#it's like what have i gone through this entire series for if you're just gonna be like AND NONE OF IT MATTERED

[easytiger-xo]

Handler

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader ❤︎

✦18+ (MDNI)✦

summary: You’re Soldier Boy’s handler—on paper. In reality? His babysitter, his anchor, maybe something else entirely. Everyone else washed out. You didn’t. Now you’re the only one he listens to, the only one who can keep the chaos at bay—even if it means letting things get a little… unorthodox.

cw: smut, power imbalance, dubcon, ptsd/mental health themes, oral (female receiving), pet names (doll, dollface), language, substance use (weed/alcohol), toxic dynamics, Soldier Boy as his own warning. (lmk if i missed any.)

wordcount: 2,125

✦ a/n: I’ve been sitting on this one for a while and finally got around to finishing it. I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of a woman who can hold her own with Soldier Boy. Their dynamic isn’t exactly healthy, but there’s a mutual respect there… in a twisted sort of way. Not sure if this’ll turn into a full series, but I’ll definitely be revisiting these two. ❤︎

P.S. The script pitches are intentionally ridiculous. Let’s be real, Vought would totally approve that kind of garbage.

Handler—that’s your official title.

In practice? More like assistant.

In reality? Babysitter.

Who's your asset?

Soldier Boy—America’s first superhero, presumed dead for decades, until he clawed his way out of some Russian hellhole. He came back meaner, angrier, and with a vendetta. Payback, his old team, didn’t stand a chance. He wiped them out without blinking.

Vought, ever the master of spin, welcomed him home like a prodigal son. New narrative, same suit, same brute underneath. His face plastered on every screen, his sins scrubbed clean with a PR firehose.

Since then, he’s burned through handlers—ten, maybe fifteen. You're number sixteen. The only one who's lasted. The only one he listens to. Somehow, you’ve managed to hold the leash no one else could. For some reason, he lets you.

You remember the first time you met—how he looked at you. Eyes sharp and unreadable, like he was sizing you up for a fight... or something else. A year later, that look hasn’t gone away. You still don’t know what it means. Maybe you do. Maybe it’s safer not to think about it too hard.

The bond you’ve built with him is… unorthodox. Not quite handler and asset. Not exactly friends. Definitely not what Vought had in mind. It doesn’t have a name, but it’s there—shaped in the silences between The Seven meetings, PR stunts, quiet limo rides to bullshit charity galas. Drunken elevator trips up to his penthouse in Vought Tower.

There were nights—when he’d had one too many—where he let pieces of himself slip. Russia. His father. Things no one else got to hear. You’d be on the floor in a silk gown, wrestling with the laces of his boots while he sprawled across the bed like a fallen statue, mumbling through the haze.

“How fucked up is it,” he said once, voice slurred, “that the gentlest hands that’ve ever touched me… are on Vought’s payroll?”

You dropped his boot with a sigh. “Maybe if you turned down the whole ‘I fought the Nazis’ routine and actually let someone in—”

“Fuck you, dollface.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck me,” you muttered, flicking off the lights and shutting the door behind you.

You never talked about those nights. You think he appreciates that—how you don’t bring it up, don’t push. How you let him keep his armor on, even when it’s cracked and slipping.

Now? You're here. Just another day on the job.

“Hey? Hello…?” You snap your fingers in his face. “Can I get your attention, please? We really need to go over these.”

“Goddamn, doll,” he mutters, dragging his gaze up to you. “Let me breathe for a fucking second, would ya? You’ve been yappin’ that pretty mouth all morning.”

You slap the papers you were reading from down on the glass coffee table.

“If I don’t get your okay on one of these scripts today, it’s gonna be my ass, SB.”

He leans forward, the leather groaning under his weight. Flicks his blunt over the ashtray. His eyes drift—predictably—to the curve of your hips in that pencil skirt.

“And what a fine ass it is,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes, hand planting firmly on your hip. “Seriously?” You snatch the blunt from his fingers like a pissed-off teacher.

“What?” he says, holding his hands up, unbothered. “I’m trying, I swear. You know it gets loud in here.” He taps two fingers against his temple. “Hard to focus. Especially when it's this bullshit.”

You want to stay mad. Really, you do. But you can see it—the way he’s barely holding the noise back—you can’t help the way your anger fizzles out.

Your shoulders drop. A sigh. “If I let you do the thing… will you check in here so we can finish this?”

It’s an arrangement. One that’s never talked about once it’s done. But for some reason, it helps him quiet the chaos in his head. You don’t even know how it started—no, that’s a lie. You do know. Just like you know exactly why you keep letting it happen.

He doesn’t hesitate. Just nods and stands.

You reach across him to stub out the blunt, then sink into the warm space he left behind on the couch. He scoops up the scripts you’d flung and hands them back to you without a word.

You start with the one on top. “Okay, so this one’s called Red Blood, White Stripes…”

As you speak, he rolls up his sleeves, the fabric stretching over his forearms.

“It’s a war drama,” you continue. He undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Think Saving Private Ryan,” you say as he slides the coffee table back to make room. “Except you’re the guy doing the saving—and the killing.”

“Yeah… don’t know about that,” he mutters as he nudges your heels apart with his boot.

“Says you’re sent behind enemy lines—” He drops to his knees, grips your legs at the bend, and yanks you down so your ass is perched on the edge of the couch. “—to extract a rogue American agent.”

You lift your hips automatically as he pushes your skirt up, panties dragged down and off in one fluid motion.

“Don’t think I’m feelin’ this one,” he huffs, eyes locked on the wet heat between your thighs. His tongue flicks out, wetting his bottom lip.

You toss the pitch to the floor. He leans in, kisses the inside of your thigh—slow, deliberate.

“Okay… Homeland Security. Action thriller.” You grip the stack of pages a little tighter as his breath ghosts over your core.

“Yeah? What’s it about?” he asks, hands sliding up your legs, thumbs parting your lips right before pressing a kiss to your clit.

You take a shaky breath. “Like Die Hard in the suburbs.”

He swipes his tongue between your folds, firm and hot. You make a small sound in the back of your throat but force yourself to stay focused.

“Terrorists take over a small American town on the Fourth of July…” you begin, voice wavering.

His hands move. He grips your thighs tight, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he spreads you open wider. His mouth is relentless—tongue gliding, teasing, claiming. Hot, wet, precise. His beard scratches against your skin, leaving a burn that makes your toes curl—the kind of pain that makes you ache for more.

You try not to react, to hold on to the professional thread of this bizarre little ritual, but he knows your body too well by now. Knows exactly where to circle, where to flick, where to suck until your knees start to tremble.

You clear your throat, determined. “You’re on leave… drinking in a dive bar…”

He groans low against you, the vibration lighting you up from the inside. His hands slide beneath your thighs, hooking them over his broad shoulders as he dives in deeper. His tongue drags slow and flat, then fast and pointed, alternating like he’s conducting an interrogation with his mouth.

“You sober up just in time to—ah… ah, f-fuck…”

His mouth seals around your clit, tongue swirling the swollen bud. He gets you. Hits that spot with precision, curling his tongue just right, and you nearly lose your grip on the scripts in your hand. He’s breaking your composure and he knows it. It’s a mission to him now—and he never leaves a mission unfinished.

“To kill them with fireworks,” you finish on a shaky breath, your voice barely a whisper.

He pulls back just enough to glance up at you, chin glistening, eyes burning with amusement and hunger.

“Who the fuck comes up with this shit?” he mutters, shaking his head before diving right back in.

You arch off the couch, a soft whine escaping before you can stop it, the script forgotten as you toss it blindly to the floor.

“Captain of the Stars. Sci-fi epic,” you breathe, trying to keep it together.

He answers by slipping his tongue inside you, slow and deep. Your free hand flies to his hair, threading through the thick, messy strands. You tug gently, and he groans into you—a low, filthy sound that vibrates straight through your core.

He fucking loves when you grab his hair. Loves it rough. Loves your loss of control disguised as dominance.

“You’re cryo—" you start, then stop. Cryogenically frozen. That’s what the pitch says.

Without thinking, you toss the script to the floor.

No. Not this one.

Something twists in your gut. That strange, protective instinct you have for Soldier Boy swims to the surface. Fuck them—the suits, the assholes upstairs, whoever thought it was a good idea to pitch a story where he willingly steps into another glass coffin. Even for a movie.

You blink down at him—between your thighs, his eyes closed, mouth worshipping you.

Your chest tightens.

Though you'd never say it out loud, this man—who drives you up the wall and makes you want to rip your hair out—is one of the closest things you have to a… you don’t even know. But it’ll be over your dead body before you let Vought put him in another box.

It's that thought that drags your fingers tighter against his scalp—grounding yourself in him as much as he’s grounding himself in you.

He pulls away, sensing the shift. His brows knit, breath ragged, eyes flicking up to yours. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing… get back to it.” You lean forward, grab his collar, and pull him back in. He smirks.

You let your head fall back, lifting the next script to your line of sight.

“Justice Boot. Buddy cop comedy… fuuuck.”

He does that thing you like—God, you don’t even know how to describe it.

“You’re paired with a rookie female supe for PR reasons,” you breathe out.

Your back arches.

“Chaos ensues when you refuse sensitivity training and instead teach her…” A shaky inhale. “That real justice involves a baseball bat and bear traps…”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t slow. You set the script on the couch next to you. A maybe.

His hand reaches around your thigh, tugging your blouse loose from your skirt, sliding beneath to trace the line of your stomach, then higher—to palm your breast through lace.

You’re spiraling.

“Fuck… just one more,” you whimper, unintentionally.

He could finish you right now—he knows it. But he waits.

“Victory Squad: The Musical,” you try, breath catching. “You sing, you dance, you kill Nazis—yeah… yeah, right there…”

He slips a thick finger inside you. Your thighs clamp closed around him. He yanks you back open.

Another deep breath. Just get through the pitch. Just one more—

“You sing, you dance, you kill—”

You give up.

The last script hits the floor with a soft thud.

Both hands tangle in his hair. Your eyes close.

He’s won the battle. You’re not sure but you think you can feel him smirk between your thighs. He adds another finger, curls them just right, does the thing with his tongue.

“Fuck…fuck…ye…yes...” you come hard. Legs shaking on his shoulders. Walls fluttering and pulling him in. He works you through it with that same relentless focus, mouth and hands steady.

You go limp against the couch, head spinning, nerves humming under your skin. He finally slows, easing off. He knows exactly when too much becomes too much. His mouth lingers on your thigh, one last kiss before he sits back on his heels.

No words.

He doesn’t toss your panties at you like he used to, doesn’t bark out some crude one-liner and walk off. Instead, he finds them on the floor and eases them back up your legs with surprising care. Smooths your skirt down over your hips. Adjusts the hem.

Your eyes meet. There’s a pause. A beat where neither of you speaks, if you do, it might ruin whatever fragile, unspoken thing is sitting heavy between you.

You rise, standing over him. One hand under his chin, tilting it up. The other wipes his mouth with the edge of your blouse before tucking it back into your skirt.

You bend, gathering the discarded scripts into a messy pile. He watches, still kneeling like a soldier waiting on orders.

“I’ll tell the team we’re going with the buddy cop comedy,” you say, voice rough.

He grins, slow and lazy. “Tell ’em my co-star better be hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the tug of a smile that pulls at your mouth.

You turn to leave, then stop. Glance back over your shoulder.

“Get cleaned up. You’ve got an interview in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, mock salute and all—but his tone is softer now. His head clearer.

You leave the penthouse with his heat still lingering between your thighs and the sound of him lighting another blunt behind you.

credit & links:

⟡ more soldier boy.

⟡ gif & pics from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by @easytiger-xo.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° make me feel like someone else

( shidou ryusei x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — part 5 in my seven petals, all poison series!! ( masterlist )

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — shidou ryusei x fem! reader, lol i swear this one has a happy ending, suggestive content ( not explicit ), all characters are 18+!!, set it where shidou still plays for Paris X Gen (PXG), forbidden relationship, unrequited love, secret relationship, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — when shidou finds himself under the care of the team’s new personal trainer—you—what starts as a dangerous game of lust turns into something far more complicated. Shidou begins to question if all-consuming want can slowly turn into love—and what it means when the one thing he never believed in starts to feel real.

── .✦ feelin' your lips on my cold neck , magnetic everything about you

You're used to athletes. The rigid discipline. The sweat and soreness and endless repetition.

You're not used to him.

Not used to Shidou Ryusei.

The first time you meet, you’re crouched beside Karasu, checking the strain in his hamstring, when Shidou’s voice cuts through the gym.

“Yo, sweetheart,” he calls. “Think you could give me a little hands-on attention when you’re done with crow boy over there?”

Karasu sighs, already too used to it. “Ignore him. It’s how he says hello.”

You do. For the first week. Maybe two. But Shidou is persistent. Not in the sweet, slow-burn kind of way. He’s all jagged edges and reckless heat. He likes to flirt like he plays—aggressively, unapologetically, like there’s nothing off-limits.

But you’re his trainer. That should make you off-limits.

And yet—

It starts small. Too small to even notice at first.

A cocky smirk when you correct his form during a lift. The way he groans during stretches, a little too deliberately. “You tryna kill me, babe? Or just like having me under you like this?”

You roll your eyes, but the worst part is… your hands linger. Just a second longer than they should.

It’s supposed to be routine. You’ve worked on plenty of players before—wrapped ankles, iced shoulders, reset joints. But Shidou comes in one afternoon with a low groan and a wince that doesn’t look entirely exaggerated.

"Quad’s tight," he grunts, hopping up onto the table. "Probably from carrying the team all morning."

You raise a brow but say nothing, reaching for the massage oil and gloves. Your focus is automatic, almost detached—thumbs working along the inner thigh, then outward, across the line of tension built up from too many sprints.

“You gonna talk to me, or just keep pretending I’m a mannequin?” he mutters, voice low, half-laughing.

You don’t answer, just press deeper.

Then—

He breathes out hard. A sharp inhale, not pained. Something else.

You mean to move on. Your hand should leave his thigh.

But it doesn’t.

Not immediately.

Your fingers hover, press again—just barely. You don’t look up, but you can feel his gaze burn into you. Your thumb traces the same spot, once, twice, and then you pull back. Flustered. Disoriented.

Shidou doesn’t say anything. Not at first. But when he finally speaks, his voice is different.

Low. Almost amused. Almost reverent.

“…You feel that too, huh?”

You freeze. Your heart kicks up. And you lie.

“No. I don’t know what you mean.”

But it’s already happened.

You both know

The line is gone.

The worst part is the way he looks at you—like he knows something you don’t.

Like he sees past your professionalism and into something hungrier.

Something you’re trying to ignore.

The moment everything shifts is quiet. Stupidly so.

It’s late. The facility’s almost empty. Shidou’s the only one still around, half-sweaty from his extra reps, bruised and breathing heavy. You should go home. You tell yourself that.

“Don’t suppose I could get a massage,” he says, smirking. “Got this knot in my back that’s been killing me. Might need your magic hands, doc.”

You sigh. “Fine. Shirt off. Face down.”

You try to stay clinical. Professional. But his muscles are tense under your palms, and his breath hitches every time you press too deep. And then—

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs, voice low. “Like, really good. No wonder the team keeps you around.”

Your hands still. He lifts his head to look at you, and there’s something in his eyes—soft, curious, dangerous.

“You ever get tired of playing by the rules?”

“Shidou—”

He sits up, sudden. Inches from you.

“Say my name like that again,” he says, voice rough, “and I’m gonna forget you’re technically not allowed to fuck me.”

You should walk away.

Instead, you kiss him.

It’s fire. All-consuming. All teeth and want and months of suppressed tension snapping free. His hands are rough, desperate, dragging you into his lap. Yours grip his shoulders, nails digging in, anchoring yourself to him.

You shouldn’t. You do.

You don’t talk about it. You pretend it didn’t happen.

Until it does again. And again.

It’s always behind closed doors—your office, the locker room, his apartment. You tell yourself it’s just physical. Just lust.

But he remembers the things you say in passing. Brings you snacks when you forget to eat. Slows down during sets because he knows you’ve had a long day.

It’s not love. Not yet. But it’s not just sex anymore.

He touches you like he wants to claim something.

He kisses you like he’s starving.

And you—stupid, soft, already too far gone—you let him.

It sneaks up on Shidou.

Not during sex—never during that. It’s always too heated, too consuming. 

Lust is easy. It’s natural for him, primal and wild. 

But love? That’s foreign. Love is quiet. Love doesn’t punch you in the face.

It happens on a random Thursday.

You’re sitting beside him in the recovery lounge, hair tied up, scribbling on a clipboard. There’s an energy bar between your lips, forgotten as you focus, your brow furrowed in that way you do when you’re double-checking reps and schedules.

He watches you. Not because you’re hot. (You are. That’s a given.)

He watches because you look tired. And you’re still here. Still helping him, even after a fight the night before—words exchanged too sharp, boundaries blurred too far. You’re still here, in his space. Looking after him like he’s more than just your job.

You glance over, catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, frowning. “Did I mess something up?”

He shakes his head slowly. Something stirs in his chest—ugly and soft.

“No,” he says. “You just… look good. Being all smart and shit.”

You roll your eyes, biting the bar between your teeth. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “But I think I’m in love with you.”

You freeze.

He hadn’t planned to say it. It slips out like a truth that’s been dying to breathe.

You look at him slowly, wide-eyed, mouth half open.

“…What?”

Shidou scratches the back of his neck, then shrugs. A small, crooked smile.

“I’m serious. You make me wanna be… not better, but like—less shit. You know?”

There’s no poetry to it. No flowers. Just Shidou, stripped bare.

He thinks you’ll laugh. Or worse—leave.

Instead, you reach out, touch his knee, gentle.

“…That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He grabs your wrist, tugs you into his lap with a grin. Kisses your temple like it’s his first time doing anything carefully.

“You’re mine,” he mumbles, breath warm against your skin. “And not just in that filthy way.”

You kiss him slow.

Maybe lust brought you to this place.

But love is what’s going to keep you there.

Rumors start.

Whispers in the halls. The captain gives you a long look one afternoon after practice. Teammates make jokes that hit too close to home.

“You spending a little too much time stretching out our striker, huh?”

Shidou brushes it off. Winks. Grins.

But you’re not smiling.

“This isn’t sustainable,” you tell him one night, your hands against his chest. “If anyone finds out—”

“So what?” he shrugs. “They do. Let ’em.”

“You don’t get it. I could lose my job.”

“Then quit.”

You blink. “What?”

“Quit PXG. Come with me. Wherever I go next.”

“Shidou…” You can’t even breathe.

But he just looks at you—calm, steady, real. The first time he’s ever looked like that.

“I want you,” he says, quiet. “Not just for this. Not just behind closed doors. I want you. All of you.”

You don’t say yes. Not right away.

It takes weeks. Time apart. Time to realize what life looks like without him in it. You miss the chaos. The fire. But mostly, you miss him—his laugh, his heat, the way he’d always meet your eyes across the gym like he was just waiting for an excuse to touch you.

Eventually, you reach out.

It’s raining. You find him at his place, hair wet, mouth curled into that same wicked grin you’ve always hated loving.

“You said you wanted me,” you whisper, voice low. “I want you too.”

He doesn’t ask if you’re sure.

He just kisses you. Long. Deep. Gentle for once.

And this time, it’s not just attraction.

It’s everything.

am i insane for making shidou have the only happy ending in this series ( so far ) ? perhaps. do i regret it? hell no.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[genericpuff]

Lore Olympus just pulled off the biggest whiff in webtoon history.

I promised I would choose one of two headlines and of course, this is the one we wound up with. But should we really be surprised? Rachel herself seemed to be telling on herself down to the minutes leading up to the finale, fully confirming to us that yes, she's been writing this comic at the last minute, by the seat of her pants, for ages now.

(that second one was literally posted TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES BEFORE THE COMIC UPDATED.)

Welp, let's get into it. Possibly the last essay I'll ever write about this dumpster fire of a comic (but probably not, let's be real LOL)

CONTENT WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND FASTPASS SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES FINALE AHEAD!

Holy crap, where to even start with this. I knew it was going to be bad. I knew it was going to be rushed. I knew it wasn't ever going to live up to what I had hoped it would be years ago when I was still a diehard fan.

But I didn't think it was going to fall quite this hard. Despite bracing myself for the worst, Rachel has once again let my expectations down through a final display of explosive mediocrity and disappointment.

Yes, the episode is called "You're Welcome", and yes, that instant "ick" you're feeling is the exact same as what we're all feeling. This title plays into the dialogue later, but what a shitty, lowkey mean-spirited title for the series finale.

Now, before we get into the actual episode, the WT ads for this are just... so desperate and misleading.

They are trying SO HARD to hype up something that isn't there, and at the last minute to boot, because Rachel definitely hadn't written any of this ahead of time.

First off, the bit about the gods being in "eternal chaos" of course isn't a stake worth worrying over because Gaia literally does away with Ouranos in the first 5 panels.

Did you really think I was joking about that 5 panels thing?

That's it. That's the death of Ouranos. As mysteriously and quickly as he arrived, he was gone, after Gaia ripped out of him what appeared to be some purple sunny side up - but it's actually, in fact, Apollo.

And that's when we start to get some of the worst dialogue I've ever seen throughout LO. Remember when I said LO's dialogue was like Shenmue 3? Welp, the finale decided to continue that tradition and further fuel the suspicion that this entire thing was written by ChatGPT.

Oh, by the way, that "thank you, ma'am" was Artemis' first and last line of the episode. So once again, just like in Episode 248, we're completely robbed of her reaction to Apollo being a rapist piece of shit and the character development she could have had as a supporting character. The women in this "feminist retelling" really couldn't be more half-baked.

Gaia stumbles upon Persephone, and I'm not even gonna fucking bother showing the panels where Gaia says it's time to "make things right" because they literally don't matter. Why don't they matter? Because Rachel just had to get in one more pointless time skip.

We're shown a sequence of pointless images that I'm not gonna show as I don't want to waste my image limit on them, depicting Hades having a sad day because his small wife isn't with him and oh nooo what could have happened?? Did Persephone finally divorce him ??

Nah, we couldn't possibly have an actually happy ending in this comic. Instead we get a completely pointless phone conversation between Hades and Hecate-

Not only is the grammar particularly bad in this episode, but the actual script-writing is atrocious. We literally did not need this phone conversation to happen because-

-we're cutting BACK TO THE PRESENT THAT WE JUST CUT AWAY FROM FOR A 3 MONTH TIME SKIP. FOR NO REASON BESIDES SHOWING HADES BE SAD OVER SOMETHING THAT ACTUALLY ISN'T THAT BIG A DEAL, AS YOU'RE ABOUT TO SEE.

I- I LITERALLY HAVE NO WORDS. I HAVE NO WORDS TO DESCRIBE WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS. ALL I CAN HEAR IN MY BRAIN IS THE LEGEND OF ZELDA ITEM GET MUSIC-

-BECAUSE THIS WHOLE THING SUDDENLY SOUNDS LIKE SOME CONTRIVED FETCH QUEST. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HADES AND PERSEPHONE HAVE PROVEN 'TRUE LOVE' IS REAL? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY HAVEN'T USED 'LOVE' AS A FORCE FOR DESTRUCTION?? ARE WE FORGETTING THAT HADES MUTILATED A GUY IN THE NAME OF 'LOVE'? THAT PERSEPHONE LITERALLY INVADED THE HOME OF HADES' CANONICAL FIRST WIFE BECAUSE SHE FELT MILDLY THREATENED BY HER?

This whole concept of "true love" that Rachel is trying to convey feels so juvenile especially for a series that has sold itself as being mature and thought-provoking and progressive.

HAHAHA SO FUNNYYYYYYY why does Rachel write like this. this is, at best, the writing of a 13 year old on fanfiction.net, which I SHOULD KNOW, because I WAS ONE OF THEM. BUT I'M 28 NOW AND RACHEL HAS ANOTHER 10 YEARS ON ME.

Okay, this is the part where I'm CONVINCED Rachel either just mashed this into the episode in the MINUTES leading up to its release, or she used ChatGPT or something. Because NONE of this dialogue makes any sense. Beyond how stilted and lifeless it is (seriously, this dialogue reads like something from Empress Theresa) Gaia is clearly meant to 'replace' Erebus here which I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO EVEN EXPLAIN IS SO FUCKING DUMB, but ALSO what is even Persephone trying to communicate here? "That is true, but it was a deal I was willing to make and ties me to the Underworld. Please don't change me." What? Gaia hasn't even insinuated that she's going to do anything to Persephone, why is Persephone immediately jumping to this conclusion? What does 'changing' her mean? Is she asking Gaia not to force her to sacrifice something (which she never did)? Or is she asking Gaia not to strip her of her Underworld status? Because again, why is that even something Gaia would do?

Maybe this is harsh but I'm pretty sure even Empress Theresa is more coherent than this, what in the flying fuck is Gaia talking about?

"I can just see the potential for conflict! To relieve you from the burden of the whats, the hows, and wheres." Like... okay, first of all, that second sentence isn't even a complete sentence, it's a dependent clause left hanging, but also what the fuck does this MEAN. Is she EXCITED for the conflict but then contradicting herself by saying she wants to relieve Persephone of that conflict? Or is she saying she can see the conflict it would cause for Persephone to have to perform duties in both realms and trying to insinuate that she's going to relieve her of those complications?

Here's what I think happened - I think that second 'sentence' wasn't supposed to be a sentence, but the start of the sentence to the next panel-

So with that theory in mind, the sentence becomes, "To relieve you from the burden of the whats, the hows, and wheres, you are to spend three months in the Mortal Realm to do spring and the rest of the year in the Underworld. That seems fair to me."

It's still a very poorly written line of dialogue, but at least with that fix in mind it makes sense. But man, you can really fucking tell this episode was submitted at the last minute because that's a serious syntax error that should NOT have happened in this two-time-Eisner-winning comic.

Errors aside, it's clear that Rachel is following through on having Persephone spend only three months in the Mortal Realm, rather than the traditional six. There ARE other translations that have that number closer to four, but those four are the time she spends in the UNDERWORLD, meaning she's always spending either equal or MORE time in the Mortal Realm. Of course, Rachel doesn't want her self-insert small wife power fantasy to actually have to be separated from Hades despite this being a retelling of The Abduction of Persephone, so instead of her spending three months in the Underworld, she's now spending them in the Mortal Realm, literally doubling the MINIMUM amount of time (four months) she was originally meant to reside in the Underworld.

But oh no, apparently those three months are STILL NOT SHORT ENOUGH FOR PERSEPHONE-

Of course, Rachel "Retcon" Smythe had to have her cake and eat it too. I always worried something like this was a possibility, but I never thought she would actually prove me right - not only is Persephone only separated from Hades for three months out of the year, but actually he can visit her any time he wants to, so really, they're not separating at all.

I think Rachel needs to look up "reunion" in the dictionary, because if you can visit each other any time, then that means the 'reunions' are no longer special occasions. This completely removes any semblance of depth or meaning from all of the storytelling leading up to this, all of it with the expectation that this was a retelling of the Abduction of Persephone, because that's what Rachel said it was going to be. At this point it's safe to say that Rachel has zero business attempting to "retell" mythological stories, because she doesn't even seem to grasp the concept of why they were written the way they were to begin with. Either that, or she really just doesn't care, and the only reason for making LO a Greek myth comic at all was to propel her career.

This also brings me back to those promotional ads, the other one that posed the question, "Will sacrifice be enough to bring these two back together?"

This is stating the obvious, but I need to make it perfectly clear - Hades and Persephone have never sacrificed a single thing. The only thing they could POSSIBLY quantify as a "sacrifice" is "not being tied at the hip for a few hours", because even Persephone going on the equivalent of a work trip next door is apparently enough to make Hades sad as we saw in the 3 month time skip panels. Why is Hades so sad and lonely if he can visit her any time? Why is he acting like he hasn't seen her in years when he's actually on his way to reunite with her? Why is Hecate calling to ask him if he's "okay" as if he JUST got separated from her, but actually he's about to literally go to the Mortal Realm to reunite with her?

Hades hasn't 'sacrificed' a damn thing, neither has Persephone. They've both always gotten exactly what they wanted, even at the cost of breaking the story's own established rules. Their 'sacrifice' is equivalent to what billionaires think are 'sacrifices' when they can't buy another yacht or go on that third overseas vacation for the month.

And even outside of this episode, when have these two ever sacrificed anything?

I've tried so hard to think of what sacrifices have been made by the characters within LO, and I genuinely can only think of one - and that was when Artemis chose to go to the Mortal Realm with Persephone instead of staying with her family in Olympus. That was a genuine, selfless sacrifice, made by a character who has been shelved in favor of focusing on the self-centered pink and blue airheads.

Being forced to be apart for a couple days to do the equivalent of a day job and whining about it the whole time is not a 'sacrifice'. Neither of these characters have ever sacrificed anything, they just feel like sacrifices because they have the integrity and empathy of soggy cardboard.

sigh Anyways, we're back in the present and Hades and Persephone immediately decide they're gonna have sex because ofc, and then we get this gem of a panel-

MMMMMM

FUNNYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY JOKE

For some reason it's just a common thing for people to just be in Hades' home, and they can't seem to get any privacy as a result of this, but I digress. Turns out they still need to have that coronation for Persephone.

There is... so much wrong in these three panels.

First, to state the immediate issues - why the fuck are they mentioning Apollo at Persephone's coronation? Like first of all, no shit Apollo isn't gonna be there, but also, if this is supposed to be an event for and about Persephone becoming Queen of the Underworld, then why in the WORLD is Apollo even being mentioned? This is supposed to be a "feminist retelling" where the victims are empowered and heal from their trauma, but LO once again can't try to show any sort of positive growth for the victims without bringing up the assaulters and giving them screen time. It just goes to show that Rachel's idea of "healing" is purely rooted in the revenge, and not the growth. It's a very high schooler approach to this subject, hellbent on showcasing how all the meanies from the past are losers now and life just sucked for them forever, but inadvertently proving its own point that the victims haven't and can't move on because the narrative is spending so much time on caring what's going on with the abusers. It's the "I don't care! Look at how little I care! I'll prove it to you by putting in the effort of showing you how little I care!" approach, it doesn't really feel like moving on.

It's not about how Persephone and his other victims could have grown and healed, no, Rachel always needs to highlight just how much worse the bullies and haters and abusers are doing to make the victims seem like they've healed by comparison. Don't get me wrong, I can understand wanting to showcase the downfall of a character like Apollo, but this just... isn't the right context for that? Because it's once again taking attention away from the victim to focus on the abuser. It's once again spending screentime on the voices of the oppressors rather than the oppressed.

