#normally I don’t make light of heavy situations like this

[letoasai]

The Youngest Ancient

An idea where the JL has gotten word from Green Lantern that a planet has been destroyed. That threat is headed for Earth. 

We could blame it on Darkseid despite the fact that i don’t actually know if that’s within his power set. Bad guy of your choice. Keeping it vague works too. 

Danny finding out that one of his planets is gone and he’s not having it. 

~~

They were short on time. Monumentally short on time. Usually everyone would look to Batman in a situation like this. It wasn’t like his numerous contingency plans were a secret. The problem was time and an overall lack of information about the coming threat. All that was clear was the fact that Earth was in danger. 

Not even a normal, run of the mill danger, but the planet bleeding out of existence kind of danger. Supposedly it could happen so fast that the citizens of Earth wouldn’t even know it had happened. 

“There’s always begging an Ancient for help.” Constantine muttered, lighting another cigarette. As many members of the League as possible had gathered but brainstorming could only get them so far. 

Multiple gazes snapped to him but it was Wonder Woman who spoke first. “You think petitioning the gods would be a wise course of action?” 

“Could be the only course of action.” Flash muttered though no one looked happy about it. 

“Nah, it’s a much crazier idea than that.” Constantine said flatly. “We’re not talking about any of those old hats we’re used to dealing with. I mean an Ancient. Their powers are next level stuff. Above the gods on the totem pole, if you will.” 

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “You want to bring in a complete unknown.” 

“I want the planet to fucking be in the same spot tomorrow, mate.” Constantine snapped back. They were out of time but he evidently had more practice at being reckless then the rest of the League. “Heard tales of a new baby Ancient. A likable kid that has many of the heavy hitters doting on `em. Word is the baby Ancient is rather agreeable. Makes deals. Likes to explore. That kind of thing.” 

“Baby Ancient.” Superman repeated, clearly hearing the oxymoron in that title. “How does that work?”

“Well they gotta come from somewhere, don’t they?” Constantine shrugged. He didn’t know and he wasn’t going to ask. 

“I’ve heard the same rumors.” Zatanna heaved a sigh, adding credence to Constantine’s claims. “Even if they can’t do anything themself, they might have enough pull with one of the other Ancients that can.” 

Flash clucked his tongue. “We literally have everything to lose if we don’t do something. If no one else has any other ideas then we need to give it a shot.” 

“How long do you need to prepare?” Batman asked, his frown obvious. He never fully liked ideas that he didn’t have a hand in.

Constantine sat up straighter, taking a pull from his cigarette and already looking exhausted. “Gimme an hour.” 

“I’ll help.” Zatanna said, already standing. 

“Forty minutes then.” 

~

The light of the summoning circle was hard to look at. It was like a mini supernova right in front of them. The colors would have been amazing to look at if anyone could have opened their eyes to see it. 

When it dimmed, leaving only a toxic looking green glow around the circle, a young boy floated in the center. His hair was white and flowed even in the tightly air controlled Watch tower. The freckles across his face seemed to glow just like his green eyes. 

He was cute, and couldn't have been more than fifteen. He wore a skintight black suit, calf high white boots, and had a strange looking thermos hanging off his belt. So this was a baby Ancient. He looked utterly perplexed. 

“Um…” He blinked, taking in every member of the Justice League slowly.

“Welcome to the Justice League Watch Tower.” Wonder Woman said, ever the diplomat. “We apologize for summoning you on such short notice.” 

“Oh. Okay.” He was still blinking owlishly before his eyes locked onto one of the windows that currently had a vast view of space. The boy all but purred at the sight. “You can call me Phantom. What do you want?” 

“You’re the new Ancient?” Constantine asked without as much tacked.

Phantom sighed, shifting to sit even as he floated. “So they tell me. I didn’t know there was going to be a superhero test.” 

“We summoned you to request assistance if you are able to give it.” Batman said, taking over. “A threat is coming to destroy the Earth and we don’t have much time. Is there something in particular you would want in payment?” 

“Besides souls.” Constantine muttered which subtly alarmed everyone within earshot. 

“Destroy…Earth?” Phantom repeated slowly, head tilting. It was slowly occurring to everyone that maybe a baby Ancient really was too young to deal with something like this. “Why?”

Green Lantern sighed, arms crossed. “I’m likely the cause. Earth is the home base for Lanterns in this sector. The previous planet destroyed was also a home base.” 

Phantom’s eyes jerked up, his full attention on Green Lantern. “Previous planet destroyed? Where?” He paused, “And when? I have been feeling a little off.” 

No one knew quite what to make of the strange comment, but Lantern continued anyway. “A planet in the neighboring sector, 2813. It has been eight days, and before long, that threat will be here.” 

“Is it possible you know of a way to prevent the destruction of Earth?” Wonder Woman asked, but Phantom seemed distracted. 

He removed his gloves and was looking at the back of his hands. When that didn’t seem to tell him what he wanted, he tugged on his sleeve, making the fabric go invisible in small sections so he could easily look at his skin beneath it without the cumbersome task of rolling his sleeves up. 

He was covered in glowing freckles, just like on his face, but one by one the League members took notice of the way they moved. Phantom would twist his arm one way and then another and each set of freckles would be replaced by a completely new set of glowing little spots. When that didn’t show him what he wanted, he kept looking, checking both arms first before moving down his chest slowly. 

The League could do nothing but watch the strangeness before them as their follow up questions went ignored. 

When he got to a spot under his ribs, Phantom screeched. “It’s gone!” 

“Phantom…?” 

Phantom looked out the Watch Tower window, his face morphing into one of fury. His eyes shined brightly and whatever he was looking for, he clearly found. 

“T̢̜̞̮ͭ̓ͫͦh̨̻̼͓͓̜ͭ̈͆ȃ̴̩ͅtͯ̚͏͇̮̖̙ ̡̭͎̝̟͇͙̏ͣ̑͛m̵̭͉͈̳̟͎͈̲̋̋o͈̮̫͓̪͔͐͠t͉̬̉͒̈́ͪ͠h͉̠̭͓̞͎̺͓ͥͥ͘e̅͗̔̿҉̞̪̺̮̗̜r͙̪̼͈̐̉͞ ̫̥̳̿̾͒͑͞f͔̟͈͍ͯ̊̏́ù̶̯̬̫͈͕c̲ͣ̓̿͠ͅk̦̘̖̭͕͉̹̥̈̍̈́ͤ͘e͚̬͗͡ͅr̛̤̩̺͂̃̇̉ͅ.”

To say the Justice League was surprised by the shift in the boys tone was an understatement. 

“Yeah, i’ll stop your threat.” Phantom growled, easily leaving the summoning circle. He shifted right through the wall and directly into space without a care. 

Silence filled the room, no one entirely sure what they’d done by summoning a baby Ancient. “So that happened.” Flash commented. “Are we still planning for doomsday?” 

“We’ll see…” Constantine muttered. “Though if that kid gets hurt, might be bad for the universe.” 

“Not what we wanted to hear, John.” Wonder Woman said, looking out the window. Nothing looked unusual to her. 

~

In an hour's time, Phantom returned just as distracted as he’d been when he’d left. He remained seated in the air as he held what looked like a cracked marble in his hands. It was surrounded by a mist, and inside sparked with many different colors. 

Phantom seemed to be sealing the crack, a smile on his face. 

Batman was the one to approach, and if he was anxious it was hard to tell. “Phantom.” He greeted cautiously. “You’re back.”

“Uh huh.” Phantom said, eyes glittering happily at the marble. “I got rid of your problem. Earth is safe.” 

“Got…rid of.” Batman repeated slowly, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. 

“So we’re good?” Flash asked. “Good work, kid.” 

“Yeah, he deserved it.” Phantom said, finally cradling the smooth marble in his palm. 

Constantine was still smoking, but his eyes were narrowed. “Do i wanna know what you’re doin’?”

Phantom beamed. “I got my planet back! It was a little broken but i fixed it.” 

“Your planet?” Green Lantern repeated, adrenaline hitting him. “The destroyed planet!?” 

“Yep.” Phantom looked pleased with himself. “Now i just gotta set it back in time eight days to get everyone back on track and i can put it back where it belongs.” 

“Put it…back.” Batman seemed to have trouble with the skill set of one teenager.” 

It was Superman who slid closer with a disarmingly charming smile. “May i ask what kind of Ancient you are. I admit i don’t know much about them.” 

Phantom perked up. “I’m the Ancient of Space!” He ignored Constantine’s groan from across the room. “I’m really glad you guys called me about this! It would have taken me a while to find a planet destroyed out of the natural timeline.” 

“And you have time abilities?” Wonder Woman asked softly. Time and Space was a heady combination. 

“Nope! But Clockwork does.” Phantom said. “He’ll do it for me.” 

“Will he?” The Flash stared. 

Phantom didn’t seem to notice the incredulous looks. As far as he was concerned, everyone was simply taking his explanations in stride. Tilting his head back his eyes shimmered with power. “Clockwork!” he called, voice reverberating oddly. No one missed Zatanna paling or Constantine cursing. No one had time to ask either before a tear appeared just to the right of Phantom. It split the very air apart in a green haze before a portal opened and a man floated out. Wrapped in a purple cloak, the man floated like Phantom did but had a ghostly tail instead of legs and off putting red eyes. 

He had a staff donned with clock gears and mechanisms that ticked in an unsettling way. No one needed an explanation, which was good because Constantine wasn’t going to give one. 

This was the Ancient of Time. They had two Ancients in the Watch Tower. 

Phantom didn’t seem bothered and held out his marble with a smile. “Fix!” he asked cheerfully. 

Clockwork turned from what appeared to be an adult man to an elderly man in the blink of an eye. “You know time is sensitive, Phantom. Not everything can be changed on a whim." 

Phantom’s smile lessened. He looked back and forth from Clockwork to the marble and back to Clockwork again. “I’ll cry. Swear to the Ancients, i’ll start crying.” 

The elderly Clockwork shifted back into the form of a young man. “Do you think tears will alter the timeline?” 

Batman smiled, almost. He knew a mischievous teen trying to get his way when he saw one. That theory proved correct when Phantom honestly did begin to sniffle, eyes becoming damp. 

“An asshole destroyed a piece of me.” Phantom said, lips wobbling. “I felt it. I didn’t feel good.” 

Clockwork’s form shifted again, this time into the form of a young child. He heaved a sigh, “If you start weeping you’ll summon the others.” 

Phantom nearly whimpered, holding out the marble still. Every member of the Justice League watched with bated breath. 

Clockwork crossed his arms. “How far back do you want it?” 

“Yay!” Phantom beamed immediately, impressing upon how young he must have been. “Eight days! Actually, maybe nine. That might be better for them. I’m sure the…Green Lantern…people… can explain that they lost little more than a week in order to be brought back. That’ll be fine, right?” 

Green Lantern was too stunned by the question to answer but it was fine since it seemed to be rhetorical coming from the young Ancient. 

Clockwork turned back into an adult and held his staff out over the marble Phantom held. There was no discernible change other than the hands on the staff’s clock face moving. Phantom was nearly bouncing in place which was interesting to see considering his feet weren’t on the floor. 

“Thank you, Clockwork!” Phantom said, looking delighted and completely missing the way Clockwork just sighed fondly. 

“Hurry along home before the yeti’s start to look for you.” Clockwork said in a fairly familiar tone. 

“Yes, yes.” Phantom said distractedly, tossing the marble up in the air where it disappeared. He tugged at his black suit right over his ribs and did the same invisibility trick again. He shifted twice until he found the patch of skin that held the group of freckles he wanted. 

No one was close enough to see for themselves, but Phantom crowed happily. “Good! It’s back where it’s supposed to be!” 

“It’s back?” Batman asked, a hint in his voice saying he had a hundred more questions. 

“Yep.” Phantom said. “It’s really annoying to me when someone destroys one of my stars or planets before their natural life cycles have worn out.” 

“Is that a map of the galaxy on your skin?” Wonder Woman asked, charmed by the constellation of freckles across his nose and under his pointed ears. 

“No.” Phantom said. “It’s a map of every universe on my skin. They overlap so sometimes i gotta hunt for the one i want a little.” 

“Every…” Superman sounded like he had the wind knocked out of him. 

“Come, Your Majesty.” Clockwork said, opening a shockingly green portal with his staff. “You’ve had your fun.” 

“Okay, okay.” Phantom mumbled. 

“Majesty?” Zatanna whispered, confusion coloring her tone. 

Phantom whipped back around to look at her with a sheepish grin. “Ah, yeah. I’m the King of the infinite Realm. Let me know if anyone else messes with one of my planets! Bye now.” 

The Ancients departed and Constantine started wheezing. 

“I take it no one knew the baby Ancient was a king?” Flash asked, a very startled silence taking over the Watch Tower. 

~~

I know i originally said that the planet had been destroyed but that somehow turned into it being eaten or absorbed or something so Danny got it back. 

I really just wanted Danny to find a missing planet on his skin and freaking out over it. 

Feel free to take this idea, though i’m sure something like it exists already. ^__^

Master List

[taintedtort]

Hihii...!!! i really love ur HCs and i wanted to ask if you're comfortable with these types of character writing, what r ur headcanons on kenma, kuro, tsuki n maybe suna would act when they're drunk ? like would they be a bit different than their usual self ? sorry to ask a lot but im more curious on ur thoughts on kenma ;; .. write whatever u can, idm ! thank u ehehe have a good one ! >_< <3

" LET'S GET DRUNK! "

summary. they’re drunk lolz

characters. kenma, kuroo, tsukishima

warnings. afab!reader, drinking/alcohol, post timeskip!!!^^

a/n. yesss i love kenma, many thoughts on him!! he’s my favorite!!! didn’t add suna because i don’t really know his character that well :( added a kenma bonus to make up for it tho!

KENMA

☆ i think he’d be a sleepy drunk. he's out as soon as his head hits any soft surface— maybe even before! i feel like he also acts grumpier, mumbling complaints when you wake him up and try to move him (he was passed out on your shoulder in the car, you have to get him to bed!)

