some kind of mania?" by doctors who don't seem to know what mania even -is- since my teens.

[hint: people who are manic or manic depressive don't generally -stay- manic for 2-6 months at a time without crashing, and aren't as psychologically stable as I was about it all, I was going hyperthyroid periodically and they were brushing it off as a mental health issue, which they also weren't treating because the treatments didn't help... because I wasn't 'manic' I was being flooded with adrenaline, cortisol and unregulated thyroid hormone, and it was getting slightly worse every time]

They have it diagnosed as "hashimotos thyroiditis" because -by mechanism, if not result- that's what it is. I haven't heard of anyone else that doesn't progress to the hypothyroid stage of that and stays stuck in the initial storm of thyroid hormones... But here we are. Hyperthyroid at all times because of *checks notes* aggressively recovering from the hypothyroid disorder, while it's still happening, in perpetuity. [there are two forces inside me]

They effectively gave my 5 months to live independent from care and that was when I was in my mid-late 20's. I am about to be 37.

Every time they catch a level of something actually acting up they go "holy shit more tests that organ seems to be dying!!!" And then when it doesn't and I get better they grasp for an explanation that doesn't -require- they do anything about it, like "you must just have gilbert's, haha" or blaming my personal habits for causing a 'temporary problem'.

I'm like the guy with the liver and the eagle, but the eagle is my immune system and all my tissues take turns.

Did I steal fire from the gods?

The pattern is that my immune system seems to just take turns attacking every system and tissue I have, and in doing so gives each a break long enough to heal in between. But it also means I have this rotating roster of autoimmune symptoms that's ever changing and an ever changing "hey I might qualify as having a kidney disorder this week and I won't know unless I do something to upset it" cycle of trying to figure out what tissue or organ needs my support the most at any given time.

Mostly it means doctors won't believe me, because the symptoms and tests results that were there even two weeks ago are gone now. And when they do believe me, how do you even treat that? Suppress my immune system when doing so will cause 1 of nine specific viruses to re-activate if it's already in my body and near immediately kill me?

I haven't met a doctor willing to acknowledge the genetic lack of proper immune response I have to specific viruses and offer to put me on an anti-viral -like other people with that condition are- at the same time as the immune suppressant. So I won't take the immune suppressant because I don't want to die suddenly and horribly of meningitis or encephalitis the way my mother almost did the moment covid crashed her immune response.

So I just live with it. Legitimately getting very dangerously sick with one autoimmune condition or organ failure problem after another and then bouncing back.

No fucking -clue- what this is doing to the cell lines in my body. Super curious really.

I know the perpetually high bilirubin plays some role in protecting me from aging, tumors and damage because it's an antioxidant. So there's that?

That's kind of why I'm not worried. This has been my reality since my 20s and beyond, and it hasn't killed me yet. Also no doctor has managed to do something useful about it yet other than run tests and give me the results. When they do find something concerning they always end up coming to the conclusion that their best course of action is to do nothing anyway. Especially since the fast metabolism and an additional mutation that makes me process some meds super fast and some super slow makes it kind of challenging to medicate me for anything at all.

[halscafe]

redacted characters - university/college edition!

these are just some random head cannons so yuh enjoy 😋

david

he starts studying like at least a week or two in advance

finishes the exam in like 20 minutes like sir there are 5 long answer questions and i haven’t written my name yet

his handwriting is atrocious though rip the eyes of that TA

milo

isn't related to exams but he's that mf who types like a madman during lectures like you would think he's a stenographer or something (i say as that person oopsie)

he makes like huge sets of cue cards for studying (don't talk to him before an exam or you're getting a brick of cue cards to the head)

david asked him a question for clarification and when he didn't know the answer he started sweating buckets someone get my poor guy an inhaler

asher

asher is best friends with all his professors like he's on a first name basis with them all and is super friendly with them

super laid back and only starts studying maybe 1-3 days before the exam (it drives milo crazy)

he's surprisingly smart like his work ethic is v questionable but come time for exam season and he has it in the bag (david gets the higher grades, but he's a close second)

he cant write a paper to save his life though. one time him and milo were partners and he used wikipedia for most of his sources, nearly sending milo into a cardiac arrest the day before the due date

angel

angel had that high gpa but god help them when due dates run around

running around like a chicken without a head on

procrastinator to a T, but they use that adrenaline as an energy boost and it always works out in their favour (sends davids blood pressure skyrocketing though)

babe

has them fancy ass notes with that pristine handwriting

god tier paper writing skills like they can get anything done in a couple hours TOPS (making asher and babe the perfect yin and yang)

asher and babe = the overused trope of overachieving student and laid back honours student enemies to lovers (send tweet)

sweetheart

top of the class gifted student but oml someone give my bestie a break

overachiever with the need for academic validation

is always the first to finish that exam

a friend of mine has a very SPECIFIC OBSCENE way of studying where they write the first letter of every word for a concept all over one page, and use that to memorize the concept istg it looks like minecraft enchancements and yes sweetheart does this

milo sneaks a peek and is just like, "you tryna set a curse on the professor??@)?"

thats it for now because I just finished an exam and i'm on 2 hours of sleep so part 2 in the future???? we shall see

[slight-gaming-addict]

Hi, there! :D

I saw that orders were still open so I want to make another songfic request

habits (stay high) - tove lo with Deuce?

Take your time and no pressure, thank you ❤️💕💐

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ

habits (stay high) - tove lo

0:24 ─●──────── -3:05

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

masterlist | join the taglist | request rules | ko-fi

pairing: deuce spade x gn!reader

warnings: A N G S T, absolutely no comfort whatsoever, substance abuse, implied sexual themes, crying, vomiting, deuce is a v hurt boy

word count: 1k

a/n: tysm for another request i'm glad you're liking them<3 also i wanted to up the angst and have the reader die but SOMEONE not naming names (@hathay) told me it was too far so here we are 🙄

His eyes are blurry as he stares into the void of the mirror hanging over the sink in his bathroom. Tear stains from hours ago and mascara streaks from last night cover his face. He can still see the remnants of glitter that shine on his body from yesterday and the previous nights. Giant bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep are visible, with the adrenaline coursing through him being the only thing keeping him moving.

In simple words, he looks like a complete wreck. It's been weeks since you left, and Deuce was left completely damaged.

He drags himself over to the microwave that's been beeping for the last five minutes and takes the food out, not bothering to reheat it. He walks back to the bathroom with the bowl in his hands and slides into the bathtub with it. He ignores the dull pain on his arm when some of the liquid in the bowl sloshes out as he moves his body down.

He stares blankly at the wall in front of him as he eats, not even noticing when the contents of the bowl have disappeared completely. He can't bring himself to move from his position, content to just stay there.

It's not until thoughts of you start running through his mind again that he forces himself to move. He can't sit there in the pain of thinking about how you used the shower in the mornings before your day, and how you woke him up every morning so he wouldn't sleep through the day. He can't sit here and stare at your shampoo bottle that stayed perched up on the corner of the tub.

It's not until the mirror in the bathroom is shattered from the bottle being thrown into it that he's broken from his haze. He stares at the pieces of glass that now litter the ground, breathing heavily.

He can't stay here any longer; memories of you are everywhere, and he needs to forget again. He carelessly walks out of the bathroom through the glass on the floor, out the front door shortly after, half-heartedly wiping his face off.

The loud music from the club pumps through his ears as he makes his way to the back. He knows the ins and outs of this place with how much he's been here lately. He's not necessarily proud of it, but he can't bring himself to care.

He immediately walks to the bar in the back and downs two drinks before going to his usual spot. An hour into the night, he's fully feeling the effects of everything he's been given, downing drink after drink until his eyes cross and he can barely see.

He feels bodies all around him; whether they're dancers or customers, he doesn't know or care. There are multiple people he makes out with during this time, not paying attention to who any of them are.

Deuce can hardly pay attention to the things happening around him in his daze, only seeing the outlines of people walking around him. A person comes up to him, but he can't find it in himself to interact with them or take anyone home tonight.

He somehow finds his way out of the club and back home in his state, and he doesn't find it in himself to question it, instead going straight for the kitchen cabinets and grabbing as many food bags and packages as he can find.

After he's done shoveling handfuls of food in his mouth and blankly staring out the kitchen window, he finds his way back into the bathroom, once again stepping over the glass that still remains on the floor.

He settles in the tub, about to fall asleep before he feels everything in his system tonight coming back up his throat. He and the tub are both covered in vomit, and he can't bring himself to try and clean any of it right now, just falling asleep where he is.

Intense knocking wakes Deuce from his sleep. He's fully intent on leaving whoever's here out there and ignoring the door, but he can't when the knocking doesn't seem to subside. He groans, forcing himself up from the tub and leaning against the wall for support. He forgot about the vomit that still covers him from last night and has to work to peel his shirt off so he can answer the door while not completely covered in throw up.

Attempting to get to the door seems difficult for him as he's disoriented and running into every wall he comes across. The knocking still persists as he mumbles something about going to get the door, but it's not nearly loud or legible enough for the person outside to hear him.

Once he's finally at the door and opens it, he seems to immediately sober up. There you stand on the other side, fist raised about to knock on the door again before lowering it when you see the door finally open.

"I just, um… need to get some things." You speak, but his brain can't comprehend that you're standing here in front of him. You pass by him when he opens the door slightly more as a quiet invitation. All he can do is watch as you make your way through the house, not missing as you glance into the bathroom while making your way to the bedroom.

It can't be more than a couple of minutes you spend getting the few things that you need before you're heading back to the front door where Deuce still stands.

"Wait-" Deuce snaps out of his trance when he sees you about to step out the door once again and attempts to try to keep you here.

"Bye, Deuce." Those are the last words he hears from you as you step out of the door and out of his life for good. He can't help the sobs that wrack through his body as he slides down the wall next to the door, hiding his face in his hands with tears continuously falling down his cheeks. It's not until nighttime that he stands up solely to get ready to numbly walk back to the club, needing to forget you all over again.

buy me a coffee ♡

[mollymawkwrites]

this is the longest thing i have written in well over a year, and i'm quite happy with how it came out. thank you so much @dapandapod for your support and cheer reading, it meant a lot <3 CW: dubcon, sleep paralysis, inhuman!Eddie

Of course Steve gets nightmares. He’s always had them, ever since he was a little boy in a too big house. They only got worse after he saw a demogorgon crawl out of the walls at the old Byers’ place.

Flesh monsters, vines tight around his neck, demobats tearing at his flesh… Yeah, his brain has all the material it needs to fuck up his nights for several lifetimes. And yeah, some of them are about Eddie.

That’s weird, given Steve was only vaguely aware of the other boy’s existence until they met in less than ideal circumstances. And it’s not like they hit it off then, either. Sure, Eddie was fun and braver than he liked to pretend, but they hadn’t really gotten to know each other, what with the whole “running for our lives” situation.

But one doesn’t decide what one’s traumatized mind chooses to focus on, and so, in the months after the almost apocalypse, Steve gets used to seeing Eddie’s pale, bloodied face in his sleep every once in a while.

One of those nights, give or take five months after they’d buried an empty casket and struggled to meet Wayne Munson’s eyes, Steve wakes up from a nightmare featuring big, fearful doe eyes with a strangled gasp.

His brain struggles to catch up as his heart beats fast enough to hurt, sweat tickling his scalp. What hits him first is the heaviness of his limbs, unresponsive even as he wills himself to sit up. Panic seizes him, and he screams — well, tries to. All that comes out is a pathetic wheeze.

No matter how hard he strains on his vocal chords, nothing comes out but the air in his lungs.

It takes him a while to calm down, and even then it’s more out of exhaustion than anything else. That’s when Steve notices the shadow in the corner of his room. And it’s not like he’s not used to mistaking a pile of clothes or a coat hanger for a threatening presence — there have been incidents involving panic attacks and waving his nail bat at unsuspecting items.

But this — this is not just a hallucination. Or maybe it is, a very elaborate one. He can’t see much, a humanoid shape, hunched between his wardrobe and his desk, so dark it looks like it’s sucking the moonlight from the room.

It doesn’t move, and Steve keeps his breathing shallow, quiet, his lungs straining with the lack of oxygen as he stares at the shadow, his eyes burning with the need to blink. As if keeping his eyes on it will keep it from moving closer.

A car passes in the street outside, bathing the room in light for a second, and two eyes flash, reflective like a cat’s, fixed on Steve, furthering the feeling of <i>prey</i> tickling at the back of his neck.

But with the sudden light, there and gone, Steve gets a better look, though the thing is still just a shadow, a complete absence of color and light; but the shape of it is familiar, wild curls around its head, bad posture in a relaxed, careless way. It’s a silhouette he sees more often than not when he’s asleep.