And speaking of, what the fuck is this punishment even? I knew Rachel wasn't gonna be able to resolve this plotline properly, she never had the capability to, but ... community service? Are you fucking for real? What is this even a punishment for even? Was this EXCLUSIVELY the SA, or does this ALSO include his attempts to overthrow Zeus by poisoning him, nearly killing Daphne, Eris, Eros and Psyche, trapping Eros and Psyche in an enchanted basement, and framing his father's 'death' on his half-sister? Because if so, how in the world is anyone content with community service? He hasn't even been turned into a mortal, HE'S STILL A GOD, so what's to stop him from going "WE'LL MEET AGAIN, SPIDERMAN" and trying something else? How is this a reasonable resolution in ANY context?

This is why I talked at length about what an issue it was to hide what Apollo really admitted to. Because now we really don't know what exactly he confessed to, and thus we can never really see the point of views of the victims outside of just Persephone - and we still don't even get Persephone's, because she just walks away from him and then he gets eaten by Ouranos and next we see of him is him doing community service! Once again, any emotional development that could be given to Persephone and the other victims is stripped away to make room for the point of views of the oppressive men. In this, the two-time-Eisner-winning "feminist comic" that is LO.

And that brings us to the "where are they now" segment. Yes, as we all feared, there's a "where are they now" segment, and it's as rushed and underwhelming as we ought to have expected it to be.

There is just... so much to unpack here, and yes, all of it is delivered in the dumbest way possible that only raises more questions than answers.

So Rhea and Metis are just back and we're not gonna talk about the implications of them being alive again?

Dionysus is a 3 month year old in the body of a teenager / young adult, and his mom is just alive now because Hades conveniently got his hands on more ambrosia and brought her back to life offscreen? But somehow Triptomelus and Hedone are still child-sized relative to their ages?

How did they 'heal Zeus'? And why is he so content with losing his power as King and Apollo being sentenced to community service after making an attempt on his life? How does he feel about the letter that Hera gave him? Did he even read it?

Where the fuck is Hebe in all of this? Is she okay? Do people still think it was her who put Zeus in a coma? Or did Apollo confess to that, too?

You're telling me Hera and Echo are just in a relationship now despite the fact that Hera is literally racist towards nymphs and there is ZERO reason for them to have a relationship in the comic beyond the fans making gratuitous headcanons out of it? How is Rachel, a bisexual woman, so bad at writing actual lesbian relationships and giving them the same amount of attention as the heterocis ones without shoving them into the background as props for insincere queer rep? And what about Hera herself? How did she overcome her role as the Goddess of Marriage to finally divorce Zeus?

"Ares is still a dog!" Haha! Ares is still a Persephone simp! Happy end!

Why is Eros just standing there smiling at the camera struggling to be seen past Hedone who's just floating right in front of him? You're telling me there wasn't a better place to put her out of that entire panel?

"Hades and Thanatos have been making more time for each other. Sometimes they even have a conversation." I'm sorry, is this supposed to be funny? The man abused Thanatos for years, treated him as just a lowly employee when he was literally his adopted son, and now you're trying to play it off as a joke that they're "making more time for each other"? What the fuck is this?

TGOEM disbanded? Why? What about the women who were genuinely a part of it?

Also, Artemis and Selene are just good friends now because reasons? Because they're both affiliated with the moon, I guess? Why is Selene even in this comic-

"They are still looking for Kassandra". Who? And why? This feels like such a last minute addition to acknowledge a character that the comic spent WEEKS foreshadowing only to have her finally appear as a pointless McGuffin, but it's so last minute that it does nothing. I'm assuming it's Eros and Psyche looking for her, but like... why can't they find her? They're gods, tracking down one mortal shouldn't be that difficult LOL ???

And also, where the fuck is Leto?? You're telling me she was an accessory - maybe manipulating Apollo, maybe not - but we don't see what happened to her? Is she just back to being a social outcast then? jesus christ this comic isn't finished-

Kassandra is where the "where are they now" sequence ends, and we're treated to one final horribly written dialogue scene between Hades and Persephone, where they tell each other how much they love each other in a desperate attempt to convince the audience that this is, in fact, a romance.

There's this thing in romances called chemistry, and if you're good at writing it, you shouldn't have to write dialogue like this. You should be able to see how much the characters love each other through their actions, through their small behaviors around each other. It's not always about what they say out loud, it's about what they don't have to say, because when two people really share that close of a bond based on love and trust and chemistry, words often aren't necessary.

Hades and Persephone do not have that chemistry. It has been apparent for years now, but this final exchange really is the nail in the coffin. There are no microexpressions or subtle emotions, no subtlety in their word choice, and nothing unique setting their voices apart. It's all just "wow thank you for being such a wonderful amazing partner, you are amazing and I love you" word salad that has to do all the heavy lifting for the completely non-existent chemistry that's been at its absolute worst throughout this entire season.

And worst of all, despite this story trying so hard to be focused around Persephone, around her story, her trauma and her healing, her voice... it's still all just about Hades. In the end, she's thanking Hades, and forcing him to say "you're welcome". All of it is trying so hard to convince us that Hades has been a positive addition to her life, that she 'owes' so much to him, but we've obviously seen plenty throughout the comic that begs to differ. And even if he were a better person than he is, it still doesn't change the fact that once again, the men are being held up above the women, with the women being grateful to the men who choose them. LO can try its hardest to convince people that it's feminist, but it is, at best, reinforcing the very same structures of the patriarchal system that it claims to despise and rebel against.

We do get one line from Hades acknowledging Persephone's part in the relationship-

-and it falls so fucking flat because it's still about him and what she does for him, and because nothing about their relationship was built on any sort of organic chemistry. There was a lot more chemistry back in S1, but it was still predicated on Hades lusting after a vulnerable 19 year old girl.

Yep, and that's it. That's the end.

Except it isn't because Rachel wanted to try and be smart by including an 'epilogue' that's really just stretching the episode out pointlessly for another few panels. And of course, we had to get another time skip, just a final dose of salt in the wound, this time to years ahead when we inevitably had to reconnect with Persephone and Hades in the future after Melinoe was born.

To recap, Melinoe doesn't remember... because Hades had Morpheus erase her memories.

This plotline has really started to give me the ick because it actually feels very familiar. Bear with me here, because I'm gonna go on a bit of a tangent about my own original work, but it's because I wrote a plotline exactly like this years ago.

There's this... turning point, in Time Gate: Reaper, when the main character Uzuki is kidnapped by a Reaper (see: undead) who wants to experiment on her in the hopes that he can somehow gain her abilities to bond her soul with others (which later allows her to literally possess people after she becomes a Reaper herself). Mitsuhiro, the male deuteragonist who kickstarts the plot by telling Uzuki she's got a limited amount of time left to live (which he knows thanks to his magical death timers that mark themselves on his skin), feels an immense amount of guilt after finding out she was kidnapped by the Reapers (at this point she's been gone for three months), as they were originally after him; he worries that she was made a target simply due to him associating himself with her, and vows to rescue her.

With the help of some other spunky teenagers and anime trope characters, Mitsuhiro does eventually rescue Uzuki - but for the three months she had been gone, she had been tortured, abused, and experimented on, causing her mind to split and for her to lose any sense of awareness of who Mitsuhiro or her other friends were. She was no longer herself after the hell she had been through.

Mitsuhiro's solution to this is to have Springlock - another Reaper with motivations that are not yet clear to the cast - erase her memory. This is not a light decision that comes without consequences - for the remaining duration of the story, Uzuki is plagued by night terrors and panic attacks, unable to really remember what happened to her aside from whatever brief flashbacks her brain recalls in its haze of memory loss. She is traumatized, both physically and mentally. She has lost three months of her life and memories, and doesn't know how to explain why she's covered in scars that are still healing, why she's missing organs, why she's now blind in one eye, and why the sound of scraping metal and ticking clocks gives her panic attacks. Mitsuhiro has convinced her friends that she's suffering from memory loss due to trauma, but only he knows the truth that he forcefully took her memories away from her, without her consent. This was not the right choice to make. It was not noble of him, it was not a grand gesture of love, he made a decision on her behalf without her consent that has now resulted in her becoming a nervous wreck. Sure, she still would have had PTSD if she remembered what happened, but at least she would know why and could then seek adequate help. Without those memories, she has nowhere to begin to heal. And so we see the consequences of this throughout [AFTERBIRTH] and even the upcoming Thread of Fate. It is a long-term problem that is not going to be solved overnight, especially not with Mitsuhiro withholding information from her.

Reading about Melinoe having dreams about her experiences trapped in Tartarus with Kronos ... it felt familiar enough that I had to talk about why the insinuations of this are so fucked up. I know there are people who are gonna handwave it away as "she's just a kid", "these are gods so what does it matter", etc. but ... it just feels like such an oversight to have Hades effectively erase her memory of her trauma and then hint at them still being present in her mind through her dreams. She did not ask for that. And the fact that she's now dreaming about it all does not bode well. But we're supposed to think Hades made the correct choice, regardless.

But none of this is effectively expanded on or explained, because we get one final scene of Melinoe and Demeter visiting Persephone, who has just given birth to... Makaria?

So it turns out Persephone and Hades are just able to have biological children now. Don't know why, but of course they both look exactly like Hades.

What I was really confused by though is the fact that it's Makaria and not Brimos. Do you remember Brimos? The child that was foreshadowed in Hades' original fantasy dream sequence about his future children about Persephone?

Either Rachel completely forgot about him, or she saw all the criticism over the fact that Brimos isn't a confirmed child of Hades and Persephone (rather, an epithet that can apply to basically any Underworld god including Persephone and Hades) and that her "research" was dependent on a book she read when she was 13 and decided to axe that. But she went to the effort of establishing that all the dreams Hades had were , in fact, canon visions of the future, so good job Rachel, you created yet another plothole on top of the hundreds of others.

And that's where the series ends, on a final nuclear-family-photo of Persephone, Hades, Melinoe, and Makaria. Of course, Dionysus and Thanatos aren't present in this shot because this is Lore Olympus and only biological children count /hj

Why Rachel couldn't move the "the end" portion to THIS part, I don't know, but I'm also expecting way too much of the person who finished this 20 minutes before it was due.

So that's it. Six years and that's what we get. I didn't expect much, but I was still incredibly disappointed, as were many others who walked away from this dazed and confused. Maybe it's all the "haters" deserve at this point. But what of the fans? While many of them are celebrating this ending at best and tolerating it at worst, I can't help but think of the fans of this comic who hung on for so long in the hopes it would "pay off", just for it to go out as gloriously as a wet fart.

As for me, I have such mixed feelings about Lore Olympus ending, but none of them pertain to the comic itself. Most of what I'll miss from this comic isn't the comic itself, but the people who have made reading it every week so fun, the artists and writers who have enriched the content with their own interpretations of what could have been, and the experiences of being part of such an amazing community made up of people who are as long-term-obsessed about this piece of media as I am.

I get people who ask me a lot if it's "worth it" to be so engrossed in the LO slander, who assume that I'm going to "regret" ever being a part of it all... but from where I'm standing right now, I couldn't ask for a better view.

Even if I didn't love every minute of it, everything I have here I owe to this comic. This stupid, wonderful, boring, amazing, pile of shit comic.

[bluemusickid]

Scripted Hearts: Illusions in the Spotlight

Pairing: Young Actor!Joel Miller x Original!Fem!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, fluff, a little angst, joel being joel, smut, smut, p in v sex, a lil slow burn, unprotected p in v (don't be sillyyyy wrap your willyyyyy), masturbation, oral sex (m and f receiving), rough sex, dom/sub dynamics (maybe), soft sex, MINORS DNI

A/N: And here it is! The first chapter! I'm so excited to share this story with y'all; I wished to write something for quite some time and this idea popped into my head. It is going to be a slow burn for some time, but don't worry; I shall smut it up very soon! Hope you enjoy!

Likes are appreciated, reblogs are encouraged. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

LOS ANGELES, APRIL (2017)

"AND CUT!" a voice bellowed from the microphone, breaking the pin drop silence on the set, as assistants and spot boys rushed in the shot, trying to reset the scene.

You make your way to your trailer, sighing deeply. Today had been a challenge to say the least. The scene just wasn't happening, and it felt like even after a 100 takes, there was no progress. Lena, your director, was thankfully very patient when it came to explaining, and then re-explaining the scene and the motivation behind your character.

You couldn't concentrate. Because how could you? Your fucking ex had gone and stuck his penis in a Victoria's secret model, and TMZ was tailing your ass after that bad, bad split pretty much every day. You half expected them to break into your house just to get an exclusive.

You replayed the entire "emergency" meeting in your head, cringing every time you remembered what your next steps had to be.

"I'll be honest, Ana." your agent, Carla sighed. "It's not looking good. Your breakup has become an absolute shitshow." 

You scoffed. Like it wasn't obvious already. 

"I understand. But what I don't get is why everyone is making a big deal about this. Shit like this happens every other day; a couple gets together, they do lovey-dovey couple stuff for their instas, and then they have an 'amicable split'. It's literally a routine at this point." you said, taking a sip of your coffee, as you rubbed your eyes tiredly. 

Carla slanted her eyes, taking in your words. 

"But the rest of the couples, my love, aren't A-listers, are they?" Sighing, she sat down in front of you, waiting a beat before saying, 

"We are so close to you getting that Emmy nom. We can't fuck this up because of a stupid guy who couldn't handle his hormones! You need to focus and get serious about this plan!" she exclaimed, waving her hands around in frustration. A RaDa graduate, well on her way to probably getting an EGOT and yet, Carla couldn't fathom how dense you could be sometimes. 

"The plan being?" your bored voice echoed through the room. 

Your team was silent, everyone looking at one another for a minute as you literally feel the unease spread through the air. This was NOT going to go down well with you. 

"Well? Spill it!" 

"You're gonna have to be in a PR relationship." Andre, your PA, bluntly put it. 

You could feel your eyebrows raise involuntarily, face twisting into a grimace. There was no way they said what they just did, you must have hallucinated it.

"I have to do WHAT?!" you exclaimed coldly, unable to keep the frigidity from seeping in. 

"Ok, calm down. It's just for a little while. Think about it as a short term...friendship slash situationship sorta deal. The best part? More publicity, more money, and more traction towards your dream of the EGOT status." 

You weren't an idiot, you could practically smell the manipulation from miles away. But it went against your principles. If there was one thing you prided yourself upon, it was that you were able to stick to your moral compass in spite of being a part of such a tough and cutthroat industry; one which had the power to corrupt and pull you away from your goals and ambitions. 

Sighing deeply, you turned your back to your team, pouring yourself a strong drink.  You needed some time; rather a LONG time to think this through .

NEW YORK , APRIL (2017 ) 

"Ok, take it away, whenever you're ready." the bored casting director drawled; more interested in the danish on his desk rather than the man in front of him.

Joel took a deep breath before he launched into the monologue, his eyes glazing over as he let the words wash over him; the character taking root in his very being.

Just as he was about to reach the crescendo, a casting director cleared his throat, raising his hand.

"Ok, that was great. Thanks for coming in, we'll let you know."

Walking out of the audition room, Joel felt his heart sinking, yet again. He wasn't stupid, he knew what that meant, and quite frankly, he was tired of it. He was tired of the mediocrity of it all, and audition after audition where all he got at most were callbacks, only for someone else to be chosen.

Wearily, he made his way to his agent's office, ready to be told some negative news, yet again. Joel didn't call himself a pessimist, nor was he delusional enough to call himself an optimist. A realist, a pragmatist is what his peers would call him as well.

And realistically? His goodwill and his patience was wearing thin. He could see his return to Austin quite close, closer than he would have liked; but he had to be honest to himself. He was running out of money, and he would die before continuing working at the hellhole people called a restaurant.

Plopping himself on his agent, Becky's couch, he started mindlessly scrolling his instagram. Random celebrity wedding, some kid much younger than him gaining insane popularity, blah, blah, blah. Just as he was about to scroll higher, a breakup post caught his eye.

OOH, it's about to get MessE! Sources say that Ana Sharma and Harvey Murray's bitter breakup happened due to a certain Victoria's Secret model! 👀 Link in bio for more details!

Damn, Joel thought to himself. A woman like her, and this jackass had the audacity to cheat on her? What he wouldn't give to take such a fine woman out.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when Becky sharply tapped on her desk to get his attention.

"...sorry, what did you say?" Joel asked sheepishly.

Sighing in annoyance, Becky said, "As I was saying, the audition went well and the casting directors liked your audition. But they're.."

"going to go with someone else, yada yada yada." Joel finished for her, unable to hide his bored tone.

Walking off to the large floor length windows, Joel stared down at the city. It had been years since he'd moved here, and yet, it felt like life had been at a standstill.

“What am I doing here?” he murmured, turning to see Becky pour him a drink.

“You know how it is, Joel. Trust me, it’ll get better. In fact…” she trailed off, eyebrows raised as she took a sip.

Joel grimaced. Becky loved being mysterious and elusive, and she sure picked her moments.

LOS ANGELES

You stared out at the vista, taking a tentative sip of your wine. You normally didn’t drink on weekdays but what your team said was running through your mind constantly. Ethics meant a lot to you, especially in the industry you were a part of. You had never compromised on your views and stances, which had sometimes lost you out some parts; but you didn’t complain. That was how you made it this far in the game and it was how you would continue to be. And it worked. Until your jerkoff of a boyfriend had to go and screw it all up. On top of all that, the last few films that you had done were commercial failures, which meant that you credibility as a serious actress was at stake.

Now you had to think about being in an arranged relationship, of sorts; something you had been dreading ever since you turned 25 and were deemed “of age” by your parents. Yikes.

You made your way to the table, taking a deep breath as you ran your hands over your face in mild frustration. No one said it would be easy. But to win the race, you had to actually be in the race. And right now you were clearly deviating off path. Would it be so bad? Sure, it would thrust you back into the limelight, albeit not for the reasons you would like. But still. It was something, wasn’t it?

You texted your siblings group chat. If anyone could give you an unbiased opinion, it would be the two idiots you grew up with.

Your sister video called back, with your brother joining in a few minutes later. 

“What’s up?” she said distractedly, clearly still in office, typing away.

“Nothing, just…needed your opinion on something, something kinda big.” you murmured; staring out into the vista.

“Well lucky for you, you happen to be related to the smartest people who ever exist, and who love you even though you’re kind of stupid.” you heard your brother, Neil drawl. You gave him a wan smile, not wanting to get into it.

“Oh shit, no sassy comeback? Must really be important. What’s the problem?”

“Had a chat of sorts with my team…and they think that my shitty breakup making the headlines is going to hit my career. Hard.”

"All because that fuckin' turd, sorry Meera, couldn't keep it in his pants." Neil said, sheepishly grinning as he caught Meera giving him the stink eye.

“Damn. That sucks, i’m sorry. So what now?” Meera said, taking a sip of her water as she finally turned her attention to you.

You sighed before replying, “They want me to get into a fake relationship with someone from the industry. For optics.” you mumbled, suddenly feeling foolish and embarrassed.

“WHAT?!” you heard them shout in unison, cringing at how weird it sounded. Both of them were in different industries, so something like this was unheard of for them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds. Believe me, I was even more shocked when Carla suggested it to me yesterday.”

“I mean, aside from the fact that it basically sounds like an arranged marriage; which mom has been begging you for, hellooooo; it just seems like a short term deal, right?” said Neil, his voice muffled.

“Oh, look who finally pulled their head out of their ass for a minute to make fun of me.” you replied sardonically. Ignoring him flipping you off, you continued, “yes it would be short term, like a contract/deal of sorts; but it would be publicised. Heavily.” you added, shuddering at the thought of paparazzi.

“I just don’t want to be known for being a girlfriend, or part of a power couple of sorts. I work hard and I want to be known for it. Is it so crazy to hope to be known for your work rather than a silly relationship?!” you whined, your head dropping to the table.

“It sounds crazy, but that’s a part of showbiz, isn’t it?” Meera asked. You reluctantly nodded.

“Think about it this way: no matter how weird or cringey it seems, it’s a means to an end. A bigger step towards your end goal. Now what is your end goal?”

“An EGOT.” you answered.

“Yep. And so what do you have to do to achieve that? Or atleast get your foot in the door?”

You take a beat. Then after what seemed like forever, you said, resigned, “I have to get into a fake PR orchestrated relationship with a random man to help me achieve my dream of an EGOT.”

“Excellent.” Meera said, triumphantly.

“Way to goooo, Ana Banana!!” Neil whooped. “On a completely unrelated note, could I be there when you tell ma about this? I need to see her face, she’s gonna be soooo mad!” he sniggered.

You flipped him off, bidding both of them goodbye and telling them that you loved them before cutting the call.

Oh right, your mother. You hadn’t even thought of that angle. Goodness knows her and your dad hated your ex, but a PR relationship? She’d have your ass on a platter, you knew it.

Shaking yourself, you reminded yourself of the task at hand. You could placate your mom later, right now your primary focus was smoothing out all the details with your team.

Typing out a well thought out text, you sent it to your team group chat, scheduling a meeting for the day after tomorrow. After that, you sat down to note a few things you had in mind, a list of demands, if you will. You needed to be absolutely sure and completely ready about the whole arrangement, no matter who the dude who was being roped in with you was. You just hoped that he was a good guy and not some douche looking to climb the ladder with cheap tactics.

Taking a sip of your now-lukewarm wine, you silently raised a toast.

To new beginnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OMG I forgot to post this here and as I was writing on AO3 I suddenly remembered that I was hyping this story up here but completely ignored it here lmaoooo

LMK how you like it! xoxoxo

[orangez3st]

Something More

Clone Commando Fixer × GN!Reader 

✧ Summary: It was really stupid of Fixer to ignore your affection. You're the kindest person in the world—he doesn't deserve you. But he's willing to change how he thinks about you.

✧ Tags & Warnings: pining, unrequited love, don't worry folks: eventual romance, domestic au, they live with walon vau, featuring lord mirdalan the strill, not gonna mention kyrimorut bcs author hasn't gone through the repcomm books and isn't too familiar w local mando culture

✧ Word Count: 4.8k

✧ A/N: First @deltasquadweek special coming right up!! 🗣️🗣️ This fic has been in my drafts for like. A couple of months. I hope this delivers for Alt Prompt Day 1; "You're hurt." Enjoy this one, vode! 💛💚

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Fixer (in-header image)

Settled behind a fallen tree with one knee digging into the soil, you squint—zeroing in—at your target every now and then, akin to a blaster's scope. The buck’s hide isn't as impressive as the past ones you've met, but judging by the visible weight of that beast, it would feed the entire Vau clan for days. That is, if Vau’s strill or Scorch would have sound minds not to be greedy.

Especially now that winter is nearly approaching. As fallen red-brown leaves amplify the sound of your footfalls in a series of satisfying crunch that tickles the back for your brain, everyone in the clan are running on their own errands. Mainly to stock the pantry with food and gather the crops, using the remaining heat for the sun to naturally make venison jerky in the way of your people—how you've always liked it. Vau finds it tolerable to his palate, so you guess it's a win.

Another win is that you're tasked with hunting today. The woods surrounding the compound is your arena—you had explored nearly the entirety of it in the first week here, breathing the air of the forest and the life in it. You've come from a world where your people worship forest spirits and you haven't quite forgone your beliefs. You're an excellent hunter and tracker, and that's another point in Vau's eyes.

Lord Mirdalan throws you hard glances, its golden head snarling back and forth between the buck ahead and yourself. If its teeth-baring and impatience glinting in its beady dark eyes tell you anything, it's a one word away from dashing forward in a blur, baring elongated teeth wider—deadlier, with the intent to incapacitate its game.

Your game.

“Alright alright,” you muse, gripping your bow in your hand and easing an arrow in. “I'm the one hunting, Mird’ika. I call the shots.”

The golden strill grumbles. Every blink and widening of its eyes can only indicate its mounting anxiety that their prey would run away any moment. And to be honest, yeah. Vau’s glare of disappointment flashes through your mind—he trusts you with his oldest friend—and you decide you're not going through one of those, or Sev’s bullying afterward. That man's quips are insufferable. He definitely got those from his buir.

“Yes it's your hunt too,” you whisper, as if you can read what's going through Mird’s mind. The strill lowers impossibly close to the ground upon your encouragement, ready to pounce at any given time.

Your game still fails to notice your and Mird's presence. A sparse group of ferns in front of you and hunting attire camouflage you well. Breathing in, you draw your arrow back, the coarse fletching brushes just shyly against your cheek, the sharp point zeroing in on your unsuspecting game a distance away from you. Broadside. Lungs. Heart.

Breathe out, and…

Fwt—THUCK! 

Your arrow embeds deep on its broadside—the lungs. The buck jolts, its short antlers and hooves rearing into the air before dropping onto the forest soil—dead, from what you could tell. Hopping over your cover, you go to inspect your game, poking its eyelids with your bow. No flinch. Its beady eyes dull, void of life. Killed. Becoming clan food. Maybe tonight's dinner while it's fresh. Brushing a hand across its hide, you utter a small prayer of gratitude before working to collect your killing arrow.

Baring teeth next to you, Mird throws its impeachment in a long growl as if insulting you for not calling Oya! and letting it have its way with the buck. A big bite to the neck would've been nice instead of a fatal shot! Or at least that's what it thinks. You shake your head.

“It's ethical, Mird. Quick death.” You could never. Leaving an animal to die a slow painful death at your hands is an unforgivable sin in your belief system. The least you could do to atone is a slash of your hunting dagger as soon as possible. “Not gonna be sorry about that. But sorry I topped you, though.”

Mird slaps a golden paw at your boot, its gaze still hardened, demanding for retribution.

“Fine,” you chuckle fondly, dragging a hand through its golden hide, “Let's find a couple of quails for you to snack on, then?”

You hesitate when reaching for your rope, having initially intended to tie your game by the feet and drag it all the way back home. You don't really give a damn about balding the unimpressive hide in the process—a small defeat of this hunt. Fleshing is therapeutic, but it'd take a hell lot of time to dry in the sun, something you wouldn't do in autumn’s cloudy situation.

Your options shift between that or comming one of the boys to heave it up and over their broad shoulders. Maybe there's salvation in some parts of the hide, or the skull. The antlers could be another addition to Sev's fine collection. Speaking of Sev, he can't abandon his watch post somewhere around you (you know exactly where he is), so you hold out your hope in the other three.

By your feet, Mirdalan snarls demandingly for your promised quails.

“Stand by, Mird,” you mutter, fishing your comm out of your pocket at last, “I'll comm Boss to carry this back and we'll find your quail.”

“Need some assistance with that?”

You jump at the voice, hand falling to your hunting dagger at your hip but as soon as you register it as an obscured voice filtered through a helmet, your coiled muscles relax. Your eyes flit past the autumnal umber and scarlet of the forest, easily clocking beskar approaching you in a little, if not, cautious manner.

“Fixer.”

Mird circles around his legs in greeting with its tongue out and lolling. Oh it's definitely happy, and oblivious. Fixer is one of its favorites, as far as you know. The former commando nods once in greeting at you, the T-visor of his Mando helmet shifting between you and the dead buck. “Impressive game.”

You nod in thanks, your gaze distant. Something inside you, your heart, clenches and you prefer not to dwell on it. Not now. “I'd like the help, if you don't mind.”

Fixer can hear his breath in his own helmet—can hear the disappointment vaporizing out of his body and clogging the top of his head. Hearing how you've chosen to be distant from him, putting an end to all your soft advances on him altogether—it puts him in the most uncomfortable position.

And he blames himself for that. Thinking how ridiculous and in disbelief that someone as admirable as you could find something endearing in someone like him. Him. His way to recovery after his buir and vode found him—after undergoing torture from the Empire—hadn't been smooth. There are cracks in his mind and gaps in his memory—he’s suffered. Pained. Unworthy. Broken.

But you're kind. You’re a good person. Wanting the best for everyone, wanting to help however you can after Boss found you in one of the systems in the Outer Rim escaping slavery. You're forever in their debt. You're strong. In a way, both of you are similar. Wal’buir is clearly fond of you, but somehow for Fixer it wasn't enough.

He doesn't deserve you.

“I don't mind,” he finally says, tapping the tips of his gloved fingers against his thigh plate in near nervousness. He observes the buck again, helmet tilting downward. “Heading home?”

You ignore the way your heart clenches again at the word home. You live under the same roof with them, and that's just it. It too reminds you of the pain—the way Fixer never acknowledged you with more than a slight tilt of his head when you strolled past. Never more than a blink and few words when you smiled up at him, your chest warming at, simply, the sight of him. How much of a survivor he was, every scar telling you a story of perseverance.

So yeah, if only your feelings are reciprocated. It hurt that it never became something more. Even Scorch's teasing as your unofficial wingman wasn't helping—Fixer always shut it down before he could give it a chance to bloom and probably spark something in him, and then Boss looked at you apologetically every time it happened. You hate it. It embarrassed you, moreso when Vau knew. You have zero idea what they're saying in their stern and scolding Mando'a conversations, and you're hurt and embarrassed enough to bet on a correct guess.

You sigh heavily as you shoulder your bow. “You go ahead. I'm getting quails for Mird.” Pivoting on your heels, you travel deep into the woods, Vau's six-legged strill already waltzing ahead. You pause, the weight in your chest heavy and cold when you barely look over your shoulder, the words next coming out of you sounding equally cold and distant. “Thanks, Fixer.”

The former commando stares at your retreating figure, fists clenched by his side without him realizing. A long exhale rattles his helmet's speakers. He relaxes his fists, shoulders wilting when you've completely disappeared from the subject identifier of his HUD.

“Didn't that go well.”

Sev's footfalls are heavy, fallen leaves crunch under his boots, and the barrel of his sniping blaster rifle lies on one red-painted shoulder bell. Fixer's chest tightens—Sev’s been watching. Of course. Probably from binocs, most likely perching so still on his post up top on a tree under half-assed ghillie suit.

“Shouldn’t you be on your post?”

“Boss' turn.” And his turn with the crops. Somewhere in their domestic life Boss has turned into a passionate farmer through and through—suppose it's the Vhett genes getting the best of him. Sev studies the game, precisely at the broadside wound, his buy'ce bobbing ever so slightly in approval. You and Sev along with Vau share the love for game hunting. He looks up at Fixer, slinging the rifle across his body, and squats. “Go after them. I volunteer.”

Panic rises in him. He's not ready. He's not ready for another cold shoulder from you. “I'll let them be for now—”

“No you won't, di’kut. Can't stand the tension back at the yaim. You'll finish this,” Sev jabs a finger at him. “Meanwhile I'll tell Wal’buir where you’ve gone.”