☆ his face gets kinda pink, like he’s blushing. he’s pale, so it’s more noticeable than it would be on someone else. his eyes get droopy and his face sort of relaxes, so he looks mean and tired.

☆ he stubbles slightly, but he surprisingly manages to maneuver himself pretty well for a drunk person. just don’t ask him to do a cartwheel or anything… he couldn’t even do one of those while sober.

☆ he doesn’t drink often, so he’s a light weight… plus he’s skinny and on the smaller side, so he doesn’t have to drink much to get a buzz. he’s usually responsible though, but sometimes he celebrates too hard (with a bit of a push from kuroo)

☆ he doesn’t get any more talkative, but he’s less filtered that normal. i don’t think he’d be too flirty or mean, but if he got drunk enough he may compliment you a couple times.

BONUS:

☆ the type to get so drunk he forgets who you are. you come find him to pick him up after someone called you, and he’s face down on the table. you nudge him, trying to gently guide him to stand, but he’s immediately swatting you away, grumbling about how he has a girlfriend.

"leave m' alone— got a girlfriend already," he slurs, raising his head to drunkenly glare at you. his eyes narrow further when you laugh.

"kenma… i’m you’re girlfriend," you tell him, always finding it a bit amusing when he gets this drunk. he’s not too much of a hassle though, since he usually knocks right out when you get home and tuck him in.

he's silent for a moment, just staring at you up and down. he wears the same expression he has whenever he buys a new video game, excited and in awe.

"really…?" he asks, a hopeful tone in his voice. now that he’s looking at you… you are really pretty. he really hopes you're his girlfriend.

"yes, really. i’m gonna take you home, okay? cmon," you urge, gently grabbing his arm and helping him stand. he complies this time, his eyebrows raising.

"we live together?" he questions, the situation just getting better and better to him.

"we do," you confirm, another giggle leaving you. it doesn’t really hurt your feelings that he doesn’t remember, you find it more amusing and entertaining than anything.

"… im so lucky," you hear him whisper under his breath, looking at you as you guide him to the car.

KUROO

☆ he'd be a funny drunk i think… a bit of a handful, and is entertaining at first, but eventually gets annoying. his emotions kind of double when he’s intoxicated, and he’s also kind of erratic. really energetic after his first few drinks, but if he’s extra drunk, he’s more emotional.

☆ his eyes get a little watery, but that’s about it. he actually looks more lively while he’s drunk, because he makes more facial expressions.

☆ he can’t stand straight at all, especially if he’s had more than a couple drinks. needs support to walk, otherwise he'll fall. he’s heavy though, and puts majority of his weight on you, so sometimes you end up falling anyway.

☆ he can handle his alcohol pretty well. takes him a few drinks to get a buzz, but he doesn’t usually stop there. mostly drinks to celebrate things, or at parties. never drinks alone, that’s just boring and sad to him.

☆ probably asks you random stupid questions like "what number am i?" or "what animal would i be?" (follows up that second question with "would you still love me if i was that animal?")

☆ i think he’s more talkative, but he speaks faster and his words are kinda jumbled, so it’s hard to understand him sometimes. he gets a lot more sappy, constantly complimenting you and telling you that he loves you (he does that all the time already)

"y're sooo pretty, love you s' much."

TSUKISHIMA

☆ not that much different than when he’s sober, honestly. he gets more mellow, surprisingly, though it might be because alcohol makes him a little sleepy, similar to kenma. he isn’t quick to fall asleep, but he’s not energetic and jumping around.

☆ his face is more relaxed, which makes him look even more intimidating and mean. his eyes get a little red around the edges, but that’s mostly it.

☆ stubbles quite a bit and holds things for support. if you try to help him, he’ll snip and you and complain that he doesn’t need your help to walk. (he does, and eventually gives in and leans on you a bit when he almost falls on his face)

☆ also a lightweight. doesn’t go drinking unless he’s invited, and even then he’s usually the designated driver. on top of that, he hates being hung over, and he hates throwing up, so he rarely gets super drunk. kuroo tries to persuade him sometimes, but the most he gets his a little tipsy.

☆ probably gets into debates with people about certain topics that he likes, arguing with them about facts and opinions. he usually wins. even when he’s drunk, he’s still quick witted.

☆ he fights you on everything, insisting he’s fine and "not drunk" whenever you try to help him. you end up ignoring his complaints and just assist him with changing and getting into bed anyway. he’s asleep pretty quickly, especially if you run his back/scalp.

"i don’t need help— i'm not even that drunk!"

[whosjunglejim4322]

Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.” 

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 YOU AND ME (ALWAYS FOREVER)!

FEATURING: dark era!dazai osamu

SUMMARY: more than friends, not quite lovers. that's been your relationship with dazai osamu for as long as you can remember. you didn't want to push him, and you gave him plenty of chances, but there's only so long you can wait for someone. you thought you would be better off moving on—you were wrong, of course. (wordcount: 4.8k; sfw; angst (???) but with a happy ending)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: dark era dazai </3 my heart, i got a sudden urge to write for him and i wanted it to be fluff but then i got this idea and just had to go with it (warnings: fem!reader, smoking & drinking, suicide attempt mentions)

In your defense, you were never dating Dazai Osamu.

Not for a lack of trying on your part, of course. You’ve made your interest in him clear since you met him at sixteen during the Dragon’s Head Conflict, when Mori Ougai pulled you back from where you were stationed in Kyoto dealing with his associates to help with the declining situation in Yokohama. And you’d thought he felt similarly to you. You really did. The two of you had become inseparable within weeks of knowing each other, such a swift and strong connection that it almost felt unreal. You’d heard rumors of him, of course, before coming back to Yokohama—the infamous Demon Prodigy that Mori had brought in and groomed into becoming his heir, ruthless and cold and so terrifyingly intelligent that he had the entire upper echelon of the Port Mafia on edge. 

By the time you got back to Yokohama, he’d already had a heavy reputation following him, dark shadows clinging to him like a second skin. Demon Prodigy. Black Wraith. So many monikers attached to him, but he never really felt like the monster that everyone claimed him to be.

He and Nakahara Chuuya had been the one sent to retrieve you from Yokohama Station, an area very close to the heart of the gang conflict, and even from the first meeting, he’d always been… well, you’re not going to say normal because he’s not normal. He’s always had an unnerving air about him, eyes a bit too cold and dark, smile a bit too teethy, but he’s always come across as just another kid your age. Maybe a bit lonelier than most, which could be off-putting to other people, but it never bothered you. And yes, you’ve seen the way other members of the Mafia treat him—they’re scared of him, go to extreme lengths so as to not cross paths with him, but you’ve never seen him in the same light they do.

Well, not until recently, at least. 

Again. In your defense, you were never dating him. 

But you’d known he cared about you as more than a friend. And you’d cared about him as more than a friend too. And you waited. You waited almost two years for him to say something. You didn’t want to do it yourself, you know Dazai is flighty and he’s not used to emotions, and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but god, there’s only so much waiting you can take before you start to give up.

When the two year mark hit, you’d become convinced that Dazai was never going to act on his feelings for you; instead, he’d prefer to wait it out until they passed, and if they never did, he’d just pretend they didn’t exist at all. You can’t really blame him, the Mafia is not a place conducive for relationships, it’s only a matter of time before your luck runs out and one of you end up dead by a bullet through the head or captured by the enemy, and the thought of getting attached to someone only to lose them is enough to scare anyone away. 

But you don’t want to live your life in fear, no matter how short it may be, and you also don’t want to live it alone. So when an opportunity arose at a cafe near the main headquarters, where you met a civilian around your age who showed immediate interest in you, you jumped on it. And it’d caught a lot of people off guard—Kouyou was surprised, Chuuya was baffled and questioning what a civilian could possibly have that interested you, even Mori gave you a double take and an odd look the first time he overheard Elise interrogating you about your new boyfriend.

But no one took it as poorly as Dazai.

Your throat feels tight as you remember the hurt expression that crossed over his face when you told him. It was so brief and so foreign of an expression to see on his face that you’d thought you’d imagined it, he was quick to school his expression back into a cold and closed-off one (one that he’d never directed toward you before that moment), but there was no mistaking the way the corner of his lip twitched and the way he suddenly couldn’t meet your eyes. 

How nice, he’d told you, voice frighteningly icy, acidic, even, before he made a half-assed excuse about a mission that you knew he wasn’t assigned to. And it was so unlike him to offer himself up to handle missions, usually Mori has to force him with threats of giving Chuuya his executive position for him to do anything that makes him extend the barest amount of effort . But he did, and he handled it, very bloodily and uncharacteristically inefficient, as if he was releasing all of his pent up rage onto the unfortunate souls who happened to stumble into Port Mafia territory.

You were never, at any point, dating Dazai Osamu. 

You think you’ve told yourself it hundreds of times over the past three months, throwing yourself into your work and enjoying a relationship with a boy who clearly was invested in you and cares about you in a way that Dazai Osamu would never allow himself to admit. You also think that Dazai Osamu has no right being as bitter and angry as he is—you gave him two years to come to terms with his feelings and make a move, you’ve made your own subtle hints that he promptly ignored. If he wanted to be with you, he blew his chance a hundredfold, and he can go screw off if he thinks he can be upset about it only after you’d found someone else. 

Which is what he did, pretty much, and it was a lot harder than you expected—going from talking to him every waking second of every day, seeking him out whenever you have free time and vice versa, to only seeing him during the joint meetings between the executives and sub executives, where even then, he wouldn’t even spare you a glance. It was hard, and deep down, you don’t think being able to experience an actual relationship was worth losing your best friend, but the damage had already been done by that point, so you could only lie in the bed you made. 

And you did enjoy the relationship. The boy you’d met was sweet. He was good. He was impressively smart—a government and law major at one of the most prestigious universities in this part of the country—and humble to a fault. 

But he wasn’t Dazai. 

You knew in your heart that you didn’t want sweet or good, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise. You didn’t want the type of smart that he was, top of his class and on track for law school, seeking out a job as a public defender in Tokyo. You wanted the type of smart Dazai was, wicked and devious, putting together vicious and efficient strategies to take down enemies of the Mafia, on track for taking over the position as boss in the future. You wanted him for all of his twisted moralities and questionable thoughts.

And it was unfair to you, and it was unfair to Dazai, and most importantly it was unfair to the boy you kept leading on, that you’ve refused to acknowledge this for as long as you have just for the chance of experiencing a real relationship. 

Which is why you stand here now, outside the infamous Bar Lupin that you know Dazai has been drinking himself into oblivion at everyday for the past three months, notably single and possibly about to meet your end at the hands of a drunken and scorned Mafia executive. 

You think you must look like a fool right now. You’ve been standing right outside the door in the rain for fifteen minutes debating on whether or not you should actually go in. You’re nervous, and that makes you sad because you’ve never been nervous to talk to Dazai before, and you’re not nervous because you’re scared of him, you’re nervous because you don’t think you have the balls to actually confront him, knowing that you’d genuinely hurt the boy that everyone claimed didn’t have the emotions to be hurt. He let you in when he doesn’t let anyone in, and you chose to be careless and you chose to give up, and you hurt him. 

And you remind yourself again: you were not dating Dazai Osamu. You remind yourself that you gave him chances, he had opportunities, and he chose not to take them. You remind yourself that he’s just as at fault as you are for the falling out, but you can’t help but also remind yourself that he was the one that came out the most hurt by the situation. Yes, him cutting himself off from you was upsetting, but you didn’t have to watch him go around happy in a relationship with someone else. He did. 

With that thought in mind, you push the door open to the bar. A soft bell rings above you and instantly, three heads swivel in your direction: the bartender, and two men that you recognize as Sakaguchi Ango, one of the Port Mafia’s special intelligence agents, and Oda Sakunosuke, who you only know through Dazai’s high praise of the man from when the two of you were still on speaking terms. The only person in the room who matters to you doesn’t even bother to look to see who entered the bar, one hand circling the glass of whiskey in front of him while a cigarette dangles from the other. You watch as he lifts it to his lips to take a long drag, head falling tilting back to look up at the ceiling as he exhales a cloud of smoke, seemingly unbothered by your presence.

Already, you feel as if you’ve made a mistake, but you force yourself to continue.

The bartender nods his head in respect to you, although you can’t help but notice he flashes a wary look to Dazai. You wonder, pitifully, how much he’s said about you in this place. Sakaguchi and Oda share a look with one another. Both of them speak a low murmur of your name, inclining their head dutifully—you’re not quite an executive yet, but with the Piano Man of the Flags dead, you and Chuuya are fighting for the next spot to open up. Chuuya will likely be the one to get it, which you think he deserves from all of the heavy lifting he’s done on operations the past two years, but you feel a bit awkward when they give you your due respect when you're here with your tail between your legs trying to talk to Dazai.

Sakaguchi and Oda take their leave when you arrive, giving short goodbyes to Dazai, telling them that they’ll see him another day, and the bartender makes a fumbled excuse about going to the back to restock, leaving you alone with Dazai. Internally, you wither just a bit because you think if they’d stayed, Dazai might keep a handle on himself because you know he views Oda highly; instead, they left you in the lion’s den alone. Which you might deserve, but you digress.

You let out a quiet puff of air as you make your way over to the bar stool next to Dazai, taking a seat in it carefully. Still, he doesn’t look at you, but you look at him and the aching in your chest returns tenfold as your gaze sweeps over him fully for the first time in months. During the joint meetings between the executives and sub-executives, you were always sure to keep your glances short and sweet, not wanting to risk any lingering looks, but now, you can look at him in his entirety for the first time since that fateful discussion three months ago. 

He hasn’t changed much. Or, well, that’s a lie. He’s definitely changed. The circles beneath his eye are darker, his expression a carefully constructed blank mask. You think he might’ve lost some weight, his coat has always been big on him but the way it hangs over his shoulders now is looser than it was before. If it weren’t for the way his fingers were tense around his glass of whiskey, you’d have thought he was entirely unperturbed by your arrival.