Maybe he is still dreaming; that would explain why he has no control over his body, his voice. Why Eddie’s shadow is standing in the corner of his room. It doesn’t make it easier to relax, the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in his own skin bringing back flashes of metal chairs and manacles in a Russian secret facility, of slimy vines crawling over him, restraining his limbs, choking him.

“Eddie” is unmoving, quiet, as Steve’s chest heaves around painful breaths, his mouth opening around silent words and pleas. Nothing comes out of his mouth but agonized whimpers. Tears gather at the corners of Steve’s eyes. He still doesn’t dare to blink, equal parts terrified that Eddie will disappear or that he’ll attack him if he does. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, making the forced immobility of his limbs even more unbearable.

It feels like hours before he slips into an exhausted sleep, “Eddie” just as unmoving in the corner as Steve is in his bed. Flashes of light glint off of his eyes from time to time, and the outline of him seems blurry, like dark, unnatural smoke. Steve fights to keep his eyes open, trying to catch more details out of the apparition haunting his room, but as the stars wink off and the sky lightens, he gives up, and sinks back into uneasy dreams.

The incident stays on his mind for the next couple of days, making him nervous, unsettled; but after an uncomfortable conversation with the other older kids, he concludes that was just the results of his exhausted, traumatized mind, a textbook case of sleep paralysis (thank you Nance). After that, it’s easier to put it out of his mind.

Except it’s not even a week before he wakes up gasping in the middle of the night, vivid images of bitten off flesh and big, lifeless brown eyes staring at a blood red sky superposing with the familiar decor of his own bedroom for a second. Restless energy thrums, desperate to do something, get rid of this helpless feeling that’s been underlying, hiding under his skin for months; but as he goes to rise and find something to do, maybe call Robs or demand a check in through the walkie, he finds himself, once again, unable to move an inch.

This time he forces himself to breathe through the panic, to relax his limbs, just like Nancy told him. And it helps, it does, right up until he notices the shadow standing at the foot of his bed, the moonlight coming from the window forming a halo in its wild, curled hair, darkness bleeding out from where Steve knows the bats tore into skin and flesh.

He can’t help the choked sob clawing up his throat as tears spring to his eyes, rolling down his temples to pool in the hollow of his ears. He whimpers, hurting his tight throat as he fights to whisper, “S— sorry, ‘m sorry, Eddie—“

A weird, hissing noise echoes around Steve’s room, making the hair on his arms rise, like the warning sound of a rattlesnake when you’ve stepped too close. It takes Steve a minute to realize it comes from Eddie, a mockery of a shushing sound, as if trying to soothe him. 

At some point, around the same time his tears dry and his sobs fade into tired hiccups, the sound merges into a faint hum, discordant and unsettling, like an old-timey melody heard through a malfunctioning vinyl turntable. It sounds familiar, though Steve’s exhausted mind can’t quite recognize it. He falls back asleep quickly, wakes up in the morning with salt tracks dry on his cheeks and a stubborn melody stuck in his brain.

This, like the nightmares, the yearly world-ending threat, and the knowledge that superpowered teenagers are a thing, becomes Steve’s new “normal”. Every once in a while, when Steve dreams of Eddie, he wakes up to the silhouette of the dead metalhead lurking in his room, sometimes in the corner, sometimes in the shadow of his wardrobe, or even perched on his desk.

As weeks pass, the silhouette seems to get sharper, like a camera focusing bit by bit. Shadows leave place to a pale face with wide, black eyes, reveal claws at the end of long, thin arms, and the low, rough voice always seems to be humming the same melody, the one Steve can’t seem to shake off his brain even during the day, and is pretty sure is meant to be played on a guitar.

After a few of these nightly visits, Eddie gets bolder, starts crouching at the foot of Steve’s bed, and eventually, perching over him, his face hovering over Steve’s, eyes glinting, mouth forming wordless melodies. There is no weight, no dent in the sheets; dreams are weightless, Steve supposes. There is a smell, though, something like ash, like ozone and iron, that gets stronger whenever Eddie manifests that close to him. A cold sensation seeping through the sheets where there should be contact between them, raising goosebumps over Steve’s skin.

This goes on for another few weeks, during which Steve debates telling anyone about his unusual nighttime visitor. He saw Eddie’s dead body, the vital parts ripped out of him by thousands of tiny teeth. He mourned along with the rest of the Party, though his waking mind kept his focus on Max and her slow, painful recovery.

All that to say, Eddie is dead. Steve knows that. And even if he wasn’t, they left his body back in the Upside Down. El closed all the rifts, they made sure of it. How could Eddie be here, when his body has been locked in another dimension?

Steve is probably going crazy, making up a strange imaginary friend, a fucked up kind of coping mechanism. Telling the others will alert them of his less than stellar state, and get it in their head to help him. And then… then Eddie, or whatever weird imaginary version of him, might disappear for good.

Steve’s not sure why the thought makes him so uncomfortable, why he almost looks forward to going to bed now, despite the nightmares, despite the insomnia, just because it might be one of those nights where Eddie “visits” him again. Somehow, he gets to spend more time with a man he lost before they could become friends, and no matter how fucked up that is, Steve doesn’t get a lot of nice things these days. He’ll enjoy that one while it lasts.

*

There is something else Steve hasn’t told anyone, not even Robin. Since their last stunt in the Upside Down, Steve’s libido has been… well, lacking would be a word for it. And he knows he’s got A Reputation, but the truth is he’s never been as much of a Casanova as everyone says. Sure, he’s gone on a lot of dates, and some ended up in one night stands. But that always feels unsatisfactory. Yeah, Steve likes sex, loves sex, but what he loves about it is the emotional connection. So no, he doesn’t sleep around that much even at the best of times. And this… this is <i>not</i> the best of times.

The fact that he’s either been not sleeping or having nightmares when he does surely doesn’t help. He’s had no interest in sex in months, and even masturbation is only perfunctory, just another unsuccessful way to try and fall asleep.

So when he gets his first wet dream in who knows how long, Steve damn well intends to enjoy it. There’s no real focus of his dream, only warm, fuzzy sensations, a tingle in his lower belly he’s not felt in what feels like forever.

He basks in it for a little while, heat building, shapes and sensations brushing his skin, his hands tangling in long, soft hair, humming lips kissing his burning skin, a weight shifting over him like a comforting, grounding embrace.

A hoarse voice moaning praise, whispering his name against his throat, his ear, his hair.

“Stevie…”

He grinds against the other body, chasing sparks of pleasure, but the weight disappears, and he whines, hips stuttering, seeking delicious friction.

“Steve,” the raspy voice pierces through the hazy fog of lust, and Steve opens his eyes to his dark room, a now familiar immobility restricting his body. His heart beats hard in his chest, body still caught in unfocused pleasure. He knows to look for a shadow before he’s even completely awake.

Eddie’s crouched awkwardly near Steve’s legs, big eyes staring at him in surprise. From his point of view, there’s no ignoring the obvious tent in the light summer sheets. The shame that floods Steve chases away the last of the sleepiness, and he closes his eyes in mortification, a muffled groan making its way out of his tight throat. There’s no doubt Eddie had been sitting atop him when Steve had started moaning and grinding his hips like a perv. The weight had felt so real, so good, and now Steve is left with a persistent hard-on in front of his own personal ghost.

So instead he keeps his eyes closed and hopes against hope he’ll get back to sleep and Eddie will be gone when he wakes again. Which, of course, has zero chance of happening in normal circumstances, even less so with his dick still stiff as a board.

The mattress shifts, Steve’s body rolling with the movement. He snaps his eyes open, meets Eddie’s equally confused gaze. That felt like… Eddie actually sitting on Steve’s bed, his weight dragging Steve towards him like gravity. But it can’t…

They both watch as Eddie raises his hand as if in slow-motion, hovering right over Steve’s knee, complicated emotions stirring in his bottomless eyes. The touch, when it comes, is cold through the sheets. A jolt of electricity shoots up Steve’s thigh, contracting the muscle and tingling over his skin.

“Stevie?” Eddie rasps, voice unsure. Steve wants to tell him it’s okay, though he really doesn’t know if it is, all his comfortable assumptions about dreams and sleep paralysis and logic flying out the windows as Eddie’s fingers press into his flesh; not bruising but firm, like he’s trying to make sure he won’t go through Steve’s skin.

Gaze rising from where he’s been staring at Eddie’s — corporeal— hand for the last minute, he finds Eddie’s eyes searching his face, bloodless lips parted over too sharp teeth. Though he feels far from confident about the situation, Steve dredges every bit of reassurance and comfort he can find, pushing it to the front of his mind as if Eddie could absorb it through — fucking osmosis or something.

 Dumb as it sounds to his own brain, Eddie seems to catch up on it, and he shifts again, a little closer, upper body hovering over Steve’s, his big dark eyes searching for something.

Slow, as if not to spook him, Eddie brings his other hand to Steve’s bare chest. His fingers are freezing, and Steve can’t fight off the shiver that wracks through his body at the touch, soft skin yielding under a clawed hand.

Eddie stays still for a moment, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, before lowering his head next to his hand, ear against Steve’s chest, as if… as if listening to his heart.

Steve’s face flushes bright hot as his traitorous heart immediately picks up, betraying how affected he is by all the touching.

He is so lost to mortification he almost doesn’t notice the strange sound rising in the room, but the vibration against his chest catches his attention. Weird as it is, it doesn’t take long for Steve to understand Eddie is purring, loud and smug like Dustin’s cat always does when he perches on Steve’s lap. A silent laugh shakes Steve’s shoulders, and Eddie straightens up, a small, hesitant smile on his face. Sharp fangs press into his plush bottom lip, creating little dimples matching the ones on his cheeks. Steve only sees them for a second before Eddie shuffles even closer, leaning down again, aiming this time for Steve’s neck. Visions of those sharp fangs tearing into his throat only torment him for a second, before he hears Eddie snuffling against his pulse point, cold breath raising goosebumps over the bare skin.

Steve’s not sure his sleep stale sweat is a very alluring scent, but Eddie seems to think otherwise, as an oddly long tongue trails from the dip between Steve’s collarbones to the ticklish spot under his left ear, the deep purring emanating from Eddie’s chest growing louder with the action.

Steve lets out a strangled gasp at the wet sensation, the night air flowing from his open window immediately cooling the trail of saliva and enhancing the sensation. His flagging dick reacts immediately, rising to attention. Eddie raises his head, face hovering right over Steve’s as he searches his gaze, a sharp grin pulling at his lips when he finds whatever it is he’s looking for. Steve’s breath is shallow, fresh sweat beading at his temple as his body heats rapidly, hyper aware of Eddie’s skin so close to his own, their only point of contact the hand Eddie still has placed at the center of his chest and the strands of curly hair tickling his throat and shoulders.

“Stevie,” Eddie croaks again, with an edge of teasing to his voice this time, his cool breath brushing over Steve’s face. 

A pang of loss runs through Steve when Eddie sits back, mourning their proximity, until Eddie throws a leg over Steve to sit over him, much like he has taken to do during his nightly visits, except this time, Steve can feel it, his weight, the coldness emanating from his body, as he sits right over Steve’s crotch.

For once, Steve thanks his momentary paralysis, as he has no doubts his hips would have thrust up if he’d been free to move. Instead, he lets an admittedly embarrassing groan, which has Eddie smiling wilder and squirming a little, sending sparks flying through Steve’s spine, his core tightening with pleasure.

Leaning with a smug purr, his hair tickling along Steve’s scarred ribs, Eddie plants a kiss right over Steve’s sternum, nosing into his chest hair. Steve’s hands itch to reach for him, to stop him or urge him to keep going, that isn’t clear even in his own head. Staring at the dark blue of his bedroom ceiling, trying to breathe deeply enough to get enough oxygen to his brain so he can think about the situation properly, Steve leaves Eddie to his animalistic… scent marking?

The scrape of a fang over his left nipple startles him back into the present with a gasp, eyes snapping to Eddie’s mop of dark hair. Dark eyes glint at him between the strands before lowering again to focus on the sensitive area.

It’s more exploratory than intentional, the way that slick, serpentine tongue flicks out to follow the edges of Steve’s scars, to taste the moles and freckles that dot his entire body, and it drives him crazy. He feels filthy, enjoying it this way, though there’s no way Eddie doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The thin sheets offer little protection, and though Eddie is still mostly shrouded in darkness, Steve’s pretty sure he’s just as naked. He can feel the muscles in Eddie’s thighs flexing on each side of his hips with every tiny movement, and there’s no ignoring how well Steve’s cock fits under his ass, trapped in delicious agony.

Once Steve notices that, no amount of imagining his old swimming coach naked helps to quell the fire building inside him. It only takes a few more minutes of Eddie playing with his chest like a kitten with a new toy to bring him to the edge; once there, it’s only a matter of Eddie shifting a little, Steve’s cock slipping between his buttcheeks, and Steve is thrown into a cramp-inducing climax, body going rigid under Eddie.