“You won't.”

“Thin ice, Fix’ika.” Sev nods his buy’ce at the direction where you've gone. “Do something about it. You're here to mend it.”

It's not even a question followed by an aren't you? directed at him—it’s a statement. Encouragement. Or Sev's version of encouragement. Baffled by his own initial intentions that he's completely forgotten and the thunderstorm of conflicts brewing inside of him, words are caught in his throat. Fixer says nothing in return, and he can feel an eyebrow lift from his vod.

Sev snorts, lifting the buck over his shoulders with ease. “Sounds like I'm right this time.”

Then he's alone.

Nothing but the sound of nature around him, and his own thoughts.

Nothing but moving forward. So, he does. The forest blurs around him as he nearly absently follows your trail.

The opportunity has been presented, the chance given. Well, by Sev. More like a push rather than a generous chance, really. You didn't look like you're giving him a chance. You gave him a lot, but he brushed you off every single time.

Wasted.

Fixer can almost hear the threat coming from Sev, something like watch me being a sheb’spalon for an entire week if you both aren't coming out of the treeline smiling and looking lovesick with each other that'd make Wal’buir gag. Exaggerated threats, but might happen. Sev doesn't back down from his threats. That man had chosen the glaring red color for his commando armor for a reason.

After his rescue, once a former medic trainee, you came to him in the compound's infirmary every rotation, never missing one. Helping to check his vitals with Boss' help, always talking so softly because sounds annoyed his broken mind and broken body at the time, always making sure he had some calories in him. You took care of him. Scorch had teased you about being his private nurse, but you let out this deep belly laughter and said you'd rather be a hunting nomad instead, and that was the day you began to tell stories of your homeworld to comfort him. Or at least, what you could remember of its beauty. You escaped slavery in the Outer Rim. You were scarred. Just like him.

That also was the day he began to feel something. Something foreign. Something that made a connection between you and himself. Something that made him think about you when you weren't in the room with him. Something that made him long for you.

After he got back on his feet, you too helped him adjust with his new life, together with his vode, away from the Empire. You started going a little easier around him, no longer treating him like a fine fragile vase but just like any other of his brothers. You treat all of them equally, and you respect Vau. That's enough for him. So much value already. That should be enough for him to trust you fully now that he's got ahold of his mind and body. Right?

Yeah. But then you were doing that again. Speaking to him a little softer, gentler, than with the others. Your eyes gleaming when you smiled at him, somehow finding himself in your company. He knew what was going on. Not that it wasn't pleasant. He just doesn't deserve you. Didn't.

“Kandosii, Mird’ika!”

Your faint voice makes him stop in his trek. That's you. You sound happy. You belong. You love nature. It's a part of your belief. You value life—human life. He heard you sneaking into the infirmary late at night. Adjusting his pillows, tucking him in, patting his hand in reassurance, whispering get well soon’s that didn't sound empty, uttering a small prayer to your deities for his health in your native tongue.

Something about it is… private. Intimate, even. Important. Is he? Important? Significant? Like the amount of encrypted data he had sliced and obtained in the past?

Special. You deemed him special. Emphasis on deemed. Conflicts swallowed him so much that he turned a blind eye on you. Fixer wishes he could've had his eyes on you when your first frown of realization rests on your brows. It was too late for him. Maybe it could've been different. Maybe he could've mended it—changed himself and talked about it at last.

Why did he come here? He came for you. He's supposed to be at the workshop right now, but he raced against time and finished ahead of schedule once he heard his chance—you, alone, doing your errands. Might be a perfect time, maybe not. Because you've been avoiding him too. Gone has the glimmer in your eyes. Enter the cold shoulder and fake enthusiasm. You’re still being nice and polite as usual, but that's your baseline. There's no longer… closeness. That bond. The bond that you have built. You alone. He wasn't even trying. He wasn't present.

It is, perhaps the first time in years, the time he curses himself at a loss. Such a loss.

Yet unbeknownst to him, it's hurting you too. How does it feel trying to be, at the very least, nice for someone you once had a crush on? Drowned in shame for believing someone like Fixer could've reciprocated your feelings. You believed in him. He sounded amazing from what his brothers told you. Talented. Thorough. Appreciative. Careful. Methodical. Maybe you pushed your luck too far. He needed healing. Much longer, much more, more time. You know how it felt to be a tortured soul. You were one, anyway. So you stepped away. It was stupid. You were doing the right thing.

Crossing the stream, Mirdalan is obviously resisting to chomp deeper into the two quails you just shot as it brought them back to you. You insisted, with a little silly argument with the strill. The least you can do is plucking the feathers before Mird can enjoy its snack of pure meat and bones and no feathers.

With the birds still warm, it's quite easy. Mird takes time to devour them. After rinsing your hands with the current of the stream, you take your time to rest for a while, making a particular smooth rock your seat as you gaze out into the trees, which now mostly are barren of leaves. Autumn usually calms your mind—you love autumn—but now it's occupied with Fixer's situation.

The rustling of the thicket behind you prompts you to grab your bow and nock an arrow in less than two seconds. Fixer reveals himself, his hands free of the blaster strapped to his thigh and are raised meaning you no harm. No harm alright, but seeing him… hurts still. Your heart has been racing in your chest and shows no sign of calming down, but you try your best to collect yourself.

“Don't sneak up on me when I've got these with me,” you remind him, stashing your bow and arrow away. Mird seems undisturbed, its loud chewing filling what seems to be a bubble between the three of you. “You could've been mistaken for a beast. And shot.”

Fixer tilts his head. “You know this forest, though. Heard from Scorch you explored the entirety of it in a week.”

“Nearly,” you correct him.

He watches you. “Well. Are there any beasts?”

You put a relief in your tense muscles. “Not that I've encountered.” Shaking your head, you're unable to help the brief little smirk on your lips. “Not that I want to anyway.”

He catches that. The smallest lift of the corner of your lips. But your eyes look as they've always been for the past time—mirthless, in which the smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, and filled with void smugness.

Fixer warily brings himself closer, his hands falling to his side. You watch his movement, willing yourself to just calm down and maybe not throwing a punch across his face. Or helmet. That's made of beskar. Yeah, no.

You clench and unclench your bare fists, leaning your backside against the rock in another attempt to make yourself (appear) relaxed. His broad commando stature approaches you carefully, settling just a few feet away. The tip of his boots graze the grass that adorns the side of the stream, T-visor methodically sweeping the area—either to take in the view, or scanning for any hostiles out of habit.

Finding nothing to look at, you watch Mird instead. One quail gone, the other now gnawed between its maw.

“I've hurt you.”

Your attention turns to Fixer. You wish you could tell the storm of emotions that's brewing under his helmet—just a little glimpse that would've allowed you to feel a little bit more smug.

“You have,” you say.

Fixer manages not to recoil when you cross your arms. Not a good sign. Was that a horrible way to start at all? He just spat out what's been running around his mind. He's hurt you. He's hurt you. He's hurt you. A man of few words nowhere near Scorch, he wishes you can just understand. But he has to talk. Conveying his… feelings. You have no idea what's going through his mind and he doesn't want to be stuck in this hellhole forever—all he wants now is to see you looking at him again with the kind of joy that he knows—so he needs to talk.

“I understand if my actions have implied distaste toward you,” he starts, tension creeping up his shoulders. “I understand too that you're angry. You have every right to, because I was… I was being an asshole.” Great, now he's using Sev's words. “You’re hurt, and I didn't mean that. Never meant to.”

You swallow. This is the day you'd hope to come—although a moment too late. “But why did you?”

The question is confrontational, a little wavering if he trusts his audio receptors, but he can still hear the hurt in your voice, demanding for answers.

“I didn't know what to do about it. I was confused,” Fixer confesses. He stares down at his hands. “I was still recovering and you just showed so much kindness. You didn't even know me, but you cared.”

You open your mouth to intervene but he continues.

“You oversaw me. Took care of me. It was too much, I couldn't… I can't act otherwise but telling you how grateful I am. I never meant to push you away. I never meant to ignore you.” These are all messy, flurry of thoughts that he’d just spill, as if written down in points and he's stuck to explaining with it, no longer calculating and methodical with his approach. This is a foreign territory for him, you realize, and this is a show of weakness in the shape of dilemma. “I wanted to welcome you. I just didn't know how,” Fixer tries, his voice grows softer, “I'm… scared. If I misstep and everything comes crashing down.”

He offers his hope high up into the sky. He wants you to teach him how. He hopes you're there to navigate his path while holding his hand and because, Manda, he wants to know how that feels too, again, with something more etched deep in your hearts—not just to comfort him and ease his pain as a friend, no.

As something more.

“I don't think I could handle it. If I lose you.” He's mistepped. He's made everything crashing down on him. The weight of the guilt is not as heavy as beskar on his body. “But I already did, didn't I?”

Your next breath of air into your lungs is sharp, through the teeth, as you take in his confession. A revelation—a light, a beacon of hope in your soul reignited. Though you're unable to see him, empathy engulfs your judgement swifter than your arrow. His words, spilled out, as if he's already defeated, and as if whatever remains of your tattered bond that hadn't broken and vanished yet, you never want to hear him pained like this again.

Softly, you take a deep breath. “You didn't lose me.” Your exhale comes a little unstable. “It was just difficult to look at you, Fixer. I thought you didn't want any of this.”

“I couldn't be certain,” says his strained voice. Raising his hand, he taps the side of his helmet. “There was a lot to process back then.”

“I know,” you sigh, an apology for your impatience and enthusiasm back then is already on the tip of your tongue.

“You are so kind. You didn't even know me,” Fixer stresses, again, his T-visor staring blankly into you. But his cadence doesn't lie. He takes one step closer to you. You don't flinch. Then one more. And one more. Until he's only a couple feet away from you. His confidence burns bright and he can feel it—you can feel it. “Why?”

“You’re one of them. You know my history, if not most of it, and I owe your aliit so much,” you explain with confidence, “I was my village's medic trainee. You need all the help you can get to full recovery, either physically or mental.”

“And by falling in love with me too?”

If anything, his tone is no longer confrontational but amused. The weight on his shoulders slowly but surely lifts, and a puff of airy laughter escapes his lips when you sigh, almost exasperatedly and caught off guard by his harmless question, and darker colors begin to envelop your cheeks.

“You know that these things happen… sometimes naturally,” you try to reason despite flushed to bashfulness, throwing your gaze away from his scrutiny. Fixer raises both eyebrows. Somehow you must know what expression he's making under the helmet, he thinks, because you're looking at him again.

With nothing but Mird's low growls and the trickling stream as the sounds enveloping your bubble, his focus zeroes in to how the cool sun makes your skin and hair glow. He can almost see your beauty blending with nature itself, catching just how much your love toward it is reflected. Your big heart, your ceaseless care toward life. You're a gem, rare to the world, moreover in what the world has become now.

And you're choosing him, out of all people. Not even his own brothers. Him.

You breathe in your confidence again, fully believing that he is here, now, for you. The distance between the two of you is a slight lean away to be completely closed, and your chest thrums at the prospect. And so you take Fixer’s hand with both of yours, his balled fist falling apart upon your touch and his glove warming your cool hand.

“Naturally, hm?” he muses.

You grin. “You have manuals to go through first before seeing where this is gonna go?”

His helmet sways a little as if he's rolling his eyes. “I don't need a manual to navigate through this.”

Before another quip escapes you, Fixer grabs both your shoulders and leans his buy’ce against your forehead. Your eyes widen at the unexpected notion, and you're certain he can see, through his visor, your whirlwind of emotions flashing in your eyes—and really, so he does. You have no idea how fluttery his chest is, how wide his smile is, and how relieved he is somehow—he can't explain it—but there they all are.

You want to kiss him, and oh how badly you want to kiss him. But you can't just ask him to take his helmet off. He probably doesn't want to anyway—that's why he initiated the lingering kov’nyn, right? This will suffice for now. Having Fixer finally close to you—with you—the heat of his body and the material of his flight suit pressing into you… it’s more than enough.

“Fixer…” you murmur, your lungs feeling so heavy and light at the same time that you're about to float.

“Cyar’ika,” he returns, “Is this… okay?”

Despite your blush at the boldly said pet name, you hold in a snort, staring deep into his visor, hoping to meet his eyes behind as best as you can. “You said you didn't need any manuals.”

A pause. You're about two seconds too late to realize why he's reaching up to the edge of his helmet and before you know it, he's taking it off.

Fixer is handsome. His unruly curls are kissing his skin just above his eyebrows, and he smells like aftershave. White-lined scars from his time under the Empire's unforgiving hold on him litter across his face, the soft lines on his face and the amber in his eyes always seem to carry such a weight. Such a pain. Nevertheless his will to live and see his brothers again was stronger than his will to die in an Imperial hellhole. Either his clone programming or Vau’s teachings—Fixer’s strength to endure, will to heal, and overall steadfastness is obvious. 

And so with such unsaid adoration, you close the distance between you by grabbing his face and pressing your lips against his—his helmet drops to the forest floor with a thud. Gently at first as you realize you've rendered him frozen, but Fixer winds both hands around you to pull you impossibly closer before returning the gesture with a sigh.

He feels and tastes like everything you could've ever imagined about him. He's careful as he kisses you, his lips dry but not cracked and becoming moistened as you attempt to quench your passionate hunger.

Your mind is fully awake as you tread carefully, following his level of comfort, running your fingers up and down softly along his cheek. Sparks continuously burst inside you as he moves his mouth against yours with vigor, as if something inside him bursts open, opening in the slightest bit in an attempt to discover how he'd like the softness of your bottom lip. A quiet, breathless noise escapes you, and just then your longtime crush pulls away, both of you gasping for air—each other's air again, eventually—the sparks in both of your eyes are now shining brighter.

“That was…” he trails off, speechless.

“Incredible,” you breathe, your wide pleased grin invites his own. The handsome sight tugs you to refrain yourself from kissing him senseless again right there and then.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement.

You tease him, “Not bad for someone who hadn’t got the time to go through the manuals.”

Chuckling, Fixer goes to gently cup the sides of your face, laying a peck to your lips that would definitely swell had he continued but he doesn't, before smiling at you. A painfully soft, sincere smile. You watch on, as you commit the lovely view to memory, as he says, “Thank you.”

“What for?” you frown, amused. “The kiss? You know you don't need to. We wanted that, and we still do.”

“Yeah, but not only that.” Fixer looks at you lovingly. “For everything.”

divider by me!

Taglist: @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @filamentlights @heidnspeak @lucyysthings @emmaw18 @leiopython-rat

Delta Squad Taglist (lmk to join!): @mutilatemyheart @alor-ika

Also tagging @leafdupe and @pichiflu-draws the fellow Fixer's Bitches 👀💚

A/N: You can request for x reader in my askbox! If you're interested in my clone x reader oneshots you can sign up as well to be tagged of future works. (Link provided ⬆️)

[daydreamgoddess14]

💫 For Your Consideration - Act 5 - Part 1 💫

actor!Bucky x fem!actress!Reader (no use of y/n, l/n, reader is not described in any great detail. I save that for the gowns 💃)

Warnings: Hollywood AU, language, internet nasties, flirty!Bucky, a little power imbalance, age-gap (Bucky is around 40, actress reader is closer to 30 or younger if you prefer 🤭)... more to be added later.

Word Count: 8k

Bucky Barnes, the suave and talented leading man of the 'Winter Soldier' movie series, finds himself on the red carpet circuit during awards season with his latest film 'The Howling Commandos'. But the season takes an unexpected turn when he crosses paths with a mesmerizing newcomer - the actress who has become the talk of Tinseltown with her captivating performance in her most recent film. Sparks fly as they navigate silly season in Hollywood, with a spotlight on their every move will their chemistry ignite a real life romance?

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JANUARY 2026 - Part 1

Sam hooked his towel over the handlebars of the bike and adjusted the seat.

“When's her flight get in?” He asked, testing the resistance level.

“Tonight,” Bucky stood up in the saddle of his bike and turned the pedals a few rotations before sitting back down. “She's coming straight to the hotel, she asked the studio if she could stay at the Mondrian.”

“They’re forking out for a room she's not gonna see?” He laughed.

“Asshole.” The instructor breezed through and took the bike positioned on a small stage at the front. The class had filled up, and only a handful of bikes remained among the rows.

“Morning everyone, let's get warmed up!” They turned up the synth pop playlist.

“Why am I doing this damn class?” Bucky asked miserably, scrolling through her Instagram profile again and liking the latest picture.

“Because it's all there's time for today, you're a busy man my friend.”

“I also have a personal trainer? A good one?”

“It's good to mix it up. Now shut the hell up and ride,” Sam nudged him with his shoulder and they fell into sync with the music. Just as the instructor reached to turn off the lights, the door swung open and for a brief second Bucky assumed he was hallucinating. He watched her reflection in the mirror as she dashed in, grabbed the bike on the end of his row, dropped the seat a few clicks and hopped up.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

He missed the downbeat entirely, his legs grinding to a halt while the rest of the class surged forward.

“Eyes down, lover boy,” Sam muttered out of the side of his mouth.

But Bucky didn’t hear him, not really. He was too busy watching her ponytail swing as she settled into pace and concentrated on changing the settings on her bike.

She looked up at the mirror, as if feeling eyes on her, and looked directly at him. Her pace faltered for a moment in surprise, and then she beamed. Her hand lifted slightly in a little wave. Bucky regained his composure and carried on.

“One, two, one, two,” the instructor shouted over the music.

Bucky matched the beat again, legs pumping in time, but his focus was shot. He couldn’t stop looking into the mirror at her. He counted four people between them. Four. He could take out four people.

Though he wasn’t sure what it would do for his award chances.

She was already flushed, singing along to the music, water bottle tucked between her knees. Around her neck, a thin gold chain necklace bounced against her skin with each rotation.

Sam leaned over, barely audible over the thumping bass. “She’s early.”

Bucky shrugged, “Must have changed her plans.”

The class might as well have gone on forever. It felt like it had, his legs, his lungs both ready to give out. But he kept watching her, matching her pace - trying to, at least - matching her rhythm.

“Turn the resistance up, we're climbing!” The instructor shouted. Along the row, she took the chance to sit back in the saddle and take a drink. He took in the stretch of her neck as her head tilted back, the sheen of sweat on her throat and chest.

He immediately thought of the last time he'd seen her alone. In his bed with breakfast plates clinking and rattling against each other, one leg thrown over his shoulder, and his name tumbling out of her mouth over and over.

And then she was up again, leaning over the handlebars, climbing to the beat of the music, each rotation of the fixed wheels of the bike making her body bounce a little more.

“Look away, brother,” Sam warned. “Your blood ain't gonna be where your body needs it.”

Bucky ignored him, instead watching as she tilted her head to brush her earlobe against her shoulder and catch a drip of sweat.

Her tight lycra crop top pulled her breasts together and his eyes were drawn like a magnet.

She leaned further forward on the bike, Bucky wiped a hand over his mouth, dragging his gaze away just as the instructor shouted, “Alright team, let's finish off with a run! Light resistance, fast legs - let’s go!”

The music kicked up into something frantic and bass-heavy, an old classic that everyone knew, and suddenly the room was a blur of motion. He dropped his hips, legs burning as he found the rhythm.

From the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. She looked up - flushed, radiant - and locked eyes with him again. This time, she raised her brows with a playful challenge, then leaned into the sprint, legs flying, still singing along.

Bucky huffed out a breath, grinning despite himself. “Oh, it’s like that?” he muttered, kicking up his pace.

“Focus, Buck,” Sam warned through gritted teeth.

But it was too late. He was already chasing her.

The final track faded and the instructor congratulated them all. Bucky dismounted, his chest heaving, his legs like jelly.

She swung off her bike with a grin that hit him like a punch to the gut. The chain around her neck was still bouncing, catching the light. The one he'd brought her. The one he'd snuck into her bag before she left his hotel room, wrapped in green and gold Christmas paper and a tag that said:

Not until the 25th x

“Good class, huh?” Sam clapped him on the back, but Bucky barely heard him. She was already walking out - looking back once over her shoulder with a smile he recognised easily.

He didn't even think.

“Yeah, I'll catch you up,” he bumped Sam's shoulder and veered off in the same direction she'd gone in.

A minute later, he pushed open the door to the women's changing room - thankfully the main communal space was empty, and the only noise came from cubicle doors closing and locking, and the tinny music being played over the speakers.

He stood in the centre of the room, suddenly feeling foolish and completely unsure of what to do.

“You followed me?” Her voice came from behind him.

He turned. She was just stepping out from the water fountain, towel around her neck, skin still flushed and glowing.

“Well?” she asked, a crooked smile tugging at her mouth.

He rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. “Didn’t want to wait.”

She approached slowly, footsteps quiet on the tiles, eyes fixed on his. “Wait for what exactly?”

He reached for her, fingers curling around her waist, pulling her in. “You.”

She grinned, catching her lip between her teeth and stepped backwards, pulling him with her into a cubicle.

She locked the door and kissed him. The heat between them didn’t need time to build; it roared to life like it had been waiting for the moment her mouth found his.

He turned her quickly, switching their places and pushing her against the back of the door. Her body arched up against him, yanking off his sweaty t-shirt.

“Gotta be quiet,” he whispered into her ear, feeling her nod against him. He dragged his tongue from her earlobe to her throat and her hips bucked up to him, a faint whimper escaping her. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

“Please -”

He hiked her leg up around his hip, fingers already pushing beneath the waistband of her leggings. “God, I missed you,” he breathed, dragging the fabric down just enough.

“Prove it,” she whispered, biting his jaw.

There wasn’t time to be gentle. He shoved his shorts down, guided himself to her, and with a muffled groan against her shoulder, sank in slow, deep.

“Oh,” her hands clutched at his shoulders, her mouth falling open against his neck as he began to move - quick, rough, tight, with one hand tight on her hip and the other cupping her breast over the lycra of her top.

Every thrust made the door rattle behind her, her breath catching in little gasps she barely managed to muffle. His hand moved to clamp gently over her mouth as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Quiet, baby. Fuck, we’re almost there.”

She nodded, eyes wide, already close.

He felt her clench around him, legs shaking, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to hide her cry.

It tipped him over.

He pulled out just in time, groaning against her neck as he came hot across her skin, hips still twitching with the effort to hold back.

She let out a soft, breathless laugh, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his back. “You missed me, huh?”

They stayed there, tangled and panting, his hand cradling the back of her head.

After a moment, he pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes glassy, lips swollen, the gold chain sticking to the sweat on her chest. “Hmm hi,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.

She smiled softly, resting her forehead against his. “Hi. That was unexpected?”

He looked down at the mess between them and grimaced softly. “Should’ve waited… should’ve taken my time with you. On the bed. Got you all soft and sweet for me first.”

She let out a shaky breath, her thighs tightening around his hips like she wasn’t ready to let go. “That an apology or a promise?”

His mouth curved into a slow, lazy smile. “Both.”

“I missed you too.”

He traced the line of her necklace, letting his knuckle skim the dip between her breasts. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful. But you didn’t have to, I didn’t -”

“Shh,” he interrupted gently. “Didn’t give it to get something back. You showing up early’s a better gift than anything I could’ve wrapped.”

She laughed softly, leaning into his touch as he swept a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “You ok?” he asked, more seriously this time.

She nodded, still catching her breath. “Yeah. Better than ok.”

“Good,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Didn’t mean to ambush you in a gym bathroom like a horny teenager.”

“Well,” she smirked, “if this you at forty, I’m not complaining.”

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. “I’m going to hell.”

She kissed his temple. “You’re already in the women’s changing room. So what’s your plan for getting out of here without causing a scandal and ending up on TMZ?”

“I was hoping you had one. Or at least a towel I could steal.”

“I guess you’d better have this back then,” she said, tapping his arm to let her down. Hanging up was the hoodie he’d given her when she’d last left his hotel room. “If you walk fast and avoid eye contact…”

“Classic strategy.”

She tugged his shirt down, using it to wipe his stomach clean, fingers brushing his skin like she wasn’t ready to stop touching him. “You look like you’ve been up to no good,” she whispered, bringing her hand to her mouth, eyes dancing.

He chuckled, still flushed. “You’re not exactly radiating innocence either.”

She grabbed the hoodie from the hook and handed it over. “Here. This is quickly becoming the hoodie of shame.”

“I’ll wear it like a trophy.”

He caught her shy smile.

“Ok,” she sighed, straightening the hood. “Straight out the way you came in, if anyone asks, you just turned right instead of left.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You’ve done this before?”

“I have not! Go on, get lost. I’ll see you later?”

He gave her one last kiss - quick and bruising - and then he slipped out the door, hoodie up, heart still racing.

By the time you went to shower, the changing rooms had emptied out. The last two weeks had felt like a lifetime and it had been a relief that he’d been just as eager to see you. Despite the late night phone calls and the Christmas gift, the space between you had made everything less tangible, more open to fracture and interpretation. Your own doubts and insecurities had a tendency to creep in.

Once you’d made it back to the room, Dani was already knee-deep in her suitcase and Lulu had claimed the armchair, feet up, face mask on. The lights were low, the blackout curtains still drawn despite it being past 8am. You walked in still flushed from the ride. Your skin tingled, your hair was still half-damp, and your heart was doing stupid things in your chest.

“Someone’s glowing,” Dani said, eyeing you over a pile of unfolded clothes.

You tried to play it down with a shrug, but the grin gave you away.

“Oh my god,” Lulu pulled her mask off in one slow, dramatic motion. “You saw him already, didn’t you? You absolute menace.”

You flopped onto the bed and buried your face in a pillow. “It was so bad. Like, gym-class-horny bad. I couldn’t even look at him at first, he looked… oof, so hot.”

“You rode next to him in Lycra,” Dani said, horrified. “I would’ve combusted.”

You rolled over, laughing, and let it all spill, the spin class, the way he looked at you,

“Umm I’m sorry, you mean to tell me that you had semi-public sex with a movie star?” Lulu demanded.

“She’s a movie star too!”

“Yeah, but he’s like,” Lulu’s hand hovered somewhere above her head.

“And I’m wayyyy,” your hand dropped off the bed and to the floor, “down here. He followed me, I don’t think either of us expected it to happen.” You thought about the changing room door clicking shut behind you. A tangle of limbs and breathless apologies. Not just sex, something urgent and soft tucked into all that heat.

“You’re disgusting and I love it.” Dani grinned, throwing a balled up pair of socks at you. “Becka is on her way over with her rack of goodies, and then you’ve got an interview over lunch with The Hollywood Reporter - photoshoot for that is going to be the day after the Critics awards.”

Your phone buzzed

You free later? Or I have a few minutes now so we can figure something out together?

You tried to hide your smile, and failed completely.

“What?” Dani leaned in.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, typing back.

Come by now if you have a minute? 1412. If you’re feeling brave, you can meet my bodyguards…

You didn’t forewarn them.

When the knock came a few minutes later, they were mid-argument about color palettes and hair up vs. hair down.

“She can’t wear it down, it’s going to hide the back of the dress Becka wants her in,” Lulu grumbled.

“Trust me, Lu. Hair down,” Dani said, then raised her voice. “Get the sodding door!”

You swung it open with a warning, “stop arguing, both of you need to eat and sleep.”

“Bossy,” Bucky said, standing just outside with Sam beside him.

“Sometimes,” you smiled.

They stepped in, both hovering uncertainly just inside the door while Dani and Lulu fell instantly, comically, silent. You could feel the glee radiating off them in waves.

“Mornin’, ladies,” Sam said with his signature grin, reaching out to squeeze your elbow in a friendly half-hug. “Nice to meet you officially. I’ve heard everything and yet… nothing.”

You laughed, leaning into the hug. “Same. He’s pretty cagey.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, watching the easy comfort between you and Sam. He leaned in to press a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I’m not cagey,” he murmured. “I just don’t want you dragged into the bullshit that comes with all this.”

“I can handle it. I think,” you said with a slight grimace, just as Dani cleared her throat with the force of someone desperate to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping.

“I’ve got maybe ten minutes,” Bucky added, glancing at Sam. “We’ve got some brunch thing.”

“You don't want to hang around here, trust me,” you laughed. “Becka’s coming with wardrobe stuff, then I’ve got an interview over lunch.”

“Anything else?” Bucky asked.

“Not much,” Dani said quickly, still slightly stunned. “We kept today light. Jet lag and all.”

“Sam, what have I got?” Bucky turned to him.

“You’ve got that dinner tonight.”

Bucky looked back at you. “Yeah… I’m gonna skip that. Got someone else I’d rather take to dinner.”

Across the room, Lulu made a small, choked sound. Sam sighed.

“Right. Sure. But you owe me,” Sam said, pointing a finger your way.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” you grinned. “Don’t get blaming me for your unruly client.”

“I’ll show you unruly,” Bucky smirked.

Sam rolled his eyes and looked at Dani. “I’ll send you his schedule for the next few days?”

“Uh… yeah. Great. Thanks,” she said, clearly trying not to stare directly at Bucky like he might disappear. She went to stand next to Sam, swapping numbers and crucial non-skippable events.

The energy in the room shifted as soon as Becka arrived with tote bags slung over both arms. She barely paused long enough to clock the presence of one very famous man standing awkwardly in the corner, and his charming best friend and wingman.

Her eyes narrowed at Bucky, who gave her a polite nod, “you’re not press, are you?”

“No,” Bucky said with an easy grin. “Just here for moral support.”

Becka didn’t seem convinced. You caught Bucky watching you from where he leaned against the wall, arms folded, amusement tugging at the edge of his mouth like he’d walked into another universe as chaos began to unfold around him. You raised an eyebrow, silently challenging him to say something.

Sam glanced between you two and made a low sound of suffering. “Ok, I’m pulling the plug before he decides he’s not leaving. Barnes, let’s go.”

Bucky pushed off the wall, but not before stepping close enough to let his hand graze your hip. He dipped his head, voice low. “Text me when you’re free, and I’ll see you later.”

You nodded, pretending your skin hadn’t just set alight.

And just like that, they were gone, the door clicking shut behind them.

“Maybe this is something she should incorporate into her skincare routine,” Dani muttered later on as she zipped up one of the garment bags that had been relegated to ‘emergency spare’.

You lobbed a makeup brush at her, catching Becka’s eye in the mirror. “I’m still right here, you know.”

Becka smirked, “that post-orgasmic glow is beautiful, darling.”

You tried to focus, but your attention kept drifting back to your phone - to the message that had just come through.

7:30. I’ll pick you up. Hope you’re hungry.