You don’t know what to say, and you know you need to be the first to speak because you’re the one that showed up here to talk to him, but now that you’re sitting in front of him you’re floundering for words. You could just come out and say that you broke up with your boyfriend, but you feel like that would be a bit weird, and he’d probably laugh in your face and make a comment about how he doesn’t care. You could ask him how he’s been, but you think he might genuinely put a bullet in you for trying to make small talk with him like that right now. 

The longer you stay silent, the more awkward it becomes, and you want to cry because you’ve never been awkward with Dazai before, and for a brief second, you wonder if things really have changed too much to go back to how they were. 

Finally, you decide to just come out and say, bracing yourself for the inevitable derisive words that are going to leave his lips. “I broke up with him.”

Dazai’s scoff is loud and instantaneous, you bite your tongue, eyes sliding shut as you turn to face ahead instead of looking at him. Cowardly, you know, but you don’t want to see the sneer on his face when he asks you why he should care. 

But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say anything at first. If you were looking at him, you’d see the way his cold expression shifted into a more conflicted one, still staring ahead because he can’t bring himself to look at you. You count each passing second, and it’s agonizing waiting for him to speak, a part of you thinks that maybe he won’t, and you’ll just have to leave the bar with your tail between your legs, humiliated. 

But then he does. 

“Why?” he finally asks coolly, and your eyes snap open and your gaze slides over to him when you realize he did not, in fact, hit you with the derogation you expected.

He still isn’t looking at you, and you watch as he lifts his free hand back to his lips, taking another long drag of his cigarette as he waits for your response. You swallow thickly when you try to figure out what to say next. 

What you want to say is ‘because he wasn’t you,’ but you’re not ready to bare yourself vulnerable in front of him like that when he’s still so unpredictable. Just because he didn’t immediately hit you with the harsh words you expected, doesn’t mean he isn’t going to lure you in just to slap you in the face with it, which is how you’re sure he perceived what you did three months ago. 

Rather, you say quietly: “He was boring, I guess.”

It’s a lie. Well, a partial lie, at least. He was a good guy, he was just boring compared to what you wanted, and what you wanted was Dazai Osamu, who no one in the world could hope to compare to. 

“He was boring,” Dazai echoes your words, a cruel and mocking lilt to his voice, and you brace yourself now, taking the sudden switch in tone as the flicking off of the safety. But he shakes his head as he lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it’s another scoff or a laugh. “How cold-hearted of you. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given your track record.”

Two paths lay before you: you can take the words as well-deserved, trying to avoid the inevitable fight, or you can spit back equally venomous words, dive in headfirst so the two of you can get everything off of your chest. Both choices are double-edged. If you avoid the fight, it means avoiding the topic altogether, and even if the two of you choose to speak again, the resentment of what had happened will only poison and fester. If you dive into the fight, there’s a chance of saying words you can’t take back, and everything might fall apart anyway.

What do you want? You want to ask him, because you aren’t sure what the right decision is. Three months ago, if you and Dazai got into a disagreement about something, you would know in an instant whether or not he wanted to fight it out to let off steam or just pretend it didn’t happen. Now, you aren’t so sure. He’s still not looking at you, so you can’t use the look in his eye as a hint, but his shoulders are tense beneath his jacket, and his knuckles are white around his glass of whiskey. Your gaze drags up to his face, catching the way his jaw is tight, teeth probably grinding together, and you know. 

You look ahead again, leveling your vision on a particularly nice bottle of wine on the third shelf of the wine rack as you say: “I’d rather be cold-hearted than a coward.”

For the first time since you’ve arrived, Dazai’s gaze cuts in your direction, head snapping to the side. You turn your head toward him just enough for you to eye him from the corner of your eye, catching glimpse of the way his lip curled up into a snarl and the way flames now rage in the browns of his eye—a far cry from the bottomless void, but you prefer the anger to the emptiness. 

“A coward?” His voice is low, cold, dangerous. 

You’re treading on thin ice, but you choose to stoke the flame more, gaze sliding back to the wine racks ahead.

“A coward.”

The silence that hangs between the two of you is tense and damning, you have to force yourself not to react to it, keeping your expression as stony as his as you wait for his response. He’ll either hit you back with more venom or he’ll settle down, one will lead to a blow out fight and the other will lead to a very tense conversation. 

You don’t want to fight him, but if that’s what he wants, you’ll give it to him. 

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai makes another scornful noise but he doesn’t say anything, gaze snapping back ahead as he takes a drag of his cigarette, this one clearly fueled by anger, far more aggressive than the last one. As if to piss him off even more, he hardly gets half of a smoke, down to the nub already. Frustrated, he puts the lingering cinders out on the bartop before reaching for the pack in his pocket, pulling out a new cigarette and his lighter.

You watch as he tries to flick the lighter on, cigarette dangling between his lips, but the old thing refuses to cooperate. Distantly, you wonder why Dazai is so damn stubborn: working with an old lighter, living in a shitty shipping container, wearing the same few pairs of clothes every day when he probably has more money than god hoarded from his executive paycheck. But you only force yourself to not roll your eyes as you pull out your own lighter, flicking it on and holding it out to him without looking at him. 

You watch from the corner of your eye as he stares at your hand suspiciously before he exhales from the side of his mouth, dipping his head down to light the cigarette before he faces ahead again. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches out for his glass of whiskey, still mostly full, and then he slides it over to you.

An offering. A white flag. 

You barely withhold the breath of relief that nearly escapes you, accepting the drink and taking a long sip of it. It’s his favorite brand, smooth and familiar on the tongue; you haven’t been able to bring yourself to drink it since your falling out with him. 

“Was it really because he was boring?” Dazai finally asks. He’s not looking at you again, but you can see from the way his fingers are tense against the bartop that he’s probably waiting for a certain response from you.

You let your eyes slide shut. “No,” you admit.

“Then why?” he presses, as if he doesn’t already know. 

“You know why,” you say tightly, shaking your head and looking down.

“Tell me anyway,” Dazai responds quietly, you can feel his gaze on you but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Irrationally, even though the atmosphere between the two of you has shifted, you wonder if this is it: he’s going to get you to admit it and then laugh in your face, cruel but probably deserved. 

“Because he wasn’t you,” you finally force out.

He doesn’t respond. Your heart sinks to your stomach, a sick feeling churning. You brace yourself again—you don’t know what for, maybe a laugh or a derisive comment, but he does nothing of the sort. 

A long exhale, smoke billowing around his face, a heavy look in his eyes. He doesn’t look at you as he says: “You’re right.”

You don’t respond because you’re not sure what he’s referring to. Finally, he tilts his head to look at you, a wry smile on his lips—your chest feels warm at the sight, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him smile. Probably not since the falling out. 

“I was a coward.”

Oh.

The frustration you felt all of those months ago returns with a vengeance. You had danced with possibilities back then: that you were reading too much into things, that he didn’t actually care for you the way you did for him, that he simply did not want to be with you even if he did care about you that way. Now, faced with confirmation that he had felt the same but was just too pussy to act on it, your chest swells with that familiar anger. You force it away. 

“Why?” you ask after a few moments of silence, nails digging into the palm of your hands as you rest them on your lap. “I… I waited for two years, Dazai. I gave you so many openings. You knew how I felt.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, barely audible. 

“Then why?” you repeat his words back to him, pressing hard just like he did. His throat bobs beneath his bandages as he swallows, averting his gaze, or trying to, at least, because you don’t let him. You reach out to grab his chin tightly, forcing him to look at you, and the pads of your fingers burn against his skin, hyper aware of the fact that this is the first time you’ve touched him in three months. “Why?”

His hand comes up to grab your wrist as if to pull your hand off of him, but he doesn’t, grip firm around your wrist, fingers pressing against your pulse point, and you’re acutely conscious of the fact that your pulse is probably racing but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“I told you why,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. Vulnerable in a way that you’ve never seen him before. “I was a coward. I… didn’t want to risk ruining our friendship... I don't have many friends. You know that. I would’ve rather just ignored how I felt and kept you as a friend, because I didn’t think there’d be a chance of losing you that way. I thought if I acted on how I felt, one day you’d eventually see me for what I am and I’d lose you altogether.”

“Some good that did you.” You can’t help the resentful words that spill from your lips, but you feel guilty when he winces, hand dropping back to your lap, his grip slipping from your wrist. “You think I don’t already see you for who you are? We’ve known each other since we were sixteen, Dazai. I know all of the sick and twisted thoughts that run through your head, I knew exactly what I was getting into.”

Dazai shakes his head, as if to deny your words. You get frustrated.

“I spend hours at your recovery bed after your attempts, I’ve caught you in the middle of them myself, do you know what the first thing I did was after I told you I had a boyfriend?” you demand, and he stares at you, unsure. “I put a protection detail on him because I thought you’d try to have him killed, or try to kill him yourself.”

Dazai winces. You shake your head and look away, settling down again. 

“For someone so smart, you really are so goddamn stupid sometimes,” you sigh, taking a long swig of his drink before placing the glass back down on the table. “I saw you for who you are, and I wanted you anyway.”

“Wanted?” Dazai asks, an uncertain expression on his face as he zeroes in on the past tense.

“Want,” you correct, voice little over a breath, and something akin to relief sweeps across his face as his gaze drops down to the bartop.

The silence that hangs between the two of you is more comfortable this time. Reassuring, even, because maybe things might still be awkward between the two of you for a while, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, one much brighter than the one the two of you lived in three months ago. 

“I can’t believe you went for a civilian,” Dazai suddenly says, almost sounding indignant. “A civilian. You!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you snap when you hear the incredulous tone he takes when he says ‘you’.

“You’re a stone cold bitch,” Dazai accuses and you gape, but you can’t find it in yourself to be offended because his eyes are lit up for the first time in months, a lopsided smile painted on his face. “And you’ve got as much blood on your hands as I do. You. A civilian. I think I would’ve been less offended if you went for Chuuya.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” you snort, and then you add, a bit amused, “you know what he wants a job as?” 

“Tell me,” Dazai drawls, resting his chin on his hand as he leans on the bar, watching you with such a fond expression that it makes you feel warm all over. 

God, you missed him the past three months. 

“He wanted to go to law school. Become a public defender.”

Dazai chokes over the smoke he inhales, and you press your hand to your lips to smother your giggles as he desperately wheezes between laughs. You’re not sure if he’s actually choking, you think he might actually be dying from how red his face is getting.

“Maybe you should keep in contact with him then,” he gasps between laughs, “we might need one of those one day.”

“As if you’re sloppy enough to ever get caught,” you say dryly.

He winks at you, his grin sharpening, and you know you’re not going to like what he’s about to say. “Oh, I’m not. By ‘we’, I meant you.”

“Douchebag.” You roll your eyes, letting another silence settle over the two of you, a smile on your lips now as you take another sip of your drink. He’s the one to break it again.

“... Odasaku convinced me not to, by the way.”

“What?” 

“To kill him. I was going to. Odasaku convinced me not to.”

You let out a sigh of utter suffering, giving Dazai a pointed look—see, you say silently, I know you. He has the decency to look a bit sheepish as lifts his cigarette back to his mouth in lieu of responding to your unspoken words. 

“Stop with the self sabotage, Dazai,” you finally say, tired. “For both of our sakes’.”

He doesn’t respond, and you know him well enough to know that he’ll probably never stop with the self sabotage, but he does reach out to lace your fingers with his, and the warm feeling that spreads through your chest is enough to satiate you. 

Little steps, because no, the Mafia is not a conducive place for relationships and yes, it’s only a matter of time before luck runs out for one of you, but if your life is destined to be short, there’s only one person you want to spend it with.

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Reign down on me - Part 7

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

Masterlist here

-🐺-

When you opened your eyes the world was drowned in darkness and you were in an unfamiliar room, sapping warmth from an oversized lump in the sheets. At first you froze like a statue, flicking your eyes around to see if you could make anything out. It was clear enough that you weren’t in your own bed, but even your advanced eyes couldn’t make a single thing out for the lack of any light. 

The lump groaned and shifted, sprawling out like a tiger skin rug before retracting again. A heavy weight draped itself round your mid section, an arm you realised, that caused you to curse and pant for inside it’s unyielding hold. Ghost. Who else had arms the size of iron girders? 

It should’ve been obvious to you, but your mind had been too foggy in the aftermath of your unexpected sleep. Had you taken a second to scent the air, you would’ve been greeted with his relaxing scent, but instead you’d fumbled around like a bear coming out of hibernation. At that realisation you scrunched your eyes closed and then opened them again, still feebly trying to see through the oppressive black of the room. It had to be Ghost’s room that you were in, the place was practically painted with his citrusy scent, with undertones of sage ever present and invading.

“Y’alright, Pup?” a groggy voice called out. 

It sounded as if a pile of rocks had shifted from right next to you. Your ears twitched back at the sound and all at once you relaxed in his loosened grip, turning around to face him. Your noses were inches from touching. Not that you could see his, but you could feel the steady streams of his breaths trickling out from his sleepwear body.

“Um…yeah” you whispered, unsure of how to answer. “Why’d you take me to your bed?” 

He yawned and uncurled his arm from your body, instead using his hand to trace little patterns up your arms. 

“You seemed upset when I left you in yours. Only calmed down and stopped whinin’ when I let you curl up here,” he explained, sounding as if he was moments from drifting off again. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said hastily. 

You couldn’t believe it! Why would you have whined at being left to sleep alone? Why would you stop when you got to sleep in Ghost’s bed? The revelations had you frowning and feeling markedly warmer than you already were. Your mind whirred at the idea that Ghost had witnessed you mewling like a little puppy at having to sleep in your own bed. 

“I know. I didn’t want you having bad dreams after what happened yesterday, so I thought it was for the best,” he said simply, as if what he’d done was completely normal. 

“I can handle those,” you said weakly. 

“You don’t have to.”

You gulped down a thick lump in your throat and let the silence settle over you both. Though the room wasn’t completely quiet of course. Ghost’s steady breathing and the sound of your own pounding heart rattled around in your ears. Though your chest calmed its frenzy when Ghost drew you close again, urging you to burrow your head under his chin and into the soft cotton of his worn shirt. 

The two of you stayed silent for a time after though neither of you fell asleep. Instead the time was spent mulling through your sluggish thoughts, wondering distantly if you should be trying to leave. 