He comes to a few seconds later, chest heaving, opening his eyes to  a pleased and awestruck expression on Eddie’s face. They stare at each other for a silent second, before Eddie sits back and snakes his hand under the sheet and Steve’s underwear with a focused expression on his face. Excuses and apologies bubble up to his lips, dying on his tongue as Eddie drags a clawed finger in the sticky cum on Steve’s lower belly. Bringing it to his own mouth with a curious expression, Eddie licks Steve’s cum off of his finger, effectively strangling the breath out of Steve’s lungs in the same time.

Making a face at what Steve assumes to be a bitter salty taste, Eddie scrunches his nose and lets the sheet fall back over Steve’s modesty. Fondness floods Steve’s chest, and he smiles up at Eddie when the boy turns back towards him.

Body lax and fuzzy, more relaxed than it’s been in what feels like years, Steve quickly slips into a dreamless sleep, only conscious long enough to feel Eddie’s cool but solid presence laying down beside him, wrapping around him with a contented purr.

Steve falls asleep to the feeling of Eddie’s sharp, blackened fingers treading through his hair, playing with the strands, humming a discordant melody in a deep, raspy voice.

*

Steve wakes slowly, drifting in and out of consciousness, sensations coming back to his body; the slight chill of the air over his naked skin, something soft brushing against his cheek, an unpleasant sticky sensation tickling at his crotch. God, it’s been years since he’s come in his sleep like this, he’d thought he was over with this kind of teenage bullshit—

The memories of the night before hit him at the same time as he registers the arm thrown over his chest, and he snaps his eyes open, suddenly completely awake. The body against his shifts as it wakes, tangled curls tickling his nose and making him sneeze. All movement seizes, the other body going as stiff as his, before it springs up, light blue sheets slipping down to reveal pale skin mottled with dark ink and angry pink scars.

Eddie Munson is looking down at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Warm, brown, human eyes.

“What the fuck?” A rough, scraping voice escapes Eddie’s mouth, though it doesn’t look voluntary, if his even more confused expression and the hand flying to touch his own lips are to be believed.

“Me what the fuck? You what the fuck!” Steve replies intelligently. He’s not very proud of how he’s handling the situation, but he’s pretty sure he can be excused for that one. It does feel good to be able to talk — and, oh, to move as well, he checks as he mirrors Eddie and sits up — with Eddie there.

“I’m alive? I’m— I’m real?” Eddie overlooks Steve’s stupid answer, turning his eyes to his own — very naked — body, right hand hovering over his chest as if afraid to touch. Or to go through his own skin.

Too confused and tired of this shit to be delicate about it, Steve tugs on the curl of brown hair sticking to Eddie’s neck. “Seem real to me.”

Eddie slaps his hand with a wince and a frown, but at least the disbelief on his face fades from his expression for a second. Silence settles over them as Eddie wiggles his fingers in front of his face, pokes at his own cheeks, smushing them in a way that floods Steve’s heart with fondness.

“Am I… human?” Eddie asks at last, his eyes deliberately avoiding Steve’s this time, as he skims his right hand over his left forearm.

Steve studies him, the vulnerable slouch of his shoulders, the slightly unnatural paleness of his skin, and raises his own hand to brush Eddie’s hair away, revealing a pointed ear. “I’m not a hundred percent sure on that one,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the arch of Eddie’s ear. “You can still blush though, so that’s good news.”

Face flushed red, Eddie groans, falling forward to hide in the crook of Steve’s neck. “You’re an asshole, Harrington.”

“Well, I might be an asshole, but it looks like fucking me brought you back to life, so I think you should be grateful,” Steve says, barely containing a laugh as Eddie gives a halfhearted slap to his chest.

“I thought it was a dream! I thought I was dying or already dead and my brain just decided to let me have some fun in my final moments.”

“You often dream about breaking into my room to have your way with me?” Steve wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, reveling in the very firm, solid presence of him, though not as warm as he’d expect a human body to be.

Pushing away to give Steve a stern look, Eddie says with a flat voice, “Steve, I literally just came back from the dead. Stop trying to get in my pants.”

Steve shrugs and slips out of bed, giving Eddie some space. He steps out of his soiled underwear, confident that Eddie likes what he’s seeing. “I’m not the one who sex-dreamed myself back to life. You don’t have a leg to stand on here, Munson. At least <i>I</i> got a great orgasm out of it. And here I was, about to return the favor.”

And if he puts a bit more of a swing into his hips as he walks to the bathroom, well. The sound of bedsheets being shoved to the floor and footsteps following him in a hurry are so, so worth it.

[marve2014]

Trying to Help Part Three

Trying to Help – Part 3

Pairing: Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher- Poly!Ghostface

 Warnings- Will(or may contain): Mentions of murder, Language, Reader is Murdery, Typical Canon Violence

18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

1.9K Words

Summary: Woodsboro thought they only had to worry about two deranged serial killers.

Authors Note: Im so sorry this took so long to put out. Depression is a B***h. Thank you for all the support and Love on the last two parts.

“We gotta go now baby. Stay right here and try not to freak out alright? ” Billy reassures you. With that they pull the back door open and run as two police officers rush in through the front to see Sidney lying unconscious on the ground and you laying still as could be. One of the officers looks at you in surprise before kneeling next to Sidney and asking if she’s okay. She wakes up confused and disoriented, but nods and follows them outside. An officer walks in with a stretcher and takes her and puts her on it while another set of paramedics helps you onto your gurney. You hear sirens starting and you decide to close your eyes and take in your surroundings one last time. enjoying the adrenaline from tonight's events.

A car drives down Sidneys driveway and the officer calls to the men in uniform to take care of the evidence while he runs up to the patrol car.

“What’s happening? Who is it?” The sheriff asks as he climbs out of the driver’s seat.

“It’s Sidney. Apparently she and a friend were studying while her dad was out of town. They’re taking them both to the hospital now.” One of the deputies responds.

“It was ghost face wasn't it?" The sheriff asks as he lowers his head.

"According to Sidney, yes. The other girl was blind folded the whole time." The officer responds.

Fast Forward to the Hospital

A couple hours of chaos and what seems like a thousand questions from doctors and nurses later you finally succumb to sleep. You wake up about an hour later and find yourself in a different room than last time. A little bit of light filters through a gap in the curtains and you can see your friends sitting outside the door. You can tell they're worried so you make a sound which catches their attention.

They rush over to you with tears in their eyes.

"Y/N, oh thank god!"  Sidney starts sobbing into your shoulder.

"I'm fine, really, I promise. It's only a scratch, besides I'm feeling great considering what is in this IV." You laugh and they pull away.

"How much do you remember?" Tatum asks looking at you as she rubs her hand across your unharmed arm.

"All of it."

"Everything?" She asks.

You nod and give a watery eyed smile. " I thought they were going to kill me." You say as you let a few tears escape.

Sidney, Billy, Tatum, and Stu all look at you solemnly, interrupted by Dewey walking into the room.

"Do you think you girls are up for answering some questions for us?" He asks as he removes his hat and sits in an open chair.

 "It'll be okay, its just Dewey." Tatum assures you as she pulls you into a hug and kisses your forehead.

“Yeah, no worries guys.” You reply before everyone gets quiet until Dewey speaks up.

“So did any of you know who attacked you last night?” He asked the two of you as you shook your heads.

He looked at Stu when he replied. “Was anyone acting suspicious? Did something happen? Anything out of the ordinary?” He asks.

"Sidney got a weird note in her locker..." You told him. “...and she seemed pretty freaked out afterwards…”

"Anything else?" Dewey asked.

The group of you sat in silence as you tried to come up with anything else. After a long stretch of nothing Dewey sighed and stood up and grabbed an envelope from his jacket pocket.

“This might help.” He said before handing it to you.

You look at it confused, before ripping it open. Once you read it you gasp and cover your mouth with one hand and drop the letter to the ground.

 Tatum picks it up and examines the writing.

“Who was it written to?” Tatum asks with concern in her voice.

You swallow hard and try to force your words to come out coherently.

“Im pretty sure it was written to me.” As soon as the words left your mouth, your heart began racing. The blood pounding loudly in your ears drowning out everything else around you, a million emotions flooded your body and mind. Fear mixed with excitement mixed with arousal, knowing that both your boys left this letter at the scene.

"Well what does it say?" Billy asks.

"I liked the way your blood felt on my skin." you read aloud trying to look more upset than happy. 

“Well isn’t that interesting.” Stu squints as he looks over toward you.

“That is so creepy, y/n. Its like he has a crush on you.” Tatum tells you.

You shake your head, “No, I don’t think so…”

 You trail off as you continue reading the rest of the letter.

“I hope that you enjoyed last night...you will be hearing from me again. Have fun playing my game.” The last part comes out as a whisper.

The letter ends there. You look at everyone before shaking your head sadly. Everyone is silent except for Dewey telling you how sorry he was and giving you an encouraging pat.

“I want to go home.” You say.

“Okay sweetie.” Tatum smiles as she places a soft hand on your leg.

“Let’s all go home and get some rest, I’ll drive you myself okay?”  Dewey says as Stu smiles and you slowly stand and follow after them. He drives you directly to the house and you climb out of the car and make your way inside. You head upstairs and change out of your clothes and get ready for bed.

As you lie under your covers you can feel your phone buzzing in your lap. You grab it and unlock it seeing a message from the boys you love and you quickly answer them as soon as possible.

Billy: Still up?

You: Hey.

You place the phone beside your pillow as a text comes back.

Billy: Sid is staying with Tatum, we will be there in twenty.

Stu: Love you baby, such a good girl for us.

You: I love you both too, I will see you when you get here.

Hearing a slow knock on your front door and then the door opening you know exactly who it is. You wait another minute and then are immediately pounced on by Stu.

"Be careful dickwad, don't hurt her arm!" Billy yells at Stu, making him pout.

You smile and push Stu away and sit up in bed.

"Hey baby...how ya feelin'?" He asks kissing your cheek. "I heard you almost got killed today." He says pulling you back onto his lap.

“We didn’t mean to cut so deep, but I am glad you're okay." Billy says as he joins you both in bed.

You turn and look between them.

"Are we okay?" You ask.

"Of course we are princess, don't worry. I would never let anything happen to you. And Stu wouldn’t either." Billy replies and leans forward and gives you a kiss.

“Thanks guys, I really appreciate it.” You smile before closing your eyes.

You fall asleep to their loving voices in your ear and to the sound of your heartbeat in your chest. You dream of nothing at all for most of the night, but once you awaken to bright sunlight streaming through the window you wake up to the sound of the boys talking excitedly downstairs. When they see you awake, they stop talking.

"What's wrong? Why are you so jumpy?" You ask standing in the opening of the kitchen.

"We were just talking about what happened last night and our next plan. We need to start planning the end game here." Billy says.

"And what is that plan exactly?" You ask as you sit at the table.

"Our next moves are obvious; Tatum and Sidney. The last part of your plan is going to be easy for you. You just have to play dumb and pretend to not know anything.” Stu says.

"Okayyyy, but you have to admit it sounds like a terrible idea. You know I want to help." you reply.

Billy smirks at you and puts his arms around your shoulders and nuzzling his nose against yours.

"We love your enthusiasm, but not happening." He replies softly.

You shrug his arms off and lean back on the chair and glare at him.

"Why is everyone so stubborn?" You groan.

"Because it's fun." Stu replies as he pulls you to him and kisses you on the lips.

Billy laughs at your frustration and kisses you as well.

"Can't we do this later?" You moan as they kiss you deeply.

Billy pulls back with a grin, "Not when we are talking strategy! Now get dressed we are taking you with us today!"

You sigh in defeat. “Fine. But if things go sideways you better hold my hand.”

You get up and go change into your regular clothes, leaving the boys to get changed too.

You put on leggings and one of the boys hoodies and go downstairs. They are standing waiting for you outside the door. "Are you sure we can take her? I doubt she is going to behave." Billy asks quietly. "Duh.” Stu responds sarcastically with a small laugh before looking at you again. "First of all, I can hear you." You say as you flick them both between the eyebrows. " Second, Rude."

They burst out laughing as they walk to the car, while you hop into the back seat. A moment later Stu gets behind the wheel of the car and Billy riding shotgun, and you buckle in. Stu pulls off and you close your eyes and listen to the low playing music. It takes about twenty minutes before you reach your destination and you take in your surroundings as soon as you pull in. It doesn’t take you that long to realize why Billy said this was going to be the perfect spot for your little end game meeting.

It's one of those old fashioned parks that are full of trees, grass and flowers of all kinds and a path leading up to a large picnic area. There are many empty benches sitting around it and when Stu kills the engine you jump out of the car. "Welcome to the park." Stu grins. Billy jumps out of the car and closes the door behind him. You all gather around one of the benches and no one says a word, just enjoying the serenity of the quiet until you hear Billy clear his throat.