A simple text. But your stomach did a flip anyway.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. The Hollywood Reporter lunch was smooth, if slightly surreal, you smiled through all the right stories, fielded questions about “what’s next,” and gave answers that felt half-believable even if you weren’t sure they were the truth.

But through it all, you could feel the hum of anticipation beneath your skin.

That night, you opened the door at 7:31 to find him standing there in jeans and a dark jacket, holding flowers and wearing a look that made your knees go loose.

“You’re late,” you teased.

“You’re breathtaking,” he answered, eyes sweeping over you slowly - from the heels to the soft wave of your hair to the tiny gold necklace catching the light at your collarbone. “Also, technically only by sixty seconds.”

You put the flowers on the nearest table. Lulu and Dani had gone exploring so you grabbed your bag and stepped into the hall. “Where are we going? Am I overdressed?”

“You’ll see, and no. Well, yes for what I want to do. But not for dinner.”

He didn’t take you somewhere flashy. It was a tucked-away restaurant in West Hollywood with low lights, candles, and a booth in the back where no one bothered you. The food was ridiculous. The wine was better. But you barely tasted either, too wrapped up in the way he looked when he laughed, the way his knee stayed pressed against yours, the way his voice dipped when he leaned in close.

You don't know how he managed to avoid paparazzi, but there didn't seem to be any around. It felt like a real date, like London.

Like you really were two people who'd met, gotten along and were steadily figuring out what the hell this was.

Back in the hotel room, he kissed you like it was still sinking in, that you were real, here, his. His hands under your dress, his mouth at your throat. Slowly, more patiently. The way he looked at you made your heart ache.

He kissed the hollow beneath your throat and murmured mine like a secret he couldn’t stop from slipping out.

He lay you back across the sheets, settled between your thighs like he belonged there. His fingers traced every edge, every dip, learning you again.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, lips brushing your knee, your hip, the inside of your thigh. “How often I think about this. About you.”

“Bucky -” you whispered, pleaded.

He carried on like he had all the time in the world.

“Were you singing on the bike this morning?” he asked, rudely pausing whatever magic his mouth had been working.

“What?”

He rested his chin on your hip bone, looked up the length of your body - flushed and aching.

“Were you singing?”

“Yes,” you mumbled. “It’s good practice for being able to move around and hit my notes.” You rose onto your elbows, narrowing your eyes. “Why?”

“What else can you hold a note doing?” he asked, all false innocence, as he made space for himself between your thighs.

You swallowed. “Circuits?”

“Boring.”

“Running.”

He shook his head, unimpressed. “Swimming?”

“Nope. I’m an awful swimmer,” you laughed. “I’d drown, for sure.”

“What a way to go,” he teased. You tried to draw your thighs together but he didn't let you. “And if I did this -” he nudged his nose against your clit, blowing just enough to make your hips twitch, “- hmm?”

Your breath hitched. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re not answering.”

“Yes,” you said confidently, though not steadily. Your hands skittering across the bed sheets, searching for something to hold onto.

“Yeah, you think so?” He stopped again and looked up at you, “I'm not the first to ask you that?”

“Jealous?”

He frowned, his stubble scratching your thigh as he sucked a mark on your hip. Your fingers ran through his hair and tugged slightly. He looked up, unimpressed.

“No one has asked me that before,” you confirmed.

“How do you know you can -”

“I just do,” you laughed. “At least, I think I do. You going to make me prove it?”

“Damn right I am,” he grinned wickedly, “go ahead sweetheart.”

His mouth on you was greedy, relentless, like he was making up for lost time. You lost track of the words you said, or whether you were even singing at all.

All you could focus on was the way your legs trembled, your hands in his hair, the filthy sound of him working you open with his tongue like he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck, Bucky -”

“C’mon baby,” he rasped against your skin, voice wrecked with want, “show me. Let me hear you.”

You tipped your head back, a cry caught between a gasp and a moan as he flattened his tongue and sucked, two fingers pushing deeper into you as your thighs clamped around his shoulders.

He didn’t let up.

Not when your hips began to roll helplessly under his grip.

Not when your hand fisted in the sheets, then in his hair.

Not even when you sobbed out his name, broken and desperate.

He growled something into your skin, possessive, hungry, and that alone nearly tipped you over.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, and then…

Then you fell apart.

Your body bowed, shaking with the force of it, every nerve frayed raw as you cried out, legs trembling, your voice cracking.

You were still catching your breath when he finally kissed his way back up your body. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat back against the headboard and pulled you close, your legs tangled with his.

“Was that a yes?” he murmured against your temple.

You let out a broken laugh. “I think I sang an entire chorus.”

He hovered beside you, grinning like a man proud of his work.

“Excellent breath control. I'm impressed,” he smirked. “You ok?”

You stretched, eyes still closed. “Hmm, floating.”

“You better be. I -” he cut himself off, shifting down enough to kiss your shoulder instead. “I… I like making you feel like that.”

You turned to him, cupping his face, pupils blown wide again with hunger. “Let me make you feel like that.”

He started to shake his head, always the gentleman.

But this time, you were faster - already moving.

“Let me?”

Bucky swore under his breath, dragging a hand over his face. “Doll, you don’t have to -”

“I want to.” You looked up at him through your lashes, pleased by the way his jaw clenched. “You think I haven’t thought about this? About you?”

His breath caught as you wrapped your hand around him, slow and certain, the way you'd imagined more than once when you were alone. His hand curled into your hair - just holding lightly, but the way his stomach muscles flexed told you how close he already was.

You made yourself comfortable, intentionally pressing your body against his.

“You looked pretty good on that bike earlier,” you said, brushing your thumb over the tip of his cock, catching the sharp breath he took. “All focused and sweaty and trying not to look at me.”

“I looked,” he said, voice hoarse.

You smiled, slow and sinful, and lowered your mouth to him.

“Jesus,” he muttered as you took him in, slow and steady, letting your lips drag over every inch, your tongue teasing just under the head.

You hummed softly, just to feel the way he twitched on your tongue. His hips flexed despite himself, his hand tightening in your hair, still careful, still holding back.

You didn’t want him to hold back.

You hollowed your cheeks, dragging him deeper, loving the way he cursed under his breath, how his thighs tensed under your palms.

“If you keep going,” he warned, his voice ragged, “I’m not gonna make it to round two.”

You pulled off with a soft, wet pop, your lips slick, your mouth swollen. “I don't believe that.”

His breath hitched. He huffed a laugh.

“Get back up here.”

You stayed where you were, licking him slowly as you met his gaze. “Say please.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Not annoyance, but something darker. Hotter. A warning, maybe. A promise.

He didn’t say please.

He let you keep touching him, teasing him, tasting him until he was groaning, hips stuttering toward your mouth.

You felt him getting close - the way his thighs trembled, the way his hand in your hair twitched like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or let you finish him off right there.

You hollowed your cheeks again, determined to take him all the way.

But just when you thought he’d fall apart, his grip tightened slightly and he pulled you back - not rough, not forceful, just enough to catch your gaze.

“You want to take care of me?” he asked, voice low and frayed. “Then let me fuck you properly.”

It wasn’t a question. It was like the way you’d worshipped him with your mouth had pushed him too far, and now he had to return the favour with his whole body.

He sat up fully and kissed you. Hands on your hips pushing you down on the bed, palms sliding down your thighs, his mouth hot at your jaw, your neck.

You reached for him when he pressed you into the mattress, his body covering yours. His hand slid between your thighs again, and you whimpered - still sensitive, but greedy for more.

He groaned against your mouth, like he could feel it too.

“Let me grab -”

“Wait.” Your hand gripped his bicep, squeezing gently. “I… I went on the pill.”

He stilled, like he’d heard something sacred.

You hesitated, frozen under the weight of his gaze, shyness creeping in. “I know we haven’t really… y’know, talked about… other people. But there isn’t anyone else, for me at least, so…”

For a moment, all he did was look at you.

“But if you’re not in the same pla -”

“Same here,” he interrupted softly, his hand coming to your cheek, slow and tender. “Just you.”

His hand slid from your cheek to your hip, and he nudged your nose with his.

“And you’re sure?” he asked, voice low.

Your answer came in the way you kissed him - hungry, breathless, full of all the things you weren’t brave enough to say aloud.

He didn’t make you wait. He lined his body with yours, slow and certain, his eyes locked on yours the whole time. And when he finally pushed into you, you both gasped.

There was no teasing now. No slow burn. Just the quiet ache of need finally met, the stretch and slide of skin on skin. His hand tangled with yours against the pillow, his other braced beside your head as he rocked into you like he couldn’t get close enough.

“You feel - fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good,” he groaned, voice wrecked.

You barely managed a reply - just his name, whispered like prayer, like surrender. He kissed you through it, fingers linked with yours, whispering encouragement until you fell apart beneath him.

Afterwards, he didn’t let you go far. Just enough to clean you up, kiss your shoulder, brush your hair from your face. You’d barely caught your breath when your fingers drifted lower again, teasing.

“You’re insatiable,” he murmured, grinning sleepily, though he was already responding to your touch. “You trying to kill me?”

“Not at all,” you kissed his jaw, the stubble scratching at your skin. “That’s the last thing I want.”

He let out a low laugh. “Trying to make me prove I’ve still got stamina?”

You arched a brow. “You’re not saying you’re old, surely?”

“You're gonna be the death of me,” he whispered - but he was already moving, shifting over you again. “Now let’s see who taps out first.”

He was all heat and muscle and quiet, determined control, his hands sure where you were shaking. This time, it was slower - and you were grateful for it, you wanted to feel all of it. You wanted your bones to ache the next morning, you wanted him to fill you so completely that no one else would ever be good enough.

“God, baby…” he whispered, as you clenched around him, voice dissolving into a groan.

He didn’t let up until you were writhing again beneath him, your hands fisting in the sheets, legs trembling as you came for him a third time - and then, finally, he followed with a ragged, guttural moan, burying his face in your neck.

For a long minute, all either of you could do was breathe.

Then he rolled gently to the side, arm still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling against your back.

“You ok?” he asked softly, voice rough with tenderness.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah. That was…”

He smiled, one thumb smoothing across your hip. “Yeah.”

You let yourself melt into the quiet. Into him.

He pulled you gently to his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath your cheek. “I missed you,” he murmured.

You’d meant to sleep. Really, you had. But his mouth was warm on your neck, his fingers tracing lazy shapes across your skin. Somewhere between your third or fourth attempt to untangle from each other, you’d ended up entwined again, his hands sure and coaxing, your body pliant beneath his.

And when you’d finally collapsed, limp-limbed and aching, tucked into his side with your name on his lips - it felt dangerous, how much you wanted to stay there.

Bucky had never been good at mornings. But watching her pad barefoot across the hotel carpet in one of his shirts - skin flushed, hair a mess - was a better wake-up call than any alarm clock.

She moved quietly, like she didn’t want to wake him, but he’d stirred the second she’d slipped out of bed. He watched, letting her think she was alone, as she surveyed the room - her dress slung over a chair, his jacket on the floor, one of her earrings glinting from under the table - and blushed. She’d reached for his shirt to cover herself up, then gathered her things before turning her attention to the coffee machine.

He should’ve felt smug. He didn’t.

He felt wrecked in the best possible way.

And beneath that there was something much softer. Something he’d not let in before. A piece of himself he’d never shared with anyone.

Hope.

It lodged itself deep in his chest, sparking every time she looked at him like she had last night like he was something worth choosing. Worth keeping.

And that scared him more than all the press junkets waiting downstairs.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep before he could stop himself.

She jumped, hand to her chest. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he said, watching her with a slow smile. “But it’s much better with you in here?”

“Is that right?”

“You coming back?” he smirked.

She giggled and abandoned the coffee machine, “only if you promise to get that thing working?”

“I just have something really important to do first,” he insisted, taking her wrist and pulling her towards the bed. She climbed into his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, warm and sleepy and smiling.

He wasted no time in gripping her ass and dragging her closer, burying his face against her throat like he could breathe her in. His hand dropped between them both, his fingers tiptoeing up her inner thigh.

“You said something about important business?” she murmured, breath catching.

“Mm,” he hummed against her skin. “Real urgent. Life or death.”

“You’re relentless.”

“You love it.”

Her hands slid into his hair as he shifted beneath her, one hand spreading low over her back to hold her steady. “I’m serious,” he said, softer now, his mouth brushing her collarbone. “Five more minutes. Just… stay.”

She looked at him, something soft flickering behind her smile.

Then she nodded, pressing her forehead to his. “Five minutes.”

He kissed her like he meant to stretch them into forever, swallowing her moans as his fingers found exactly what they were looking for.

His thumb brushed over her clit and she shivered in his arms, “who’s relentless?”

She rolled her hips against him, “still you. You’ve brought this out in me, you only have yourself to blame.”

When she collapsed against him again, her breath warm on his neck, he decided he’d happily take the blame.

Five minutes turned into another hour. She was still warm from sleep, curled half on top of him, her leg tangled with his, her cheek resting just above his heart.

He hadn’t moved. Wouldn’t, if he had the choice.

But eventually, her fingers began tracing slow, reluctant circles against his chest.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Stylists were waiting. Publicists. Cameras. A thousand eyes they weren’t ready for - not yet.

When she finally shifted to sit up, he followed, sliding behind her, arms wrapping around her waist.

She leaned back into him with a soft sigh.

“You could just… stay,” he said, his mouth brushing her shoulder. “We could order in. Pretend the awards aren’t happening.”

She laughed, quiet and tired and beautiful. “And miss your big acceptance speech?”

“You think I’m gonna win?”

She turned to look at him. “I know you’re going to win.”

His heart kicked hard in his chest. It wasn’t the awards that did it.

She slipped from the bed again, catching his eye in the mirror as she reached for her clothes.

“What?” she asked softly.

He just looked at her. “You look good in my shirt.”

Her lips twitched. “I’ll give it back.”

“Don’t.” And he meant it.

She crossed to him once more and kissed him, slow and sweet. “I’ll see you later?”

“You’d better,” he murmured.

And then she was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

The red carpet was a machine. Flashbulbs, shouted names, the heat of a dozen camera lights burning into his skin. Bucky smiled on cue, laughed at a question he didn’t really hear, and let Sam lead the way through the crowd.

But every now and then, his eyes found her.

She wasn’t near him. But he saw her - radiant, poised, a vision in a black striped dress. The crowd adored her. The cameras did too.

And when they ended up side by side on the photo wall, it felt like he had a secret no one else got to have.

They smiled, made it look entirely professional, like he hadn’t spent at least 12 hours out of the last 20 kissing her.

The ceremony itself blurred at the edges until they started announcing his category. Bucky hadn’t prepared a speech. He hadn’t thought he’d win, but when they called his name, and Sam clapped him on the back, and the room erupted, the only person he looked for was her, three tables away.

He didn’t see her, not immediately, but he felt her eyes. She was on her feet, along with a few other people. He saw the moment she mouthed “told you so.”

He kept his speech short. Grateful. Honest.

“And finally,” he said into the mic, “there are a couple of people that remind me every day why I do this. Thank you.”

He left the stage to a roar. But all he could hear was the thunder of his own heartbeat.

The party was loud - champagne flutes clinking, music pulsing low under a din of overlapping conversations. Bucky had been passed from handshake to handshake, back slap to back slap, until his head was spinning more from praise than from the whiskey in his glass.

But then he saw her.

She wasn’t looking for him. Not obviously. But she drifted close, laughing at something someone said, her glass of something golden cradled in one hand. Her dress clung to her frame like it had been painted on. Her hair was swept back, exposing the slope of her neck - the same place his lips had been just hours earlier.

Their eyes met for a beat too long.

“Congratulations,” she said softly when he stepped near enough. Polite. Perfect. Safe for the cameras. But her eyes held something else entirely.

“Thanks,” he said, just as soft. He didn’t touch her, but his hand hovered near her waist.

Someone bumped into him, and the moment broke. She stepped away smoothly, disappearing into the crowd again.

She barely had the door open before he was on her.

It wasn’t rough - not quite. Just urgent. His hands in her hair, her dress bunched in his fists. Her back hit the wall with a soft thud and she gasped into his mouth, his name already a breathless prayer on her tongue.

“You looked so fucking good tonight,” he growled, dragging his mouth down her jaw, his teeth catching on the soft skin below her ear. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, tugging it open, baring his chest. “You were brilliant,” she breathed. “God, Bucky - you were -” Her voice caught as he hoisted her up, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“I couldn’t stop looking at you.” He walked her backward toward the bed, his voice thick with everything he hadn’t been able to say in public. “Couldn’t think about anything else. Not the cameras. Not the speech. Just you.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair. “So show me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

They tumbled to the mattress, a tangle of limbs and heat and soft, desperate sounds. He peeled her dress down like he’d been dreaming of it, kissing every new inch of skin he uncovered. She writhed beneath him, fingers gripping his shoulders, her voice breaking every time he said her name like a promise.

When he finally sank into her, they both moaned, already too far gone to pretend they were anything but casual.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was need. Fast, breathless, intense - the kind of sex that left them both shaking, chasing the high of a victory that only really mattered because she was there to see it.

“Mine,” he murmured against her neck as she came again, pulling him deeper, her nails dragging lines down his back.

“Yours,” she said, voice cracked open with truth.

Later, when they were a mess of sweat and satisfaction and tangled sheets, she curled into his side, breath still shaky, and pressed a kiss over his heartbeat.

“You really were incredible tonight.”

“So were you,” he whispered back, kissing the top of her head. “And in a couple of days, we do it all over again.”

“Think you’ll win the Globe?”

“I’ve already got what I wanted,” he said, pulling her closer. “You’re going to win though.”

She scoffed, nudging him with her elbow, “don’t be daft. Of course I’m not.”

“You’ll see.”

Morning light spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, pooling across the sheets. She was still asleep, tucked close, her fingers resting just over his heart like they always ended up there.

Bucky didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to lose this. He’d made sure that she’d woken up in his bed every morning since she’d arrived in LA, every spare moment they’d spend together.

But the Globes were tonight. And even though he knew the circus was only going to get louder and messier, something in him wanted to take a step, a real one. No more hiding in the shadows. Not from the people who mattered.

She stirred against him, breath warm on his chest. Her lashes fluttered, and then she blinked up at him, sleepy and soft.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Hey.”

“I could get used to this,” she sighed.

For a few moments, they lay quietly.

“I was thinking,” he said eventually, brushing her hair back from her face. “Maybe we don’t do the whole separate suite thing tonight?”

Her brow furrowed slightly.

“I mean, I’m not saying we walk the carpet together,” he added quickly. “But maybe you get ready here? With me? Let Sam and the girls see us, just a little. Something real - just for us.”

She was quiet. Too quiet. Her hand slipped away from his chest as she turned onto her back, reaching for her phone.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You don’t have to say yes.”

“No, it’s not that,” she said, scrolling. “I just -” She sucked in a breath, the screen glowing in her palm. “They’re already talking. About us.”

He sat up slightly, watching her face. “What do you mean?”

She tilted the phone so he could see: blurry red carpet shots, some press tweet about undeniable chemistry, a few fan posts speculating that something was going on between them - timelines lined up, comments dissected, a dozen takes too close to the truth.

And then, one that made his jaw clench:

It’s all PR. She’s not his type anyway.

He looked at her. The flicker of doubt in her eyes cut deeper than any headline.

“Hey,” he said, catching her chin, making her look at him. “You ok?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was too honest. “It’s stupid. I knew it was going to be like this.”

He nodded, “it still sucks.”

“Yeah.”

He kissed her. Slow. Certain. Like that could replace every shitty tweet she’d read.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he murmured. “Not to them.”

Her eyes softened. “I know. It’s just hard to ignore the noise.”

“Well,” he said, brushing his thumb along her cheek, “we’ll drown it out. One thing at a time.”

She looked at him for a long beat. Then she nodded. “Ok. I’ll get ready here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Let’s do it.”

And when she leaned in to kiss him again - something gentler now, but no less full - he felt it down to his bones.

One thing at a time.

The suite smelled like his cologne and fresh coffee.

You sat cross-legged on the couch in a silk robe, hair half-pinned, makeup halfway done, watching Bucky button his shirt in the mirror. He’d offered you space to get ready on your own - you’d refused. You wanted to be near him.

“You know you're staring, right?” he teased, catching your eye in the reflection just before Lulu blocked his view again.

“Can you blame me?” you shot back.

He crossed the room in a few strides and stole a kiss while Lulu warmed up the mascara. “You're beautiful,” he said simply. “You were always going to steal the whole damn night.”

Your stomach twisted in a good way. Mostly.

“Too fucking cute,” Lulu whispered once he’d gone again.

There were knocks at the door throughout - Sam and Natasha dropped in briefly, cracking jokes, throwing compliments. Becka came and went, adjusting your hem and smoothing fabric. Through it all, Bucky stayed close. A hand on your lower back, fingers brushing yours when no one was looking, touching you whenever he was close enough to do so.

By the time you left the suite for separate cars, your heart was thudding so hard you could barely hear yourself think.

You didn’t think it could get any crazier.

And then your name was called.

It was a blur.

Your table erupted, Steve held out his arm to guide you up the steps and into the welcoming arms of Stephen Strange who handed over the award. You looked out across the glittering room and found him. Watching you like you were the only one there.

And in that one, tiny moment, you let yourself feel it.

Joy. Pride. Something terrifyingly close to love.

You clutched the award in both hands, terrified you might drop it, and somehow, you were still remembering to breathe.

“Fuck me,” you whispered. The microphone picked it up and laughter filtered throughout the room. “Shit, sorry. It’s just… I never, never expected this. Truly,” your voice trembled, tears swam in your eyes but you were determined not to let them fall. You racked your brain to think of everyone you needed to thank, everyone you needed to acknowledge. “I don't know where to start! My dad. My dad and my brother, there are… very few men in this world as good and special as you both. I love you, I wish mama were here to see this. Bruce, you took, like, the biggest gamble on me. I hope I never let you down. This was, is… my first movie…. if I never get to do this again, if I never see any of you all again, then please know that I've had the absolute time of my life and I'm forever grateful to have been a small part of this. Thank you.”

Back at the table, people rose to clap.

You could see him a few tables away, looking like he wanted to plow through them to get to you.

You could barely feel the ground beneath your feet, you needed air. You half hoped he’d be able to sneak out too if he saw you leaving.

It wasn’t until you’d ducked into the corridor behind the ballroom - award still clutched in hand - that you heard them.

Two industry men, just out of sight around the corner, old voices and expensive cologne.

“Sweet girl,” one said. “But let’s not pretend she had real competition this year.”

“Yeah, quiet category. Flash-in-the-pan stuff, probably. Happens.”

“And you know who she’s apparently seeing, right? Pretty convenient.”

“Fucking your way to the top never gets old, buddy.”

Laughter. The rustle of tuxedos. Ice clinking in glasses.

You froze. Just long enough to catch your breath.

Their voices faded. The clatter of applause for the next category rolled on.

You turned the award over in your hands. It felt heavier than before. Somehow… smaller, too.

From the ballroom came the muffled sound of laughter, music, someone’s acceptance speech.

You stood still, blinked hard, and forced yourself to go back inside.

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter two -

I might kill my ex, not the best idea

Eddie warned Robin that a game of never have I ever was a bad idea, and you should know better than to go snooping where you don’t belong.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking (hey it’s a summer time barbecue in the midwest), you thought there was a lot tension the last chapter? baby, you haven’t seen nothing yet. jealousy, spicy things are revealed about all of them during a drinking game.

wc: 9.5k

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

It’s been one week.

One entire week without even so much of a glimpse of that permanently messy head of hair, and god, you hated how much it bothered you. Ears perking up every time you’d catch the cadence of his voice through the receiver of Robin’s cordless phone the few times he called her to check in. Like an unwanted guest who wasn’t taking the hint, his broad shoulders and full pink lips that somehow always look like they need to be kissed haunt your unsuspecting dreams at night. 

You hate it, you hate him, and you try not to spiral about why it feels like the opposite.

“We’re going over to Steve’s tonight,” Robin practically hums around a mouthful of fruit loops, completely unaware of you already stewing about the boy whose name just rolled off her tongue this early in the morning. 

“What?” You snap, tearing your eyes from the slow pour of the coffee maker in front of you, grouchy and wound up from a dream about his big hands pulling your legs apart so perfect white teeth could nip at the inside of your thighs.

“Steve, you know that guy you told me you’d try and be nice to. The one who’s fixing your car?” Sarcasm drips from her tone as she scoops up another bite, “We’re going to his house.”

Of course.

“That’s cool with me.” You muster up enough effort to twist your lips up into a smile that feels more like a grimace. The smashed rainbow Robin reveals in her mouth when she laughs tells you it is.

“Do me a favor, and never go into acting.” Swallowing loudly, she drops her spoon back into her bowl with a clank. “I do appreciate you trying to pretend like you’re okay with it, though, and in all seriousness, we haven’t gone this long without seeing each other in like, forever. He says you're keeping me hostage.”

“I’m keeping you hostage?!” You scoff with a roll of your eyes, turning your back to finally pour yourself the cup of coffee you’ve waited so patiently for. “He’s the best friend stealer.”

“I’m not going to lie, I think I like you two fighting over me,” she laughs, looking a little too smug for your liking as she brings her empty bowl to the sink, Garfield slippers scuffling across the tile, too lazy to pick up her feet from the floor.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re sick.” A real smile curls up into your cup, inhaling the rich scent into your nose. “What are your plans to torture me with his presence this time?” 

Robin narrows her stare at you in a silent warning, pulling herself up to sit on the counter, orange cat covered feet dangling freely as you meet her gaze with softened eyes in a silent apology.

“Eddie’s off tonight, so we’re having a little reunion barbecue, and Steve’s gonna grill.”

Choking on your coffee, you sputter your sip back into your mug, turning her freckled face sour.

“Since when does Steve know how to cook, let alone grill?”

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you know you’re skating on thin ice, but all the built up tension that tightens your muscles, and buzzes incessantly at your fingertips makes everything feel impossible to control.

“He’s not seventeen anymore - “

“Really? He had me fooled shoving his tongue down some pretty blonde’s throat at Rick’s the other night.” 

“That’s - come on, you know that's not fair. He didn’t even know -”

”Why stop at just the four of us, let’s invite Vickie, make it a real party.”

The name of your best friend’s ex leaves your mouth before you can stop it, instant regret making a heavy home in your chest that feels like it might cave in when her mood shifts with glassy eyes and it’s completely your fault.

“I take back what I said, I need you to start acting again.”

Jumping off the counter, you set your mug down so you can grab her arm before she can take those few steps out of the kitchen. 

“Hey! Look, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” 

She doesn’t put up much of a fight, even though you deserve it, the blue in her eyes turn to ice when she looks at you.

“I’m sorry.”

She holds your stare until she can tell you actually mean it, melting glaciers with a heavy sigh. 

“It’s fine, I get it.” 

Her words come out soft, just like the lines that smooth on her face.

“I know this is weird and like totally against friend code or whatever, but I think that just goes to show how much he must mean to me or even a testament to how much he’s changed if I’m even asking you to just try and do this. Just try, that’s all.”

“No, you’re right,” you fluster, doing your best to reassure her in a shaky voice, “I just slept badly and had a really weird dream. It just threw me off a little. I’m being so awful and I’m sorry.” 

Flashes of the way his hands gripped your hips and the dirty things he whispered in your ear has your palms start to sweat, making you loosen your grip on her arm before she can notice. 

Robin searches your face for the reassurance that she needs before a small smile finally tugs at the corners of her lips.“This is why you’re my best friend.” She pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“Only if you tell him that.” 

Snaking your arms around her waist, you let out a shaky laugh, silently preparing to see the man who hasn’t left the crevices of your mind since you stepped foot back in Hawkins.

———

It feels like you’re back in high school the way you can’t stop looking at yourself in the mirror, the nerves still feel the same.

Your gaze wanders up and down your reflection, turning from side to side, overly critical eyes take in your curves that are on display a little more than normal and you wonder if Robin will notice. Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, better yet you wonder if Robin will notice and have something to say about it. 

“You’re certainly spending a lot of time on an outfit.” Your best friend whistles low as she leans against the open bedroom door confirming your fears with a cross of her arms.

“Just trying to remember what I brought is all.” You don’t engage with the amusement that hides in her tone, smoothing down the short black skirt that flares over the tops of your thighs, before adjusting the straps on your matching tank top.

“Riiiight,” she snorts, earning the kind of glare that has her raising her hands in defense before a shit-eating grin cracks wide across her face. “I’m going to need you to hurry up, though. Do I need to remind you that we’re walking?”

“I’m done!” You huff, sock covered feet digging into her cream carpet as you make your way toward her, “I just need to put on my shoes.”

“You’ve got twenty secon-” she agonizes before three hard knocks on her front door cut her off. Her cheshire smile falters as she turns confused.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get to finish that sentence,” you warn in a harsh whisper, grabbing your Converse that had been haphazardly kicked off earlier in the corner. 

Robin puts a ringed finger to her lips, like the possibility of a kidnapper being on the other side is extremely probable, and it’s her turn to glare when you roll your eyes at her dramatics. Following her out to the living room, you plop down on the couch, watching her slowly creep to the front door. Both her hands find the blue painted wood pushing up on the toes of her Reeboks to look out the peephole.

“Steve?!” 

The name makes your stomach flip, a shaky breath pushing its way through watermelon flavored lips because you thought you had more time than this. Keeping a poker face, you take your time tying your laces as she swings the door open. Head down, your eyes keep their focus on how the dirty white strings move between your fingers. 

You’re not ready to look at him. Not yet.

“After taking you to school at 7am every day after I graduated, you really thought I was going to let you walk?” The smile in his voice is evident, a fond memory you’re not a part of but you can still feel the warmth inside it by the way he speaks. 

“Thank god,” she starts, the insinuation of the words that are going to follow making your eyes snap up, narrowed and shooting daggers at your best friend, catching Steve’s attention in the process. 

“We were going to be late.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, his gaze claiming yours and holding it against your will, the beginnings of a smirk playing on his full lips and suddenly it’s so much warmer in her living room than it was two seconds ago. “Why’s that?”

He somehow looks even better than the last time you saw him, a bad habit you’re quickly learning that he has. The honey colored tips of his chestnut hair curl at the ends, sticking out of the sides of his backwards baseball hat. A well worn black cotton shirt with the sleeves cut out has the arms that you’d dreamt about on full display. The summer sun somehow dotting even more freckles across his shoulder blades that flex everytime he spins his car keys around his finger. The dark cherry red basketball shorts he wears hit the bottoms of his hairy thighs, the red mesh even more vibrant against his tan skin, just like the white leather of the Nike Cortez’s that cover his feet. 