“I think you should reconsider your nesting situation,” Ghost said suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“What?”

“You have a lot of bad dreams most nights. You were peaceful last night though,” he explained softly.

“Do they wake you up?” you asked, brows knitting together in worry. 

You’d woken plenty of times before in your old barracks from others' bad dreams and in turn woken the others with your own. It wasn’t lost on you how annoying it was to try to get to sleep after being jolted awake and kicked into an adrenaline rush, lying there in the grey light of almost dawn with a pounding heart and the knowledge that you’d have to get to work again soon. 

“Nah, told you before - I’m not a good sleeper. If I knew there was something that helped though I’d make sure I got to sleep properly every night.”

You huffed out an embarrassed laugh and shook your head, feeling his stubbly chin scratch the top of your head. It was only then that it occurred to you that he was maskless again. You wondered if that meant he was getting more comfortable around you, just as you were him.

“It was probably just a fluke,” you murmured, trying to hide your interest. “I’m not gonna hoard your clothes like some feral squirrel, Ghost.” 

He laughed at that, the bassy tones reverberating through his wide chest and against your warming skin. 

“It’s not hoarding and it doesn’t have to be my clothes. I can give you my duvet or I could get you a new blanket and sleep with it for a bit if you like, if that would make it feel more natural.”

“It’s not natural, its weird,” you huffed. 

“You’re a hybrid, S’not weird,” he affirmed, stroking circled down your back. “It’s normal for you to need comforting scents and materials. My old partner used to keep a nest, we had an arrangement and it was fine.”

At that your ears flicked in curiosity. He’d never mentioned this ‘old partner’ before. All at once your mind flooded with questions and as it worked hard to process them all, you could barely hold onto one tightly enough to ask it. 

“You had a hybrid before me?” you eventually said, voice small and unsteady. 

Ghost paused. It was if he’d only just realised what he’d just said. 

“Another wolf,” he confirmed, throat swelling and tense. “We were paired up after I passed my handler qualification. It was a long time ago - feels like a lifetime really. Spent four years together, he used to cuddle up with me just like this in my stupid little barracks bunk when he had rough nights.”

The elephant in the room stared down at you from on high. There was no avoiding it’s almost tangible bulk. So you asked the question that wanted to leap off the tip of your tongue. 

“What happened to him?”

Ghost was ready for that, answering quickly. Though it didn’t sound like it hurt him any less to say it when it was spoken through gritted teeth.  

“Killed in action.”

“Oh…I’m- I’m sorry.”

Was that the right thing to say? When other hybrids you’d worked with had died, there usually weren’t many mourners if any, though that was because you were under the care of Branhaven. You’d only met a few hybrids before that were in the care of handlers and it had been obvious that you’d always been intrinsically different from them, that they had far more value to their teams than you ever did as an unclaimed hybrid.

“Roach was a good lad,” Ghost said eventually. “He taught me alot in our time together, made me sharper with all his…’quirks’. Used to steal anything of mine that he could get his grubby little mitts on and drag it off to his bed, so to be honest it was a bit of a shock when I realised you weren’t going to be the same.”

Ghost laughed a little despite the sadness that tinged his careful words. 

“With a name like Roach, I can only imagine what other quirks he had,” you smiled. 

“Oh that one loved to get himself into trouble. I still remember the first time we went out with Price - very long time ago. Roach thought it’d be funny to steal his hat, this is before he started wearing the boonie mind you, at that point it was this old beanie that absolutely reeked of cigars. Found that out because while Price was ranting about having cold ears, I was asleep on top of it, before I got woken up by his bitching anyway. I took it out from under me when I woke up, confused as fuck as to why it was there, and then Price saw it and was going on and on about how childish it was to take it, and then I started arguing back and saying I wouldn’t do something so bloody stupid. All the while Roach was giggling to himself in the corner, the little shit.”

“He wasn’t scared of what Price would do?” You asked incredulously, trying to put yourself in the shoes of a hybrid that didn’t know the intimidating Captain half as well as you did. 

“Roach wasn’t scared of a damn thing, beyond whatever shit he used to dream about anyway. It’s the reason he got called Roach in the first place, his real name was Gary. He used to run headfirst into danger and come out fine almost every time, that’s what they told me when they handed him off to me- ‘that wolf’s like a bug you can’t squash’...Course his luck ran out eventually. We got captured by an enemy group in Mexico and the bastards didn’t see the worth in keeping a hybrid around. Said they only needed me.”

“That’s awful.”

Another silence ensued. It made sense that Ghost had had a hybrid before you, he’d had a long career and he was so knowledgeable when it came to training with you that it made sense that he’d had plenty of first hand experience. Though it made your heart ache to think that he mourned for someone that was ripped away from him so long ago. The way he told those stories, you could hear the emotion etched in every word.

“Didn’t think I’d take on another hybrid on after him,” Ghost sighed, making you tilt your head in question, “but Price told me about you and kept badgering on about me being the only one in the team that was qualified to take you, kept saying that you didn’t deserve to rot away back at your home base and that you deserved a place here. I figured I owed it to him to at least go and check you out and well, I knew you had to be mine the minute I saw ya.”

“You saw a soggy mutt that was getting punished in an outdoor kennel and instantly had that epiphany?” You snorted. 

“A soggy mutt that didn’t deserve to be there,” he corrected. “There was no way for me to have saved Roach while I was tied up and concussed to all hell, I made peace with that a long time ago. I knew that I was able to save you though; doing anything other than untying you and walking out of that base with the angry ball of fur in my arms felt like sacrilege.”

“Angry ball of fur,” you repeated with a tut, rolling your eyes so far back they crept into your inflection.

“You tried to bite me at least twice and you called me Mr.Bonejangles in the car. Angry ball of fur was about right, you little sod! Sitting there all wrapped up in your towel with your grumpy face and hair poking out every which way,” Ghost laughed. “I’m just lucky you calmed down after a good rest. Thought I was gonna have to take to permanently being in handling gloves after that first night.”

“I didn’t try to bite you that much.”

“You did. You were like a hungry crocodile. You had my life flashing before my eyes that day, was praying I’d get to keep all my fingers and toes.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic!” 

Ghost’s laugh echoed around the room, hitting off of unseen walls somewhere inside the shadows. As much as you hated to think about a time before you knew Ghost, and actively tried to fight him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you began to see that day through his eyes. You could only imagine what it must’ve been like to have met you then, knowing about your sketchy disciplinary file and admittedly bad track record for biting and scratching, Ghost couldn’t have had any clue what he was in for. In that moment you couldn’t have felt luckier, pressed into Ghost’s chest and getting to relax against him in his nice warm bed, when you could’ve been left to rot in those kennels.

Moments later, just as you were both settling back into the furrow of the mattress and had adjusted sheets to your liking, a high pitched alarm tone blared out and sent you both groaning. Ghost’s phone lit up from his side, finally shedding a little light into the room. From there you could see his bed was pressed up into the wall, as usual you’d assumed you’d made sure to be closest to the exit - even in your drowsy state. You still couldn’t make out much of the structure of the place. 

“Suppose we better get up then,” Ghost groaned. “C’mon then.”

“I can’t see a thing in here, you’re gonna have to turn a light on or something,” you yawned, stretching out and readying yourself to start the day.  

It was then that he saw fit to snatch the corner of his black out curtains and yank them back, sending you flying under the covers just to save your eyes. The duvet provided you shelter from the cold blue light and from under their safety you actively felt your pupils slowly unshrink from the tiny pinpoints they’d been forced to become. 

“Why would you do that?” You groaned. 

“Reckoned you needed a bit of a wake up,” Ghost shrugged, lifting the cover up so he could meet your eyes. 

As annoyed as you were you were distracted from your grumpiness momentarily by his face. His smug smile was in full view, lips slanting to one side and pulling his scars taught. In the full light of the morning he looked like a weathered statue, bright highlights and harsh shadow carving out his sharp jaw like chiselled stone. You tilted your head at him and in turn he tilted his back in the opposite direction. 

“See somethin’ on my face?” He joked, teeth flashing into view. 

You shook your head and pursed your lips. A little heat rose to your cheeks. 

“Just planning out the perfect place to bite you,” you lied.

“That so?” He asked, a sandy blonde eyebrow raising. “Sounds like I’m just gonna have to get you first then.”

At that he pinched your side and sent you yipping and scrabbling off the bed. Though that wasn’t enough to escape him. He gave chase, leaping off of the mattress, the bed groaning at the change in weight and thumped on the floor. The air blew through the fur in your ears, you ran that fast. Unthinkingly running to your own room before considering anywhere else. 

With that you dove under your bed, dragging your sheets down to cover the space and yanking Simon in just as he’d fallen off the top. Ghost yanked your door open straight after, his bare feet slapping into the wood and taking careful steps forward. He sighed loudly when he reached the edge of your bed and stopped, feet stopping at your chest. 

“I’d like to think you’ve been trained to evade enemies better than this, Pup,” he drawled. 

You rolled your eyes, full well knowing you wouldn’t go running and hiding like that against someone you had full authority to kill. 

Rather than let him crouch down and drag you out, you threw Simon up at him as a distraction and skittered out around him. In a matter of seconds you managed to gather yourself into a crouch and sprang up at his back, wrapping your arms round his shoulders and legs round his middle. From there you gently grazed your teeth against his neck in a fake bite and growled, announcing your victory to the otherwise empty room. 

“Soap’s right, you’re a menace,” he laughed, untangling you from around him and bending backwards so he could set you gently back down on the floor. 

“You brought work into it,” you huffed, folding your arms indignantly.

“Yeah yeah, cheap shot throwing your teammate at the hostile. Poor little fella getting sacrificed like that,” he said, holding out the puppy stuffed toy with a fake grimace. 

“Simon woulda shaken it off, I had every faith in him,” you shrugged, setting him down on the bed carefully so that he rested against the pillows. 

“Simon?” Ghost repeated, choking out a strangled sound that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a guffaw. “You named it Simon?”

“Yeah, after the hybrid from my books,” you said, nodding toward the graphic novels that were stacked by your bedside. “Why's that so funny?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as a few different emotions crossed Ghost’s eyes. He chewed on his lip a second, eyes going wide and zeroing in on your sleeping buddy until he shook himself out of it. 

“Nothing,” he smiled, clearing the awkward edge in his throat. “Good name that. Strong choice. Little Simon.”

“I think it suits him.”

“Yeah…Anyway, we need to get ready and get in for work. I’ve got a bit of a stacked day today, so we need to get you sorted. Gaz and Soap offered to take you through your exercises this afternoon and Price is gonna let you sit in his office till I can come get you in the evenin’. Pack your books so you’ve got something to occupy yourself with tonight, Cap’s not very chatty right now. Oh and remember, if you want anything for your bed just let me know, ok?” 

-🐺- 

Stacked day indeed. Ghost made you run laps through the assault course he’d had set up for you and just before he left, he’d made you practise some bite work with him. The irony wasn’t lost on you after your conversation that morning. He’d donned his leather gloves and neck protector and brought out a fake gun, making you attack him over and over so that you could practise non lethal takedowns.

As good as you were at the exercise, that didn’t stop Ghost from firing a couple foam bullets at you from time to time when you got too out of control, reminding you teresley that you weren’t supposed to be ripping detainees to pieces. As your wilder side took over during your work, you’d bark out raspy growls at him for the cheap shots, knowing full well he shouldn't be able to fire after you’d just decimated his fake arm. However the sensible part of your mind would echo out that it was far better than getting smacked with the plastic batons that your old trainers would carry to discourage your savagery.

“Well well well, what kinda training do you call this?”

Your head turned just as you’d brought Ghost down to the floor and you ceased your growling, tilting your head when your gaze landed on Soap. Gaz joined him at the side of the field moments later, just coming off of a phone call to see you still on top of Ghost. 

“Oh yeah, we’re just having a bit of fun, Johnny. You know how much I love being mauled” Ghost grunted, tapping your thigh in short order. “You can get up now, Pup. Reckon you got me.”

You looked back down at Ghost and let out an embarrassed huff of air before rolling off him and standing up, dusting your dirty fatigues off. Some of the soft dirt smeared down them, leaving what would surely become a rough crust in its wake.

“Can’t believe you get to play with nerf guns and call it work,” Soap laughed, “That or the fact that you took the time to paint that thing black just so that it’d match your gear.”

“Well you’re welcome to take over if you think its so fun,” Ghost grinned, eyes cresting below his mask.

He unbuckled his thick leather gloves and threw them onto the grass at Soap’s feet, then tore the velcro off of his neck protector with a loud scratchy rip. Soap then looked back at you and visibility stiffened up, considering Ghost’s offer like it might be his death sentence. Gaz shoved him and laughed, going instead to approach Ghost and reach out for his gun. 

“Look at this,” he whistled, turning it over and opening up the ammo compartment. “What is this? A ten round? You even got the grey bullets with the red tips. Very nice hardware, Sir.”

“Well it is the Elite Ranger PD-5 Blaster, Garrick. Fine piece of kit, so it is,” Ghost quipped. “Maybe one day you’ll earn your own one.”

“Well now I know what I’m asking Santa for,” Gaz smirked. “So, we taking over here?”

You looked back at Soap again who was eagerly looking at Ghost to find out the answer to that question. Ghost looked back at him and winked, a gesture you only caught because you knew to look out for their antics now. 

“Nah,” Ghost finally answered, roughly raking his hands over your ears. “We made good progress today, I reckon we set Pup on anyone we need back alive, we’ve got a great chance of bringing at least seventy percent of the enemy still intact now.”

“Hey!” you growled. “I can bring people in just fine.”

“Oh sure, you can bring em’ in - in separate pieces of course - but you’ll get the job done,” he drawled, soon producing strangled notes as if he was choking. “‘Sorry sir, I would’ve given you the information but that damn wolf got my tongue.’”

Ghost laughed the way he always did when he was being cheeky, the rasping cackle crooning from his throat like a bear scratching up a tree. You had half a mind to do some scratching yourself, but instead you snatched the nerf gun from Gaz and shot Ghost in the chest a couple times. All of you silently watched as the foam bullets arced into his torso only to bounce off pathetically into the well trodden grass. 