" Tatum dies tonight." He says matter of factly.

Your first goal is the same. Kill Tatum.

Stu's face breaks out into a grin and you nod in agreement.

"What are the rules?" you ask.

Billy looks at you with a proud expression, "We kill her and anyone that gets in the way of me killing Sidney. You are not to be apart of this, y/n. You are just the friend that came to a party and got too drunk and went to sleep it off. We can not have you getting caught or hurt, deal?" After a while the boys finish talking about the details of the plan. Billy walks over to you and grabs your hands. "We can't afford any mistakes because of you. If something goes wrong, it could cost you your life, so keep that in mind and don't act stupid." "I hate that plan, but fine. I'll be good." You give them both a mock salute thinking to yourself of how you're not going to actually listen to them. You're killing someone, and it doesn't matter who.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Strawberry Lipgloss [8]

"Okay," I tell dad through my sleepy eyes and groggy voice. "I have to make this believable." Dad nods ferociously, eyebrows drawn together curiously. 

"So, excuse me for a moment," I say, holding up a finger and clearing my throat. Then, I scream a good, long, loud, unnecessary scream.

Dad flinches and I can't help but smile when he glares at me, clicking his tongue and undoubtedly disapproving of my unsavory tactics.

I finish my scream and cough a bit. That should be enough, seeing as I've managed to kickstart a scratchy throat.

I fish my phone out of my carry on bag and dial my boss's number. He ends up scowling at my excuse, but I think my coughing and hoarse voice passed his bullshit test. I promised him I'd be heading to the doctor while taking my day off.

My bags were packed and ready to go right before I headed to bed last night. I only left out a change of clothes and my toothbrush and toothpaste for the morning before packing them too. 

I packed my mask as well. I wouldn't be meeting The Faces without it, after all.

A nervous smile pulls at my lips as I think of the intricate purple mask hiding safely in my luggage. I'll be putting it to good use for the first time ever tonight and the reminder sends a rejuvenating pulse through my body.

I'm going to be boarding my flight in about two hours and I'm so excited that I physically and mentally cannot stay still. I'm fantasizing about our meeting, wondering how it'll go.

Larry would probably notice me first and know that I was there. He would jump around like a lunatic and hug me, then try to pick me up with his little lanky self. I'm genuinely looking forward to finally being able to see his long, luscious hair that he's been growing since he was a teenager. 

I haven't seen a photo of Larry since he was eighteen-- he's nearly twenty three now, so I'm sure his hair is incredibly long. He better not have cut it.

Sal will, hopefully, not associate me with a certain Lexi. But would he be kind to me? Would he recognize my voice?

I don't know what to expect of Todd, seeing as he's such a formal guy, but I know Ash is going to know me just by stance alone.

I can't wait to embrace my best friend, feel her warmth and the rush of emotions that'll come with finally being reunited.

I carry these thoughts with me as I tell my dad goodbye, giving him a tight hug and promising to stay safe. I ponder a bit more as I pass through security. I giggle and smile to myself while waiting outside my gate, and I pull out my phone to text Ash just because I can't keep all this excitement to myself as I settle into my seat towards the back of the plane.

All this excitement made the time pass ridiculously fast.

My veins are filled with never-ending adrenaline. My sleep-deprived brain is running on straight expectations and hope. My heart is pumping out optimism and begging for a break, but my mind doesn't let up. We're going to hold onto these positive emotions until we have to go home.

Me hiya ashy!! how's vegas? :P

Ashers &lt;3 Hi baby!!!! Vegas is awesome so far. We're up at the crack ass of dawn  (Larry and Sal hate it but Todd and  I are troopers) for a meeting with some other popular streamers out  here. I think it's some kind of  breakfast meet and greet thing??? Idk. But how are you!!

Me well, not suffering like you guys lmao. just getting ready for an 8 o'clock  shift. the usual.

Ashers &lt;3 Yuck :( make sure you punch your boss for me. He's the whole reason I won't be seeing you!!!

Me no issue there. i've been waiting to lay a good one on him for ages. you're just giving me a good excuse to actually go through with it :3

Ashers &lt;3 That is my job as your bad influence ;)

Me prayer hands to that, babe. wouldn't be where i am today without miss ash's guidance <333

Yes, I know, I should just tell Ash that I'm literally about to take off on a flight headed straight to Las Vegas, but the prospect of surprising her-- seeing the elation and shock on her face-- I can't pass that up. This'll be worth it.

"Would you like something to drink before we take off, ma'am?" 

My head flies up and I meet a flight attendant's smiling gaze. Her lips are a fiery red, her hair meticulously and beautifully fixed into blonde waves flowing down her back.

I gape at her beauty for a moment before smiling politely. "Um, would you happen to have coffee? Or tea?" I ask after a moment, wincing at my own awkward question. I just really need some kind of caffeine. 

"We have both!" she chirps, her sweet voice reminding me of Ash's. I can't help but smile wider at the connection. "Which would you prefer?"

"Coffee, if possible," I say, squeezing my phone a little tighter in my hands.

"Great! Creamer and sugar as well?" 

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you!" I tell her, to which she nods then walks over to the seat in front of me to ask the people ahead the same thing.

I glance down at my phone again just as our pilot announces that we'll be taking off within a few moments. That means I won't be able to talk to Ash for a bit.

Ashers &lt;3 Aww, you're too sweet, my little love. I'll always be here to catch you when you fall :D

Me i would hope so!! i have to go though, so i'll text you in a bit when i get a break, kay?

Ashers &lt;3 Sure thing, sweetness!  Se latrevo <3333

Me ermmmmm i love you too??? if that's what that means?

Ashers &lt;3 It's Greek for "I adore you!!!" 

Me cute <333 se latrevo too (LMAO)

I close my phone with a smile as the wheels of the plane start moving, only gaining speed as we practically fly down the runway. Exhilaration takes over my entire body as I look away from the woman beside me and stare at the fast moving objects outside of the little window.

The plane lifts from the ground and my stomach practically jumps in my body, all my limbs tensing up as I cling to the tray in front of me. That's it, I'm officially unable to go back on my last-minute plans.

It feels a bit refreshing knowing that I have no other option now. For the longest time (all night and all morning), I didn't think I'd actually be able to do it, but here I am. And I'm so proud of myself for this.

With my head held high as my coffee gets placed down beside me, I look around the inside of the airplane, glancing away from people who suddenly meet my gaze. I'm not embarrassed though, I'm on top of the world right now. There isn't a single thing that could turn my mindset around. 

I'm going to finally fucking see my friends!

My eyes travel along the various rows of seats that I can physically see (which isn't all that much) and I'm momentarily blessed by the sight of a little fur baby passing by my row.

I perk up a bit more instantly, smiling as the woman sitting beside me spews out an audible, "Oh my goodness! Look at that baby!"

I watch the exchange between the woman and pet owner, noting the yellow lab who sits right on top of its owners feet, tongue hanging out of its mouth like it doesn't have a care in the world. The little vest around it's body catches my eye and I find myself respecting the lady beside me for not reaching out to pet the sweet baby. It's a medical service dog.

"What's their name?" The woman beside me asks, smiling down at the dog who pants heavily.

"Her name is Yeager," The owner says proudly, giving their dog a little head pat. "She's a cardiac alert dog, so thank you for letting her do her job."

"Oh, no need, honey!" The woman says politely before smiling at little (well, rather large actually) Yeager again. "What a hard-working little thing! She's such a good girl."

Watching the exchange suddenly turns into a horror movie for me, actually, it's a bit more like a nightmare in which I can't wake from. You know, when you're being chased but you physically can't move. That's exactly how I feel-- the freeing feeling of taking flight is replaced by the very obvious realization that I can no longer escape the personal hell that I've stuck myself in.

Fuck. Oh no.

I've really made a terrible mistake. Why couldn't my father have let me cry for a few days?

Is there any possible way for me to get off this plane? I don't care if I lose my life. It's better than landing in Vegas within the next hour. 

We're already over three thousand and something feet in the air and probably traveling over a hundred mph, but maybe I can just... you know... pop open the emergency hatch and launch myself out of it. At least everyone would be able to talk about how I went sky-diving at my funeral. 

The woman and the owner of Yeager continue to chat for a bit while I try to contain my flaming cheeks and wide eyes, pushing down the memory that holds me in a vice grip-- it's like I'm bound in chains, forced to listen to everything all over again.

How could I have forgotten? And worse, why did this woman calling a dog a good girl resurface the fucking memory? I'm losing it. It's official.

I was so preoccupied with not being able to go to Las Vegas that I forgot why I really shouldn't fucking go. And now it's too late.

I completely ignored the lingering memory of one of the most exhilarating nights of my life. 

Yea, I'm an idiot. An unremarkable one, mind you, who was, again, reminded of Sal and I's salacious act simply because a woman uttered the words "good" and "girl" to a dog. The dog isn't my issue because she is, in fact, a good girl. I'm just shocked that I've traveled this low on the pyramid of idiocy and lunacy. 

Sigmund Freud really would have loved me.

I finally decide to just duck my head down and let it rest on my tray, nearly knocking over my fresh, scalding hot coffee. My eyes are still wide as I cross my arms around my head, my cheeks still burning with the rage of 25,000 babies being denied titties. I mean, what better way to explain how betrayed I feel? And not to mention, I'm the damn betrayer. I've betrayed myself. Larry would be proud of that statement, at least.

Sally and I haven't talked about what happened-- nor do I want to talk about what happened (it's unavoidable). We haven't even spoken since he left me hanging like a little bitch when Larry jumped into the voice chat and scared the orgasm out of me. 

Somewhere, somehow, my unconscious brain decided it would be a fantastic idea to have the conversation with Sally in person. Now, I'm forced to do just that. Fucking hell. 

I gulp down my overwhelming feelings. There's no going back now, unfortunately. I'll just have to devise a plan that keeps Sally Face's mouth shut until we're alone (which I pray never happens) or until I'm back home, safe and sound. 

Actually, this might be good for me. Sally, despite his shitty vendetta against me, is actually pretty shy and quiet in person. I doubt he'd be brave enough to say anything out loud, so maybe this will prolong the time I have before having to talk to him about our weird phone sex thing that happened the other night.

I mentally pat myself on the back. Maybe I'm not all that dumb. I, miraculously, have some kind of intellectual influence deep down for me to be this smart about avoiding an unwanted talk with my enemy. Perfect.

Doesn't change the fact that Sally is dangerously hot though, by the way.

Either way, I have to look Sally in the eye later knowing that I heard him beating the crap out of his dick to the thought of me. I'll never forget it, and part of me doesn't want to. It was really good.

And I'll also have to look him in the eye knowing that I completely submitted to him and tried to defy him in the end. And he'll know that too.

The thought makes me shiver and I feel like I might vomit for a moment. Whether I have to talk to Sally or not about what we did, I absolutely have to be near him tonight even if I don't want to. I can't escape his presence any longer.

If I think about my future dilemmas any more, I actually will jump out of this plane and risk everyone else inside of it the second I open this emergency hatch. Which, by the way, said emergency hatch is perfectly placed beside me like it was planned out beforehand that I'd sit in a place where I could make a quick getaway. That's it, death by sky-diving is my destiny.

Fuck this-- not like I can actually go back to twenty minutes ago and step off this plane. My fate is sealed and so is my fucking seat belt.

I huff out a quiet, pitiful sigh and close my eyes, wiggling in my seat to get into a better position. My coffee will go cold, but it's better than stressing over the near future knowing I had no time to prepare. Not to mention, any announcement from the pilot would probably stress me out and make me think I'll die. So a nap will do better than my anxiety will for the next hour.

And my nap turns out to be atrocious. I'm trapped in a cage, Sal's tattooed arms chaining me in. It's almost morbid-- especially since I still took the time to trace every inch of what I could remember about the intricate designs on his skin. I am a mess even when asleep and the messy part of my brain follows me into the waking world when a gentle shake startles me from my stupid ass dream.

I throw my head up, eyes wide as I turn to the woman beside me. She has a gentle smile on her lightly worn features, a couple grey hairs peaking through the dark strands that hang over her shoulder. She has a bag in her hand as she stands and people rush past her.

We've landed.

I take a deep, sleepy breath and smile at the woman. "Thank you," I mumble the raspy words, stretching quickly before standing up. "Didn't realize I slept so long."

"That's alright, sweetie," the woman says comfortingly. At least she's nice-- though, I'd gathered that much from the way she spoke to Yeager earlier. "Just wanted to make sure you got off the flight." She gives me a little nod then turns, walking off of the plane.

I deflate in my seat and watch a wave of jet-lagged people pass through the aisle in front of me, waiting for the crowd to clear up before I start gathering my things. I'm in no rush now, remembering that I'll be seeing Sally Face come nightfall.