“She’s just being dramatic,” you grumble, finally tearing your eyes from the dark moss that covers the chocolate inside his, doing your best to ignore the heat of them wandering the bare skin of your legs as you finish tying your shoes.

“You changed your outfit like sixty times!” 

This is the moment that you decide you’re going to kill Robin in her sleep tonight.

“Well, I’m ready so you both can stop being annoying now.” Standing, you tug down the bottom of your skirt that suddenly feels even shorter with his full attention on you like this.

“Wait, why am I annoying? I just got here.” Steve argues when your words finally sink in, snapping him out of his daze, catching the keys in his palm. 

“You’re always annoying, Harrington,” you sigh, hoping your deflections are working, but the small smile that never leaves his lips tells you it’s not.

“Shotgun!” Robin calls out like it’s something you would have argued over. Your shoulder brushes with his as you push your way out the door, sending sparks to the tips of your fingers and making your hair stand on end. Steve and the summer heat warm your skin. 

“It’s all yours,” you concede with ease, ignoring the butterfly wings that wreak havoc in your rib cage when the spice of his cologne makes its way into your nose.

It was going to be a night.

Steve keeps the windows rolled down, the muggy air making your bare thighs stick together and to the hot leather of his backseat. It drowns out the music as he speeds down the back roads, making the conversation between him and Robin upfront almost inaudible.

You don’t worry about what they might be saying, not even when they both start gesturing wildly with their hands. Taking advantage of the time left alone, you put all of your focus into preparing yourself for the next few hours, doing your best to push the lingering thoughts of your dream deep down to a place that no one can find. A task that proves to be much harder while avoiding his gaze that dares you to meet it in the rear view mirror the entire way. 

The memories you have of the back of his car don’t help either.

Pulling into Forest Hills trailer park, you’re surprised at the facelift they finally gave it after all these years. Lush green grass grows where the yellow and brown shrub used to be, and a wooden gazebo that looks like it’s missing a finishing coat stands tall, replacing the picnic table where you and the metal head used to smoke. Even the gravel that paves the road looks new and gray, not the dirt brown mud that it used to be. 

It’s still a struggle to wrap your head around the fact that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, the former king of Hawkin’s and Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson not only work together, but live together too. You would have laughed in anyone’s face if they told you this five years ago. 

The BMW’s tires crunch loudly against the rocks as Steve pulls into the driveway of a hunter green trailer. It sits in the back of the park, almost touching the edge of the woods behind it. A faded white line running along the length that matches the metal railing of their front entrance and the overhang that covers it. The paint peels from parts of the metal in the heat, revealing spots of the gray hidden underneath. A worn in deep maroon couch sits on the porch just like the dirty brown one at Wayne’s trailer, and you already know Eddie spends his mornings there. You internally groan when you catch yourself wondering if Steve does too.

“Home sweet home,” he hums, cutting the engine off and pulling you out of your thoughts. 

You dare to meet his eyes for the first time since you left the apartment when Robin jumps out of the front seat, and you immediately regret it. He smiles wide, finally catching your attention, those perfect white teeth baring themselves at you as he pulls off his hat to run a hand through his sweaty bed head. The long strand he’s always at battle with falls through the opening in the back when he puts it on again, because, of course it does.

“Good to see you finally slumming it with the rest of us, King Steve,” you snort, pulling on the handle to let yourself out, ending any chance of conversation.

If it wasn’t for your Eddie barreling out of the front door to greet you and Robin with a big dimpled grin and a freshly rolled joint, you would’ve thought a little harder about the way Steve winced at the nickname.

The Munson/Harrington Bachelor pad anomaly isn’t exactly what you expected it to be, but even then you weren’t entirely sure what that was. It’s cozy just like how Wayne’s used to be but where there’s hand me downs that have been through the short line of Munson men’s hands, there’s an equal amount of obviously perfectly well kept new. Like the shiny big TV in the center of their living room, and the well-loved lazy boy in front of it, that still had cigarette burns from its previous owner, next to the rich tan leather couch right by it.

It smells like it has just been cleaned, a sanitizing lilac still lingering in the air, trying its best to cover the smell of all grease stained clothing in their hampers and the smoke from joints like the one Eddie’s about to put out in an ashtray full of ones just like it.

He sits at the head of the table with a lopsided grin that pushes up the apples of his cheeks and reveals the deep dimples in the center of them. Droopy lids frame his bloodshot eyes that meet your own. Orange and pinks paint the darkening sky through the sliding glass door behind him. 

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” Eddie chuckles with a fond glint in big brown eyes leaning back in his chair that squeaks under the redistribution of his weight.

“Back by popular demand,” you smirk, pointing at Robin, who sits just on the other side of the table, glassy eyed with an unwavering smile. 

You try to ignore how the empty chair next to her bothers you, or they way your eyes keep looking toward the kitchen through the small opening of their little island, giving you the perfect view of Steve prepping dinner. His thick eyebrows are furrowed as he digs through spice racks and drawers, front teeth digging into the plushness of his bottom lip deep in thought.

“I think this calls for a fire,” Eddie announces loudly, bringing you back to the conversation with a slap of his palms on the wood of the table and the kind of smirk that tells you that you’ve been caught.

“We told Janice next door weekends only after last time,” Steve’s voice startles you, making his presence known, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. 

“It’s Thursday. Practically the weekend. Besides it’s a special occasion, look who’s here Stevie boy.” Something in Eddie’s tone makes Steve’s eyes narrow in a silent threat that only makes the metal heads' lips twist up into something more devilish. 

“You have to put it out before bed then, I’m not dealing with it like last time.” Steve accepts defeat quicker than anticipated, “And if she calls or comes over to complain at all, that's all on you too.”

”Deal,” Eddie agrees with five fingers across his heart, the silver of his rings catching in the low light of their trailer.“I think she’s got a crush on me anyway.”

“She’s married,” Steve dead pans with a deep sigh, taking his hat off to run another hand through his hair and you hate the way it has your thighs meeting under the table. “Who’s helping me with dinner then?”

He knows better than to look at you, so his gaze falls onto his roommate and best friend.

”Don’t look at me!” Robin argues, raising her right hand to show off the faded scar on her palm. “Last time I tried to help, I had to get stitches, remember?”

”The fire’s a full time job I’m afraid,” Eddie shrugs, standing up. Not missing a beat, they both look at each other like they're in on some secret that you and Steve aren’t apart of before their eyes land on you.

”You know I’m not a good cook,” you whine, refusing to meet the heat of Steve’s stare that burns against the side of your face.

”I’m sure Steve’s more than willing to help teach you, princess.” Eddie grins, and it makes you want to slap the dimples clean off his face.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine, I can do it by myself,” Steve interjects with a sigh before you have a chance to respond with something that he knows will just egg the metal head on and get his ego even more bruised.

He’s not expecting the way your eyes snap to his, or the way they narrow with something fiery deep inside them.

”We’re grown adults, Steve. I think I can handle helping you cut some vegetables or whatever it is you need me to do.” Standing up with a shove of your chair, he doesn’t even attempt to argue about how that’s the exact opposite of what you just said.

”There we go! Problem solved.” Eddie’s grin is mischievous, and so is the wink he throws at his roommate before opening the sliding glass door, ushering Robin out and leaving you both alone.

The tension inside the kitchen hangs thicker in the air than the humidity outside weighing down your shoulders, making the words stick in the back of your throat as you try to navigate the close proximity to Steve. Neither one of you is sure of what to say first, and the sound of Eddie and Robin laughing outside filling the silence between you somehow makes it worse. 

The weed twists the knots in your stomach tighter, and the cedar that always seems to linger whenever he’s around turns suffocating without an escape. You lean against the sink across from him while he digs through the icebox in the fridge. Shoulder blades moving with the motions of his wrist, plastic crinkling loudly every time he moves a bag out of the way. Muttering to himself, you watch goosebumps rise on his tan skin from the cool air, muscles twitching from the shock.

This was a mistake. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you tear your eyes away in hopes it will stop the dull ache between your legs from getting worse when you’re brought back to the way those same arms caged you in while his hips pushed you deeper into the mattress in your dreams last night. Looking out the small window at the beginning flames of the bonfire, a shaky breath pushes past your glossed lips, and you wipe your palms on your skirt before turning around to wash your hands.

”You don’t have to help, you know?” His voice comes out just loud enough for you to hear over the running water, the small smacking sound of the fridge closing behind it, “If you’re that uncomfortable, I can do it.”

Cutting the water, you shake your hands in the sink before tearing off a paper towel from the roll next to you. Working up enough courage to finally turn around to look at him, you finish drying your hands with a softer expression.

”No, I can help.” 

He holds your stare, silently giving you another out while his fingers make quick work of unwrapping a head of lettuce, an onion, and a few peppers from their plastic confines. No matter how much you want to look away, you don’t, standing firm in your choice despite everything inside of you screaming to run away, and it’s enough for him to nod his head. The slight twitch of his lips while he rolls the bags in his hands doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I just need you to cut the onion into thin slices for the burgers, and same with the jalapeños.” He instructs, turning his back to you to throw away the wrappings. 

The sudden movement has the deep cut sleeves of his shirt fluttering open, giving you a glimpse of the thick patch of hair on his chest, and how it tapers off and down past his belly button. Your thighs find each other again, and you look up to the ceiling silently, trying to regain all the strength you thought you’d just found. 

“And the lettuce - uhh, are you okay?” Steve’s confusion makes all the blood in your body rush to the apples of your cheeks as you try to hide your internal struggle with a smile.

“Yeah, we’re good. Never been better. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you ramble, brushing past him to the station he’s set up for you.

“…Right,” he starts with a pause before choosing to leave it alone, “I just need you to kind of rip the lettuce up, you can cut it if you want but I think bigger pieces would be better.”

You aren’t expecting his voice to come from right behind you, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against the back of your neck. Your own goosebumps rise, dotting across exposed skin and you hope he doesn’t notice but the way he lingers in your space for a little longer despite the nod of your head makes you think otherwise. The spice of his cologne grows faint along with his footsteps against the tile floor, finding a home on the other side of the kitchen, busying himself with what he had started before.

Eddie turns on the radio, easing some of the tension from your muscles, and relaxing your shoulders as you get a good grip on the handle of the knife.

You could do this, easy. 

You really start to believe it too when you cut all the jalapeños, even humming along to an old Judas Priest song that you and Eddie used to blast in his van after school. Peeling the onion, you pretend that you don’t see the reflection of Steve staring at you from the glass of the microwave as you sway your hips and bop your head to the beat.

“So, New York huh?” He finally breaks, and your eyes flutter to the reflection to see him putting away all the spices he’d pulled out while you were smoking. “You likin’ it?”

Your movements freeze for a second, and your tongue feels heavy in your mouth with all the things you’ve dreamed of saying to him. Years of coming up with all the ways you’d tell him how much better you were without him. A recurring fantasy of a ten year reunion where you’d show up with your famous screenwriter husband you’d met on the Subway, turning your nose at him and whatever Hawkin’s girl he’d managed to knock up. But instead, the universe has you here five years too early, and Steve isn’t the same guy you’d left even if you don’t quite trust it yet.

Picking up the knife again, you roll your shoulders with a quiet breath before cutting into the onion once more as you search for the words to answer.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s big and it can be a little scary sometimes but I can be myself there,” it comes out a little quieter than intended but you still twist your hips to meet his gaze from across the kitchen where he stands with crossed arms giving you his full attention. “No one really cares what you do.”

“Who are you trying to be out there?” He asks like he has no idea what small talk is, the greens in his eyes shimmering against the last bit of sunlight that shines on his face.

“Someone stronger than who I was in high school,” you whisper, turning back around to focus on the task at hand and not your ex trying to dig into the depths of your soul while you cut onions.

“You were always the strongest person I knew,” he counters, and you can practically hear the shrug that you know follows his words.

”You certainly liked to test it.” 

It comes out before you can bite your tongue, your knife slicing right into the center of the onion and hitting the cutting board roughly, adding dramatic effect.

”Ouch,” he hums with a small laugh, silverware clanking against the metal of the sink behind you as he finishes cleaning up his mess, “I guess I deserved that one.”

“Steve.” You stop cutting, dropping the knife to look at him, unintentionally swiping your eye in the process, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that. I promised Rob- oh fuck!”

The burning in your right eye becomes unbearable, the tears spilling freely down your cheek blurring your vision with a harsh sting.

”Oh, oh no. Did you touch your eye?!” Steve sounds panicked, sneakers scuffling against the tile as he hurries to grab a washcloth from the drawer. 

“It was an accident!” You whine, closing your eyes as tight as you can, willing the burning tears to stop, the sound of water running from the sink filling your ears, “God it hurts so bad, Steve.”

”I know baby, I know,” he coos in a soothing voice, and in your panic you almost don’t catch the old nickname that slips off his tongue with ease. Long fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you closer to him, “Let me see, stay still.”

The coolness of the rag provides instant relief when he presses it gently to your eye. Taking a deep breath, you feel the warmth of his palm rub up and down your arm soothing your irritated nerves more. The sting doesn’t fully go away, but it subsides enough for the tears to slow down as he applies a little more pressure before removing it to wet it again. Blinking past the burning, you finally realize just how close you are to him now. 

Chests practically touching, you can see the beginnings of stubble lining his jaw despite being able to tell that he shaved today. The vampire bites on his neck that used to be your favorite to kiss taunt you for what feels like the millionth time this week. With cedar and musk filling your lungs, it feels impossible to breathe.

He cuts off the water, turning towards you again, and you aren’t prepared for the depth in his eyes meeting yours from this distance. They’re soft when they look at you, the chestnut inside them warming gold as you stare back at him a little dazed. Calloused fingertips stop their path up your arm to gently grab your chin, tilting your face up to his so he can get a better look at the damage. He’s sweet with the way moves your head around, the pad of his thumb smoothing the skin under your irritated eye.

”I think you’ll be okay, I don’t see any seeds or anything trapped inside,” he whispers, thumb never stopping its movements while his gaze flicks down to your lips that pout on their own, something electric charging in the air.

The sliding glass door opens behind him before you can answer, Robin and Eddie making their presence known in a loud burst of energy. Snatching the wet rag from his hand, you’re quick to put distance between you. Placing the cool cloth against your face, you make your way out of the kitchen before anyone can ask you anything about what happened. Muttering a “thanks Steve '' on your way to assess just how ruined your makeup is in the bathroom. 

Your heart pounds in your ears feeling the ghost of his touch everywhere, chest tightening because your body won’t stop screaming for more.

You stay in the bathroom long enough for the burning to subside, mumbling words that resemble some kind of pep talk while scrubbing your hands. Fingers that still shake with nerves fix your smudged mascara, listening for the moment their voices go quiet behind the sliding glass door before you decide to finally venture out. The sound of Steve’s laugh catches in your ears, as you make your way through the empty trailer, the corners of your lips curling on their own as you tug on the handle that separates you from them. The humidity is quick to turn your skin sticky despite the sun disappearing behind the trees. 

”There she is! I heard Harrington tried to blind you,” Eddie chuckles from his place crouched in front of the fire. A half smoked cigarette dangling lazily from the side of his mouth as he ‘stokes’ the flames, the crackling wood competing with the buzz of the cicadas that surround you.

”Riddle me this, Steve, why is it that whenever someone ’helps’ you cook, they end up in the hospital or worse, almost BLIND!” 

From her spot sitting on one of the many faded red plastic lawn chairs they have circled around the pit, Robin doesn’t hesitate to turn it into a dog pile with dramatics that could rival an Oscar winning actress.

Steve rolls his eyes, the warm light from the smaller flame of the grill glowing underneath him, highlighting his sharp features. His gaze meets yours, ignoring his friends, and you swear even from here, you can see the green inside each eye shine. You know there’s a million questions he wants to ask but there’s only one that comes out, and it’s soft just like the way he touched you inside.

”Are you okay?”

It’s hard for you to look anywhere but his face, remembering just how pretty it was up close. Your eyes trace the straight line of his nose, and the curve of his full bottom lip before finally meeting his eyes. The small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth reminds you that you haven’t answered him yet but he doesn’t say anything. He lets Robin’s low whistle do all the talking.

”Uhh, yeah, I’m good. Crisis averted,” you mumble, snapping out of it, cheeks warming up enough to compete with the fire pit you stumble around, landing in the seat next to your best friend. “No jalapenos on mine, I think I’ve had enough for today.”

Steve laughs again, just like the one you heard on your way out and the sound burrows in your heart, making it swell, giddiness roiling deep in your gut. You ignore Robin’s obnoxious toothy grin next to you, doubling down even more when she starts to wiggle her eyebrows. The two beer cans at her feet tell you everything you need to know.

Without a cloud in an almost completely dark sky, you start to see the twinkling of the stars you’ll always miss begin to appear. They battle for your attention against the fireflies that flicker through the tall grass and into the woods. Lighter fluid stings your nose when Steve squirts more onto the burning coals, switching from hot dogs to burgers like he’s been grilling for a family of four his whole life.

A couple of beers calm your nerves that threaten to give you away, watching Steve in his element like this, the holes cut in his shirt showing off every flex of his muscles as he flips the patties. Cheese melting over the burger meat, just like your body that sinks further into the lawn chair that sticks to the backs of your thighs. He throws you a knowing look, making you clear your throat. Straightening your posture, you try to join in Robin and Eddie’s conversation like you hadn’t just been caught. Taking another long swig of the bitter semi cold liquid, you hope it’s enough to get you through dinner.

It’s not.

Steve takes the seat across from you when he’s finished cooking, manspreading with his paper plate in his lap. You fight the urge to look at the tan line of his inner thighs that are revealed by his loose fitting shorts, laughing a little too loud at Eddie’s jokes, desperate to keep your struggle hidden. Even going as far as acting interested when Robin starts talking about her reasons why she likes to buy certain things from the three different grocery stores in town. 

It’s when a dribble of ketchup lands on top of Steve's hand after a large bite that you lose your cool. Right between his thumb and index finger, he hums with cheeks full of food before those full lips of his wrap around the spilled sauce, cleaning it with a flick of his tongue.

”I’m gonna throw my plate away, is anyone else done?” You squeak, standing up abruptly, your chair nearly falling backwards in the process. 

“Jesus, easy tiger,” Eddie snorts, finishing off the last of his beer before crushing the tin can in his hand, tossing it on his empty plate, “The trash isn’t going anywhere.”

“Just trying to be a good house guest is all,” you lie, making Eddie quirk an eyebrow, the dimples in his cheeks coming out to play again.

”Uh huh.” He smirks before handing you his plate that Robin quickly piles hers on top of. “Sure.”

”That’s very sweet of you,” Steve chimes in, with a lopsided grin on his face that makes you want to punch the air and get out of here. 

“She’s pure class Harrington, get it right,” Robin comes for the save with a knowing wink that only makes the heat growing in your cheeks worse.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you mumble quickly turning on your heel, feeling all their eyes on you as you make your way to the back door of the trailer.

”Hurry back. We're gonna play Never Have I Ever,” your best friend calls out over her shoulder making you wish you could just stay inside when the sliding glass door closes behind you.

Embers spark and pop from the fire before they disappear into the night sky, the full moon’s white glow stopping just along the dark edges of the trees that surround the backyard. The four of you sit around the pit with fresh beers in hand. The buzz of the alcohol turning Steve’s gaze heavy as he stares at you from across the flickering flames. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth you look everywhere but his direction, and hope he doesn’t see the way your thighs press under the heat of it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea Robin?” Eddie whispers, big brown eyes glancing between the both of you, and your bouncing knee.

”It’s fine, they’ll be fine. Right guys?” She waves the metal head off, nudging you with her elbow, completely unphased.

”Of course we’ll be fine, why wouldn’t we be fine?” You snap, tugging the bottom of your skirt down, all the built up tension turning into aggression. Steve smiles into his next gulp.

“Whoa, whoa. I was just asking, but you do seem a little tense.” She raises her hands in surrender, both her eyebrows disappearing behind her shaggy bangs while Eddie distracts himself by poking the fire.

“Relax, it’s just a game,” Steve sighs, settling deeper in his chair, the warm amber in the flames bouncing off the mischievous gold in his eyes that keep their hold on you. “Besides, we’re friends now, right?”

Your gaze narrows, the grip on your beer tightening enough to hear the pop of the metal.“Yep,” you manage to get out, shooting Eddie a glare when he snorts.

“If you guys say so,” he starts, ignoring your scowl while getting cut off by Robin who’s practically vibrating in her seat now.

”Let’s have fun already. I’ll start.” Robin shushes him before acting like she’s deep in thought, turning to face you with the kind of grin on her face that tells you she’s up to no good, “Never have I ever…let some Wall Street douchebag go down on me in the backseat of his Rolls Royce.”

“That’s weirdly specific- oh wait! Damn! Princess!” Eddie whoops when you take a swig with a roll of your eyes, flipping Robin the bird. 

“Gotta try everything once, right?” You shrug, holding his gaze with a smirk, not even trying to hide that you’re taking great pleasure in the way Steve’s jaw clenches at the new found information of your life outside of here. “He had a nice mouth when he wasn’t using it for talking.”

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, the mossy greens in his eyes turning dark as you lean back in your chair smugly.

“She’s a wild one, I’ll tell ya,” Robin giggles fondly, passing the baton to you with a proud smile.

Maybe it was the beer or the incessant way Steve’s presence drove you to the brink of insanity by rageful lust. Or even just the way he sat across from you with his legs spread wide like he ruled the world, whatever it was, that's what’s to blame for the question that rolls off your tongue.

“Never have I ever taken someone’s virginity.”

Robin’s jaw drops, guffawing with a harsh slap on your leg, mouthing a ‘you said you’d be nice’ but the buzz of the alcohol keeps a lopsided grin on her face. Eddie drinks, nervously watching the staring contest going on between you and Steve. Like a dog and its owner trying to establish dominance, both of you refuse to be the one who looks away first. Taking two gulps for good measure, he smacks his lips loudly when he’s done, wiping the foam off his upper lip with the back of his wrist. Raising his eyebrows at you in a silent challenge.

“This isn’t awkward at all,” Eddie grumbles, taking another sip of his beer to help the uncomfortable tension that threatens to settle over the circle.

”Who’s next? Who's next?” Robin urges with a flick on your knee, forcing you to fold and give her your attention with a blink of your eyes and it feels like the first time in hours that you finally look at someone other than Steve. 

Your teeth clench, grinding at the thought that even after all this time he’s still got this kind of hold on you, and it has you riding the thin line between wanting to give him a black eye or have him take you for a spin in his beemer for old times sake. 

“Eddie,” raising your can in his direction, he meets you in the middle with a cheers that doesn’t quite touch before slinking back in his chair with an exhausted huff.

“Hmmm, what do I want to reveal about myself?” He hums deep in thought, metal rings clinking against tin in a familiar tune as he taps his fingers around his beer can, “Never have I ever… been in a threesome, despite being titled ‘freak’ of Hawkins.”

“Really?” Robin seems genuinely shocked, making you giggle.

“Yeah, I know. It’s crazy to me too.” Eddie shrugs, with a knowing grin that doesn’t quite sit right in your gut.

That’s when you see it. Steve taking a drink.

”WHAT?!” Your best friend squeals practically jumping from her seat, clearly something that's not common knowledge being revealed.

Jealousy is an ugly monster, and it finds a home deep inside your chest tonight, turning you green with it. Your half empty beer can crunches the more your fingers dig into the tin, eyes narrowing when he just responds to Robin with a coy smirk and a shrug bringing his attention back to you.

”Gotta try everything once right?” Steve mocks, full pink lips curling up at the corners as he takes another sip.

Your heart sinks with your stomach, the muscles in your face doing the same before you have a chance to stop it. Visions of red nails and pink lips that don’t belong to you dance through your head, and the smug smirk he probably wore while his big hands gripped their hips taking turns making them moan his name. The sound of your can completely collapsing in a loud crunch gets everyone’s attention, and you ignore the softened expression on Steve’s face trying to capture your gaze again. Eddie clears his throat, throwing you a life line before opening a new can of beer with a suggestion you’ve never been more grateful for.

”Alright Steve, your turn.” 

Steve nods with a tight lipped smile taking one last glance in your direction before sitting up in his chair with an idea that makes his cheeks push up and his eyes sparkle against the light of the fire. “Alright, never have I ever pretended to not only have a driver's license but also own a car that actually belongs to my best friend so I can hook up with a girl in the backseat.”

A quiet sigh escapes your lungs, shoulders relaxing just a little when Robin groans loudly at the attack that’s clearly focused on her. Oblivious to the fact that you’re hanging on by a thread next to her, you stare fixed on the way the flames lick up into the night. 

“Look, she was a college senior, okay? I was only a sophomore and she was way cooler than me. Judge me all you want, but it worked didn’t it?” She argues, lifting her beer to the sky before taking a sip proudly. “No regrets!”

Her smile is contagious, easing some of the tension when you and Eddie giggle meeting each other's eyes from across her honey blond waves. You can feel Steve’s stare burning a hole in the side of your head, the heat of it in direct competition with the fire that thrives off the light breeze that rustles through the trees. 

“Aright, alright, never have I ever faked getting off.” She wiggles her eyebrows with a toothy grin, looking at Eddie specifically who gives her a dead stare in response, clearly something told to her in confidence. 

Biting your lip, you really weren’t going to add more fuel to the fire but when you finally meet Steve’s eyes that have been begging for your attention this whole time, you can’t help but douse the flames with the whole can of gasoline. Another flash of different shades of lipstick staining the freckles you loved to kiss so much sending another wave of rage down to your core.

”I can think of a few times.” You snort loudly, holding his gaze and pointedly stealing everyone else's attention before polishing off the last of your crumpled can.

Steve’s jaw clenches hard enough that you swear you can hear his teeth crunch together. Nostrils flaring with a gaze so dark it threatens to swallow you whole, all traces of honey and warmth gone, leaving you chilled to the bone.

”I think we’re done with this game Robin,” he grunts, standing up with a kick of his chair and for once his eyes don’t search for yours as he stomps across the yard towards the yellow light of the trailer. 

“Seriously!” Your best friend groans, slinking back in her chair with a hand running down her face, “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

”Yeah, genius! I told you, but nooo, you didn’t want to listen to me.” Eddie scoffs into his beer can, using his free hand to poke at the fire.

”Can you go, like, talk to him or something?” Robin turns to you with an almost pleading look that gets more prominent the more your face turns sour.

“Me?! I have to go talk to him? Seriously? He’s the one who stormed off,” you argue, crossing your arms.

”Yeah, well you clearly hurt his feelings.” She points at his pacing figure through the kitchen window and it takes everything inside of you not to tell her that he hurt yours first.

The two of you stare each other down, the wills of stubbornness at battle until her eyes go soft, big and glassy. 

“Please,” she begs, pulling out the big guns, and jutting out her bottom lip.

You hold her gaze for a few more seconds before surrendering with a roll of your eyes, huffing loudly when you uncross your arms to stand up, making her face light back up.

”I hate you. More than anything.”

Eddie cackles loudly at your lie, digging in his front pocket for a smushed pack of cigarettes.

“We all know you don’t mean that,” she hums with a content smile, leaning over to snatch the freshly lit tobacco from the metalhead’s mouth, waving at you as you start to follow Steve’s path up to the trailer. “Please don’t kill him!”

Closing the sliding glass door behind you, a shiver runs up your spine when the coolness of the air conditioning hits your sticky skin. The sound of running water catches in your ears from the kitchen along with the murmur of his voice under its rush.You can’t quite make out what he’s saying to himself, even when you reach the doorway. 

Hunched over the sink, his shoulder blades flex with every harsh scrub of the pan. His hat rests on the counter, and you can’t help but notice the wild way his hair sits on the top of his head from wearing it all day, sun kissed tips curling from the humidity. Clearing your throat just loud enough to alert him of your presence, you watch the way his whole body goes rigid. It only lasts for a moment before he recovers, shutting off the water with a lazy slap of his hand. Turning around he grabs the dish towel next to him to dry off, meeting your gaze with a little more color in his eyes, flecks of gold trying to shimmer in a raging storm.

Having his full attention on you, alone like this, is enough for your tongue to go numb. The back of your throat turns into sandpaper, making it impossible for words to find their way out. A big hand runs through his hair, fingers getting caught on a knot at the end that he works out with ease, a gentle sigh deflating his defensive chest just a little before he speaks.

“Hey.” 

Anger still boils under all of the attraction, along with the jealousy you aren’t willing to acknowledge.You aren’t ready. You can’t do this yet.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself, turning on your heel and leaving just as quickly as you arrived.

You ignore the way he calls after you, seeking solace in the place that's become your hiding spot for the night. Fingers wrap around the handle to the familiar room, you stop in your tracks when a warm patch of light leaking out from a crack in a door that wasn’t opened before catches your attention. 

You can smell the cedar from here.

Glancing over your shoulder to see if he followed you, it changes the course of your direction when you discover that he didn’t. Taking a few steps across the hallway, you’re careful not to let the hinges creak when you push his bedroom door open a little more. Your senses quickly become overwhelmed with everything that makes Steve, Steve. You throw another cautious look down the hallway before crossing the invisible line. Closing the door like how you found it, you let your curiosity get the best of you. 

It’s cleaner than you thought it’d be now that he doesn’t live inside the Harrington’s massive house anymore. His bed is bigger, the twin sized mattress that you used to squeeze into traded in for a queen. The navy blue comforter that looks soft to the touch is laid out messy on white sheets, a digital clock with glaring red numbers that read 10:30 pm on the nightstand next to it. 

The carpet under your feet is a heather gray, and you can tell that it’s scratchy even with your shoes on. Patrick Swayze watches your every move from the Roadhouse poster hanging on his wall, the floor creaking as you make your way toward the small work desk in the corner. Your eyes linger on the impressive way all his dirty clothes manage to be in his hamper before they find the framed pictures spread over his desk. 

There’s one of him with the middle school boy you knew as Dustin Henderson perched on his back, only he looks much older than you remembered. The curls still give him away despite the braces free smile. Both of them grin hard enough for their eyes to crinkle in the corners like they had finally stopped laughing long enough for someone to snap this picture. 

You fight back the way your cheeks threaten to push up, not surprised to find one of him and Robin at what looks like Lover’s Lake, both of them striking the same pose with inflatable tubes around their waists wearing matching bucket hats and sunglasses.

The guy in these photos doesn’t seem anything like the one you remember and it’s hard for you to wrap your head around it. They look the same.

”I don’t think this is the bathroom, do you?” Steve’s voice makes you jump, heart stopping in your chest for a split second before you meet his questioning stare with a guilty face of your own. 