You knew then that you should’ve aimed for his forehead like he’d done to you. 

“Friendly fire, is it?” Ghost questioned.

“Got you back,” you replied, tilting your chin in the air in defiance. 

He tutted at you and mussed up your hair once again, rubbing his hands over your head with enough force to almost knock you back.

“I’ll remember that next time we train together,” he said menacingly, jabbing your side just as he’d done that morning. 

You yelped and rubbed the tender spot, trying not to give into the laughter of the ticklish spot. 

“For now though, you two have the absolute pleasure of learning hybrid hand signals,” Ghost said, directing his attentions toward Gaz and Soap. “Sad that I have to miss such a fun exercise, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of giggles without me. I booked out building three and left you a handler’s manual open on the page there. I had some corporals set up a basic simulation for you, so you should be good to go once you get in. Anything you’re confused on, Pup should be able to explain.” 

At that you groaned, shoulders slumping with the anticipation of the boring afternoon ahead. Back at Branhaven when they were training up new batches of handlers, you all had to take turns helping them through their coursework and modules - one of which being the hand signal module. That often meant long boring days being slowly and dramatically led around short courses and wildly gestured at until the new recruits were able to get the motions correct. 

“You couldn’t have just let me do more biting?” you sighed.

Ghost chuckled and picked up the rucksack of things he’d set off to the side.

“What? And terrify this one half to death in the process? I don’t think so,” Ghost said, pinching Soap’s cheek playfully. “You’ll survive one slow afternoon. I’ll even sweeten the deal, you keep the nerf gun and if they get something wrong you have my permission to shoot them.”

Soap rubbed at his cheek with a glare and slapped Ghost’s arm away soon after. His blue eyes were all storms and indignation and his jaw was clenched tight as a vice. Meanwhile you were doing everything you could not to yip with obvious delight, settling instead for a slow tail wag. 

“You don’t get to authorise that,” Soap said, rolling his eyes.

“What rank am I again?”

“That doesn-”

“It does actually. Have a good day, Sergeant,” Ghost interrupted, softly pretending to punch Soap’s shoulder. “Do me proud!”

Gaz laughed from next to you and waved Ghost off as he made his escape, narrowly avoiding getting hit by one of the leather mitts he’d set down earlier. Soap didn’t give chase after the failed throw though, instead he just stood grumbling to himself and eventually gathered the gear together and slung it into the holdall that Ghost had neglected to take with him. Once the bag dangled from his shoulder, he turned to you and Gaz and flung his head in the direction of the training buildings. 

“So what’s this about hand signals? We gonna have to make you sit and fetch?” Soap asked. 

“You tell me to go fetch and we’re gonna have problems,” you said, pumping the nerf gun’s ammo chamber for emphasis. 

“Christ in heaven,” Soap muttered, heaving himself off across the field. “The things I put up with.”

-🐺- 

The room was heavy with thick silence as you traversed your way around it. You might as well have been glued to Gaz’s side, one of the few sounds that were allowed to permeate the quiet was Gaz’s breathing and the metallic ting of the ancient filament lights. Every second that you walked, you obsessively watched Gaz’s hands, fixing your eyes on them as if they might hold untold treasures.

This was it, the last run through. Gaz paused at the same doorway you’d had to wait outside at least a dozen times already, and quickly held up his fist for ‘halt’. It helped that it was just the same as the standard hand signals that he’d been taught already. From there he pointed two fingers to his side and signalled for halt again. You nodded and moved next to him, looking from his hands to his eyes in quick succession while you waited for further instruction. 

From there he cupped his hands by his ear and pointed at you. You twitched your ears, adjusting yourself so that you could listen out for any tell tale sounds of Soap skulking around from inside. Though there was nothing beyond the annoying skittering of the old ticking clock inside the fake office, so to confirm the silence you shook your head. Gaz then held his finger to the side of his nose and pointed at you, but you held your palm up and waved your other hand around it. Unclear. Smell was little use when you’d all run the training course together so many times, everything stank of the two men at that point. 

Gaz nodded and thought for a second. Time might as well have been a sound, the continuous buzz of the lights or the shaking hands of the clock behind the door, your senses felt like they were blending into a big mush. You were glad when Gaz finally patted his back and held out his palm and then a single finger, signalling to walk back to back with him and watch his six. 

You nodded again and did as asked, making quick work of slinking through the door as quietly as possible and advancing down the corridor beyond. Gaz looked right and left, checking through the first office room on the right quickly and efficiently and kept things moving down the hallway, readying to advance to the next room at the end of the hallway. This was it, there was only one place Soap could be now, you thought. 

However, just as Gaz was heading down the corridor, you could’ve sworn you heard a noise. A faint almost wooden gasp, but it was something nonetheless. You grabbed Gaz’s arm and forced him to a stop, holding your hand to your ear so that he knew you heard something. He narrowed his eyes, honey irises appearing chestnut from under his shadowy gaze. After another few seconds you heard the sound of something making contact with the floor, hell you could've sworn you felt the vibrations of it at that point.

You looked up at Gaz with wild eyes and motioned your head down the hallway from the office that Gaz had assumed was safe. It wasn’t like there was much to sweep that you hadn’t already looked through on all your other runs, so he hadn’t been sloppy to dismiss the empty space. There was just a single desk with an exposed underside, the wall clock and a fake sink set up. The sink had a cupboard but it also had a slew of fake piping that made it impossible to squeeze inside. Or rather it should’ve. 

As soon as you crept back down the hallway, you both stumbled onto Soap emerging from the cupboard like a spider creeping from a crack. He was all arms and legs as he tried to slyly remove himself from the tiny space and before he was able to see you and Gaz, Gaz blasted him with the nerf gun and you ran toward him, ensuring you were out of firing range and jumped up in front of him. Pieces of loose plastic piping scattered from all around the bottom cupboard, and he just about exploded from his skin when you got your face up close to his.

“Steamin Jesus! How’d you know I was in here?” 

“We didn’t, I heard the cupboard opening though,” you explained, wagging your tail all the while. 

Soap sighed and leaned back into the cupboard clutching his hand over his heart for a moment before sitting back up. 

“I suppose I should be happy you’re on our team with those big satellites, fuzzy lugs,” Soap sighed. 

“Hey!” You whined, flattening your ears. “They’re not big satellites.”

“Well not when you put them back like that,” Soap said, a sly smile piercing through his eyes before it reached his lips. 

“Better big fluffy ears than big fluffy hair,” you huffed. 

“Oooh,” Gaz smirked, “Get ‘im.”

“You canny insult the hawk,” Soap sniffed, running a hand through his messy locks. “Nothing you say will convince me this isn’t stunnin’.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back from Soap, about to let him get up when Gaz stopped you both. He held out his hand and demanded you wait a minute, causing you and Soap to turn to one another and frown until all became clear. 

“Gotta get a good photo of our quarry, Pup. All the best hunters get their trophy photo,” Gaz explained, while holding his phone up and adjusting the angle.

Gaz adjusted his pose, tilting his nerf gun so that it crossed his chin and partially obscured his faux serious expression, meanwhile Soap sat back amongst the loose piping and accepted his fate, holding his fingers to his forehead in a fake gun gesture as if he were shooting himself. You weren’t sure what to do. No one ever asked you to be in pictures that weren’t mandated for the government website, so you didn’t know how to pose. 

At the last minute you tilted your head and pulled out a cheeky grin just before Gaz took the photos, the screen flickering black a couple times before he started tapping at his screen and laughing. He walked over to you both and lowered his screen, letting you see the resulting photo that oozed chaos with the silly toy gun and you and Soap sitting atop the mess of piping.

“Ooft, sexy,” Soap whistled. “Get that up on tinder. You’ll get all sorts of tail with that.”

“Oh yeah, caption writes itself - ‘anyone wanna hold my blaster?’” Gaz sniggered, tapping away again. “That’s going on insta.”

You huffed out a surprise breath at that.

“You’re actually putting that up on your socials?” you asked, frowning. 

Gaz ceased his tapping and tilted his chin up at you. 

“Was gonna, why? do you not want it up?” he asked, showing you the photo again. 

The screen tilted round to reveal a confirmation page with the photo sporting a slightly more dramatic filter. He’d been about to post it with a slightly less ridiculous caption at least ‘Mission success: blockage identified - Soap too big for the sink.’

That didn’t stop you from snorting at it of course. 

“I don’t mind - just figured you’ll get people being strange about you showing off that you hang about with the little hybrid weirdo,” you shrugged. 

“Aw, furball. You don’t have to worry about people finding you weird. Your ears aren’t that big and strange you know,” Soap said, rubbing your arm in mock sympathy. “They might not even qualify as full sized satellites, maybe just small radio towers or- Hey!”

You smiled smugly to yourself after flicking Soap on the nose, but quickly dropped the grin when Soap yanked you back by the shoulders and blew a big gust of air into one of your ears.

“No! Disgusting!” You squealed, wrestling him off and slapping him away while he laughed.  

You rubbed at your ear, screwing up your entire face while you tried to work the feeling of Soap’s breath out of your fur and inner canal. The uncomfortable pressure ceased after a few seconds and finally you were able to stop cringing away from Soap enough to see Gaz shaking his head at you both. 

“Aaand its posted. C’mon, we better start clearing out of here. You can fix that mess with the Pipes, Soap.”

“Fuck sake,” Soap cursed, looking around at his mess. “Thought this was gonna be worth it as well.”

His grumbling didn’t stop as he got through his work either. As he put the sink back together you sat on top of the desk by Gaz while he sat on the chair and scrolled through his phone. You didn’t really have anything to do, so you twisted the manual round that you’d been teaching the guys from and started flicking through the old yellowing pages. The corners felt like they might melt away from even just fingering through them, it was so ancient, but that wasn’t the only sign that the book wasn’t from your lifetime. After skipping to a random page, your eyes widened into saucers and your mouth almost dropped to the cold concrete below. 

“What the fuck,” you breathed out loud, reading over the page contents with a dry mouth.  

Gaz’s interest peaked at that. Out of the corner of your peripherals you saw his eyes drift from his phone to look over the page you’d pulled.

“Yo! What the hell is that about,” Gaz cackled, pulling his chair up and scraping it over the concrete to get a closer look. “Proper Maintenance of your Hybrid’s Hygiene? That’s nasty.”

Soap looked over from his work and frowned.

“What’s so nasty about that?” 

“Nah, I can’t tell you. You gotta come over here and see this, mate.”

You frowned down at the book, casting your eyes over the frankly awful illustrations therein with a sickening mix of horror and gratitude for not having to have experienced anything depicted in them for yourself. Below the section title, In the two little boxes with smaller boxes off shooting from them were mirror images of a man standing over a bathtub with a hybrid in it, however in one box there was a female hybrid and the other a male. In the smaller boxes were close up pictures of the illustrated hybrids' tails, ears and genitals with captions that explained the proper way to keep them clean and healthy. 

“As you will well know, being experienced handlers in training,” Gaz read aloud, using a posh old timey voice, “Hybrids do not have the mental capacity that humans possess. As such, they are simply not capable of keeping themselves adequately clean, which means this is a care requirement you must oversee yourself at least once a week. Following the diagrams above you must draw a bath for your hybrid and have them clean their bodies under your guidance and ensure their tails, ears and extremities are maintained to regulation. You must make sure to prevent water flooding their ear canals, as this can cause infection, you must clean and detangle/deshed their tails using a long tooth or a short tooth brush depending on their fur texture, and you must ensure their genitals/nethers are kept cleaned of any discharge, excrement, c-crust build up or- fuckin hell I can’t. This is actual slander. How did they get away with writing this?”

“This is some absolute specist nonsense,” you scoffed, taking the manual from Gaz, who was slowly losing it to soundless laughter, and turning it so that it faced you.

“So in this section it’s basically hammering it into you that I’m apparently too dumb to wash my own shit covered ass, and then in thiiiis page…” you trailed, flicking back a few pages to a title that had almost caught your interest before, “yeah here. In this section it details ‘training techniques and guides for making your hybrid competent in use of blades and blunt weapons.’ So essentially I have to be watched to make sure I get my fuckin ‘crust’ or whatever cleaned off because I’m an incompetent beast, but I can also be reasonably expected to wield a fucking machete! What kind of bullshit is this?!”

Soap and Gaz were dead silent for a few seconds, lips sealed firmly shut and eyes wide as you waved the page around that had the giant sword diagram. That is, until the moment they both looked at each other. After that they burst out into floods of laughter, clutching their chests and howling like animals themselves until tears started falling down their cheeks. 

“It’s not funny!” you growled, taking another look through the ‘guide’ for anymore terrible tidbits. 

“It’s not, it’s really not,” Gaz affirmed, trying to hold in his giggles. “It’s really fucked up, but c’mon, mate. Crust!”

“They didn’t even have to go into that crust shite, but the fact they went on and actually specified the parts in the diagram that had to be cleaned and all that,” Soap wheezed, “I don’t know who the experience is worse for! Where did Ghost even pull this crap from? Did he time travel back to 1945?”

You groaned and turned to the front page, ears drooping back when you found the publishing date. 

“Man, this is from the fucking seventies,” you frowned, realising what torments could’ve befallen you had you been born just a bit earlier. “Wait…you guys don’t think this is Ghost’s personal copy…”

You cut yourself off. All of you were silent.

“Well its possible they could’ve just issued Ghost with an old copy rather than print new ones,” Gaz shrugged, voice weak from laughing so much already. “You know what budgeting’s like.”

“Hold the bus, I’m gonna google something,” Soap announced, pulling his own phone out his trousers and quietly muttering to himself. “Hybrid hygiene, British army regulations…here we go…from the 1960’s hybrids were able to voluntarily join the army or be transferred in from institutes for displaced hybrids and… hygiene was taught in handler training courses and monitored by…then up until 20- steamin’ jesus.” 

“What?” you and Gaz sounded off in unison.

“Essentially says here that the practice of teaching hybrid hygiene and monitoring it didn’t completely end in all British bases until well after Ghost joined up which means…-”

“Ghost is probably a certified crust inspector,” you said gravely. 