But I'll also be seeing Ash, Larry, and Todd...

I lift myself from my seat with a grunt and push past a few people to quickly grab my bag from the compartment above my row of seats. 

After getting off the plane, waiting for my second bag isn't too rough. It takes a good ten minutes for it to finally pop up on a conveyer belt, but I take off to a Starbucks next to the bag pick-up area to grab breakfast, which consists of a bagel, a cake pop, and a peppermint mocha frappuccino because it's my favorite bitch coffee ever.

I travel through the airport, one bag on my shoulder (which holds my breakfast) as I drag my suitcase behind me and glance around with my green straw in my mouth, constantly sipping on my cold coffee that is ten times better than whatever I ordered on the plane, clearly, since I ended up throwing it away anyway.

People whiz past me, disappearing up escalators or squeezing through packed doorways. I don't wish to be anywhere near it, I mean, who would? That's an anxious nightmare, but I know I'll have to subject myself to that torture eventually. I might as well just get it over with now so I can hail a taxi and get to my hotel. Then, I can hide for the rest of the day until tonight.

I push past a few people as I make my way to the doors leading out of the airport. I wish I could get a good look at my surroundings because the airport is ginormous, but I'm too focused on getting out of dodge. I have so many things I want to look forward to and want to avoid all at the same time, but I can't do that until I finally have time to relax in my hotel room.

I manage to panic enough to the point where I disregard anyone ahead of me in line and just grab a taxi toward the back, more than ready to get to my hotel and crash for the next few hours. I don't even want to think about how excited I am to see Larry, Ash, and Todd because the fear of seeing Sally just completely ruins it.

So I get dropped off at a plain Hilton a couple blocks away from the strip at about twelve in the afternoon, check into my room, and drag the remainder of my dignity as well as my heavy bags up a few stories before finally just crashing onto my bed.

I want to cry because I'm starting to wonder if this was a bad idea, but I am in Las Vegas. Dad paid for me to come visit my friends, so I have to do it. I'm sure it'll work out anyway. I doubt it'll turn out too bad, my head is just messing with me like it always does.

But right now, things just suck. The only good thing about my trip at this exact moment is that my bed is insanely comfortable. That's a pretty awesome outcome seeing as I just want to sleep to ignore all of my worries.

My day seems to fly by as though it's been sped up. My plane ride was made quick due to me being so much of a mess, and now my day is gone since I somehow wake up at about six in the evening.

I'm too distressed to put an actual meal in my stomach, so my dinner consists of complimentary cookies that got dropped onto my tray in the airplane. I can't stomach anything more than that. And for the rest of the time, I watch a few reruns of The Office, tucked into the sheets of my bed with the comforter pulled up to my chin.

At some point, I lift my phone that's been laying face down on my bed to see a missed call from Ash, a few texts in the Discord chat, and then I notice that it's fucking 8:30 pm.

On a normal day, I'd use my lateness as an excuse to just not go altogether, but I didn't waste dad's money and I didn't come all the way here to not see my friends.

I can call, well, talk to Ash later. She'll be seeing me soon anyway.

So, I jump out of bed with a frustrated curse slipping past my lips and run into the bathroom beside my bed. It's a small room, not like I need anything big. I'm just one person.

I'll have to be... fashionably late, I suppose. No issues there. I'm sure many people are going to show up late. It's not like it'll end thirty minutes after it begins, right?

I take a quick shower, blow dry my hair, and put on some eyeliner and mascara. I'm not trying to make a statement. If anything, I'm trying to fly under the radar. Hopefully the little bit of makeup conceals me from being recognized. The last thing I want is for Larry or Todd to recognize me as y/n.

After my face and hair are done, I throw on fishnets and tuck a Fall Out Boy shirt into a black skirt that rests on my hips, then I throw on my worn black and white, hightop vans.

It's nothing special. My boi Kieran said to wear whatever, so I am. At least the fishnets add a little fun to the look.

My last little addition is the mask I bought just a few days ago. It feels as though it weighs hundreds of pounds in my two small hands. But not in a bad way-- I just cherish it so much that the weight of its unspoken value almost seems to double as I simply gaze upon it.

With a breath, I situate it onto my face, tucking the straps under my hair.

I pack a few bills into the back of my phone case and check my bank account, making sure I have a bit of money there too in case I need it. Then I finally run out of my room and out of the hotel in general, hailing a taxi who takes me through the city, adding another thirty minutes to my trip because of traffic.

Despite my poor punctuality, I can't help but feel mesmerized by all the tall, lit up buildings swarmed with people. And once the MGM Grand comes into view, I feel nervous with all the people hanging around the entrance like a pond of alligators waiting to feast upon my bones. It's a scary feeling, but hopefully I can squeeze past everyone and find where I need to go.

My taxi stops in the middle of people, right in front of the door. It's worst case scenario-- I have to step out in the middle of a raving crowd. I don't want that, but what else can I do?

I scramble out of the car, swinging around in a panic when the taxi screeches off behind me. I stare at the spot that repopulates with people instantly, all chatting and looking up at the giant, towering building in front of us.

It's hypnotizing, beautiful. I feel dizzy just by staring up at the roof that covers the driveway before I look over to the doors that almost seem to glow. But unfortunately, the moment doesn't last long because I can't see much through the ridiculous amount of bodies in my way.

Las Vegas sucks while I have my feet on the ground. There are way too many people which makes the views hard to enjoy, especially as I find myself fighting through everyone in my way who just wants casino's.

I eventually stagger through the doorway, trying to hold myself back from running over to a desk with a few workers hanging around. Damn, I really want to go back to my hotel. I've had enough of being around people today.

My stomach feels queazy and my limbs tremble a bit as I take quick steps, my presence easily gaining the attention of a lady working behind the counter.

She smiles politely at me, but a curious, almost wary look crosses her gaze as she watches me walk up. She's probably confused by the mask, but I don't have the time or the desire to explain why I'm wearing it.

"Um, hi," I murmur, smiling carefully. "I'm trying to, uh, get to the roof. For the party." The words are almost too quiet, so I force myself to speak louder despite the tremor tainting my voice. 

"Oh," the woman says sweetly, still eyeing me carefully. "I need to see your invite, then." She's kind, but something about her forced expression tells me she fucking hates her job.

I pull my phone from the waistband of my skirt and open up my email to get to the invite before passing the device to her. I watch as her eyes scan over my phone and she purses her lips before handing it back to me. 

She looks down, grabbing a clipboard. "Name?" she asks.

Yikes. I mean, it wouldn't be my actual name right? Kieran doesn't know me-- he only knows Vi.

"Um, VioletViolence," I whisper, cracking my knuckles and trying to keep my feet still. I don't need to scuff up this nice floor.

The woman's eyes narrow as she drags her eyes over the paper, flipping it to another sheet before her eyes widen a bit, "Aha!" she exclaims, like she's proud of herself. "Here you are. I'll give you a passcode for the top floor, you have to put it in as soon as you get into the elevator. After that, you're good to go!"

She cheered up a lot. I guess it helped to find out that I'm not some random crazy person.

"Oh, okay. Thanks," I smile cautiously.

Turns out, the passcode to the roof is 1989, just like the Taylor Swift album. That'll be easy to remember.

I punch the code into the elevator nervously, watching as a little green light envelops the button for the roof. Then, I travel slowly upwards for what feels like five full minutes until the doors finally open up to a party that practically smacks me in the face.

I look through the crowd, my heart beating wildly while a mix of electronic and rock music pulses in the air around me. People take up almost every inch of space on this rooftop. At some point, I note the LED lighted (and probably heated) pool crowded with randoms.

My eyes wander every which way in awe. I've never been to Vegas in my life, but the view is so much more than I expected now that I'm able to actually get a good look at it. Everything is exceptionally tall, super modernized and lavish, and lit up with a plethora of colored lights. Actually, I can see The Venetian from here.

I make my way to the edge of the rooftop, squeezing past people to get a good glimpse of the lights, buildings and moving life below me. 

This moment feels so surreal. I'm surrounded by people I don't know, just like I have been all damn day, looking for my four-- three-- friends who aren't even expecting me. Right here, in this moment, I'm alone in one of America's busiest and most well-know cities.

I have so many fucking options. Hell, if I really wanted to, I could jump from this roof to the balcony below and get cheered on. Everything-- anything-- goes in Las Vegas.

The area is fun, but the situation is dangerous. I'm feeling risky. It's a stark contrast to how nervous I was moments ago, but seeing all of Las Vegas from up here has brought me back to life in a way.

To my left is a pool side bar, though, which will ultimately help me in the long run. If I want to pursue my risky thoughts that I'm too afraid to act on when sober, then alcohol is a good start.

I push through bodies again, holding onto one half of my mask in fear. I think I'd call it quits on life if I get pushed around so much that it falls off. Genuinely, I'd just pack up and leave.

Out of everything though, that's my only true fear at the moment, even with the lingering reminder that I'll have to find The Faces soon. I have, well, used to have horrible social anxiety, and yet here I am in one of the most social situations I've even laid my eyes on in years.

Here, I actually have to converse with people unlike whenever I was in the airport and getting into this casino/hotel--whatever it is. This right here is something to feel good about.

I'm proud of myself.

I weave past another person and slap a hand onto the bar counter, hanging on for dear life when a few people shove past me and nearly take me with them. Wincing, I make awkward eye contact with the bartender who just stares at me. 

Yea, asshole. Could have helped.

"Whatcha got?" The bartender asks, filling up multiple glasses. I know he's busy. There are people in every free spot around the bar. What a fucking party, right?

"Um, can I get a screwdriver, I guess?" I yell to him, trying to make sure he can hear me over the music. 

He nods once, grabbing another glass. "$15."

My eyes practically shoot out of my head and I feel like I'll choke on the way I'm being strangled with my pretty much empty bank account. "Is that a joke?" I cough out, watching as he fills the glass up with the equivalent to three shots.

The bartender shoots me a frustrated look that immediately tells me he isn't kidding.

He puts a splash of orange juice into what I would consider straight fucking alcohol then scoots it over to me.

I wince, giving my glass a little twirl in hopes to give myself some clarity and not straight vodka towards the bottom of the glass. Then, I pull a $20 from the back of my phone case and pass it to him. "Keep the change," I murmur, plucking a straw from a styrofoam cup then returning to my task of attempting to find The Faces.

Honestly, finding the group in a sea of people like this is probably impossible. There are just so many bodies and not enough consideration for the poor souls (me) trying to find their way around. 

I can just barely make out an unoccupied stage. There's a microphone set up on it and speakers towards the back. It's right on the edge of the large rooftop, so maybe I'll be able to find some space there and catch a breath before I keep looking.

And of course, I could make this easier for myself and just call Ash. I could make this entire search simpler for everyone by letting her know that I have shown up. Who wouldn't do that?

But I'm scared. I love Ash more than anything and she's my best friend, but I also haven't seen her, Larry, or Todd in over ten years. The thought of physically reconnecting after so long worries me. Talking online is easy compared to actually being there, in person, flesh and all, for the thought process of every single question and answer. What if we all are too awkward and don't know how to physically speak to each other?

It's an anxious worry that makes me shiver as I break through the end of the thick crowd.

Suddenly though, I don't have any time left to worry again like I've been doing all day.

I should have known that Sally Face would be as close as he could possibly be to music. Thus, there he is, standing in front of the stage with his back leaned against the edge. And where he goes, the rest of the group goes.

All the air leaves my lungs all at once. My feet are cemented to the ground and my free hand bunches into the fabric of my black skirt.

They stand in a row-- Sally, Ash, Larry, then Todd.

Sally Face is the shortest one in the group. I never would have suspected it just by meeting him once. I mean, he isn't exactly short. I'd say he must be between five foot eight and five foot ten. That's a decent height. But Ash is a head taller than him-- that alone shocks me into stillness. And Larry is even taller than Ash. Then Todd is about Ash's height.

As always, Sally looks delectable. Just looking at him once fills me with memories of his sultry, dirty words and the feeling of his skin beneath my fingertips. What a dangerously frustrating man.

He's wearing a tan, almost sandy colored, Memphis May Fire shirt paired with black jeans and classic vans. The neutral colors clash wildly against the bright, slap-you-in-the-face color of his hair alongside his expressionless prosthetic, but I'm into it. He looks so fucking good and I can see the tattoos on his arms so well.

How I ache to run my hands over every inch of ink covering his skin. To see him flinch beneath my touch again. To read his story depicted in images that stain his body. It's a deep yearning that fills me with a feeling akin to rage-- it's just as euphoric, adrenaline-inducing, and deteriorating as rage is to me. 

My eyes rake over him inch by inch, dragging up and down slowly until I've memorized each curve, crevice, freckle, scar, and every other little thing easy to miss regarding his physical body.