His arms are crossed over his chest as leans against the door frame, unintentionally pulling the collar of his shirt down giving you a glimpse of the patch of hair and the gold chain underneath. The softness in his eyes from the kitchen is gone as he stares you down, it’s replaced with something you can’t quite put your finger on but the intensity of it raking over your body has your thighs meeting for what feels like the millionth time tonight. His full pink lips twist into a sarcastic smirk as he pushes off the wood, taking the next few steps into his room.

”Did you really mean what you said out there?” He questions, dark eyes sparkling the more you squirm under the heat of them.

”Mean what? I said a lot of things out there. We all did.” Narrowing your gaze, you try to take back some semblance of control, squaring up your shoulders at him but the dark chuckle you get in response tells you it’s a futile attempt.

“I didn’t say anything about you specifically though, did I?” Steve counters, stopping just a few feet away from you, tongue poking at the side of his cheek, “No, I don’t think I did.”

He hums, uncrossing his arms to mimic your stance in a silent challenge, eyebrows raised waiting on your response.

”I didn’t say anything about you specifically either.” Jutting out your chin in defiance, it's your turn to cross your arms now. Maturity at its finest.

He doesn’t answer you, instead he holds your eyes with his own and it takes everything inside of you not to look away. Your tongue swipes against your bottom lip as he starts to take a few steps closer, broad shoulders making the room feel small when the toes of his sneakers meet yours.

“I don’t think you ever faked anything with me.” He looks down his nose at you, smelling like summer nights and everything you’ve tried to forget.

”You think or you know?” Cocking a brow with a shit eating grin that tells him you aren’t going to fold easy, the backs of your thighs hit the edge of his desk. 

He sucks at his teeth, rolling his shoulders with the kind of laugh that makes the dull ache between your legs turn into a throb.

“I know. Trust me.” He smirks, gaze lingering where the soft dough of your thighs meet before finding your eyes again, “Guess what else I know?”

It's hard for you to catch your breath when he looks at you like this and you wonder if he notices the quick heaves of your chest or the way your eyes glaze over from being this close to him.

”W-what?” Your stutter gives you away, but at least you tried to fight one last time before he went in for the kill.

The whites of his teeth show in the kind of smile that tells you he was hoping you’d ask just that. Leaning in, his palms land on his desk finding purchase on either side of your hips, caging you in. He’s close enough for the tip of his nose to brush against yours, close enough to smell the wheat from his beer on the warm breath that fans against your lips. 

“You wouldn’t still look at me the way you do, if I hadn’t made you feel good honey. And you know what else?” 

His voice goes deep as he whispers, nose nudging at your cheek before his lips hover right by your ear making you shiver, goosebumps making their second appearance of the day. Your hands find the edge of his desk, chest brushing against his in a deep breath feeling the slightest touch of his lips against the soft spot right behind it.  

“I know I can make you cum harder with my tongue than some Wall Street asshole, who doesn’t even know what to do under the hood of that fancy car he spent so much money on.” His grip on the desk tightens at the thought, wood groaning under the stress of it and it has your thighs spreading for him on their own.

“Steve -”

His fingers grab your chin like at the shop with just a firm enough hold for you to pull away if you want to but you can’t bring yourself to do it when his eyes threaten to swallow you whole. You wonder if it's just a mirror reflection of your own as he takes some of the new space you’ve given him, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body where yours screams for him most. His brows furrow when your noses brush and he swears he can taste the watermelon of your lip gloss, and then he knows he can when he feels your fingers curl into his shirt tugging him closer.

“I think,” he breathes into your mouth, hesitating just enough to soak it in a second longer before pulling away with an almost pained expression that he quickly tries to cover up, “I think it’s time for me to take you and Robin home.”

He steps back and out of your space, a nervous hand running through his hair like he did something he wasn’t supposed to do. His eyes meet yours again and there's something apologetic that swirls in the deep forest that watches you tug your skirt down straightening up.

”I’ll uh, I’ll give you a minute while I go wrangle Robin.” 

He takes one last look at you like he really needs to be sure of something before finally walking out and leaving you alone to wonder how the night ended with you here. Skirt rucked up, trying to catch your breath in Steve Harrington’s room.

———-

🌻 beta’d by @superblysubpar

🌻 chapter three

[siriusly-yoongi]

She wants to be saved chapter 2

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

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Pairing: alpha BTS × omega reader

Chapter Warnings: I don't really know what to put for warnings, bad writing, mute reader, POV changes, scars, thoughts of self-harm, panic attack?, someone is kinda mean, issues with food, reader referred to as "it",

Word count: 3835

I'm still figuring out how I want the points of view to be so if they shift a little, ignore it

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NAMJOON

It took all day but we finally convinced her to come home with us. Honestly I think she only agreed because she knew we weren't gonna let up. A win is a win.

We lead her to the car and she gets into the backseat, Jimin drives, and I'm in the passenger seat.

After a short drive we pull up to our house, it's pretty big. We each have our own rooms, though we all sleep together in the pack den downstairs. The house has 2 floors and a basement, the bedrooms are are all on the top floor except for Yoongi's, his is on the main floor.

Yoongi's door is always locked, if you go into his room uninvited you've got a death wish.

No one else is home, everyone's working today and Yoongi is at a studio he goes to sometimes.

Jimin unlocks the door and heads upstairs to shower. I'm tasked with getting the little omega to go into the house, which is proving harder than anticipated.

"Baby, come on, you need to go into the house" I don't know where the pet name came from, it could be because she's my mate or it could be because she's small, I'm not entirely sure.

It takes 20 minutes of convincing before she finally steps inside. She looks around, her body rigid. She keeps her hands close to her body, like she's afraid to touch anything.

As I show her around the house she keeps her distance from me.

After the tour I lead her into the guest room, which will now be her room. it's on the top floor, next to Jungkook's. There's not much in it right now, I texted Jin and asked him to get a bunch of blankets from the store so she can nest. I didn't tell him why though. I still haven't told the rest of the pack that she's here.. or that we have another mate..

I leave her in her room and head back downstairs. I sit down on the couch and stare at my phone, trying to decide if I wanna text everyone or if I should just let them figure it out on their own once they get home. I end up choosing the latter.

I decide to take a quick shower as well, wanting to wash away the scents of the hospital and wash off my scent blocker. I use a spray, unlike Jimin who uses patches.

I get dressed in a plain black t-shirt and sweat pants then head downstairs, a sigh escaping my lips as i sink down into the couch.

I end up watching some movie on TV, getting lost in it. After a while I hear soft footsteps down the stairs. Jimin had gone out to buy her some clothes and things she might need so I knew it had to be her.

"Hey, baby" I smile at her, she just stands at the bottom of the stairs with her arms folded over her stomach.

My eyes trail over her body, she's so so skinny. She's still wearing the hospital gown and a pair of fluffy pajama pants, both soaked in dried blood. Her hair is matted down with dried blood as well.

"Do you wanna take a shower?"

She nods her head hesitantly. Before we get any further, the door opens. She visibly tenses, getting ready to run. Luckily it's just Jimin getting back from the store, his arms full of bags. He went a little overboard it seems

"It's okay, its just Minnie, yeah? You're okay" I try and calm her down, however I don't believe it really helps much.

I help Jimin carry the bags up to her room then I quickly look through until I find some comfy clothes. The fabric is soft, made for omegas. Jimin did good. I pull out some fuzzy pajama pants since she seems to like those, and a shirt, handing them to her.

"You can go shower if you'd like, you can use any of the products in there, no one will mind"

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

YOU

You head into the bathroom and lock the door. The tile is cold on your bare feet, you remind yourself to check if Jimin got you any socks once you're done.

You start the water and let it warm up, looking around while you wait. The tiles are an off white, the walls a dark blue. There's a large bathtub, big enough to fit multiple grown adults. Then there's the shower, nothing super fancy, the shower head has a few more settings than your used to, and its a bit larger than average, okay a lot larger. You assume they must bathe together sometimes.

You turn off the lights, leaving only the light filtering through the windows to light the room. It's more relaxing that way, it made you feel safer. You're not sure why, but it did.

You feel the water, the hot water stings your hand, perfect. You shake the water off your hand and peel off your clothes, tossing them to onto the floor in a pile. Stepping into the shower, you hiss as the hot water burns your skin. You're pretty sure you aren't supposed to get your stitches wet, but frankly you don't really care.

Picking up a random bottle of shampoo, you begin to wash your hair, struggling to comb through it with your fingers. It's been days since it's been brushed. It takes a solid 15 minutes to get it detangled and free of your blood. Sighing softly you wash your body, being carful around your stitches. Your fingers linger on the bumpy skin of your hips and thighs, years of self-harm having marred the skin. Something inside you wants, no needs to add more, but unfortunately you don't have anything sharp at your disposal right now. What a shame.

You sit under the water for a little while longer then get out and get dressed. You've never worn a shirt that didn't irritate your skin and feel itchy, but this one didn't. It's soft and comfortable. This is your new favorite.

You towel dry your hair then pick up your clothes and leave the bathroom. You put your dirty clothes in your room then quickly look through the bags to see if Jimin got you any socks. You find a bunch and open the package, picking out some blue ones that match your pants. You slip them on your feet then stand and make your way downstairs.

You gasp and freeze when you see a man standing in the living room talking to Namjoon, he smells like freshly picked roses, not a scent you'd expect from an alpha. You must've gasped because his head shoots up in your direction, making direct eye contact with you. You immediately drop your gaze.

"Namjoon.. is there something you need to tell me!?" You can hear the disbelief in his voice "oh my god this is what the blankets were for!"

Namjoon smiles and nods, waving you over. When you don't move, he sighs but doesn't push. "This is y/n... surprise.. we uh.. have an omega now" he laughs awkwardly, scratching the back on his neck.

"You are so adorable oh my gosh!" The man rushes toward you, cooing at you like you're some puppy or small child.

"Jin no!" He's grabbed by Namjoon and quickly pulled into the larger man's lap. You're tense and on high alert, taking a few cautious steps backward.

"She's hurt and she's scared, you can't r-"

"She's hurt!? Who hurt her?!" Jin's rose petals quickly turn to gunpowder, causing you to panic. He's angry. Angry alphas are bad. Bad, bad, bad. Get out! Your brain screams. GET OUT!

You make it 2 steps outside the house before Jin has you in his arms then back in the house, where he quickly lets you go. Damn he's fast. You don't take time to dwell on that though, running upstairs and locking yourself in your room.

Once you collect yourself, you decide to be brave and head back downstairs. You immediately regret it though as before you even reach the last step, 2 more men come into the house, both of them freezing when they catch your scent. They don't see you yet since you're partially hidden behind a wall.

"Baby come out, it's okay" Namjoon tries to coax you out from behind the wall. You take a deep breath, then slowly peek out. He smiles warmly at you. You glance over at the two men. One of them is almost glaring at you, he doesn't look happy at all. The other one, the one with longer, black hair looks rather indifferent. He gives you a small nod before he heads into a room down the hall.

The one that's staring you down smells like vanilla and cedar, though it was fading into a used charcoal scent that burned your nose. It caused your own burnt cookies to seep out and join it.

"Why is an omega here" he looks over at Namjoon, his tone sharp and unfriendly

Namjoon looks stunned "Hoseok, babe, what the hell is your problem" he stands up, giving Hoseok a warning look

"My problem? My problem is that, that thing in our house! You could've warned me you were bringing home some useless omega into our den! She better not have been in our den or so help me i will kill her!"

Everyone goes silent, you shrink back in on yourself. No one moves and no one says a word, they all just stare at Hoseok with open mouths. Namjoon's rain scent spikes into a burning plastic as he crosses the room and grabs Hoseok by the back of his neck, effectively scruffing him, causing him to relax back against Namjoon, his scent evening back out again. Namjoons stayed angry. He leads Hoseok into the other room with his hand still on the back of his neck and slams the door. You flinch, tears stinging your eyes.

Jin notices "oh, honey.." he doesn't know what to do, he wants nothing more than to run over and hug you. To make his omega feel better but he knows better than to try it.

Before anyone else has a chance to speak, someone else walks in. A muscular boy with a bunny smile. His smile only gets bigger when he notices you "Oh my god we have an omega!" He practically squeals, all but jumping up and down. His cinnamon scent is strong and you cant help the small smile that pulls at your lips. His excitement was contagious

Your smile is short lived however, as he runs at you, capturing you in a hug before anyone can stop him. You thrash in his grip, accidentally headbutting his chin. You freeze. Oh god, he's gonna kill you. You just hurt an alpha.

He quickly lets go and takes a step back, for the 3rd time, you try and run, but Jin blocks the door. Tears roll down your cheeks and you struggle to take a breath, panic ripping through your chest. You frantically look for a way out, but can't find one, you're trapped. You cough and gasp, unable to take a proper breath as your head spins.

You don't notice Jimin leave the room, but he comes back a few seconds later with Namjoon, who bends down a little in front of you so he doesn't look do intimidating.

"I'm gonna do what I did to Hobi, okay?" He speaks calmly, reaching up and squeezing the back of your neck. Your vision goes white for a few seconds and your legs give out underneath you. He catches you, but quickly sets you down and backs away, giving you space. You're still crying, but you're nowhere near as panicked, able to breathe now.

"Jungkook didn't mean to scare you, it's okay, he didn't know" he soothes softly, a broken sob falls from your lips, the first sound you've made in front of them. You were still terrified because you hurt him, scared of the repercussions.

The one that smells like dark chocolate and whiskey speaks up, startling you. You didn't know he'd come out of his room "he's not mad at you. No one's upset with you, omega"

You look up, looking at him. He didn't smile or come any closer, just looked at you from a distance, softly offering reassurance from across the room. You appreciated it more than they'll ever realize, however you have a hard time believing that Jungkook isn't mad at you. At the very least he has to be upset, right?

"You thought I was mad at you?" Jungkook asks, looking like a kicked puppy. You nod. "What for?"

"Kookie she doesn't speak" Jimin whispers to him, you look down, embarrassed.

Cat eyes goes back into what you assume is his room and Jin speaks "That was Yoongi, by the way. He's not a people person, but he's really nice I promise"

"Yeah, usually so is Hobi" Jimin mutters

Namjoon gives him a dirty look, he just flashes a cheeky smile, eyes forming little crescent moons as he does. Namjoon rolls his eyes and turns back to you "Taehyung should be home any minute, then you'll have met all of us"

Speaking of, another guy, presumably Taehyung, walks through the door, his boxy smile fading as soon as his eyes land on you. You shrink in on yourself for the umpteenth time today.

"We have an omega now?" He grumbles, voice laced with disgust.

Am I really that disgusting, you wonder as you get up and head upstairs to your room, locking the door.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

You lay on the bed for a while, just thinking. Wondering how you got here, but mainly focusing on how Hoseok and Taehyung seem to despise you.

You were quiet, you avoided eye contact, they didn't see your little meltdown so you know that can't be the cause. We're you really just that unlikable. You ex definitely thought so, he told you all the time. Maybe it was true after all.

You decide to stop wallowing and look at what Jimin bought for you. You go through and put everything away and by the time you finish there's a knock on your door "dinner is ready" you don't know their voices well enough to tell who it is. You know its not Namjoon though.

You open the door and you're face to face with Jungkook

"I'm sorry I scared you earlier! I didn't know you didn't like hugs" he looks down at the floor, his hands behind his back.

You grab your notebook from earlier

It's okay. Sorry I hit you in the face

You show him.

"No no that was my fault, I deserved that" he laughs a little. "Come on, Jin made dinner" he doesn't wait for you as he takes off back downstairs..

You slowly make your way downstairs after him. Jungkook had taken his seat at the table with everyone else while you just stand there awkwardly. There's a spot for you between Namjoon and Yoongi but you don't really want to be that close to either of them.

After a bit of coaxing from Namjoon, you slowly sit down and a plate of food is placed in front of you. Your eyes widen and your stomach twists. You can already feel the bile rising in your throat. No one was looking at you, at least not at first. Hoseok noticed you not eating and took it upon himself to point it out.

"Oh great, it doesn't eat. I mean I could kind of guess since it's disgustingly skinny that it had problems with food but I thought it would at least try and be normal in front of us"

Everyone stills. Some look at you, others look at Hoseok.

"I mean, we were all thinking it" Taehyung agrees and you feel your heart drop.

They know, they know, they know. Shit. They're all gonna hate you now and they're gonna reject you as their mate and then- wait when did you start caring about that? You suppose a part of you wants this to work out. You've always wanted a mate, you never imagined having 7.

There's a part of you that wants to let them hug you and touch you like they all, well most of them, seem to so desperately want to. But you can't let them. You can't let them get close. But God you want to. You're fear wins out in the end unfortunately over your yearning to have someone to be close to, someone to trust.

You're broken out of your thoughts by Jimin "Are you okay?"

You lift your head, nodding instinctively. You're always okay. You have to be. You didn't see anyone leave the table but Hoseok, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jin are all gone from the table, and you can hear faint arguing from the other room. You're driving a wedge between an already existing pack. You can't do that. You may be afraid and constantly on alert, but these are your mates and a part of you already cares about them, just a little.

I didn't mean to hurt your pack, I'm sorry

You write, tearing out the page of the notebook and leaving it on the table. You leave before you can hear their responses.

You expected someone to try and stop you again, but no one did much to your relief. You don't have shoes on, walking down the street in just your socks. You don't know where you're going and you don't recognize the area.

Realizing running isn't gonna end very well for you as you come to the 3rd dead end you've encountered, you turn back. You'd walked for around 20 minutes by this point though and it was getting dark.

You make it back to the house, now carrying a few pretty little rocks you'd found while walking. You set them down on the porch, and sit down next to them, looking them over and running your fingers over them. The texture is nice on your fingers.

You figure you're not welcome back, considering all the trouble you've caused, so you make no moves to try and go back inside.

There's a chilly breeze nipping at your exposed skin, you're only wearing short sleeves. Just as you pull your knees to your chest, the door opens and a very panicked Namjoon comes outside, visibly relaxing when he sees you sitting there.

"Thank God" he sighs "Come on" He steps aside so you can go in the house. You're just thankful he didn't yell at you.

You stand and nervously walk into the house, taking off your now dirty socks in the doorway so you don't track dirt through the house.

"I'd like to apologize for Hoseok and Taehyung. They aren't usually like this and I don't know why they're acting like such assholes. I promise I'll figure this out okay? You're our mate and you have every right to be here" he smiles.

You shrug, keeping your eyes downcast.

You head up to your room and you notice Namjoon going to his instead on their den. You remember him telling you they all sleep together in the den, so why was he going to his individual room?

Your stomach twists as you realize just how badly your existence in the house is affecting the pack dynamics

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The blankets Jin bought are brought up to your room by Jungkook, he insisted he carry them for you. And you couldn't say no to those Boba eyes and that bunny smile.

Now you sit on your bed, the blankets a heap in the corner. Everyone is sleeping in their own rooms. You'd asked about it earlier, they said that sometimes they liked having space and not everyone slept together every night. Yoongi slept in his own room rather regularly, he loved his pack, more than was probably healthy, but he also loved his space.

When you'd asked why they all went to their own rooms today, no one gave you an answer. You knew it was because of you. It had to be. It had something to do with you, even if indirectly. Maybe you made them fight, no, you know you made them fight. You'd overheard the shouting and smelled the angry scents coming from the other room earlier.

You stare at the blankets, you'd never been allowed to nest before. Your alpha father said it made omegas weak, and your beta mother made no effort to correct him. You attempted a nest one time, only to have it destroyed by your father. It broke something inside you finding your nest destroyed when you came home from school. Nests are a source of comfort omegas need, crave. Ignoring that instinct causes omegas to be more on edge and unsettled, more prone to drop. It literally affects their health. Or so you've heard.

You never moved into your own place, you'd foolishly agreed to move into your ex alphas house right from your parents house. And while he never stopped you from nesting, you're pretty certain if you'd ever tried he would've destroyed your nest like your father had. That stopped you from ever trying. That, and you felt you didn't deserve that comfort. That safety. You weren't worthy of it.

You still do. So despite that itch under your skin, the anxious feeling in your chest, you make no move to make a nest. You didn't even realize that needing to nest was the cause for the way you were feeling. You don't connect those dots just yet.

You allow yourself to have one of the blankets, just one. You stand and make your way over to the heap of blankets, sifting through the pile until you find the one you want. Maybe you subconsciously listened to those instincts just a little, leaning into them just enough as you feel each and every blanket. There were around 10, give or take.

Your fingers brush over a soft, fluffy fabric and immediately something inside you lights up. You pull the blanket out, it's a large blanket, big enough to fit 2 or 3 people underneath it. It's made of a very soft plush material, it's grayish-blue in color and it has the faint scent of cinnamon on it from Jungkook carrying it earlier as you rub your cheek against the fabric.

You pull the blanket over to your bed and curl up with it, sighing blissfully. This is the comfiest blanket you've ever felt.

As it turns out, being in flight or flight and constantly living in a state of fear is exhausting, so you fall asleep quickly. Unfortunately for you, like always, you wake up sweaty with tears rolling down your cheeks multiple times throughout the night. You haven't had a decent night's sleep, well, ever that you can recall. And unsurprisingly, tonight was no different.

[roosterr]

firewatch | day 04

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john price x gn!reader wc; 4.6k summary; maybe you shouldn't complain about having nothing to do, or some idiot tourists will change that

haha yeah it's been three months, whoopsie. started hating writing for a while there, but i'm better now lol. pls enjoy, this series is a labour of love 💕

you severely underestimated how fucking tedious this would be.

honestly, you thought you could handle it. all you have to do is look out the window, take note of the weather every now and then, fuck around for the rest of the day, then rinse and repeat for a few months – and you're getting paid, to top it all off.

sounds easy enough.

you look outside, no smoke. you check the weather, it's sunny. two hours later, no smoke and not a cloud in the sky. six hours later, still no smoke, and, would you believe it, it's still clear blue skies and suddenly three days have gone by and somehow you're going stir crazy in the middle of a beautiful state park where most people would go to cure their cabin fever.

it's one thing to be left completely alone with your thoughts for months and months on end, but when you're so adamant about avoiding said thoughts, it turns out there really isn't much else to do.

john was right then, you suppose. people only ever take this job if there's something wrong with them.

well, you weren't completely alone. you take a sip of your tea, lukewarm by now, and turn your eyes to the radio next to you. john isn't bad company, truthfully he's probably the only reason you haven't gone completely insane yet. it makes you wonder how he possibly does this every year, with no other–

"fuckin' hell, is that fireworks?"

john's sudden exclamation startles you mid-sip of your tea, a fit of coughs wracking your body when you accidentally inhale some. you're about to scold him for scaring the shit out of you, but his voice comes through the radio again before you can start.

"out your west window, have a look." he grumbles, low and irritated.

you twist your neck to look, wiping the remnants of your tea from your face with one hand as the other puts the mug down on your desk. your eyes narrow at the sight of the colourful sparks and smoke in the air. "shit, i see them. that's super illegal, right?"

"illegal, and just flat out stupid." john replies, the frustration in his voice rumbling even deeper than usual. "you're gonna need to get down there and stop 'em."

"is…" you blink as another firework explodes above the treeline, "...is that really my job?"

you hear him huff on the other end. "your job is whatever i say it is, rookie. no rangers nearby to call, it's just you'n me out 'ere."

"great." you mumble dryly, casting a mournful glance at the half empty mug of tea sitting on your desk. "so, what do i do? kick their asses?"

"if ya like," john replies in a chuckle, "just make sure they won't come back, and confiscate the fireworks."

"aye aye, captain." you raise your hand in a mock salute entirely for your own amusement, and though he doesn't respond, you hear the click of his radio and an intake of breath as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind. you shake off his odd reaction and turn away to look over your fire finder at the various trails and paths. "so… how do i get down to the lake?"

"the trail north of your tower should take you." he says, prompting you to pull out your own map and quickly make a note of the trail he mentioned. it looked straightforward enough, a slightly meandering path through the forest leading to the clearing around the lake. "there's a shale slide along the way, so grab some rope. should be in one of your boxes."

your gaze finds said boxes exactly where you'd left them on the floor beside your desk, partially unpacked but still mostly untouched. you sigh and get on your knees, cursing your previous laziness as you rummage through them one by one. it's a mess of random supplies; a few boxes of matches, a candle or three, an old lamp that looks like something a coal miner would use, even a few rat traps that you keep a mental note of for future reference.

"got it." you announce, only a minute or two of searching later, standing again as you hook one of the clips onto your belt loop and let the rope coil hang there. "so you know this park pretty well, huh?"

john hums in agreement, and in the background you hear something that sounds like the door opening and closing, and then the buzz of the wind under his words. "this area, yeah. been doin' this quite a few years now. plus, i'm the one who drops off supplies at your tower."

"oh, so that's your handwriting on the boxes?" you grin, looking back at the boxes that still lay strewn across your floor as you grab your light bag and head out of your own tower. "maybe you should work on that. shit's barely legible."

"i'll make a note." he chuckles, and the conversation between you paired with the lovely scenery as you descend the stairs almost lets you forget about the reason you're going out in the first place.

unfortunately, your reprieve is interrupted by the echo of another firework in the distance, louder now that you're outside. the colourful sparks are still half visible over the treetops against the late afternoon sky, and you frown at the display.

you find the trail to the lake fairly easily, and cast a glance over at john's tower before it's blocked by the trees, just as yet another bang scares the birds.

you scoff as you watch them fly away, narrowing your eyes at the faint traces of smoke still visible in the sky. "can you hear those from over there?"

"just about." john answers, an amused kind of suspicion is his voice. "why?"

"oh, no reason. but if you happen to hear any screaming, do me a favour and ignore it." you try to disguise the grin in your voice, but you can't help the laugh that slips out when your heart john's rumbling chuckle through the radio.

"i'll tell the police it must've been the foxes."

another airy laugh escapes you at his words. john does seem to have a way of improving your mood, even when it had been decidedly soured by the morons threatening to set the forest alight. and, honestly, it’s difficult to stay annoyed when you’re surrounded by shafts of golden afternoon sun breaking through the canopy of leaves, and the soft rustling of the breeze through the branches. 

the forest feels almost dream-like in this light.

you’d mostly stuck to the southern trails on the handful of walks you’ve taken over the last couple days, taking to avoiding the lake since john told you it was somewhat of a tourist hotspot. it’ll be nice to see a new area of the park, you think, even if you’re only going there to yell at some people.

a twig snaps ahead, just off the path in the underbrush to your right, and you pause.

a dear trots into the patch of sunlight that falls through the trees to the centre of the worn trail, and it pauses too. you stare at it, and it’s deep black eye stares right back. it’s beautiful, you can just about think to yourself, your awe keeping you frozen in place.

and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it’s gone.

"woah." you murmur, still gazing at where it disappeared into the trees. a smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you click the button on your radio again. "a huge deer just crossed the path in front of me."

a moment passes before john answers, a hint of a teasing laugh on his breath. "they do live out here, love."

you click your tongue, rolling your eyes to yourself as you step over a branch to begin walking again. "alright smartass, some of us don't spend ninety percent of our lives in the middle of the woods."

"i'd say it's more like sixty." he chuckles in response, wiping the faux annoyance from your face with ease. "what did it's antlers look like?"

you quirk an eyebrow and cast a look back over your shoulder at the trees where the deer had gone, but the point of his question still flies over your head. "uh, normal?"

another rumbling chuckle comes through the static before john adds, "which way did they point?"

"oh…" you hum, sidestepping a leafy shrub growing over the path as you think. "to the sides? like, outwards, I guess?"

"probably an elk then, not a deer."

you smile, somewhat impressed, but you're not exactly surprised. for whatever reason, john does seem like the type to know that kind of thing. "that's actually pretty cool. how’d you know that?"

"the informative poster provided by the park, which i understand is in both of our towers." he replies, a sense of smug amusement lifting his voice, which earns another eye roll from you that he'll never see.

"right, right. i definitely read that…" you mutter, which earns you a lighthearted scoff from john.

"did you at least read the one about the poisonous plants ‘round here?" he adds, and you grimace stepping over a ditch in the trail because, well, you know you should've, but there's only your own laziness to blame for ignoring it.

you clear your throat, stifling your grin as you answer in a decidedly unconvincing tone, "...yes–"

"christ alive…"

"–but, just to be safe, i'm not gonna touch any plants, so i don't have to worry." you continue – and as if on cue, a tall nettle waves in the breeze into your path, and you're only narrowly able to dodge it before it can brush your skin. you tut at the plant, like it can understand you, and it almost feels as if the park itself wanted to prove you wrong.

you'll keep that close call to yourself, you decide. what john doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

"i'm gettin' grey hairs talkin' to you." john mutters, and you can so clearly picture the disappointed shake of his head that no doubt accompanied his reply.

"you don't already have grey hairs?" you tease, unable to stop the laugh that comes through your words.

"oi, i'm not that old!"

"i know, i know," you chuckle, "but you do sound like a guy who's smoked a pack a day for twenty years."

"more of a cigar man, myself." he pauses, and you can hear the wind pick up in the background when he doesn't take his finger off the button. "not a habit you can keep up out here though, unfortunately."

"you could if you wanted, then we'd both have a fire to watch." you reply, your smile easy now, like you're talking to an old friend rather than someone you met three days ago.

"you're full of good ideas, aren't ya?"

the conversation dies down again after that, a comfortable atmosphere replacing it. the sun has gotten slightly lower in the sky since you'd started walking, and while it wasn't getting dark yet, it would be soon. wandering around the forest at night was possibly the last thing you wanted to be doing, so you'd better hurry this up.

thankfully you're not walking for much longer before you come to a break in the trees. the trodden path you'd been following gives way to the rocky ground, and just ahead you can see the sudden drop off that you assume must be what you're looking for.

you come to a stop at the edge, and gaze down at the steep descent in front of you.

"hey, i found the slope." you announce, clicking the talk-lock button on your radio so your hands are free to start unfurling the rope. your eyes drift to the slope despite how hard you try to keep them on what your hands are doing, and a spark of anxiety shoots through you as you look over it. "am i really going down this?"

"unless you wanna take the long way."

"i don't… but that's gotta be, like, a fifteen foot drop." you grimace at the sharp stones making up the ground below, your hands twirling the rope nervously between them. suddenly you weren't feeling so confident about this.

"that steep?" he sounds surprised when he asks, maybe even slightly concerned. "s'been a while since i've gone that way, must've had a landslide at some point…"

you seriously would've preferred he kept that thought to himself, because now there's an undeniable feeling, right at the forefront of your mind, that this was not going to end well for you.