At that you all burst out laughing. The room practically shook, none of you could contain yourselves, the sounds ricocheted off the walls and exploded in your ears. Though you couldn’t muster the wherewithal to care. For a few moments you all laughed in a joint heap until slowly you all came back to yourselves and closed the manual, doing all you could to stop yourself from launching it out the skylight above. 

“That’s fuckin awful stuff,” Soap said, finally getting back to finishing up with the sink. “Glad I never signed up for any o’ that pish. I’ll gladly take apart a bomb before I have to supervise you in the tub, furball.” 

“Me too,” Gaz sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Least you’ll never have to get bathed and de-crusted. Almost puts a silver lining on Branhaven if you never had to deal with that, huh?”

“God, I never thought I’d say it, but thank you Maddox for being a neglectful dick,” you muttered, giggling after Gaz snorted from next to you. 

-🐺- 

Later on that day, after Soap and Gaz had dropped you off with Price, the full schedule that you’d been handed weighed heavily on you. You drooped over Price’s sofa and were barely able to read more than a few pages of your new book until you gave up and slumped fully into the cushions. 

You happily dozed off with the sound of Price’s accompanying pen scratches and mutterings, your lips curving into a soft smile against the saggy old cushions. Cigar smoke and musk cradled your prone form and with just the gentlest hint of spiced citrus, you were letting it carry you off to sleep. 

However, before unconsciousness could fully take you, a loud unfamiliar knock sounded at Price’s door and shattered you from any notion of rest. Your heart beat rapidly, chest thumping heavily and you sat up fully and at attention.

You looked over at Price, watching as he put down his pen and shuffled his papers. He made a brief second of eye contact and shrugged as if to tell you that he didn’t know who it was until he looked back toward the darkened door. He’d yet to turn his main light on, instead he sat commanding the room from his lamplit desk. 

“Yes. Who is it?” he barked, rubbing his weary eyes.

“Captain, it’s Major Kelly, I need to speak with you about an incident involving your team’s hybrid. Can I come in?” Called a lilting Irish voice.

Your ears perked up and again you looked at Price, but he didn’t look back at you this time. He set his jaw in a tight line and folded his hands up across the top of his desk, thumping them heavily into the wood. 

“Door’s open, Major,” he called, voice booming in a way you hadn’t heard it before. “Let’s hear it.”

[sanakiras]

TREAT YOU BETTER

PAIRING — lee chan x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 3.7k

SYNOPSIS — your boyfriend of five months has been treating you like hell, and one of your closest friends, lee chan, refuses to let it go on any longer, taking matters into his own hands.

TAGS — college au, best friends to lovers, cheating, explicit sexual content, mutual pining, mentions of reader struggling with low self-esteem, cheesy stuff, yes i did come up with this after accidentally listening to treat you better by shawn mendes, this didn’t turn out as good i hoped it would but oh well!

NOTE — first fic here. he looks so good in the wait m/v so i wanted to write something for him :D my beloved

the slam of the door behind you rings through your ears. you try to wipe your cheeks dry, hoping you don’t look like the tearful mess you are.

your voice feels raw from yelling for the past hour or so. it’s been going like this for the past two months at least twice a week, and you’re exhausted because of it.

as the rain pours, you notice the familiar car driving towards you, bright lights feeling heavy on your eyes. you open the door without hesitation to let yourself sink into the passenger’s seat, taking a few deep breaths, all without looking at the driver.

but the quiet sobs escaping you are enough to give it away.

chan has his one arm leaning on top of the steering wheel, the other gently touching your shoulder to make you look at him, but you refuse.

“i’m fine,” you stutter out, sniffing from the cold, “really.”

of course you’re not fine. both of you are more than aware of the toxicity of the situation. you getting into arguments with your boyfriend several times a week, resulting in you calling chan and staying over at his apartment for a night, only to hear you make it up to the guy the next day when you weren’t even in the wrong to begin with.

“we have a different definition of that, then.”

“it was just an argument. we’ll work it out in a couple hours.”

“it’s not normal.” he says, trying to get it through your thick skull without raising his voice. “it’s not normal, baby.”

you sniff, trying to somehow get rid of the pain beating against your forehead. “he can be so mean, and then… then he’s so sweet again.”

chan wants to rip his hair out of his head. five fucking months of this have passed at this point, and he doesn’t know how much more of it he can take. he’s not sure how to handle the situation the right way, either.

he’s been in love with you for years. years. since sophomore year in high school. it was never his intention to fall in love with you, nor did he think he would, but he did, and god did he fall hard. embarrassingly hard.

nevertheless, he was always too afraid to make a move. too afraid that you’d reject him and he’d be out of your life forever like he was never there in the first place.

but he’s grown up now. third year of university, twenty-two years old, longer hair, a leather jacket and a solid bunch of experiences. some great, some he’d rather forget.

and so five months ago, he’d finally mustered the courage. he was finally going to own up to his feelings and tell you the truth.

only for you to excitedly come up to him, telling him you’re seeing this guy. and it made his heart sink in his chest, but he pushed his feelings to the side for your happiness.

or so he tried.

your boyfriend treats you like shit. he was sweet in the beginning — they always are.

then the cracks in the façade started to show.

it’s not that you don’t see it. you do — but it’s difficult to leave when someone knows just how to keep you where they want you. every time you tell yourself you’re gonna break up with him, he sweet-talks you and says things can be fixed, and that going through a rough patch is normal.

but chan knows better.

he just needs you to know better as well.

it breaks his heart to see his favorite person let herself get hurt like this. he becomes a little more torn with every sob leaving your body, every tear spilling from your eyes.

he gently puts the buds of his fingertips on your chin and jaw, slowly turning your face to him so he can look you in the eye.

the tears are still quietly running down your cheeks, your face numb, now devoid of any emotion, ashamed to have him see you in this state.

“you’re killing yourself like this.” he whispers, voice laced with concern. “he’ll never make you happy.”

you sniff from your breakdown. “maybe it’s me. maybe i just need to stop giving him such a hard time—”

“don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

“please, chan, just… just go and get me somewhere else. all i need is some breathing space — please.” you beg him.

he wants to scream, wants to tell you to break up with him for good, wants to walk into that damn house and do it himself — but he can’t.

instead, he obliges, driving you to his place.

his cozy one-person apartment feels like the best place in the world to you — the one place where you can get away from everything else.

you watch chan as he locks the door behind him, then leaning against it for a moment as he watches you sit on the armrest of the soft chair. “you okay? want some tea?”

the corners of your lips curl up at the suggestion. he knows you awfully well. “that’d be great.”

his lashes flutter before he nods, kicking his shoes off by the door.

once he’s busy in the kitchen, you bite your lip as you recall the way he softly talked to you in the car, eyes trailing past the curves of his arms and the sharpness of his jawline.

he’s dated more than you have. not much in high school, but definitely during the past three years he’s spent at college. though it doesn’t surprise you. he has such warmth to him, with the beautifully infectious sound of his laughter, that big smile and some of the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen.

it wasn’t until recently you began to see him in a different light. whenever you saw him with a new girl, arm around her waist or over her shoulders, you secretly imagined yourself next to him more than once. you can’t believe you didn’t take notice of how handsome he was before.

but you’re too much of a coward to tread over that line of friendship, too much of a coward to see if maybe, just maybe, your feelings are requited.

“wanna stay here for a while?” he asks, hoping you’ll at least spend the night here before you go back to your boyfriend, as you’ve done countless times before.

“yeah. don’t feel like going back yet.” you smile, trying to somewhat make light of the situation.

“then don’t.”

you sigh at his response. “it’s not that easy.”

“why not?”

“because i don’t wanna throw something away the second things get hard.”

“there’s a difference between hard and unbearable. your case is the latter.”

feeling backed into a corner, even though he hardly means to do so, you turn the topic on him. “you’ve had some rough experiences with past girlfriends too and you stuck around.”

god. if only you knew he ended up leaving them because he never enjoyed being with them as much as he enjoyed being with you. “you’d be surprised.” he mutters under his breath, pouring two cups of tea, making yours exactly as he knows you like.

when you stay quiet, he tries to think of a way to get it through your head that you need to break up with your resident ass of a boyfriend.

“can i ask you something?”

“sure.”

“what’s it going to take for you to leave him?”

the question makes you look up before using a tone that almost sounds like you’re scolding him. “chan.”

“i’m serious. he’s treating you like shit. you call me crying every week.”

“it’s just—”

“no, it’s not ‘just a tough time’. you know it isn’t.” he interrupts, jaw clenched tight but voice controlled. he will not yell at you like that piece of trash does. “he’s a controlling, manipulative asshole. it’s not gonna get better. if anything, he’ll just treat you worse in the future.”

“yeah, well, not all of us have people lined up.”

the words have left your mouth before you can comprehend it, leaving you to lower your head in regret. not that it’s any less true. to you, anyway.

“what, and i do?”

“don’t you?”

he’s not sure what baffles him more — you thinking that he’s got girls lined up to date him or you thinking that you don’t have anyone else out there that would be willing to date you.

“what’s this really about?” he sits down on the empty coffee table, facing you directly. “what does my dating life have to do with yours?”

“nothing — it doesn’t. i never said it did.”

“then why the comment about me having people lined up? which i don’t, by the way.”

the answer sits at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t bring yourself to say it without looking away from him. “maybe not. but at least you won’t end up alone. i can’t say the same for myself.”

and there it is. the sole reason you’re still with the guy. your crippling fear of ending up alone, your heavy insecurity that makes you believe no one could possibly want you.

the last thing he wants is for you to get hurt — but he’d rather have you suffer through your first heartbreak than end up with someone who walks all over you like a doormat.

“please don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but if you think that low of yourself, you’re a little stupid.”

the comment makes you snort. “well, it’s certainly fitting.”

he wipes some of your half-dried tears away, his one hand remaining to cup your cheek, an alarmingly intimate gesture.

“aside from the fact that there’s nothing wrong or shameful about ending up alone... i need you to know that you’re worth it. you’re gorgeous and intelligent and—” he halts for a moment, in a way confessing his love for you, not caring how cheesy it sounds, “—you deserve everything you want. ‘cause you’re one in a million.”

fuck, has he always looked at you that lovingly?

his words catch you off-guard for a moment before you press your lips together. “as much as i think it’s sweet of you to say those things, you’re only saying them ‘cause you’re my friend.” you interrupt him, having made up your mind.

after which chan shakes his head, gently twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. “i’m saying it because it’s true. any guy would be lucky to have you in his life.”

“i don’t think ‘lucky’ is the term my boyfriend would use.”

“yeah, ‘cause he’s a fucking dick.” he immediately comments, adding the next part with a softer tone. “if you were with me, i sure as shit wouldn’t be acting like that.”

that last sentence catches your attention, and chan realizes what he just said, suddenly very aware he’s treading on thin ice now.

but it had to come out one way or another.

though you seem to be going along with his words, not showing any signs of being uncomfortable with it. “and who’s to say you wouldn’t break my heart?”

he sees the intrigue on your face and decides to lean in closer. “if i broke your heart, i’d be breaking mine as well.”

“i’m not convinced.” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, and chan feels his heartbeat quicken.

every rational thought going through his mind is thrown out of the window the moment he catches you staring at his lips. it’s enough for him to put his hand on your lower cheek and smash his lips against yours.

he kisses you like he always imagined he would. perhaps a little too enthusiastically, but he’s waited too long for this moment to care.

and you’re kissing him back.

you both get hot from adrenaline and arousal. his hands roam down your hips, but when you start pulling on the collar of his jacket, he finally has it in him to break the kiss.

“are you sure you want this? i don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“i’ve wanted this for so long, chan. take it off, please.”

maybe he should pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. you’re underneath him, lips swollen, gazing at him like he’s your whole world and more.

he leans down again to pick you up, ensuring you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist so he can carry you to his bedroom.

once he lays you down on the soft bed, you watch him take off his jacket and throw his shirt over his head, leaving him with his chest bare, elastic waistband of his underwear visible.

he’s a dancer in his spare time, but you know he’s been hitting the gym recently as well, and it’s paying off, noticing his bigger biceps and toned abs.

then he chuckles from the way you’re observing him, and that smile — that beautifully big smile is what you fell in love with.

one of many things, really.

you remove your basic long-sleeved shirt, exposing your skin before him, enjoying the way he’s looking at the black bra you’re wearing underneath.

you’re seated at the edge of the bed, at eye-level with his chest, which you kiss softly.

he follows your actions like a hawk, unable to keep his eyes off you. he proceeds to move your hair behind your shoulder, his right hand finding your jaw when he kisses you again, lips trailing down to your neck and collarbone.

his touches are slow and sensual. at the end of the day, it’s your first time together, and you both notice the pressure and tension that comes with it.

you’re both aching to touch each other more already, but it feels so much better like this.

he gently pushes you to lay on your back, hovering over you to kiss down your chest and stomach, smoothly pulling down your skirt before his fingers hook onto the fabric of your lace underwear.

“what’d you want me to do, pretty girl?” he asks while getting rid of your panties, looking you in the eye as he does it.

the nickname makes you shiver. “you can do anything you wanna do.”

“wanna eat you out. bet i’m better at it than that motherfucker.”

“not hard to beat when he never does it at all.” you mumble to yourself, but he hears it.

“are you kidding? has he ever even made you cum?”

you just give him a deadpan stare that has a hint of embarrassment to it, which is enough for him to know the answer.

just being aware of how bad that fucker treats you makes him want to prove to you that he can make you feel so, so much better. and that’s exactly what he’s gonna do.

he wastes no time, spreading your legs so his tongue can get to work. you shiver at the feeling of his mouth on you, biting your lower lip to not squeal already from sensitivity.

“no. none of that. i wanna be able to hear every sound you make.” he says after taking your hand away from your mouth. “you can pull on my hair if you like.”

“do you like that?”