I wish I could see more of him. I want nothing more than to peel that prosthetic off of his face and get a look at the beauty he hides so desperately. I just know deep in my soul that he's pretty. There's no way a handsome asshole like him wouldn't have a pretty face.

His electric blue eyes rake across the area in front of him, but he thankfully never looks at me. It gives me an open opportunity to ogle him from afar. 

I trail my eyes from his bruised fingertips, all over his ink-stained forearms while I meticulously map out each twist and turn of the veins that lead up to his lightly bulging biceps. Then, I follow the curves of his lightly scarred neck. 

Somehow, the in-person image of his pretty throat is better than the photo Larry sent me. That shattered sword tattoo glints under the lights, a result of the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. It brings out the barely noticeable differences in the color of his skin-- his scars. They're lining the underside of his jaw and just a bit on the left side of his neck. I wish I could bite into his skin.

His messy hair and fringe cover the top and sides of his prosthetic, but I'm still able to get a good look at the dips and curves of every inch of it. I'm even able to see the top corner of his prosthetic that's pink instead of white. I wonder why that is.

But even if they aren't real, I can't help but stare at his prosthetic lips. Someday, I'll get to feel his real lips behind the barrier between me and his face.

I try to shake off the simp side of my brain, shocked at my own thoughts. Why am I so eager just over one look at him? Am I that bad off right now? This is an issue.

Sally Face is dangerous.

He has this confident, god-like aura about him that drips with the equivalent to gold-- if there was a color to describe the way he acts, it would be gold. It's in his stance, in his sharp and hypnotizing gaze, in the way he curls his fingers towards himself in a gesture as Ash watches him-- they're likely talking. 

Sally face is tantalizing in every aspect of who he is. Personality, looks, vibes. I want my fingers in his cerulean hair so I can ruffle up the soft looking, layered waves. I want to drag my fingertips down the few scars littering his neck. I want to shatter that sword on his throat a little more, see how much deeper he can break. I want his pale skin between my teeth, and I want his gaze on me. 

But these are silly thoughts. I can't embrace or act on them. Especially not right now.

I turn my gaze to Ash, the reincarnated Aphrodite dripping in modern eloquence. When imagining the most beautiful woman to walk the earth, I'd think of her over and over again. I feel that anyone else would, too. 

Ash's hair has grown since her major cut about a year ago, it's just hanging over her shoulders, brushing her upper back. It's the color of silky chocolate, flowing smoothly and elegantly as though she'd spent hours preparing it. And hell, maybe she did spend a while fixing it up. But the point is that she makes effort look effortless. 

The model-like air about her is swathed in a kind-hearted and welcoming feeling that comes just from seeing her do something as simple as smile. Ash is completely one of a kind, an alien in a realm where beauty is misguided and thought to be something else entirely. She's too breathtaking to be walking within ten feet of me. She's too good for this universe she's been sent to.

Ash is wearing a maroon colored dress that hugs her curves in every perfect place possible. There's a slit going up the right side of the dress-- her thigh squeezes against the fabric, more than likely attracting every person's attention within a three-mile radius. She's simply and utterly a sight to behold.

Not like she needs makeup, but even the little bit that she's wearing on her celestially stunning face compliments her dress, her personality, and her overall aura perfectly. Just a little bit of a dark brown shade on her eyelids, accentuating the glowing color of her viridian irises as she, oh shit, makes eye contact with me. But it's only for a moment before she... looks away again? 

Anyway, her pearly white teeth are on display when Sally nudges her, pointing off into another direction. Each of her features lifts with the action and makes her look even more otherworldly. She's something else entirely.

I continue dragging my eyes along the entire group, passing my gaze over Larry now who absolutely blows my mind. In fact, I can't quite believe that it's the same scrawny, metal-loving, long-haired, emo teenager I last saw a photo of just two years ago. 

Larry is ripped in every meaning and centimeter of the word. He used to be an awkward, lanky guy-- but now, his biceps seem like they're hardly able to fit into his plain black t-shirt, even his chest is squeezing against the fabric. Veins protrude over the inside of his forearms-- a tidbit I notice when he gestures over to Ash to mention something. 

Small tattoos litter various areas of his tanned arms, little crosses or x's, I even see a My Chemical Romance and Sanity's Fall tattoo on him. The ink is a beautiful complement to his honey-colored skin. He's incredibly handsome, I'll give him that. Even in just a plain shirt, black jeans, and red converse-- he's killing the look and making it something unique to him. Actually, I'll bet he wore that shirt because it looks best on him. 

I trail my eyes up his sculpted neck and to his striking, chiseled face that seems to have matured quite a bit in the past couple years. His eyes are a mesmerizing and dominant shape that beautifully accompanies his dark brown eyes that seem to mimic the shade of black coffee with just a splash of creamer. His angular cheekbones and jawline make him seem like a fully functioning Roman sculpture come to life. And more than anything, I'm so excited to see that the cute gap between his front teeth is still present when he flashes a hypnotizing smile to his left while running a tattooed hand through his hair.

Larry's septum is pierced, a new addition to his look that I didn't hear of. While a minimal difference, it gives him a boost in the 'attractive guy' department. He looks so different, but so familiar. All in all, he looks just as lickable as Sal does, only he's one of my best friends and I absolutely refuse to pursue anything that could break the bond I have with him.

I finally turn to Todd, a fleshed out man who's incredibly elegant in his own right. He's drool-worthy in a contrasting way compared to the rest of the group-- he's the embodiment of an academia professor and he's absolutely killing the look.

Todd's face is cherubic, angelic even but still handsome in a way that seems to make him shine in the dark of the night. The curves of his face are visible, but not sharp and cut-throat like Larry's features are, for example. Little light freckles paint the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, bringing out the inebriating color of his nearly colorless, inky eyes. Thin lips and a light brush of facial hair on his chin really brings his pretty features together to make him look even more attractive, especially under the moonlight and LEDs. 

His curly, red hair is styled in a side part, a singular curl hanging over his forehead in a way that fills me with an urge to push the hair into place with the rest. And perhaps he styled his hair like that on purpose, to make everyone yearn to touch him. 

He's dressed in black trousers that are perfectly ironed, a white, button-up dress shirt, and a dark grey blazer that could almost be considered some type of trench coat if not for the style. Then, a pair of shiny black dress shoes.

Todd pulls off the look wonderfully, and never in my life did I imagine I would ever see him sporting dark colors, but the neutral and darker shades look amazing on him. Compared to the monotonous, bright-colored boy I knew as a child, Todd has matured into what he was always meant to be. And fuck, Neil is a lucky guy.

All of my friends are so hot that they are too hot for me. How could I possibly walk up to the equivalent to famous paintings and sculptures? I mean, they're so perfect that I feel as though I need to do a double-take because I can't wrap my head around the fact that they're real. How can anyone be so absolutely gorgeous? Not to mention, four of them standing side-by-side in the same exact place at the same time. And the slim chances that they all became best friends just tops it off and I feel burning jealousy over the thought of it.

I'm not jealous over their friendship or their looks, just that they seem so happy. Joy and true contentment is a feeling I've chased all my life, but never quite gotten close enough to grasp. To know that my full potential with happiness is out of reach, but they're bathing in the feeling... it makes me feel even farther from getting to embrace positivity.

But maybe this is a sign. Maybe they are my opportunity to drown in the throes of joy. Maybe they're meant to be my happiness-- my contentment personified, depicted in the form of actual physical, human beings.

Could be. I've never looked for parts of myself in others because I've always felt that my own emotions are something I have to achieve on my own.

Maybe I've been looking at everything all wrong. Maybe... maybe my morals are outlandish and out of place to the point that I've been depriving myself of real chances to feel something.

I know this-- I literally see an open opportunity to pursue one of my biggest dreams right in front of me, and yet I'm still unable to move my feet. I can't make myself finally meet what I've always wanted.

I can't even tell my friends hello.

This is pissing me off. Why can't I fucking move? I flew out last minute and have spent hours waiting alone to surprise my friends, but I'm too cowardly to actually spend time with them? Absolutely pathetic. I'm disappointed in myself and I'm tired of feeling that way.

I pat a hand around the top of my drink until I grab onto my straw. I pull it into my mouth and gulp down liquid fire as I let my eyes continue wandering over The Faces repeatedly. Yea, I probably look like a creep but I won't be able to walk up to them unless I have something to boost my confidence. As far as I'm concerned, alcohol is the only confidence I have. And if I look away from the group, I could lose them. I don't want to trek through this minefield to find them again.

It takes me a moment to trick myself into thinking that the alcohol will take effect immediately, but my legs finally move. I feel like I'm floating-- and way too fast at that-- as I grow closer and closer to the group, looking to Ash like a lifeline. 

Out of everyone here, I'm closest with her and I'm begging, praying with just my eyes that she looks over and recognizes me and helps me grow accustomed to finally being around again.

More importantly, I hope no one is awkward with me. I think I'll just turn around and catch a plane back home if shit flops.

I get close enough to the point that Ash turns to me with a mix of curiosity and concern dancing in her eyes. I feel self-conscious beneath her gaze, but the look in her eyes slowly turns into something interesting and I find myself shrinking a bit as I stop my pursuit just two feet away from her.

My vans scuff the ground when I stop and I tilt my head up to look into her enthralling green eyes. My heart pounds wildly against my ribcage and my palms grow clammy all the while Ash simply grins down at me. Her irises twinkle, an intrigued look passing through her gaze.

"Hi," her soft, melodic voice purrs. "Nice to meet you."

Oh.

I'm thrown off by the fact that she can't recognize me, but when the mask is taken into account as well as the fact that she hasn't seen a photo of me since I was sixteen, it's understandable.

Not only that, I'm preoccupied on the thought that it seems she may be trying to flirt with me.

"Hi," I greet back, fighting off any possible signs of nervousness. I'll murder my anxiety if I can't play off my fear right now. One thing's for sure though, I don't have to worry about any awkwardness. "We've met before," I add in, giggling a bit.

I shock myself when the sound comes out a bit seductive. I don't mean to flirt back-- but what's the problem with that? Ash is my best friend for one, we flirt all the time, but she's also fucking stunning. I see no problems.

Ash tilts her head, scrunching her eyebrows as she flashes her perfect smile at me. Her eyes trail over my body and I instantly feel myself stiffen, heat washing over my cheeks. Her reaction to me is real-- this isn't us acting friendly because we know each other. This is Ash rizzing up a stranger.

"Really? I think I'd remember you if we've already met," she says with a soft laugh, chewing on her bottom lip as our eyes meet again. "When did you see me?"

I suck in a breath, trying to calm my fluttering heart and hot cheeks. "Instead of telling you," I say randomly without any thought, "How about we play a game? The group of you can try and guess who I am." Smiling, I glance over at Larry who's smirking down at me, his sharp eyebrows and deep gaze forcing that blush back to my cheeks.

Todd watches me, expressionless with his hands in the pockets of his neat pants. He doesn't move an inch. 

And I don't dare look at Sally who's been quiet too.

Ash narrows her eyes, pinching her lips together to contain a smile. She glances to Sally then over to Larry and Todd before focusing on me again. "Okay," she hums. "I love games."

I flinch back when she gravitates a bit closer to me, her gaze flickering over my mask then to my lips. Is this the same Ash who screamed in excitement over everything when I was younger? And scarier, I find my heart racing because her interest in me is exciting.

Two can play at this dangerous game.

I take another leisure sip of my drink, bringing it to my mouth with shaky hands as I turn my gaze to Ash's glossy lips. 

Her top lip is a bit bigger than her bottom lip. She has a soft cupid's bow accentuated by highlighter that was purposefully and meticulously placed there. Her lips look soft, plush. Maybe it's just the glitter or the way the lights reflect off her lipgloss. Either way, I'm sure she'd be fun to kiss.

What the fuck am I doing?

Ash leaves my field of vision almost immediately. I look up, noting that she's sat on the edge of the stage with a smirk on her hypnotizing lips like she knows she has me wrapped around her finger.

"So, Mystery Girl," she says, a seductive lilt to her sing-song voice. "Can you give me a little hint to start?"

I glance over, making eye contact with a concerned Sally Face. One of his elbows is propped on the stage behind him and the other is languidly resting on Ash's thigh. 

He watches me carefully, no doubt sizing me up. I've noticed that he finds threats to his group then carefully assesses them. The fact that I'm saying I know Ash probably raised alarm bells in his head.

I look over to Larry next, watching as he raises his eyebrows and turns his back to me, leaning his elbows on the stage as he watches Ash's side profile. He has a really nice, strong back, by the way. Also, I'd love to braid his hair one day.

Todd stays in his same position, he even rolls his eyes when Ash tilts her head at me, waiting for me to give her an answer.