"landslide. right." you murmur flatly. "that doesn't fill me with optimism."

if john's at all worried about this like you are, he does a fantastic job of hiding it. his voice is unshakably confident when he responds, "you'll be fine, just make sure your clips are tightened."

you sigh, hesitant to continue, but proceed to tie one end of the rope and loop it into the clip on the anchor point just before the drop off – a sturdy looking rock that you sincerely hope isn't going anywhere – and internally you debate over just cutting your losses and turning back, but considering how high the fire risk is right now, there's no way your conscience will let you delay getting to the lake.

you sigh, giving the rope an experimental tug to make sure it really is secure, which it does appear to be, before throwing the rest of it down the slope.

you really don't want to do this, but unfortunately, you really have to.

"alright, i'm going down. if i die it's your fault." you grumble, hearing a muffled chuckle from john as you take the rope firmly in both hands and tread backwards over the edge of the slope.

you only get two steps from the top before you hear the rope creak. the sound brings the taste of bile to the back of your throat, but you do your best to swallow it down. it's probably an old rope, a weird noise doesn't mean anything – it's the same as the noises your tower makes, right? old things creak, that's just what they do. no need to panic.

it's not like you have much of a choice. you're already suspended by it, and there's no turning back now. your palms start to sweat.

"don't do that." you scold the twine under your breath, willing the inanimate object to hear you. "don't make weird noises."

one more step and the rope creaks again, much louder this time and significantly more worrying. it sends a cold bolt of panic up your spine that you don't get to react to before you hear the unmistakable sound of fibres snapping. "wait– no no no no–!"

you vaguely hear john call your name, but it's muffled by your cut off shout as the rope snaps in half and sends you free-falling down the slope.

time seems to slow as you watch the rest of your rope get further away, your wide eyes meeting the vast blue of the sky above with only one thought on your mind.

this is gonna hurt.

a heavy thud reverberates through your skull when you hit the ground. hard. the impact knocks the air from your lungs and forces a strained whine from your lips. jagged stones dig into your skin through your clothes, only adding to the pain already radiating from your upper back.

john calls your name again, his voice a little more frantic this time, you note through the pain fogging your mind. "sitrep– uh, talk to me, what's happened?"

"ugh, shit…" another groan leaves your chest as you push yourself up onto your elbows, attempting to blink away the dark spots that float in your vision. "my fucking rope snapped. fell down the slope…"

"shit." he hisses. "you broken?"

"what? no," you mutter through a deep intake of breath, finally gathering the strength to sit up fully with a hand attempting to soothe the ache between your shoulders, but it doesn't do much to help. "my back just really fuckin' hurts…"

"right…" he murmurs, letting the silence hang between you for a moment too long before continuing. "the rope snapped?"

"yeah… made some fucked up noises and then broke clean in two." you send a withering glare to the other end of your rope, still hanging tauntingly from the top of the slope with a distinct air of mockery you didn't know an inanimate object could be capable of giving off.

standing requires a lot more energy than you currently have in you, but the distant sound of a firework reminds you again why you're even out here – so with a laboured grunt, you push yourself upright through the sharp ache in your back and brace yourself on your knees as your vision spins.

you hear john sigh absently over the wind on his end. "i'm sorry, this is my fault. i should'a checked the supplies 'fore i dropped 'em off at ya tower, i would'a noticed–"

"john, hey, it's fine, okay?" you interrupt his rambling before he can get too far into his own head, and frown to yourself. "but i'm not getting back to my tower that way…"

"there's– there's another path back, from the lake." his voice is quieter than usual, and he stumbles over his words – something so incredibly unlike him, it has you on edge from such a small change.

you hum, looking back up at the other end of your rope with a disdainful sigh as you brush the rest of the gravel from your pants. "as long as there's no more abseiling, i think that'll work."

john doesn't say anything more, which has you concerned, but you decide not to push it. he's clearly cut up about what happened, even if you don't completely get why, and you get the impression that moving on from the subject would be best for both of you.

the way the small valley is shaped leads you easily to the continuation of the trail, and before long the rocky ground gives way again to softer forest floor. you find yourself in another larger clearing, open enough that you can see ahead where the path disappears between more rocks and overgrown shrubbery. the lake must be nearby now, you think, because the distant sound of voices reaches your ears periodically on the wind.

the radio silence from john lingers in the air, heavy and stifling despite the great distance between you. the solitude leaves you with your thoughts, wondering why he was acting so responsible for something so beyond both of your control, and though you've resolved to leave the topic alone, you really can't seem to stop thinking about it.

another bang of a firework echoes around the clearing and you regret complaining about the tedium of the last few days. this was not what you wanted.

you drag your aching body across the rest of the clearing and brush a low-hanging branch out of your way as you make your way through the overgrowth between you and the lake. a clunking sound catches your attention, and you turn your gaze downwards to an empty beer can, followed by another further down path, then a few more, and a few more.

"holy shit, what is wrong with these people…" you mutter through gritted teeth, crouching down to gather as many as you can into your bag as you go – with only a short grumble at the pain it causes your back.

with a deeply exasperated sigh, you sling your bag back over your shoulder just as you come to the end of the trail and the bushes give way to the clearing of the lake. there's a small, raised island in the centre, where you can see the group lounging by the water with their music turned all the way up.

god, could these people get any more obnoxious?

you take a second to steel yourself, because this was not going to be easy, before cupping your hands around your mouth and shouting, "hey!"

they ignore you. of course they do.

"hey!" you yell louder this time, and thankfully they acknowledge you by finally turning off their music and glaring at you from their perch. you're probably supposed to handle situations like this with decorum, but as a result of the last hour or so your patience has worn incredibly thin, and you really can't find it in you to care. "fireworks? really? are you guys completely fucking stupid?"

they scoff and look incredulously between each other, before who you assume to be the ringleader yells back, "what the hell is your problem?"

"yeah, it's a free country!" one of the others adds.

"that's not how that works…" you sigh to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose and willing yourself to keep at least some modicum of composure. "you kids better get the fuck outta here! right now!"

they scoff again, and pointedly turn away from you. good god, the urge to throw rocks at them was getting harder and harder to fight.

"ignore them, it's just some random fucking loser creeping on teenagers…" the ringleaders comment is only just audible from where you're standing, but you do hear it, and it only serves to fuel your temper.

"what? no, i'm–" you falter for a split second, debating the consequences of the lie you're about to tell, but the side of you that just wants these idiots out of your life wins over fairly easily. "i'm a park ranger! and if you don't leave now, i can guarantee the cops are gonna be waiting for you when you do!"

a beat of silences passes, before they begin to mutter amongst themselves.

"oh shit… are they for real?"

"i don't care dude, i can't get arrested again, my parents would kill me!"

"let's just get outta here, this is freaking me out…"

you fold your arms tightly over your chest and watch them scuttle to gather their things with a scowl. they collectively send you one last withering look, which you readily mirror, before they wade back into the lake and swim across to the bank on your left.

"fucking finally…" your gaze follows them until they weave between the trees and you can no longer see them. with a tired sigh, you bring up your radio and move to check where they disappeared to as you update john. "hey, they're gone."

there's a moment before john replies, sounding not quite as downtrodden as he was earlier, which you take as a good sign. "yeah? how'd it go?"

"i hope they drown." you grumble in response.

he laughs, genuine and deep, and you feel your lingering annoyance melting away with the sound. "let's hope they won't come back."

"are you…" you clear your throat, weaving your way between trees and bushes. "are you okay? about earlier, i mean?"

"yeah, i'm– i'm fine." john answers quickly, and you get the strong feeling that he's deflecting when he continues, "let's just get you back to your tower, eh?".

"and far away from these fucking tourists…" you mutter, which earns you another light chuckle from him. just the memory of them has you cringing as you brush through a few bushes. "completely unrelated question, but would i get in trouble if i, hypothetically, lied about being a park ranger?"

"hypothetically, i reckon we could keep that between me and you."

a small grin finds its way onto your face, just as you reach where you assume those kids had been camping. there's more empty cans scattered by the worn dirt track, which you gather up with a string of curses under your breath.

following the trail of litter as you round the trees, the first thing that meets your eyes is the remains of their campfire, still smouldering and glowing orange in the evening shadows.

"idiots lit a campfire, too." you seethe, sharply kicking dirt over the embers until you're sure it's out. "the fire risk is colour-coded for assholes like them, and somehow it still went over their heads…"

john sighs. "don't think too much about it. knobheads like that wouldn't get it if it smacked 'em in the face."

"who knows? maybe one of these days i will." you're only half joking, but the smile must come across in your voice because john's rumbling chuckle follows again.

"right, and when they ask 'how on earth d'you get fired from a job where all you do is sit on your arse all day', what're you gonna tell 'em?"

"that i beat up some dumb kids and saved the park from being burnt to a crisp?" you grin, starting in the direction you vaguely remember another trail ending, but a glint of light catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

you crouch down, and forgotten behind the bush is a half empty bottle of cheap whiskey. nice.

you slip it into your bag and call it the service charge.

"i think the coppers'll be more concerned with the first bit." john quips. you laugh through the twinge of pain as you stand again, and hope he doesn't notice.

"that's their problem. i'll be the people's hero." you say, earning a other deep chuckle that grows a light feeling in your chest. you get a few more strides up the path before coming across a trail sign with a spoke for fire lookout seven, and tell john, "hey, i found the sign for my tower, so i'm heading that way."

"good. that way's a bit more of a hike, but it's shorter, so you should be home in time for dinner." 

"perfect. can't wait to get back to my room temperature tea." you reply, with a trace of sarcasm that you're sure is only just noticeable.

john breathes a short chuckle, before his voice turns slightly more serious. "how's your back, anyway?"

"fucking hurts, but i'll get over it." you answer, and the moment silence that follows has you wishing you'd just said fine. it had slipped your mind how odd john was being about your fall, and though you want to find out why, you get the impression that questioning him about it wouldn't get you anywhere.

he clears his throat uncomfortably. "...sorry, again. it was my fault you fell."

you frown in concern when he apologises, again, and do your best to ease his mind. "don't worry about it, alright? i didn't even fall that far, i was already, like, halfway down."

he doesn't have to know that was a lie.

"still, it shouldn't've happened in the first place." he replies, still sounding rather pitiful despite your efforts.

"i'm being dramatic. it's really fine, john." you try to keep your words light, to convey that you really don't blame him, and he shouldn't either, but he simply hums in response.

"if you say so."

"well, y'know how you can make it up to me?" you let another smile creep into your voice when another idea comes to you.

"how's that?" he takes the bait, some form of amusement present rather than the cynicism from before.

"you can tell me some of your war stories," you can sense his hesitation through the radio, but you press further with a more lighthearted tone, "the cool shit, like how mission impossible is based on your life or whatever."

"well, i'm no tom cruise, but i was at the piccadilly bombin', back in twenty-nineteen." john replies, a hint of smugness behind his words that you don't even register through the shock that stops you in your tracks.

"holy shit, what?"

[erinwantstowrite]

Hi!!!! I Love love love your fic, and I have a question! An inquiry if you must lol. I was reading the tags again, and I noticed the skip Westcott tag. Are you going to approach the topic? Like, other than Peter suffering that trauma, when he eventually opens up to the bat family, will he talk about it?? Will dick talk about his own experience with Tarantula? I'm so excited to see your take since you put some hints that skip was maybe his caretaker at some point? Like foster dad or maybe I'm genuinely just tripping and mixing with other fics.

ALSO incredibly excited to see what happened to him with the experiments!!! It's extremely vague but im so needing that angst!!!! I really want to see more of Peter's life before coming to Gotham, before even meeting Tony!

hiii!! ty for the love!! :)

i spent ages looking for an ask i got a while ago about this topic but i can't find it for some reason? so if anyone is able to find it for me, i'd like to link it to this post and i'd appreciate the help!!

EDIT: perpetuallypanicky found the post!

(warning for under the tag: talking about Skip Westcott and Tarantula, which covers the topic of SA. please take care of yourself)

Peter will eventually talk about Skip Westcott. I can't say how much he says because I haven't actually written the conversation yet, but at the moment, it's more alluded to that it is talked about. It's a conversation for way later in another part of the series I have planned for LoF, which actually has an entire plotline about Peter's past and how it connects to his future. But he will open up and talk about it at some point. I think in the road trip arc (chapter 15 I think?) I have it planned for Peter to talk about Skip in some context with Dick (mainly, he tells Dick the most he's ever told anyone about the day he was bit by the spider), but not fully.

(And if that changes, it will 100% be warned in the beginning with the other trigger warnings I put in beginning chapter notes.)

That's mostly because Peter still hasn't processed that yet. He hasn't even told his therapist (I briefly mentioned a few times in Peter's POV's that he has gone to therapy, but I should probably make sure it's known that he doesn't go so often that he's gotten through the biggest parts of his past).

As for Tarantula... I talked about this in the Lost Post (this thing disappeared???) so I should probably mention it again. But Tarantula did NOT happen in this au.

There's a huge reason for it, and that's because I hate Devin Grayson, the writer who put that shit in there. I don't want her attached to LoF in any form, even if I'm writing to bash it.

That's not saying that Dick isn't still a survivor of SA. He's still going to have that be a part of his past as well, with some of the other instances. (There's another instance with Catwoman that's just... no.) So I'm not erasing that part of his history. I just hate Devin Grayson.

Which means that when Dick does find out (and he will), there's gonna be a big reaction. For the most part, when it comes to What Happened, I won't be going into details, nor flashbacks, stuff like that. It'll be about the impact of those times, and how Peter and Dick are recovering, though they do talk about it.

Also, Skip was Peter's last foster parent before Tony, you're right. He's probably just a little older than Dick, I'd say, around mid thirties? He was responsible for Peter for a little while but Peter ended up running away that day he got bit, and Skip hasn't fostered since.

And as for the experiments: I'm excited to write about it more. Peter and Dick also talk about this, and in some more detail than the Westcott talk. It's about time that Dick learned how Tony got Peter's complete trust,,,, a little sneak peak into that,,,, :)

There's actually so much about Peter's backstory that I sometimes wonder if there's things that I wouldn't be able to get to in LoF... It just means that I've been considering writing a prequel one day

[nxzz-skz]

Bound by contract (a bangchan x reader series)

Chapter 7

ᯓ★arranged marriage between nonidol!bangchan and fem!reader

ᯓ★ warnings: fluff

ᯓ★ note: send an ask or comment to be added to my taglist!

chapter 6 - masterlist - chapter 8

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The night you caught Minho was meant to be a victory.

Chan came home late, but this time, he wasn't distant. He wasn't cold. The moment he walked through the door, his gaze landed on yours. No brief glance. No disinterested nod. His gaze was focused, sharp - as if you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

"You did it," he said, his voice low and deliberate.

"i did," you replied, still seated at the dining table, laptop and documents in front of you. The message you intercepted from Minho was in bold on the screen like a trophy. "Now what?"

Chan took off his coat, draping it over the chair next to yours. He rolled up his sleeves slowly, eyes never leaving yours. You felt a shift in the air - heavier, thicker.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, his dark eyes unreadable, "We end it."

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence hung in the air between you, filling the air with things left unsaid. He stood just inches away, his scent - cedarwood and something sharp - wrapping around you like a fog.

"I owe you an apology," he said, his eyes softer now. His jaw clenched, like he was struggling to get the words out. "I should have believed you the first time."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest. "Yeah, you're right. You should have."

The corner of his lips quirked, a small, self-depreciating smile. "You're not gonna make this much easier for me, are you?"

"Why should I?" you shot back, tilting your head. "Do you have any idea how I felt, Chan? Knowing that you saw me as a threat instead of your-" You bit your tongue before you could finish. Instead of your wife.

His gaze sharpened. He caught what you didn't say.

"I was wrong," he said, his voice firmer now. "And I'm done being wrong."

He reached for your hand. It wasn't fast, wasn't rushed. He gave you a chance to pull away, but you didn't. When his fingers brushed yours, you felt his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you in place.

"I need you with me, Y/N," he said softly. His eyes held yours, unwavering. "Not just for this. For everything."

For everything.

Your breath hitched. You didn't know if it was how honest he sounded or the heat in his gaze, but something inside you shifted. This wasn't the man who ignored you at dinners or dismissed your every word. This was someone else entirely.

And it scared you.

But you didn't pull your hand away.

Not this time.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

The plan was simple. Get Minho to meet with his offshore "client" one last time. Only, the client would be Chan in disguise. The messages you intercepted were used as bait, and Minho took it.

He was too cocky to see the trap.

The meeting was held at an upscale hotel bar, all glitz and gold, dimly lit with velvet booths that smelled of whiskey and wealth. You weren’t supposed to be there. It wasn’t part of the plan.

But you came anyway.

You sat at the far end of the bar, your eyes tracking every move Minho made. He was sharp, but not sharp enough. He didn’t notice you tucked in the shadows, dressed in black, hair swept back to stay inconspicuous.

Chan was already seated in the booth when Minho arrived. His suit was crisp, his posture calm but powerful. He played the role perfectly — just another businessman in a world of wolves.

Their conversation started casually, but you could see the shift the moment Chan leaned forward, his smile gone. His voice dropped into something lethal, and even from across the room, you knew what he was saying.

“Did you really think you’d get away with it?”

Minho’s face shifted into something cold and calculating. He leaned back, eyes narrowing. His hand hovered near his jacket pocket.

You knew that movement. You’d seen it in movies, in every story about men like him.

He’s armed.

Panic filled your chest. You reached for your phone, your fingers fumbling as you typed out a message to Chan. He has a weapon. Do not push him.

You watched Chan’s phone vibrate on the table. He glanced down, his eyes flickering briefly toward you. It was subtle. So subtle that Minho didn’t notice.

Please, Chan, please don’t do anything reckless.

But Chan didn’t move. His hands stayed on the table, his eyes locked on Minho.

“You’re done,” Chan said, voice smooth as silk. “I’ve got the receipts. Every offshore deal. Every stolen dollar.” He leaned forward, eyes like steel. “You’re finished, Minho.”

The silence after those words was deadly.

Minho’s fingers twitched near his pocket.

No. No. No.

Your heart pounded, breath caught in your throat. Time moved slower than it should have. You saw his hand shift, the flash of metal.

“CHAN!” you shouted before you even realized you’d done it.

It happened in a blur.

Minho lunged, his hand pulling the weapon free, but Chan was faster. He grabbed Minho’s wrist with a strength that didn’t match his calm demeanor. There was a struggle, a sharp crack of impact, and the gun clattered to the floor.

Security swarmed in seconds. Minho was dragged to the ground, his face shoved into the carpet as his hands were pinned behind his back.

You stood frozen, your pulse wild in your chest. You barely registered the voices around you. All you could see was Chan, breathing hard, eyes locked on Minho like he was deciding whether or not to end him himself.

“Chan,” you said, voice trembling.

His head whipped toward you, his eyes softening immediately. He shook off the guards, brushing himself off as he approached you.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he muttered, reaching for you. His hands landed on your shoulders, firm but gentle, scanning you for any signs of harm.

“I wasn’t going to stay home and wait,” you said, breathless. “I’m not someone you can keep on the sidelines, remember?”

A short laugh escaped him, his eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen before. Relief.

“I remember,” he murmured.

You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

And that was it.

The floodgates broke.

You surged forward, crashing into his chest, gripping his shirt like he’d disappear if you let go. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you in so tight you could barely breathe. But you didn’t care. It was safe here, in the circle of his arms, with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

“I thought he was going to—” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The words tangled in your throat.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I know.”

You pulled back just far enough to see his face. His eyes were softer now, filled with something deeper, something vulnerable. And before you could think twice, you spoke the words that had been sitting on the edge of your heart for far too long.

“Don’t ever shut me out again, Chan.”

He nodded, slow and sure.

“I won’t,” he promised, his gaze steady, unwavering. “I’m done running from you.”

Your breath caught. For the first time, you believed him.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

With Minho in custody, the world quieted. But quiet didn’t mean peace.

There were still loose ends to tie, press releases to handle, and damage control to manage. Chan was busier than ever, but something had changed.

He came home every night.

He didn’t just come home — he came to you. Sitting next to you on the couch, his arm thrown casually over your shoulders like it had been natural all along. He stole bites of your food. He pulled you into his lap when you pretended to be annoyed with him.

One night, you asked, “What happens now?”

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering longer than usual.

“Now,” he said, his breath warm against your skin, “we finally stop pretending.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, slow and heavy.

“Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” you whispered. “Pretending?”

His eyes met yours. He smiled, soft and sure.

“Not anymore,” he said.

๋࣭⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭

ᯓ★ Reblogs appreciated!

ᯓ★ taglist:

ᯓ★ perm taglist: @cafffeineconnoisseur @skzbiasot8 @candyquokka @idiotmaterial @backseat-serenade-dizzyhurricane

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐𝟑

Where the descendant of a legendary quirk longs to rewrite history by becoming a hero. But in order to fulfill her dream, she must first face off against ghosts from her past and a growing attraction for the insufferable Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

series masterlist + my masterlist

This was a terrible idea. Turn around and walk away before anyone notices.

Sana's hands trembled at her sides. She shook the appendages out in an attempt to regain feeling in the tips of her fingers. Her body felt numb with nerves as she stood outside the midnight blue door, unsure whether to proceed or not. She'd been debating for the entire week since they got back from internships if she was going to go through with this or not. She wasn't quite sure if she was ready to face this yet, but she was also aware that she couldn't put it off forever. The not-knowing was eating away at her, keeping her mind racing all night with questions she alone could not answer.

She'd gone to Katsuki's secret hideout early that morning to watch the sunrise. Sana had needed a place to think and contemplate whether she could go through with today or not. She'd called Hitoshi, not wanting to wake anyone up and knowing that the insomniac was probably just now readying for bed. From the lack of grogginess in his voice when he answered, she knew her initial thoughts were correct.

"What are you afraid of?" He'd asked not unkindly after she'd filled him in on her plans.

What if they don't like me? What if I'm not good enough? What if... "What if I'm not what they hoped for?" Sana frowned down at her lap, twisting her rings around her fingers. Her fear of rejection was rearing its head, pushing itself to the forefront of her mind. Apart from her quirk and pretty face, she was viewed as a disappointment to her father's family. Her morals just didn't align with theirs. If her mother's side felt the same... "What if they already have an idea of who I should be as her daughter and I don't fit that role? I don't know anything about her or them." The strawberry blonde hung her head. "I feel so unprepared."

"Listen to me," he spoke, his tone surprisingly soft. "You're gonna walk in there with your head high and show them what a fuckin' badass you are. You don't need their approval or anyone else's. If they don't like you than that's their loss. You don't need that shit in your life."

Sana broke into a watery grin, hoping he could sense the gratitude she couldn't express enough in words. "I just want to make her proud, you know?"

"Not to sound like a dick or anything," the lavender-haired boy spoke hesitantly. "But she doesn't know you, Sana. And you don't know her." He didn't know the exact circumstances surrounding Suzume Takahashi's disappearance. No one knew if she'd fled the city voluntarily or if she'd been forced to leave by the Sakanos. Either way, she'd made a choice to leave her child in the hands of her tormentors who viewed Sana as nothing more than an object of power. As someone who saw the damage done to his friend's emotional state, he couldn't forgive the woman for that sin. "You don't need anyone's approval."

The solar girl shook her head instinctively, knowing he couldn't see it. She stood up to pace in front of the rock. She perfectly understood what he was saying. Sana didn't have anything to prove to these people, but this was about more than just approval or acceptance. She had an opportunity to learn about the little intricacies and aspects of herself that didn't line up with the Sakano bloodline.

"It's about more than just proving myself, Toshi. It's a connection that I never dreamed of having. There's so much about me and this power that I don't understand. This is my chance to learn more about myself. My last chance at having a real family that accepts me fully as I am."

"You have a family," Hitoshi reminded her gently. "Family isn't limited to the people that share your name and blood, Sana." She thought of Umi and Rei and the Todoroki siblings. She pictured Mina's and Eiji's smiling faces and all of the wonderful friends she'd met only a few months ago but already loved dearly. The ash blonde that shared this sanctuary with her because he'd sensed that she hadn't known peace for some time. Not to forget the sleepless wonder that had not hesitated to answer her call at such an ungodly hour. "We may not be the most conventional of families, but the love is there. You saw me for me the moment we met. Why wouldn't I do the same for you?"

Sana pulled away from the phone to sniffle softly, a tear drifting down her cheekbone. How grateful she was to have been blessed with such thoughtful, caring people. UA was truly a magical place that exceeded all expectations. The Sakano heir nodded, giggling at their mushiness. "I love you, Tosh. Thank you."

"I know," she could practically hear his smirk. "You'll be great, Sunny." He'd wanted his own nickname for her and Sunshine was the one that stuck. It wasn't very original, but it was better than most of the colorful names Katsuki came up with for people. "Let me know how it goes."

Sana squeezed her eyes shut and steeled her nerves as she rushed forward to rap her knuckles against the door before scuttling back two steps. She exhaled slowly, focusing on calming her raging pulse. The door swung open as if in slow motion. She first saw a flash of blonde hair, then a politely confused smile. "Hello? Can I help...?" The woman trailed off, her expression going slack in recognition.

Sana gasped softly, stumbling back in shock. "...mom?"

The woman's eyes widened a fraction before her shoulders relaxed. "Oh," the woman giggled awkwardly, waving her hands in front of her. "No, dearest." The blonde placed her right palm on her chest above her heart. "I'm her sister, Kurumi."

"Oh." The strawberry blonde turned her head away in embarrassment. "I'm sorry-" She'd already lost her nerve. Sana moved to leave but was stopped but the woman's desperate cry.

"Wait! Won't you come inside?" Kurumi stepped aside so as not to block the entrance. "Please?" Her soft voice shook with emotion. "I've been waiting so long to meet you, Sana." The woman twisted the hem of the floral apron covering her navy blue dress.

The solar girl hesitated, nibbling on her bottom lip. She sighed, forcing a smile. "Okay." The pastel-haired teen warily entered the home, glancing around at the multitude of family photos lining the walls. She spotted a young Monoma at the beach, then others with the boy and his parents that appeared to be more recent. His father was rather plain looking, with dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. But he had a kind smile that lit up his face.

"I'm sorry again for the misunderstanding," Kurumi trailed after her as Sana took in her surroundings. "I guess I should've mentioned the fact that we're twins in my letter to you. It completely slipped my mind."

"It's fine," Sana assured her kindly. "It was my mistake." The woman did look rather similar to the hazy memories from her childhood. The same golden hair, ivory skin, and delicate doll-like features. A casual glance could've had her passing as Suzume, but there was something that seemed different. Sana couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the more she looked at the woman, the less her mind was convinced that the face she was looking at mirrored her mother's.

This woman just seemed so... melancholy.

Kurumi's almond eyes were a soft periwinkle with a beauty mark by the outer corner, while Sana had pictured a different color entirely. "Are you identical?" She couldn't help but ask again.

Kurumi chuckled bashfully, gesturing towards her eyes. "Well, apart from the eyes."

"What color are her's?" Are, they both mentally noted. Not were. Sana still spoke of her mother in the present tense. Since Kurumi didn't correct her, the teen took it as a good sign.

"You don't remember?" The Sakano girl shook her head stiffly, glancing away.

The older woman sighed. "That's right. You were so young when she left," her lips twisted into a bittersweet smile. "I'm stunned you remember much about her at all."

"Bits and pieces," the girl shrugged. "Nothing significant."

"Blue," Kurumi eventually answered softly. "As dark as the ocean. I was always jealous." Sana tilted her head curiously with a small frown. Her father also possessed blue eyes... so where did her unique amaranth irises come from? Still so many questions without any answers.

"I don't remember much from back then, to be honest. It's like trying to recall a memory of a dream," Sana habitually spun her ring around her dainty finger to give her racing mind something to concentrate on. "I was hoping you could tell me about her. Maybe... fill in some of the gaps in my memory?"

The blonde straightened. "Of course!" She'd wondered over to a round table next to a large window overlooking the back garden while Sana was preoccupied with exploring the family room. "What would you like to know?"

"Where is she?" A simple enough question to start off with.

"She was living around the Aichi Prefecture the last we spoke."

Sana hummed. "Do you see each other often?" Does she visit? She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to that particular question.

"Hmm?" The blonde woman seemed distracted as she poured out some tea into two mugs. "Oh, no." The woman shook her head, her expression a bit uncomfortable. "No, I'm afraid Suzume and I have been out of touch for a long time. Since before she was pregnant with you, actually." She seemed saddened by the thought.

"Really?" Sana drifted over to the table, taking the seat opposite her long lost aunt. "May I ask why?"

Kurumi swirled her mug around, her expression pinched. Distant. "I couldn't say. We were very close growing up, her and I. We did everything together," the woman's smile waned, turning bittersweet. "Things changed after high school. We'd been glued to each other's side since we were infants, but this was our chance to discover ourselves. We both wanted to explore our individuality, so we decided to attend different universities. The distance put a strain on our relationship you could say. We grew apart and lost touch for awhile. Suzume even went so far as to stop coming home during breaks and holidays. She hardly picked up the phone or wrote to us."

Sana shifted uncomfortably. "Did she ever say why?"

The older woman shook her head. "She hung around a different crowd back in those days. A lot of students at her university were outspoken about the disparities between the evolution of quirks and how they were being governed. They thought the laws should change with the times. Your mother rallied for more progressive quirk movements." She shrugged. "That's how she met your father, actually."

Sana frowned, stirring her lukewarm tea absently. She'd honestly never thought about how her parents met. She'd just assumed that her grandparents had made the necessary arrangements. It was hard to imagine Yoichi Sakano being a young idealist trying to change the world for the better.

What had changed to turn him into the man she knew?

"When she told me about the marriage contract, I was horrified. I'd been married to my husband for over a year by then. I begged Suzume not to go through with it. A quirk marriage is no way to start a family, but your mother was always headstrong. She said she was free to do whatever she liked. Our parents and I didn't agree with her life choices, so... she cut off all contact." Kurumi quietly ran a handkerchief beneath her eyes. She sniffled, smiling sadly at Sana.

The strawberry blonde reached out to pat the woman's hand comfortingly. Kurumi sighed, turning her hand over to squeeze her niece's fingers. "We didn't know you even existed for another six years." Six...?

Ah, Sana realized. The year her mother left. The week her entire world shifted on its axis thus starting her slow descent into Hell.

"She came here before she left, you know." The blonde stood up to snatch a small silver frame that Sana had missed from off one of the shelves. She walked back towards the solar user and offered it to her. "She gave me this."