“yeah, i enjoy a bit of pain.”

that makes you giggle a bit. “you masochist.”

to which he responds with a gentle pinch to your skin. “keep it in mind for next time, baby.”

fuck — you definitely will.

your hands run through his soft black hair. you’ve locked your legs behind his head, hips bucking up a little every time he hits a spot that feels good, his warm breath and wetness of his mouth on your pussy turning you on like crazy.

chan is pretty sure he’s descending into heaven when he hears you moan his name for the first time. he doesn’t know how many times he’s fucked his fist imagining that sound.

so he adds a finger to the warm and wet mess between your legs, sliding in easily, biting his own lip as he watches your reaction to it. you’ve got your head thrown back, one hand fisting the sheets, the other still holding his locks.

then he moves to a second, and not much later he’s got three of his fingers pumping in and out of you, arching them a little to find the right spot, rubbing and sucking on your clit.

“does that feel good?” he asks, just a bit out of breath, which is nothing compared to the writhing mess that’s you. he keeps messing with the pace, edging you a little every time, making you go crazy.

“please, channie, please let me cum—”

“i will if you answer me, baby.”

you whine, nodding at him desperately. “feels s’good, so fucking good.”

“want me to go faster?”

“please. god—need you inside me so bad.”

even he can resist so much. you’re so good for him, so he increases the pace of his fingers, relishing in the way you start squirming underneath him, trying to push him away and pull him closer all the same.

then you pull on his hair almost violently, making him moan against your pussy as you hit your first climax in a long time.

and he doesn’t stop yet — only once he sees you’ve regained focus does he pull his fingers out of you, sucking on them to savor the taste right before kissing you again, your trembling body aching for him.

he only breaks the kiss to reach for the drawer in his nightstand, grabbing a condom out of it, getting off of you to push off the last pieces of clothing still on him. the realization of the fact that your best friend is about to fuck you after god knows how long finally begins to dawn on you, and it makes your heart beat that much harder.

once he’s slipped the condom on, you move your hands to his neck and shoulders, biting your lip when you feel him push your legs behind his waist.

you gasp when he bottoms out of you for the first time. his head is buried in the crook of your neck as he finds his rhythm, sucking at your sensitive skin, not giving a damn whether he leaves marks on someone that’s technically not even his.

yet.

“do you remember that time we went to senior prom together?” he asks breathily, not slowing down even a little bit. “you were wearing that pretty blue dress. god, i wanted to take you home that night more than anything.”

you remember that. it was just before you two graduated high school together — he looked so dashing in his suit. you’d even imagined kissing him underneath the basketball bleachers like some cliche rom-com.

“so why didn’t you?”

“was too much of a pussy to do it.”

you bring yourself to chuckle inbetween your moans. “that’s a shame. i would’ve let you.”

just knowing that his feelings are reciprocated turns him on. he lifts his head up a little, kissing the front of your neck, your jaw, your cheeks — everything, only halting for a moment when he fucks you just a little faster, watching the way your eyes roll back from pleasure.

your hands run over his strong back as he pushes in and out of you at a steady pace, your lip nearly bleeding from how hard you’re biting it.

he hisses and relishes in the burning feeling of your nails digging into his shoulder blades.

“chan—god, harder, please—”

“i know, baby, i know, i got you.” he breathes out, changing up the position by hooking your legs over his shoulders.

it hits the exact right spot when he fucks you again, harder and deeper this time, your hands desperately clinging onto his skin, teeth sinking into your lower lip until they're nearly drawing blood.

beads of sweat roll down his muscular back. he feels you’re getting closer to hitting that release, so he moves one hand down to rub your clit again, aching to see you fall apart underneath him.

“fuck, ’s too much, channie—” you whine, throwing your head back in the pillow for a moment.

but he shakes his head, continuing, knowing you’re close. “you can do it, pretty girl. cum for me again. i wanna feel it.”

and he discovers that begging you works wonders, because it’s enough for you to come undone, clamping on his dick, making it feel so tight that he spills his own release into the condom mere seconds after.

with a layer of sweat on your foreheads, he feels how sensitive you are when he pulls out. he throws the condom in the trashcan, turning his face back to yours and kisses your lips more softly this time.

“how do you feel?”

“a little worn out.” you sigh, proceeding to show a smile. “but better.”

“good. how do you feel about taking a bath?”

“sounds nice.”

chan can’t help himself and leans in to kiss you again. he’s already getting awfully used to this, but one issue remains. “i wanna be with you. i meant everything i said tonight.”

the sentiment warms your heart. he’s always had that effect on you. “i know. i wanna be with you, too.”

he nods, happy with your words. “you go on ahead to the bathroom. i’ll clean things up here.”

“okay.” you tell him, pressing another kiss to his cheek before leaving the bedroom, feeling utterly lovesick.

he shares your feelings — it’s like he’s reliving that exciting feeling of seeing you the first few days after he realized he was in love with you.

there’s something that pulls him out of it, though. a certain vibrating sound. what is that? he thinks to himself.

and after looking around the room, he discovers it’s a phone receiving a call. your phone, to be exact, sitting in the back pocket of the jeans you discarded earlier.

the screen of your cellphone lights up, and he picks up the device, about to let you know someone’s calling — but his voice gets caught in his throat when he notices it’s the asshole who made you cry in the first place.

scoffing to himself, he taps the red button and declines the call.

thank you for reading. let me know if u enjoyed it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[fairyhaos]

❖ let's get you to bed // kwon hoshi

requested by @phenomenalgirl9 : So its been really rainy in my city and I've been having a really huge work load cause we have a project closing soon. Can you write something with (all that and) Ramyeon + spam + kimchi + KWON HOSHI.

hoshi x gn!reader, 1.5k+ words

tags: dancer!hoshi again not rlly relevant to plot, sick fic, fluff, established relationship

warnings: food, reader is sick, pet names (baby)

notes: kinda incorporated a req into this sick fic that i wanted to write hehe. might also write another sick fic depending on if i have time,,,,

It’s a Friday. Soonyoung gets home when it’s well past 10 in the evening, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Neither is it totally out of the ordinary for you to be waiting on the couch, the TV set to a volume so low that there’s no way that you’re actually listening to it.

It’s not normal for him to be upset by that, though.

“Baby.”

You looked up at his voice, and you don’t even seem to notice the heavy disappointment in his words as you rub your eyes, voice all croaky as you smile. “Hey, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung frowns, taking off his shoes and dropping his bag by his bedroom door, before padding across the apartment and into the living room. “You’re sick.”

You nod, sniffing, before reaching over to the tissue box balanced on the arm of the couch. “I am.” A loud blow of your nose emphasises your point. 

Sighing, Soonyoung shakes his head. He crosses the living room, turning on the lights and turning off the TV. You hiss at the sudden brightness, holding your head, and he walks over to poke your forehead lightly, leaning down to look you right in the eye, his face set in an unhappy pout.

“You should’ve been resting, then,” he says, pouting even more. He holds a hand over your forehead, eyes softening when you lean into his hand. “Look at you, you’re burning up again.”

Outside, the wind howls harder, and the rain batters against the windows. It’s been thunderstorming for a good two weeks now, and you’ve managed to avoid getting sick for all that time. But, just yesterday, you’d caught the dreaded illness that had been going around, leaving you bedridden and incapable of going to work for two days straight.

Soonyoung is a big believer of rest being one of the best medicines for colds, so as he tweaks your nose disapprovingly while you try to explain that you stayed up to greet him, you know that he’s disappointed in your behaviour.

“Baby,” he says sadly, “you’re really sick. Your nose is all bunged up, and you have a really bad fever. Don’t you think you should’ve stayed in bed?”

Your face falls, sad that you’ve made Soonyoung sad, and your boyfriend smooths back your hair consolingly. You know that he’s scolding you like this because he cares about your health, but you still really wanted to see him.

“Wanted to see you before the day ended,” you admit, and he coos softly, fingers brushing over the top of your head before he stands up. “I haven’t seen you all day. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he says, all gooey soft, and no matter the situation, hearing and seeing your boyfriend becoming so devastatingly soft just for you always makes you flush. “But we gotta get you back to bed, baby. Come on. Up you get. Have you had any medicine yet?”

Soonyoung straightens, standing up properly, and you look up at him for a moment before giving him your biggest, wet puppy eyes, holding your arms out wide.

“Carry me?” you ask, and Soonyoung blinks down at you for a long moment.

But almost instantly, his face is breaking into a fond smile, lips curling upwards as he leans forward again so you can wrap your arms around his neck, humming happily when he lifts you with ease, carrying you back to your room.

Perks of having a dancer boyfriend: he can carry you when you’re sick.

He settles you under your covers, stroking the hair out of your face, lips twitching upwards as you sniff loudly to try and unblock your nose. 

“Cute,” he murmurs as he sits on your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and oddly, that small detail is infinitely reassuring to you. You want to laugh at how ridiculous it is that he finds you sniffling wetly to be something cute, too. but your head hurts too much to do so, and you feel really dizzy. Goodness, maybe you are really sick.

“Baby,” you mumble, and he hums to show he’s listening. “Baby, ‘m tired.”

Soonyoung laughs at that, nudging the side of his finger against your cheek affectionately. “I can imagine. Don’t go to sleep yet, though. You need to have some meds.”

He stands up, then, and a cold sense of panic washes over you, grabbing onto his hand before he can go too far.

“Don’t go,” you say to him, fingers enclosing around his cool wrist. Your own skin is crawling with an uncomfortable heat, and Soonyoung’s hand is a blessed relief. “Please, don’t go.”

Soonyoung looks pained, and he slides his hand down in your hold to intertwine your fingers. He kisses your knuckles, soft, and you almost think he’s going to stay before he releases your hand. “I need to get your medicine,” he says gently. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

You whine, disappointed, before your breath catches on a particularly nasty cough that dissolves into several more, leaving you gasping. Soonyoung’s hand is instantly on your back, rubbing circles, and his voice is quiet and concerned as he speaks again.

“See? You stay here, and I’ll get you something to ease your pain. Okay?”

Reluctantly, you nod, sinking back into the pillows as Soonyoung’s fingers brush over your forehead once more before he exits your room.

—

It takes half an hour for Soonyoung to come back.

You don’t notice, too preoccupied with how hard your head is pounding and how your tongue feels like it’s swelled up and is taking up far too much space inside your mouth. Nothing feels like it fits right.

Your nose is running really badly, too, and you don’t have any tissues in your room.

By the time Soonyoung comes back, you’re focused more on the box of tissues he has balanced on a tray, rather than the other things that are gently steaming alongside it.

He sets the tissues on the bedside table and you grab one immediately, wiping your nose and blowing loudly with an almost comical ‘honk’. Soonyoung chuckles, sitting down on your bed again and placing the tray on your knees.

“Here,” he says, drawing your attention to what else is on the tray, and you blink in surprise.

There’s a bowl of cup noodles in your lap, the steam wafting from the noodles and if your nose wasn’t so blocked, you know that is would have smelled incredible. You smile, touched, before Soonyoung leans over and turns on your bedside lamp and you gasp.

There are chunks of spam in the noodles, which is utterly delightful because he knows how much you love spam, but also…

“This is from my beloved kimchi stash,” Soonyoung informs you when you look up at him to see if you’re seeing this correctly. “The one that my mother made. Since my baby is so sick,” he says, pinching your cheek fondly, “I thought I really should give some to you.”

“Aw, thank you so much,” you say with a smile, and your voice comes out unexpectedly croaky, making Soonyoung chuckle. He pinches your cheek again, adoring.

“Go on. Eat up.”

You can’t really eat much, taking small bites of the noodles, because as much as you want to simply devour the cheap carbs and artificial flavourings, your head is still, admittedly, spinning a little too much. Soonyoung brings a glass of water to your lips just as your swallowing your fifth mouthful, gentle and attentive.

He makes you take some pills then, too, and you try and finish off your meal. But it’s late, and the meds are making you feel drowsy, so you’re only halfway through when your eyes begin to droop.

“Hey, hey, careful,” Soonyoung laughs softly, fingers tilting your head upwards when it lolls dangerously, chopsticks full of kimchi hanging limp in your fingers. “Okay. Let’s get you to sleep, baby.”

He removes the tray from your lap, making soft noises back at you when you whine at the loss of your ramyeon and kimchi. 

“I’ll give it to you again tomorrow,” he promises, and you feel placated at that.

You’re horribly uncoordinated, due to your sickness and your sleepiness, and you hum appreciatively as Soonyoung takes one of the tissues and wipes down your mouth, before taking another tissue and blowing your nose for you too.

It’s a sweet gesture, albeit a little clumsy, and it has you smiling drowsily up at him.

“I love you,” you murmur as he tucks you in, his fingers tracing gentle patterns across your cheek. “Love you, Soonyoungie.”

“I love you too,” Soonyoung whispers back, and the sound of his voice is so soft. “My Y/N.”

Soonyoung is a gentle person at heart, full of precious love and the desire to love and be loved delicately. And it’s during moments like this that you can see that shining through.

Your eyes slip closed—warm, content, loved—and Soonyoung presses a feather-light kiss to your head just before you fall away to dreamland.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[apute11as]

My saviour - Alexia putellas x reader

Author note: Hey guys this is my first attempt at fanfiction so please be nice! Any comments are lovely and really motivating! Sorry if there are any mistakes but yeah hope you enjoy ❤️

Warnings⚠️: tiny bit of violence and minor SA

Alone in a bar. You stood there questioning how on earth this was your Saturday evening. Never really one for drinking and partying but here you were.

The past week had been increasingly stressful, with your corporate job managing to overwhelm you in every way possible, from overdue spreadsheets to unread data the list was endless.

The dim light of the bar, the crowds of people, and the constant bass acted as a distraction from it all. You began to get lost in the atmosphere, but it was short lived as you felt a jab in your side. Wincing slightly, you were met with the deep grey eyes of a man perhaps in his early 30s.

“Sorry pretty lady” he said sleazily.

It was evident that he was under the influence of a rather heavy amount of alcohol.

“Don’t worry about it” I replied emotionless

“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing all alone here anyways?” he slurred with an uncomfortable grin. “How about I take you back to mine and I can offer you a proper apology” he added.

“I’m waiting for someone actually but thank you for the apology” I responded, shifting my weight slightly, ready to make an exit. I quickly realised this was feeble act as more people had gathered around the bar, my exit being blocked from all ends.