But what kind of hint could I give her? Almost anything I'd say would make her figure me out immediately. I'm really having to think hard about this because everything that comes to mind is something she knows.

I'll have to be careful about this. I have to give her a hint of a hint. Something she may have a memory about, but doesn't know for sure.

I bring my straw to my lips, sipping until I get closer to the bottom. Straight fucking vodka. Damn that bartender.

"Sorry, I'm thinking of a hint. I don't want to give myself away," I muse, throwing a wink at Ash. She immediately grins. "That would take the fun out of the game, wouldn't it?"

Ash giggles cutely as Larry turns around again, watching me with narrowed eyes and a ghost of a smile on his lips. What is that hunk of hotness thinking? I already know what's going through Sal's head-- but is Larry on his level?

"You're right. Take your time," Ash says in her soft, lulling voice.

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, still thinking as hard as I can. I'm coming up with blanks. I need to pull a rabbit out of a hat, but I'm going to have to stall until I get there.

"Want to hug me and see if it feels familiar?" I ask, narrowing my eyes and opening my arms. My hand tightens around my drink as it slowly slides through my fingers.

Ash's eyes widen slightly and she stands again, her feet tapping the ground once she slides off the stage. She looks off to the side and purses her lips, taking just a step toward me. "Can I kiss you instead and see if that feels familiar?"

My breath catches in my throat and the drink in my hand feels even more slippery as I try to jump over this shock hurdle. I need to get myself together and answer her instead of actually going with this insane proposition she's dropped on me like a weight. 

"We aren't familiar in that way, darling," I giggle lightly, letting my arms fall to my side.

Ash shrugs, a guilty grin pulling at her lips. "And? We can just do it anyway."

A deep, amused cackle makes me look past Ash and to Larry who has a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, couldn't hold back the laughs," he snickers. His sharp eyebrows arch further as he raises them at me. "You're in danger, MG."

"That's comforting," I say, laughing at Larry's failed attempt to hide his reaction to me and Ash's flirting. He's an evil little thing and clearly he chases a tense situation to get some laughs. "Maybe Ash is the one in danger."

My eyes cut over to Ash as she takes another step toward me. "Please let me find out if I'm in danger, I promise you won't regret it." She bends her knees just a bit for a moment, clasping her hands together with a mind-swaying look in her eyes. She's begging without words.

I glance at Sally quickly. He's still quiet, but he looks like he's on guard and intrigued at the same time.

Fuck, how do I get out of this. Todd's even standing up straight, watching us with a disgruntled look and curiosity in his eyes. They're expecting me to give in and I'm not entirely sure if I want to say no in the first place. Which is bad. 

I don't have any feelings other than platonic love for Ash, but I've missed her so much that I genuinely would love to kiss her senseless. It's like reconnecting with the other half of my heart for the first time in years-- which, honestly, that's exactly what this is.

"Do you care who I am, Ash?" I ask, tilting my head questioningly. If we're going to kiss, I want to make sure she isn't going to lose her entire head once she finds out who I am. 

"Yes, I want to know who you are. In regards to a kiss, I don't care who you are. When I find out, I'll probably be happy we kissed." She sends me a sweet little smile then licks her bottom lip.

"Okay. Then my only condition is that we are only friends and you have to remember that. Nothing will come of our kiss." I dip my head down a bit, trying to show that I'm being serious.

"If nothing will come of our kiss, then why are we going to do it?" She asks, starting to take quick steps toward me.

I take one step back, just to slow her down until we can finish this conversation. "We're going to do it because you're beautiful and I've missed you so much that I wouldn't be happy with anything less than a kiss."

Ash huffs out a laugh, growing close enough to take my hands into hers and yank me toward her. She towers over me and I have to tilt my head up to get a good view of her. "You must know me well then," she purrs, her expression filled with curiosity and eagerness. She's reckless. It's fun. "Are you ready?"

"I... think so?" I murmur, quickly licking my lips. Ash's cool hand trails up my arm and then to the base of my neck, pulling me closer to her. 

"If you don't want to, say no," Ash says honestly, leaning down so that we're face-to-face. She looks into my eyes, trying to tell me that it's okay to say no. She won't go through with this if I don't want to.

"I-- I want to, I'm just nervous--"

"Don't be nervous. It'll be quick." Ash's serious expression washes away as she glances at my lips then back to my eyes again, pretty smile enveloping her lips again. 

I nod, my heart thumping wildly against my chest as she leans forward. I grab onto Ash's wrist as her other hand gently brushes over my cheek.

And then her lips are on mine. She's still for a moment and so am I, just squeezing my eyes shut as I try to adjust to the feeling of her lips.

They're softer than I expected them to be, but sticky. And for that reason, I grip onto her wrist tighter because it feels like she's stuck to me and I'm not upset about it.

Ash takes my squeeze as a sign, tilting her head a bit. The movement causes her lips to slide perfectly against mine and butterflies flutter to life in my stomach. 

I kiss her back, enjoying the way Ash's lips mold to mine so deliciously. The feeling is addictive and if it weren't for her sudden intake of breath, I'd probably pull her even closer. But her reaction reminds me that we're in public and that this is just a little test.

Ash pulls away just as quickly as she kissed me. She was right-- it was quick. And I actually thoroughly enjoyed it.

My eyes flutter open and I look up. Ash's hands are still on either side of my face, but she watches me with a tilted head and narrowed eyes-- like she's trying to figure me out. Like... the kiss actually gave her a clue, which would make no sense.

Then, she leans forward and slams her lips on mine for just a second. I shake my head once she pulls away and look up at her with a puzzled expression that I just can't control. What the fuck.

"Is your name Victoria?" Ash turns her head to the side, eyes wide and brows furrowed like even she's confused.

I choke on air over the near accuracy. What the fuck kind of succubus is Ash? How on earth did a kiss give her the first two letters of my nickname? Is this some joke? Does she already know?

"No, my name isn't Victoria," I force out through coughs, wheezing as I blink through my tears.

Ash lets me go, putting a hand on her hip and another on her chin like a real Sherlock Holmes.

I glance over at the boys quickly. Larry has wide eyes and a shit-eating grin on his face. Sally's looking away from us with his hands resting between his legs. He isn't slick. Todd is just shaking his head.

Men.

"Well, who the hell are you?" Ash murmurs to herself. 

An audible, obnoxious sigh pulls my attention away from the viridian-eyed beauty again and I look over to Sally who hops off the stage and turns away from us quickly. "I'll be back," he murmurs with shaky breaths. "I'm going get a drink."

Larry snorts. "You lying bastard," he says, patting Sal's back. "You're just as gozzled as me right now."

Sally groans, walking away from Larry without a word. And Larry turns toward him, raising his arms. "What!?" he yells a bit louder as Sally disappears through the crowd. "I'm not wrong!"

"You kiss just like Victoria did," Ash suddenly says, pointing an accusing finger at me. She's gone from playful to serious in just a matter of minutes.

A laugh falls from my lips and my tense stance slackens a bit. "Oh, thank God." I twirl my drink again and shake my head. "I thought you just manifested that name from a kiss. I was freaked."

"Were you?" Ash narrows her eyes and takes a step toward me again. I find that deja vu feeling tickling the back of my brain. 

I swallow thickly, never answering as I look over to Larry with pleading eyes. He only shakes his head, flicking me off with a devious and beaming smile. No fucking help.

"So, was I close with the name then? Because why else would you be nervous." Ash pries, chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought. "Actually, what are you doing here? Why wouldn't you just tell us who you are? Are you someone that we don't like?"

My mouth gapes open like a fish, opening and closing while I fight for an answer. My mouth feels dry and my hands are clammy again. "N-No. You guys like me. You've never had any issues with me, well, Sally doesn't like me but other than that we've all gotten along very well. Incredibly well, in fact!" I hold my hands out in front of me just as Ash stops walking toward me. "You guys love me, well, I hope. Actually, I don't really know. Maybe you all hate my guts, I wouldn't be able to tell."

Ash looks confused, like she's trying to grasp onto what I just spewed at her. My answer didn't convince her, it just fucking confuzzled her.

"I can't believe it." I turn my head when Todd talks for the first time. He doesn't have that borderline angry look on his face anymore. In fact, his eyes are a bit wide and he isn't frowning. I'd say this is his excited face. "You're Vi."

I don't know what to say as my mouth falls open again. I just stare at Todd and that seems to confirm it for him, so I shut my mouth and swallow through the dryness on my tongue. My throat burns and it feels like my heart's dropped out of my ass. I expected everyone to be stuck for hours, not for fucking Todd to sniff me out in just five minutes.

Larry suddenly scrambles into a standing position, his expression the first one I've seen tonight that isn't smiling. His lips are parted and his eyebrows are bunched together like someone just told him Dolly Parton died.

I pull my eyes away from the two men and look up at Ash, noting her slackened expression. Then, suddenly, she's become the same person I see on videos and talk to over the phone. The same best friend that I joke and bicker with. 

In her soft, surprised, high-pitched voice, Ash asks, "Is that really you, Vi?"

There are tears on her waterline, but then there's hope in her eyes. Hope in the way she takes a stumbled step toward me with her hands clutched to her chest like she doesn't know what to do with them.

And I can't tell her I'm not Vi. She looks so torn up in the best way and it would tear me up too if I wasn't honest with her.

"Yea," I rasp out. "It's me, Ash."

Ash turns into a blur as I'm lifted from my feet with immense screams of joy filling my ears. Ash throws me around like a dog's chew toy and bellows so many indecipherable things that I'm taken aback for a moment, but overall relishing in the joy that seeps from her and into me.

"You told me you weren't fucking coming, Vi, what the fuck!? And it's been like ten years! Where the fuck? How-- What-- Where did you come from? How did you get here!?" Ash shrieks into my ear, a sob or two getting twisted into her words.

I chew on my lips, finally wrapping my arms around Ash's neck as she continues to throw me around like I weigh nothing. Hell, she has some upper body strength.

Tears start to sting my eyes as all of my senses are filled. I can smell Ash's coconut scented shampoo, I can taste her strawberry lipgloss mixed with my tears, I can hear her screams mixed with the music around us, I can feel each strand of soft hair and her heart beating wildly against my chest, and I can see Larry and Todd's excited and shocked expression every time Ash swings me toward them again.

"I know. But it doesn't matter because I made it here," I laugh through trembling lips. I sniff when the sound of my own voice hits my ears. Fuck, just hearing that I'm hardly holding it together makes me want to break.

"You're so fucking right. Oh my gosh," Ash cries, finally dropping me to my feet but never unwrapping her arms from my waist.

She squeezes me tightly, then abruptly pulls away, holding me at arms length with mascara bleeding down her red cheeks. "Holy fuck, Vi. You let me kiss you!?" She looks absolutely bamboozled, like she truly can't wrap her head around the fact that our lips touched.

"Uh," I spit out, still reeling from being twirled around like a bug stuck on a carousel. "Yea. We kissed. I told you my conditions. What, do you regret it now?" I narrow my eyes playfully.

Ash slaps a hand to her chest like she's appalled. "What? Hell no, I could never regret it! I just can't believe we fucking kissed!?"

"I can't believe you guys kissed and haven't fucking included me yet. Your turn is over, Ash!" Arms wrap around my middle and I find myself being throw around like a test dummy yet again. This time, the perpetrator is Larry. "I can't fucking believe you're here!" he bellows.

"This entire night is full of you guys being non-believers!" I yell once my feet touch the ground again. Larry spins me around to face him and I feel like I'm going to cry again just over the big smile of excitement on his face. "You guys better start believing because I'm here in the flesh."

Larry bends over to reach me, wrapping me up in a big, strong hug. And, oh yea, I take the opportunity to drag my hands up his muscular arms as I hug him back.

"Stop feeling me up, Vi. Your kiss with Ash was hot enough," Larry laughs into my hair, giving me a squeeze.

I can't help but laugh and quickly wrap my arms around his neck. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't stop myself. I never imagined you'd be so jacked."

"Ha, yea, I honestly didn't see it in my future either, but here we are," he murmurs before pulling away. He looks down at me, tears fucking brimming his eyes too. "Fuck, dude. I might cry. You're such an awesome chick," he says breathily, pretending to wipe tears from his cheeks.

I pinch my lips together and give him my best unimpressed look. "Come on, we're supposed to be strong. No more crying," I tell him.

"Maybe the tears will go away if I get a kiss too.." Larry rolls his eyes very obnoxiously. His gaze cuts to me then he immediately looks away again, being as playful as always.

I sigh, grabbing onto his cheeks. "Come here, jackass," I say, growing excited as I pull him close to me.

Larry murmurs out a "fuck yea" before I quickly press my lips to his. It's a little kiss, shorter than me and Ash's but I was just as eager to do it since I haven't seen him in so long.