It was a picture of Sana as an infant, sleeping soundly in the arms of a female whose identity remained unknown. The woman's face was out of frame, so the only identifying feature was the cornflower blue sweater she wore. Sana held the aged photo carefully between her fingers as if it might disintegrate into dust at the tiniest movement. "Did she say anything?" She whispered emotionally. "Did she give a reason why? Was she threatened? Paid off?"

Kurumi shook her head with a tearful smile. "I'm afraid your guess is as good as mine, dearest." Sana reluctantly handed the photo back to her aunt, who cradled it between her hands as carefully as a baby bird. "Suzume liked to march to the beat of her own drum. If she wanted to leave, nothing was going to stop her."

Even her own flesh and blood believed that her mother chose to leave her behind of her own free will. "Did..." Sana quietly cleared her throat. "Did she love me?"

The blonde woman became very interested in her hands. "I can't answer that," she admitted helplessly, as if she too was disappointed with her answer. Sana knew that it wasn't her aunt's fault. Kurumi had no knowledge or power over Suzume. The woman was free to do as she wished and her daughter would just have to find a way to accept that.

"Can I ask?" The teen hesitated. "Why you never came forward until now?"

"Oh, I wanted to!" Her periwinkle eyes were sincere. She reached a hand out to grab Sana's. "Believe me, I tried. I wrote so many letters that returned unopened. I was escorted off the property whenever I tried to visit. I would've done anything for you to have grown up with Neito," her voice shook, her hands trembling in hers. "But your father wouldn't have it. He said he'd cut ties with our family the day your mother 'lost her usefulness."'

Sana remembered the day of the Sports Festival, asking her father if he recognized the name Monoma. He had lied to her then, she realized. He'd lied to her for most of life, so she shouldn't feel so surprised by his most recent betrayal. "You know my father?"

"Not really. I've only met Yoichi once. The day they received their marriage certificate." Kurumi shifted in her chair anxiously. "Sana, I... I'd like to apologize if my son said or did anything to upset you or make you feel uncomfortable. Up until recently, we were under the impression that you knew about us." Kurumi pat the back of her hand that was clasped between both of hers. "We thought you staying away this long was your choice."

The jewel-eyed teen shook her head. "They never mentioned you. Any of you."

"I'm not surprised," the blonde woman sighed deeply. "If Yoichi could've produced an heir on his own, he would have. My sister was nothing more than a breeding mare in the eyes of that family."

"What about your parents?"

Kurumi went on to describe how her family—no, their family she had to remind herself over and over—was scattered across three cities. They didn't get to meet up regularly, only for holidays and the occasional birthday celebration. "Oh!" the woman gasped. "I just realized... I have no idea when your birthday is."

"June twenty-first."

The woman's eyes bugged out of her head. "That's less than a month away!" She panicked, patting her pockets down for her phone. "Oh, I can't wait to introduce you to everyone!" Her fingers were furiously typing away, her fingernails clicking against the screen. "I'll have to call and let them know-!" The blonde cut herself off, a subtle blush on her cheeks as she held a hand in front of her mouth sheepishly. "Ah, I mean... if that's all right with you?"

Sana was stunned into silence.

"It's just," Kurumi rushed on to explain. "I know they would all be thrilled to meet you! You can't imagine how long we've been waiting for this day! But I understand if it's too much too soon. You probably need some time to adjust and decide-"

"No, it's okay." Sana smiled. "I would like that."

Kurumi beamed with unbridled joy. It was the happiest Sana had seen her since she'd arrived that morning. The woman obviously valued family above all and was eagerly trying to make up for lost time. "We could have a party here in the backyard," she gestured wildly towards the window to show her the beautiful, expansive garden. "We could set up tables out back with some pretty lights!" She clapped with an elated giggle. "It'll be wonderful!"

"It sounds lovely," Sana complimented in a polite tone. She wasn't sure how to feel in that moment. She'd never had a proper birthday before. Usually it was just her and the Todoroki siblings eating Umi's baked goods after a homemade meal.

Kurumi clearly picked up on the shift in her mood and decided to drop the topic for a time. They discussed school and how her internship had gone. How Kurumi and her husband had both makored in journalism. He was a sports writer while she focused on homes and gardens. They talked about Sana's friends and what kind of hobbies she was into. At one point, the woman had disappeared into the kitchen to throw together a quick lunch. When asked why the house was so quiet, Kurumi explained that her son and husband were at a baseball game.

Neither one seemed to notice the passage of time as the sun sunk lower and lower until the front door rattled open. A man stepped inside wearing a baseball jersey and cap. He gently tossed his keys onto the hook and removed his hat. "Honey, we're home." He sang, only to freeze as he met eyes with a stranger in his home. "Oh? Who's this?"

Kurumi leapt to her feet. "Shigeru," she ran around the table to embrace the man. "Honey," she held a hand against his chest. "This is Sana, Suzume's daughter." The man glanced between the two women in shock.

"It's nice to meet you," Sana waved. Shigeru returned the gesture with a chuckle.

"Same here, kiddo."

The front door swung open a second time. She heard his whining before she ever saw him. "Nice going, dad. You locked the car with me still inside." Neito grumbled.

Shigeru stage whispered to his wife out of the corner of his mouth. "I was hoping it would take him a little longer to get out."

Periwinkle eyes darted to Sana's figure and widened comically. "What the hell is she doing here?!"

"Language." The adults chided simultaneously.

She wiggled her fingers at him with a teasing smirk. She would definitely be paying him back for the scene he caused at the Sports Festival.

Kurumi offered for her to stay for dinner but Sana declined, explaining that Umi was waiting for her back home. The housekeeper had been blowing up her phone for the last half hour asking when she was coming home. The blonde woman had squeezed her into the tightest hug in the doorway, her lilac perfume tickling Sana's nose pleasantly.

"You're welcome here anytime, darling." Her aunt whispered. Sana felt a lump forming in her throat at the woman's sincerity. She nodded in response, not trusting her voice. She drew the hug out a moment longer before finally pulling away.

"Thank you." Kurumi smiled, brushing a fallen hair away from the girl's cheek.

"We're family," she responded as if it was nothing. Shigeru bid her farewell from the couch while Neito pouted in the corner, refusing to acknowledge her presence. Sana turned back to wave one last time before making the trek back home. She shot a text to Umi saying she'd be home soon for dinner before dialing Hitoshi's number.

"So did she have fangs and snakes for hair?" He asked instead of greeting her properly. She could hear the smugness in his tone and rolled her eyes.

"No," she drawled. For once, she was happy to be proven wrong. "She was wonderful."

[polkadotjohnson]

get to know your mutuals

tagged by @donadefr3sa (thanks :3)

what's the origin of your blog title?

my 2 favorite David characters when i made this. they're not anymore but since my current favorite doesn't have an official name, it'd be weird to change it to "thevampire.tumblr.com"

or maybe i could fix that...

there now it's official 😄

favourite fandoms?

weird calling david a fandom but that's it, don't really indulge in fandoms, just like stuff quietly on my corner. tftgs i guess...

otp(s)/shipname?

i guess it's called vinkai...? 😎

maybe reddie still? i'm unsure currently

favorite color?

black, purple, red and #fba3a3

favorite game?

oh boy... better check my library. the entire silent hill series minus homecoming (origin and sm lowkey suck too), final fantasy vi, vii, viii anything before xii really, dragon quest viii, chrono trigger, earthbound, atelier iris 1 and 3, every gta ever but especially iv, faith the unholy trinity, bully, cry of fear, the crooked man, ib, angels of death, off, omori, forest of drizzling rain, yume nikki (normal and dd), deadly premonition (seriously!), fnaf 1 to sl, imscared, sally face, anatomy, stories untold, submachine, daymare town, tales from the borderlands, slender the arrival, lorelai, the cat lady, deep sleep series, i'm on observation duty series, the sims 4, lost in vivo, powerwash simulator, scratches, batman the telltale series, most tony hawk's games, vanish aaand i'm pretty sure i'm missing some. these are games i replay over and over, so it's kinda hard to choose just one (oh i forgot the listerine game. really don't want anything to do with that fandom so no name mention)

song stuck in your head?

julie by outer limits recordings because i made a gifset of it yesterday and listened to it a billion times while doing it

weirdest habit/trait?

commenting on basically every video i watch, eating raw meat, eating spicy stuff until i cry/being obsessive

hobbies?

writing, reading, making gifs, listening to music, bullying my cat, (i kiss her until she scratches me so who's being bullied really) games, stopping a movie a million times to see on imdb where i know such and such from

if you work, what's your profession?

i don't know how to say it in english but it involves fabrics. and lasers.

something you're good at?

fixing shit up at the house, getting rid of scawy creatures when they appear

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?

david's personal assistant just like working from home really, doing what? no clue. being a lets player would be fun too

something you're bad at?

making gifs, singing

something you love?

David, my cat Nitscha

and bacon and sushi

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff?

oof David to my friends trying to rope them in, time travel, parallel universes, ghosts, creepypasta, tftgs (that's tales from the gas station), myself

something you hate?

millipedes, rude people

something you collect?

i've collected many, many things in my time. comic books, manga, books, dvds, cds, but now it's just David stuff

something you forget?

usually using my own tags and linking stuff i post, making me a fucking hypocrite. gotta go through the entire blog and fix stuff whenever i can

favorite movie/show?

gonna try not to make a repeat of the game thing...

movie: drive, the machinist, pulp fiction, host (the rob savage one) baby driver, lnwtd, session 9, in the mouth of madness, one cut of the dead, twin peaks fire walk with me, absentia, gone girl, as above so below, kairo, in the shadow of the moon, frailty, resolution, the endless, hereditary, grave encounters, ghostwatch, the room (unironically), léon the professional, pontypool, jason x, stay, back to the future, rec, the illusionist, heart eyes, final girls, original 3 evil dead, tucker and dale vs evil, freaky, totally killer, fresh, jennifer's body, perfect blue, lake mungo, predestination, butterfly kisses, anything that has some insane plot twist and umm etc

show: right now just waiting for more severance, from (which is more of a guilty pleasure) our flag means death was pretty neat. it used to be doctor who but i stopped due to bad writing. want to go back due to ncuti being so adorable. steins; gate and paranoia agent if anime counts. twin peaks, utopia (original not remake shit), parks and rec, the mighty boosh, the it crowd, ash vs evil dead, inside number 9 annnnd grave conversations (✿◡‿◡)

favorite food?

sushi, most japanese food, anything mushroom like shitake and shimeji, pão de queijo, pastel, esfiha, garlic bread, anything with bacon, pudding, cheesecake

favorite animal?

absolutely cats

are you musical?

i love singing, very bad at it though. listen to a lot of music like pulp, london after midnight, outer limits recording and sam mehran, portishead, the cure, muse, diary of dreams, rammstein, nine inch nails, cazuza, titãs, legião urbana, duran duran, the exies, the smiths, tears for fears, started listening to twin temple thanks to David, amy winehouse, two non-bands called the french letter and colorscheme

what were you like as a child?

spoiled and violent, they say. i'm so glad i grew out of both (✿◡‿◡)

favorite subject at school?

cutting :> okay maybe english

least favorite subject?

all of em. regular dumbass right here

what's your best character trait?

i am very persistent. obstinate even. that's a good one, right?

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?

i wish it wasn't that late, could hardly do anything today :{

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?

myself

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!):

The Joshua series which made me love him even more, Fucked/Up which is probably one of the hottest things I've ever read, Predicament Bondage, a reddie (light) bdsm au

tagging:

i'd tag @kidinfandom but i know she won't do it... @accidentally-in-fictional-love if you want to of course, and @how-serene. everyone else i follow that hasn't been tagged is certain... celebrities that haven't logged in in years...

[bokutosbiceps]

sakura blossoms (pt 2)

monkey d luffy x afab!reader | fluff | ~1k words

warnings: none !! pls enjoy 😁

a/n: this is pt 2 to the sakura blossoms series !! i will be posting pt 3, which is full of smutty smut, in an hour !! 😁

click here for pt 1 !!

click here for pt 3 !!

18+ MDNI

luffy’s heart is racing, it's gone around the earth twenty times and now it's shooting for the moon and landing amongst the stars.

he can't believe you're laughing at him. or laughing with him, hopefully. he honestly doesn't care what's making you laugh, as long as it's him. he wants to make you laugh like this forever.

“what'd you say?” you giggle, covering your mouth with your kimono sleeve. luffy finds himself subconsciously slightly bending to the side to keep your lips in his line of sight. 

“sing like that again—for me.” he demands. 

you're laughing again. he's delighted.

“what's so funny?” luffy can't help but chuckle himself, lips parting to make way for a gummy smile. 

“i've just…never been asked for an encore!” you smile at him. “i'm glad you liked my singing…?” you pause, realizing you don't know this cute stranger’s name.

but somehow it feels like you've known this man with a strawhat hanging off of his neck for your entire life.

“oh! sorry!” luffy becomes extremely aware that he's staring at you and he's completely forgotten to introduce himself. he remembers learning manners somewhere once. “i'm monkey d luffy! and i'm the man who's gonna become king of the pirates!”

your eyes widen and you take a step forward slightly, feeling an overwhelming amount of gratitude for this stranger—luffy. he's the man who saved your country.

you grab luffy’s hands and hold them to your chest, looking at luffy with admiration sparkling in your eyes.

“you're strawhat luffy, wano’s hero!”

“‘m not a hero. just wanted to help a friend, just wanted your country to have good food for whenever ya want.” luffy feels his face heating up and his palms produce tiny droplets of moisture when you hold him. 

you giggle at his indignance and step back, keeping his hands enclosed in yours.

“i'm still grateful! so, of course, i'll sing for you and your crew.” you beam at him and luffy’s heart soars. “i'm y/n, by the way.”

“not my crew.” luffy shakes his head. “just me.” he says firmly, a smirk hiding in the corner of his lips.

your eyebrows twitch in confusion, but you don't question him. instead, you take this time to really look at him. 

he has caramel colored skin, sun kissed on top of that, with fluffy black hair and a scar under his left eye. the strawhat, still hanging from his neck, seems like it's seen better days. but maybe not. wide chocolate eyes are staring into your own and his smile is all teeth and gums. 

he’s radiant. 

luffy then turns both of his hands outward, so that he's grabbing yours now, and he's pulling you.

“c’mon, we'll go somewhere else so you can sing for me!” 

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

you never end up singing for monkey d luffy.

he took you across a barren wasteland filled with beasts, one he promised wouldn't be barren anymore, then through a jungle in which a river flowed. he told you how that same river had made his friend sick after she'd given him her last portion of rice, and that's how he knew he had to help.

you end up in a small shack strewn up in the trees, and the conversations continue. luffy wove his story and you wove yours, working until the fibers of each were about to intertwine.

you've never felt so comfortable so fast with anyone, let alone a man. but luffy’s youthful exuberance and his ability to make you laugh with his natural honesty made you trust him.

and luffy, he likes you a lot. more than he thought possible. he'd always told himself he'd cast love and feelings and all that aside until he achieved his dream. now, he thinks that having two dreams isn't so bad.

he's curled around you, laying on his side with one leg braced underneath him and the other open on the wood flooring below. you're leaning back on him, his belly providing a hard yet somehow soft cushion for your head.

breaks in the conversation are never awkward. they're filled with little gasps whenever luffy would pinch your side or giggles whenever your fingers would find their way through his hair. 

but this break in conversation is different. it’s filled with a long stare on luffy’s part, a nervous glance on yours. luffy’s sharp inhale fills the little cracks.

“you wanna know what i first thought of you?”

you immediately feel nervous. you know luffy is blunt and you know he doesn't really think before he speaks, so you're dreading his next words.

he doesn't wait for you to answer. “i thought you were pretty.”

your heart is encircled in flames of all different colors. “i thought you liked my singing?”

luffy hums, shifting underneath you. you think he's going to pinch you again, but he instead brings his knees up so that they're touching your thighs and he props his head up on his hand to face you.

“yeah! but i thought you were pretty first!” and luffy is smiling again. 

“is that why you wanted me to sing for you alone?” you ask, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling. you can feel luffy still staring at you. he gives an affirmative hum and you feel your heart rate quicken.

“i still haven't sung for you…” you say. 

“you don't hafta!” luffy sits up, effectively knocking your head from his abdomen but using his quick reflexes to catch your head and place it in his lap. “i want somethin' else now.”

“and what’s that, luffy?” your eyes glance up to regard the young pirate, who is still cradling your head in his hands while you rest in his lap. he's leaning forward, so close your foreheads are almost touching, and you can feel his ruffled hair tickle your face.

he stares at you for a second or two longer before his lips stretch out into a mischievous grin.

“you ever kiss anyone?”

“kiss?” you say dumbly, feeling your mouth go dry.

“yeah! sanji said that whenever i find someone i like and they like me, i should kiss ‘em!”

you can only blink at him. you have no clue who sanji is, but you're silently thanking him for saying such a thing to luffy.

“so, whaddya say, y/n? you wanna kiss me?”

i'm tagging everyone who commented on pt 1 saying they wanted a pt 2 or rb, also the regulars 😗

taglist: @lavenderhaze00 | @n1ght5h4d3-24 | @333vil | @scentisterror | @jaree101-blog | @louisechec | @luffysprincess | @usoppsstar | @lalalolojoot | @bfshoto | @nina-a-pines | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup

[cutiibee]

An Armoured Ghost

Chapter Three

MDNI!

Note: changing up the way I do these so they're easier for me haha, much luv and hope u guys enjoy! +A tag for the series

Cw: nothing? Maybe?? I forget? Pretty sure nothing though guys

You wake up to the ship's sudden stillness. The movement of it, steadily drifting through hyperspace, lulled you to sleep. That and the post-orgasm tiredness that had sunken over you like a blanket.

You stop in the fresher to look at yourself. The same as the last time you looked. You relieve yourself and then it's up the ladder, into the seat beside him.

“Do you sleep?” The words come unbridled, curious. You simply want to know more about him, even if that's all useless information. It's not like you're going to write him birthday notes.

“When I'm tired.” He answers, and you frown. You think he's just like that, doesn't really answer questions because he doesn't want people to know him how he knows himself.

And in a way you understand. It's a terrifying notion, somebody knowing you as well as you know yourself. Every filthy thought, wretched secrets, all known by somebody other than you. It makes you shudder, metaphorically.

You look at the side of his helmet for a long moment. He doesn't make any move to usher you into the cryo tank. You play with your hands, inspect your nail beds, which suck.

“I'm not turning you in.” It's sudden, his voice monotone and gritty cutting through the still air of the cockpit.

“Ghost-” you try his name and it feels familiar on your tongue.

“Gonna pay off the debt for ya, yeah?” He says it so calmly, like it's an obvious thing to do, a simple favor for a friend.

“You can't do that. Really, there isn't any need for you to do that.”

“I want to, birdie. Wanna keep you around. Simple as that.”

For the next two nights you sleep in his bed. Eventually you tire of sitting next to him quietly and trying your arm at cleaning the ship. He's got a couple of books but two are in a language you don't know.

One of them is about the mechanics of a ship. It even comes with practice tests, a few pages in the back. You tank the first one you try entirely.

The ship lands on the third day. It's a far away planet, misplaced from everything else.

“Don't leave the ship, yeah? Dangerous creatures lurk about ‘round here. They like the shadows.” He tells you, standing by the open hatch. He looks you up and down once before turning and walking down the ramp, his heavy boots clunking with each step, though you know he can be quiet when he wants to be.

He's gone for a week. You nearly go stir-crazy waiting around for him. The entire ship is sparkling and you've taken three practice tests and passed them all.

In the dead of night you hear the hatch open and close, footsteps and the sound of something heavy being dragged. A brief moment of silence before the whirring of what’s probably the cryo freezing the body.

The door slides open a few seconds later, and there he is in his armoured glory. He comes over to the bed and sinks down beside it.

“Move over.” He says, nudging your shoulder with a strong hand. You oblige, wriggling to the other side of the bed. And then he's climbing in beside you even though there's barely enough room for the two of you.

His arms settle around your waist.

“Place looks fuckin’ shiny. Y’miss me, birdie?” He sounds weary, that much you can discern from the slight drag of his words, the way his head is resting against the pillow even as he talks to the back of your own head.

“Course. Was boring without you.” You mumble back and he makes a sound that might be a grunt if acknowledgement.

You're not quite sure what's growing between the two of you. He's so scary, so quiet. And yet he's paying off your debt and keeping you on board. You have no idea why.

Maybe you won't ever. At least you aren't dying any time soon.

“Need me to entertain you?” He asks, one of his large palms gliding up your stomach to fondle your tit, plucking at your nipple through your top.

“You sound like you need sleep.” You retort, and his hand stills. As if that subdued him, he tucks his helmet against your shoulder and falls asleep.

It's an odd sort of intimacy. Something you aren't familiar with. The warmth you get when his hands touch you. The ache that forms subtly between your thighs.

You feel close to him, but emotionally separated. You know close to nothing about this man, who shrouds himself in secrecy thicker than his mandalorian armor.

Perhaps you'll get to learn about him more as things go on, as time passes with you always there, always following him around the ship.

It isn't too long until you're pulled back to sleep by the press of his chest plate against your back. You didn't think armor could be comfortable, but somehow it is.

When you wake up it's because he's moving. It's dark, at some point he shut all the lights off. So dark you can't see a foot in front of your face.

“Ghost?” You sit up and reach through the darkness. Your hand connects with warmth, bare skin. You jolt it back, breathing in a sharp hiss. He laughs into the dark between the two of you, and the sound is clear as day.

“You took it off.” You whisper dumbly, because you aren't sure what more to say. He's taken his chest plate and helmet off.

“You were shivering.” He replied, and a hand smooths up the side of your neck to cup your jaw. He leans in, and you can tell because his breath puffs against your face. “Y’looked so pretty sleepin’.” He murmurs, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip.

“Ghost,” it's a whimper that frees itself from your mouth because you're practically pulsing now, his bare touch and raw voice combined doing sinful things to you.

“I'll leave you be, pet. If tha's what you want.” You can almost hear the cheeky grin in his voice, because he knows that's just the opposite of what you want.

It's a leap of faith, and a struggle in the dark, but you gingerly tilt your head forward until your lips brush against the sturdiness of his jawline.

“Don't leave me be, Ghost. Touch me.”

He groans, really groans, and then his mouth is crashing down against yours, his tongue invading the cavern of your mouth, and you think that you'd gladly go blind if it meant he could kiss you like this all the time.

It's messy, your teeth knock against his multiple times. But it's so hot, literally and figuratively. He knows just what to do and it leaves you sighing into his mouth, pressing yourself closer against the hard plane of his chest.

He gets your shirt over your head at one point so he can grope at your chest while he kisses you, your back pressed against the mattress.

It ends when he pulls away for more than normal, and then his weight leaves the bed altogether. At some point the ship had stopped moving.

“We're here. I'll be back soon, dovie.” You wince at the sound of his voice coming through the modulator again, but relent.

“Alright. Where are we?”

“Where I get my bounties. And where I'm paying off your debt.”

[nylaboon]

NUMBER, NUMBER — Cooper Day

"I just hope to God you saved my number / Call me when you can"

— in which you call Cooper with a burner phone to confess your feelings.

cooper day x gn!reader

tags: fluff, friends to lovers, revolves around christmas, second person

note: based on a true story (some dumb shit i did back in middle school), also this feels so half-baked but i get headaches literally everyday and it makes it hard for me to want to write so i wanted to get this out asap. PLUS, i have a two or three part mini series in the works for everyone who has a cooper day fixation like me to make up for it so yayyyy

You truly needed a Christmas miracle to get you out of this sticky situation. Maybe even a prayer too, while you're at it. One thing this experience taught you was to never trust Austin when it came to dating advice. Ever. Because now you were regretting ever going through with this confession. Then again, maybe it was your fault for thinking this would go the way you intended. It wasn't like this was the first time you had to cope with a confession gone wrong, so it was completely on you for even trying.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

For future reference, never get someone to tell you the combination for your crush's locker so you can leave a present and an anonymous note with a burner phone number on it. It was creepy and weird, and you somehow hadn't come to that conclusion until now. Not that it even was your idea. That was another reason not to take Austin's dating advice. Sometimes you forget that life isn't some shitty rom-com, but rather a painful test to challenge your ability to not want to put a bullet in your head. In other words, how long it would take for you to completely lose your sanity.

"He's gonna love it, dude!" Those were the exact words that came out of that boy's mouth. So why is it that he came up to you the day after you planted your gift in Cooper's locker saying that he fucked up and now Cooper was paranoid. And looking back on it now, you really couldn't blame him. This was some stalker-type shit; worse than just going up to him and telling him that you liked him straight up.

Now you were laying in bed and staring at the wall wondering why you ever even went through with any of this. Maybe it was all the Christmas spirit people were throwing around getting to your head. That, or you just enjoyed embarrassing yourself. Thankfully, you were on Christmas break, so you wouldn't have to worry about seeing Cooper for the next two weeks. A win and a loss, honestly. One part of you was upset because you'd have to wait a long time to see him again, but the other half was grateful because holy fuck, you'd have to wait a long time to see him again. You didn't want to look him in the eye. Not even in his direction. The same day you left that gift in his locker you avoided him like the plague afterward. You felt embarrassed before Austin told you how he felt about the whole thing, but now you feel both embarrassed and ashamed.

And to make things worse, he hasn't called the number. It's been a day and he hasn't called the fucking number. You were going to lose it. It was like the world was crumbling underneath your own feet the longer you thought about it. The more the thought came to your mind, the more it felt like there were eyes on you. Watching you, judging you.

Screw only Cooper being paranoid; you were both in the same boat now.

You were beyond fucked—or at least it felt like it. So why not just throw in the towel and ease his worries by admitting that it was you who wrote the note? Sure, maybe he'd be freaked out by you, but was that worse than him convincing himself that he had a stalker? Probably. Although, this came to show how much of a good friend you were, right? You were going to be honest with him, even though doing so would probably ruin your entire high school experience. Here's to trying to find good things to distract you from your overall idiotic actions.

Staring down at the screen of your burner phone—that was originally owned by one of your other friends before they got a new one—you hesitated calling. You dialed his number, and now all you needed to do was call him. But you froze up as you thought more and more about the casualties that could happen. After a while, you chose to just leave it be and hope that he eventually forgets about the situation.

Unfortunately for your dumbass, you pressed the call button instead of the back button. You were really fucked now.

Your heart dropped as soon as the phone started playing its usual ringback tone. "Fuck!" You were going to end the call as soon as you realized the mistake you made, but you chose not to. Maybe this was the universe telling you to get it over with so both of you could finally rest somewhat peacefully. You were trying to ignore the churning you felt in your stomach and the annoying voice in your head calling you a dumb fuck for not pressing the right button. What mattered the most was you apologizing.

To your surprise, it didn't take long for him to answer. And just like you expected, you could sense the mild discomfort in his voice. "Hello…?"

"Hey," you answered after a bit of awkward silence. There wasn't a word you could think of to describe how nervous you felt at that moment, mainly because you couldn't think, peroid. "I didn't think you'd answer that fast. Or at all."

Another anguishing moment of silence passed before Cooper spoke up again. "Am I stupid, or is this y/n?" He asked. You brought your finger up to your mouth and anxiously nibbled on your nail. You needed something to fidget with, and your nails were the only thing close by. In response to his question, a weak smile broke out on your face. You weren't smiling because you were happy he recognized you, but rather because you weren't sure how you were going to explain yourself without weirding him out.

"Possibly," you answered vaguely. Not that it mattered. He already knew from the moment you said 'hey'. "Why'd you answer so fast?"

"Why'd you call me with another number even though I already have your actual one?" He countered, to which you scoffed. You couldn't tell if he was being smug just to fuck with you or if he was genuinely curious. "I'm gonna get to that part," you explained, "just… answer my question first."

"Well, honestly, I've been staring at my phone, trying to push myself to call the number in that note, but I was scared of finding out who was behind it."

"Are you still scared now that you know it was me all along?"

"Nah," he answered truthfully. "Not really." That was relieving, at least. "Now answer my question."

"I didn't even mean to call you," you mumbled. "I mean, I did, but then I chose not to, but I accidentally pressed the wrong button, so I just went with it." You heard him snort on the other line and chose to ignore it. "Anyways, I just wanted to apologize for freaking you out... That wasn't my intention at all." You could hear muffled shuffling as you spoke.

"It's cool," the boy said nonchalantly. That was a thing he did a lot: he always tried to seem unbothered because he wanted to earn cool points. It was endearing, but a little annoying when you were fishing for his genuine, honest thoughts and opinions. No matter how many times you called him out for it, he pulled the "What are you talking about?" card and continued to do it. "It didn't bother me that much. I was just a little confused as to how you managed to break into my locker."

As soon as he said that, you spoke up and defended yourself. "That was not me—that was Austin's doing."

"Yeah, that's not hard to believe." With the way he spoke, you could tell he was smiling behind the screen. "You have something you wanna tell me?"

"Not really..."

You weren't mentally prepared to talk about the entirety of the note. All you planned on doing was a simple apology and call it a day afterward. But you knew he wouldn't let this go. You yourself wouldn't even let it go if the roles were reversed, so why should he?

"What do I even talk about?" You asked timidly. "You read the note; you already know. What more do I have to say?"

"Are you gonna ask me how I feel about it, or are you gonna be a coward?"

"Rude!"

"I'm just saying."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, smartass. If you're not a coward then tell me how you feel."

"The same?" He answered almost immediately, without a single thought having to be made. It was baffling to hear for the most part. Baffling but appeasing. You grinned in pure disbelief. "What?"

"I feel the same," Cooper clarified. "About you. Was it not obvious?" It probably was obvious, now that you thought about it. That was the issue, you never thought hard about how he might've felt until now because you were too busy putting yourself down out of pure embarrassment. You hated the thought of being rejected but allowed it to torment you throughout the realization of how much you liked him. If you actually paid close attention to his mannerisms, you most likely would've noticed how nervous and fidgety he got around you, but you never put the pieces together because of the adrenaline you felt talking to him.

"Well no, otherwise I wouldn't be surprised," you answered in a sassy tone, feigning annoyance with his question. "But on a serious note, that makes me really happy to hear."

"Great, now we can do couple things like holding hands in public and making people uncomfortable with unnecessary amounts of PDA," he joked. At least you assumed he was joking. He never seemed like the type to be into PDA, but you never know nowadays. "Are you included in the group of people?" You asked.

"You know me so well." Yep, that checked out. Now you know not to act all lovey in public.

"Well, before we do all of that, I recommend you change your locker combination when you get the chance."

Cooper hummed. "Will do."

written by @nylaboon