When I pull away, Larry scrunches his face up and splutters, wiping at his mouth. "Dammit, Ash," he says, fake gagging. "Why'd you have to kiss Vi first with that stupid lipgloss? That shit is disgusting."

"Hey!" Ash scoffs, walking toward us. "Don't hate on my very expensive, very amazing lipgloss! And besides, Vi seemed to like it well enough."

I scoot my way out of their argument and tiptoe my way to Todd who greets me with a soft smile. I smile back at him and he opens his arms to me immediately. 

My insides jump around in excitement as I jump into Todd's hug, scrunching the fabric of his blazer in my hands. "It's so nice to see you, Todd," I murmur into his shoulder. He smells like cedar trees. 

"It's nice to see you, too, Vi. Sorry I figured you out so quickly," he laughs softly, giving me a squeeze before separating from our embrace. He puts his hands into his pockets then switches his weight to his other foot. 

"It's no issue," I say, waving him off. "I'm really happy actually. I wouldn't have been able to say it myself."

He scoffs lightly, patting my shoulder. "Clearly. Grow a backbone, huh?"

I can't help but giggle as I pat his elbow in return. Todd watches me with a soft look, like he's genuinely happy to see me and that thought feels me with even more joy. Everyone's happy to see me.

Well... almost everyone.

"Vi, what the fuck are we going to do about Sal?" Ash suddenly hisses worriedly, her hands clamping onto my shoulders as she shoves her face next to mine from behind. "He's going to be so pissed!"

"It's alright," I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut as I remember that I still have some true bullshit to handle. "I'm cool," I settle on then turn my head, looking Ash in her pretty green eyes. "I've got this."

________________

A/N::::::: holy shit HI WE'RE DOING CRAZY STUFF

this was supposed to be two chapters. Yep. Somehow, these 11,347 words got fused into one even though they were meant to be separate. I couldn't leave you guys hanging again though, so here we are &lt;3

thank you so much for the continued support. I love you all so much! have a wonderful day/evening/night. tons of kisses!! <333

P.S. I AM EXHAUSTED I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS CHAPTER FOR TWO FUCKING WEEKS

[luvinghanni]

I've been watching this anime titled the fable, and my favorite character there is Satou Akira...no one was writing for him so I was wondering if you could write something for him.. if not, it's ok

Hey Anon 💕 I've never heard of The Fable but I would love to write a fic for you! I wasn't sure what genre you wanted (smut, fluff, angst) so I wrote a super SUPER slight fluff fic- pls tell me if you'd like any changes and I hope you like it!

Please forgive if he's OOC i'm going off a few edits, personal research, and clips 😭

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Final Target- Satou Akira x Fem!Reader

Coming from a problematic background would always follow you no matter how many changes you made to your life. Even if you don't take any actions yourself, coming from a family with Yakuza ties sticks; permanently. Ever since you were a child this was a fact you had been forced to learn. Murder? Crime? Shady deals? never been appealing to you, in fact just the thought made you sick despite the thousands of hours you were forced to spend training. Many think it's "cool" or "interesting" to be a part of that life but they couldn't be more wrong, oh how you wished you could shatter their rose coloured glasses.

As soon as you became old enough you tried your hardest to loosen those connections, even going as far to change your name three times and change your entire appearance. Despite your efforts your life would never be ordinary, you would never be truly safe from all harm and you knew this- just like how you knew that one guy had been following you for well over a week now. Most people would go straight to assuming a stalker had taken a specific gross liking to them but you had been raised better than that. Persistently being followed? Conveniently in the same places at the same time? The inability to find who this man was? This wasn't just stalking, this had to be some form of a hit on your life and he seemed to get closer by the day.

You began getting paranoid, starting to sleep with your gun by your bedside every night in the event that this (assumed) hitman decided to take his chance. Nights came and went and yet you were surprisingly still living and breathing, you would think this would make you feel relieved but it only made you more conscious of your surroundings- why wasn't the hit being carried out? Maybe it was just a stalker and you overthought it?

It had been at least two weeks at this point and you'd just returned from your final shift of the week. Full body aching from the stress of being on your feet all day servicing customers you felt the burning need for a hot shower and an early night. As you switched the shower on a click sounded from the hallway, almost like a door closing..this couldn't have been a coincidence. Leaving the shower running so as to not draw attention to yourself you clutched the army knife that previously lay dormant in your jean pocket, heart sinking at the realisation that your pistol sat in your bedside drawer- at least 3 rooms away from your current location.

Every second felt agonisingly slow as your skin burned with adrenaline and your heart pounded in your chest.

The sound of footsteps reached your ears joining the insufferable sound of your pounding heart, the two creating a symphony of anxiety within you. Thinking fast you moved your body flush against the bathroom wall, your only coverage being the half closed door to your left. One step, you tried your best to slow your breathing. Two steps, your palms began to sweat as you clung to your knife. The door began to creak open as you prepared yourself to just swing and run.

The second a form began to appear around the door you swung your knife slashing whatever you could to give you time to run only getting to the kitchen before you felt the ground drop beneath you, knocking your head on the counter as you collapsed. In an attempt to get up you tried rolling onto your stomach but a heavy weight on your stomach prevented any form of movement. Your head throbbed as a migraine began forming.

In weak pulses your hands attempted to grab the now long out of reach weapon from the icy kitchen floor unfortunately only being met with a sharp knee pressed harshly against your bicep resulting in a groan being forced through gritted teeth as the cold barrel of a silencer pressed against your temple.

"What do you want from me?" you attempted to bargain "..whoever sent you what do they want? Money? Drugs??" silence was all you were met with, black eyes piercing yours as you stared up to the masked intruder, their grip increasing to keep you from escaping.

You felt all hope slowly slip from you "please just tell me..i'm begging you, before you kill me" eyes slowly beginning to close in acceptance "I'm not going to kill you." a cold tone suddenly came from behind the mask causing your eyes to flutter open at his words.

Silence fell between you.

"Then what are you here for.." confusion and concern evident in your words "I'm not going to hurt you..end of. But the other people after you might." the weights on your arm and torso began to loosen as he eased off of you allowing you to sit up against the lower kitchen cabinets. The intruder sighed rubbing his wrists, pistol still in grasp. "What does any of this have to do with me, why am i wanted?" head throbbing harder by the minute as your eyes lay still on the midnight eyes looking in your direction. "Your Father is in some shit and you're the bait- everyone wants to go after daddy's little girl." You had nothing left to say, you expected this would happen eventually you just never thought it would be today.

Thoughts flooded every last inch of your mind- where would you go? would you have to change your entire life again? who was this guy and why was he trying to help you in the first place? Two gloves fingers snapped in front of your face pulling you out of your messy head "Listen, I can help but we have to leave now. So unless you want to die get up." He rose to his feet extending an arm in expectation of your own rise, eyes just as cold and empty as they had been previously as he helped you rise to your feet.

The world spun rapidly as you got to your feet, teetering sideways before your arm was grabbed pulling u flush into the chest of the still unknown man in your kitchen, your vision doubled as you finally got a close up view of his eyes, they were deep and almost mesmerising in a sense. You stared at eachother for a few seconds with your joint breathing being the only sounds you could hear.

The throbbing in your head became unbearable as your vision started to blur and darken, the last thing you remember being the familiar? but blurry face finally revealed as the scruffy mask was ripped off and placed over your own head. "Wait..Satou..?" You were too out of it to connect the dots on what was occurring, only really stirring when he flung you up and over his shoulder carrying your now fully unconscious figure out the door, "Sleep Y/N.".

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I really hope this was to your liking anon 😭 I kind of didn't know what direction to take this especially as I have no idea what the character is like but i hope you like it all the same.

Thank you so much for your submission it helps me sm with my writing i appreciate you so much 💕☺️

-Hanni

[bey0nd-1he-stars]

You owe me at least three days of rest in the infirmary - Solangelo

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

Pairing: Nico di Angelo x Will Solace

Wordcount: 1107

Warnings: mentions of trauma, nightmares, wounds, implied death (Bianca)

Summary: The three says in the infirmary with some change.

TWO | NICO

- I’m so afraid of losing something I love,

that I refuse to love anything -

The bed Nico had been led to was more comfortable than he'd like to admit. The soft covers were pulled over his body and the fluffy pillows were way softer than the ones he had in his own cabin. Will was working on some other patients, humming quietly on some old greek song Nico didn't recognise. Although the bed was like lying on a cloud and the covers felt like they were made of silk, Nico didn't go to sleep. He hadn't slept much since Tartarus and the only times he'd rested were the times he was knocked out unconscious. Since he came back up from that hell of a place he was pretty much running on an adrenaline kick and a prayer. When the sleep took over him the nightmares came back, and he'd had enough of Tartarus for a lifetime.

But to make Will happy and to not have him placing that disgusting, wet towel in his face, he pretended to be asleep anyways. Eyes closed and curled up into a ball. In the distance he heard the door open and someone stepped in.

"Careful, don't wake him up," Will whispered to someone and Nico recognised the sweet voice of his sister Hazel when she replied. She brushed away the locks from his forehead and pulled a hand through his messy hair. The touch was familiar and filled with love and care, but it was only Hazel he allowed to do that. He wasn't the one for physical touch but Hazel was something else. She was family. The only family he had left if you didn't count Hades. He felt Hazel sit down at the edge of the bed, her hand still stroking softly at his hair, just like Bianca used to do. Eventually her soft touch and the feeling of being exhausted became too much. He fell down a bit deeper into the mattress and sleep took over his whole body for the first time in ages.

"Still hiding," Cupid said, smashing another skeleton to pieces. "You do not have the strength."

"Nico," Jason managed to say, "it's okay. I get it."

Nico glanced over, pain and misery washed over his face. "No you don't," he said. "There is no way you can understand."

"And so you run away again," Cupid chided. "From your friends, from yourself."

Nico woke up and sucked in a sharp breath. He sat up and pulled a stressed hand through his messy hair and took in his soundings. The infirmary's clean walls met him and he let out a shaky breath. He was at Camp Half-Blood. Not Cupid's cave. Even though he'd cleared it up with Percy, telling him the truth after all these years, the dreams still came back. Never in his life had he felt so much anxiety, or anger for that matter, than back in Cupid's cave.

"You okay, di Angelo?" Will's voice beside him made him clear his mind. The tall blonde boy stood over him with a cup of water in his hand, looking concerned. Hazel had left for the gods knows how long ago.

"For how long was I gone?" Nico asked, avoiding his question and sitting up straighter in the bed. Will held out the water for him and Nico took it, gulping it down and placing the empty cup on the small table beside the bed.

"About 9 hours, are you okay?" Will asked again and dropped down to sit on the bed beside him. Nico rolled his eyes at him and nodded, "I'm fine."

Will gave him a small smile and hopped off the bed and walked away to an office chair on wheels and sat down there with a journal and a pen. Nico watched him silently, but it wasn't the greatest light in there. He glanced at the clock that hung on the wall and his eyes widened when he saw it was 3 am in the morning. What was Will doing in the infirmary now?

He shook his head so that the dark curls whipped in his eyes. Nico fell back down on the bed with a thud making the blonde boy look up from what he was doing. The dark haired boy groaned and covered his face with his hands. He was already bored and he'd been there for not even twelve hours. And he was stuck here for three more days. At least three days, Will had told him and that made him even more bored, just the thought of the possibilities that he may have to stay longer than that.

"You want something to eat?" Will's voice was closer than he thought it would be, startling him a little. He shook his head at the question. The covers he'd had on him fell down on the floor, the colder air hit him immediately. He shivered and then noticed that he was still wearing the floral print shirt that was completely torn up and his black jeans had a few holes in them. One of the holes in his shirt revealed one of the many hastily stitched up werewolf claw marks that had magically refused to heal. Unfortunately Will saw them when he picked up the covers from the floor. He froze in place and raised an eyebrow at him. After putting the comforter at the foot of Nico’s bed, Will walked away to get something and came back with a scissor, needle, tread, some clear liquid that would probably hurt as hell in contact with wounds, and a few cotton pads. He placed it all on the table beside Nico's bed and went to wash his hands.

"Lay down, you need to get those wounds stitched up properly," Will mumbled and Nico sighed but did as he was told. Will unbuttoned his shirt and a faint blush made its way to his cheeks. The silence was comfortable but it felt like it was too quiet for Will. Nico flinched when the cold metal of the scissor made contact with the wound on his arm but laid still.

"Are you always this quiet?" Nico mumbled and closed his eyes in pain and

Will pulled away the old tread from his skin. Will's frown disappeared at the question and a small smile made its way to his lips.

"No, but you are. It's no fun to talk to myself," he answered. Nico shrugged, he wasn't wrong, was he? "Stay still, or otherwise I may sew you in the shoulder or stick you with the needle," Will mumbled as he continued working, holding Nico's arm still. Oh boy, he thought, this would be a long three days.