“Aww come on little girly, I can treat you right.” he said getting closer so I could now smell the pungent liquor on his breath.

“No I’m sorry but I’m really not interested” I answered. Clearly it was the wrong answer as he took another step forward and settled his hand dangerously close to my ass; his front was pressed up to mine. The situation was nearing critical as I became more and more uncomfortable with each unwanted advance. I scoured my eyes around the room helplessly, looking to meet anyone’s gaze who could potentially offer help.

What I hadn’t realised was a woman amongst a group, who had been watching the entire interaction and whilst she couldn’t see the look on my face, she felt extremely uneasy just watching the scene unfolding in front of her.

Alexia had been sat amongst her Barcelona teammates for a couple of hours, celebrating a win of El Clásico and with the weekend off, the bar seemed the perfect place to go. She of course opted for a lemonade which was a comedic sight next to her teammates heavy spirits and liquors, so in complete sobriety, her attention was completely focused on you.

“Alexiaaa come and dance stop being boring” called Mapi from the dance floor with Claudia in one arm and Patri in the other.

“No, gracias María, te diviertes. Estoy bien aquí” (No thank you Maria, you have fun, I am fine here”) responded Alexia, her gaze not leaving the couple at the bar.

“Suit yourself Reina” Mapi retorted

Returning to her staring, Alexia began to tense further at the interaction in front of her, finally deciding to make a move over there when the intoxicated man leaned into your neck, in an attempt to press a clearly unwanted kiss there.

The man was almost successful in his attempts reach your skin with his stubbled mouth, before you felt an arm snake around your waist and pull you backwards. Heart rate increasing even further, you turned around to discover that the owner of those arms was in fact a woman, much to your relief.

“This woman clearly isn’t enjoying your company so move a long por favor.” she seethed sternly, her grip tightening protectively around your waist.

“Woah got yourself a girlfriend little missy, that’s ok maybe I could watch instead” he smirked disgustingly.

That did it for Alexia, normally one to conceal her anger, she shoved him back harshly and watched as he stumbled into the empty seats. You watched in terror as to what his response would be but just as he rose to retaliate, security arrived and gripped onto both of his arms, preventing him from moving.

“Did you just see what that b*tch did to me, I didn’t do nothing to her me and this lady here were just having a lovely conversation” he slurred.

To your surprise, the security guards ignored him completely and turned to the woman who still held onto you (not that you were complaining).

“Alexia I’m so sorry we didn’t see this misunderstanding before”. Said the taller of the two guards

“Thank you Davide but it’s not me you should be apologising to it’s… sorry I didn’t catch your name amor” she replied calmly

Amor you thought, so she was Spanish “Y-Y/N” you stuttered, still bewildered at the event that just occurred.

At that, you were sure you heard the word “guapa” muttered under her breath and even your minimal Spanish could decipher the meaning.

“Yes of course we’re very sorry miss Y/N, we should’ve been more alert” the guard said turning to you.

“Sí you should have but it’s done now, but please take that filthy scum out of here” the woman, whose name you’d learned was Alexia replied gesturing to the man now passed out on the floor.

“Of course miss Alexia” he replied, nodding his head.

“Gracias Alexia, my names Y/N, wait sorry I already said that but thank you- I mean gracias for the rescue I’m not sure what would’ve happened if you hadn’t got there. Oh and I’m sorry for ruining your nigh-“

“calmate amor” she cut off your rambling “you don’t need to thank me at all, are you ok, he didn’t do anything did he?” She asked intently, the anger burning in her hazel eyes.

“No, no thankfully you got there in time” I replied, maintaining comfortable eye contact.

“I’m glad mi corazón, are you with anyone?” She questioned, only breaking the eye contact to blink.

“No I’m not but I’ll be fine now he’s gone, thank you though” you responded

“Now we can’t have that, my friends are just over there in one of the private booths” you looked over at a large group of women, who seemed not to have noticed the commotion that had occurred previously. “It’s quite over there, secluded, no one will get to you. Only if you want to go that is, I think you’ve been pressured enough tonight.” She smiled pitifully.

“I think I’d like that if you don’t mind” you replied, unsure.

“Of course!” She exclaimed enthusiastically. “They don’t bite I promise, actually maybe Mapi does but I’m sure she’ll make an exception” she beamed.

She released her grip from your waist finally and you found yourself immediately missing the contact and warmth that her body offered. Seeing you stood still she offers out her hand and you wrap your hand eagerly around hers and allow her to lead you over to the large group of girls in her booth.

Part 2 coming soon! : Alexia introduces you to the teammates

Author note:

Hey guys thank you for reading, please leave any feedback on the comment or any requests in the ask section! I write for pretty much anyone woso so request away! I’ll do smut, angst, fluff or anything really 🫶

[honeycrispappletree]

ivy // hajime iwaizumi ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

masterlist

part 5: ivy

by: frank ocean

Yn quietly listened to the city talk as she exhaled her worries through smoke. Her fire escape slightly creaked everytime she took a drag. Playing with the cigeratte in her fingers, she closed her eyes and tried to escape her own head. She should be happy, she’s getting everything she’s ever wanted. She’s excited, truly, but she can’t fully let herself feel good. She can’t shake the off feeling inside of her, that there’s something wrong.

Her eyes snap open to the screaming of metal clashing. She turns her head to Iwaizumi, climbing out of the window of the apartment onto the fire escape next to her.

‘Hey’ he starts, sitting down and leaning against the building wall.

She greets him back, and it’s silent for a few moments. One thing that yn loves about being with Iwaizumi is that they can sit in the quiet and it won’t get uncomfortable. Sometimes they don’t need to say a single thing to eachother, they can just breathe.

It’s different this time. The silence is heavy. In a normal situation, Iwaizumi would have brought up yn smoking immediately. He doesn’t though, and it doesn’t go unnoticed to her. She wishes he’d take it away from her, cup her face gently and tell her to stop. Look into her eyes like he loves her. But they continue to sit without a word. There’s something unspoken between them that’s making every moment of quiet more unbearable. Iwaizumi breaks it first.

‘There’s something I want to talk to you about,’ Iwaizumi reveals. He keeps his attention on his sneakers.

‘What?’ She responds gently, keeping her attention on her cigeratte.

‘There’s just something i’ve been thinking about for awhile, and I don’t know how to say it. I just…’ He sighs as he struggles to find the words.

‘You don’t have to dance around it, Haji.’

He whips his head to look at her. He’s met with her side profile, exhaling smoke through her pursed lips. He furrows his brows in confusion, did she know what he was gonna say? Like she could sense his uncertainty, she put out her cigeratte and turned to face him.

‘We both like eachother.’

I thought that I was dreamin’ , when you said you loved me

Iwaizumi’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t really believe she just said that.

‘Yn-‘ is all he’s able to get out,

‘Don’t deny it. Please don’t deny it.’ she pleads, searching his eyes for any sort of reaction.

‘I’m not denying it’ He whispers, like everything might shatter if he says it any louder.

the start of nothing, I had no chance to prepare I couldn’t see you coming

She speaks in a lower tone now, ‘Friends don’t act the way we do’.

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. He mentally yells at himself. He never knows what to fucking say. It’s like he’s drowning in his own head.

it started from nothing ooh, I could hate you now

‘Everything’s changing. I’m starting to get serious about life.’ Her eyes continue to search his, but it feels like there’s nothing behind them. ‘I don’t want to regret anything. I want you to be apart of it.’

‘I am apart of it’ he affirms softly.

‘Not like this’

He returns his gaze to his sneakers. This is everything he’s ever wanted. To be with her. For her to feel the same way. This might be the best moment of his life. He could almost smile.

‘I can’t’

The fire escape screams.

it’s quite alright to hate me now

‘What?’ She doesn’t understand.

when we both know that deep down

He shakes his head and repeats himself, ‘I can’t.’

Her eyes narrow and her tone makes a 180, ‘What the fuck do you mean?’

‘I can’t be on a billboard. I can’t be in articles. I can’t do everything that you‘ve been dreaming about your whole life.’ He pushes himself up and paces to the other end of the fire escape.

the feeling still deep down, it’s good

‘You’re not making any sense’ she says as she follows pursuit, pushing herself to stand up. He turns around to face her. The lights of the city illuminate behind him.

If I could see through walls I could see you faking

‘You have a destination. You’re going somewhere. You have someone to be’, he explains, ‘I don’t have anyone to be. I’ll hold you back. You can’t be who you want to be if i’m around.’

If you could see my thoughts you would see our faces

‘And you get to decide that for me?’

‘You’ll see it down the road, or you can see it now’

Safe in my rental like an armored truck back then, we didn’t give a fuck back then

He feels like he can’t breathe. Her face of pure confusion has turned into a face of pure hatred. She’s never looked at him that way before.

‘So it’s you or being famous?’ She scoffs at the ultimatum.

‘That’s not what i’m saying-‘

‘That’s EXACTLY what you’re saying, Iwaizumi’ She sneers.

His face flickers with hurt at the change of name. He closes his eyes as he tries to find the words,

‘I want you to be happy, yn’. He looks at her with his whole heart.

I ain’t a kid no more

Her face returns to a blank slate, like she doesn’t feel anything at all. She won’t let him see her cry.

‘I will be’ she says softly, like it was a challenge.

we’ll never be those kids again

Before he can say anything else, she climbs back into the apartment. He slides his forehead into the palms of his hands. The front door slams.

we’d drive to syds we had X6 back then, back then no matter what I did my waves wouldn’t dip back then

Iwaizumi stays entirely still for a few moments. He fixes his expression to nothing before slowly making his way back inside. He breathes in and out deeply as he goes to the kitchen to brew himself a pot of coffee. He listens to the rigid spinning of the ceiling fan as he watches the coffee drip. He pours himself a cup. Wrapping his hands around the mug, he flinches at the temperature. He stares into his own distorted reflection in the liquid. He gently takes a sip, breathing in and out deeply once more.

everything sucked back then

And in the flash of a moment, his hand is burned, ceramic shards scatter the kitchen floor, and there's a mug shaped hole in the cabinet door behind him.

we were friends

more!

iwaizumi hates having his photo taken

HE THOUGHTTT IT WAS GONNA BE NICHE HE GOT STRESSED OUTTTTTT

kuroo knows if yn and Iwa got together it would ruin the band so hes against it

he was right

iwaizumi WAS gonna tell yn he was probably quitting the band but she thought he was confessing

embarrassing

kageyama heard EVERYTHING

taglist: @eggyrocks @v1oletfury @stagemanagerchronicles @iluvmang @nitasplace @wave2mia @jadeoru @walllflowerrrsss @tespho @piapiaweee3 @illuzminate @kr1nqu @itsdragonius

edit: half the tags didn’t work the first time idk why sorry!! i think it’s good now

a/n: fuck grammar dont talk to me I KNOWW ITS SOOO BADD everytime i read it i find a mistake i just give up. listen to ivy by frank ocean while u read it will make the vision. guys this took me so long for what. theyre so tragic. also when he throws the mug like hes facing one side of the kitchen and he turns and throws it into the cabinet that WAS behind him idk if that made sense

[gretavanmoon]

A Perfect Ten - Part 2

Josh x Female Reader FWB

10.9k words

+ After befriending your coworker Josh at your new workplace, the both of you realize you need each other in more ways than one. Things might get a little cloudy as an ongoing judge of actions takes place, leaving the both of you wrapped up in a back and forth neither of you saw coming.

Warnings: Drinking, Cursing, Mention of Breakups and Heartbreak, Allusion to Homophobia (dude being an a**hole), Sadness. Smut: Kissing, Touching, Dirty Talk, Praise, Heavy Flirting, Oral F!receiving, Fingering

Read Part 1 here

“...Sure, why not? If you want to, of course. Might be fun to have a little situation we’re both comfortable with… no strings attached type thing…”

It’d been a week since your heated hookup with Josh on your couch, and though initially you thought things were going to be awkward back at work once the two of you were on the same shift again, surprisingly they were the opposite. Day to day activities had gone back to normal, the both of you working your tails off slinging pizzas and beers at Angelo’s.

Since that night, though, you’d found yourself in a constant state of unsettle, your mind and body going through the waves of being attracted to him while also wanting to slap him on the back of the head like a real friend would. His boyish charm continued to shine through his albeit tough-guy exterior, and the smiles he normally would fight to stave off began to show themselves a little more often in your presence. 

The more you worked with Josh, and the more that you began to feel completely comfortable in your work position, the more you began to notice the subtle feeling of his hand on your lower back as he’d reach above you to grab the pizza box on the top shelf, or how he’d tell the line guys to fuck off when they’d take back of house banter too far. You’d also noticed how he would hold your gaze as you finished up a story to your coworkers, his perfect white teeth nearly glittering in the low light reflections of the restaurant. It wasn’t hard to miss how his chest would visibly rise and fall with bated breaths until he broke eye contact, shaking his head as though he was physically clearing away his intrusive thoughts. 

You know you’d agreed upon this… arrangement with Josh, and though you hadn’t outwardly discussed the details since that night at your house, you knew that the time was drawing near as your pull to him began to come back full force. That same exact notion of wanting to be the holder of all his attention, to be the one that took up space in his mind whether he wanted it to or not, began to consume you once again. You didn’t know where it had come from, and you didn’t know how to make it go away. You were almost embarrassed of yourself to even think it, as strangely possessive as it was to want to be someone’s muse this wholeheartedly. 

You caught yourself staring at the way his arm muscles stretched under the tight black fabric of his t-shirt, his hands quickly and expertly spinning roll upon roll of silverware. 

“Ya know if you’re going to stare like that, you could at least make it a little less obvious, sweetheart,” he said under his breath as he smirked at you from across the bar.

You blinked away your dry eyes, focusing again on your own pile of flattened napkins in front of you as you cleared your throat. “I wasn’t staring,” you choked out.

“Oh really?” he perked up, sliding his eyes to your fellow coworkers at the other end of the bar finishing up their own side-work for the night. “Then what would you call someone else’s eyes taking in your every movement while you do nothing but mind your own business?” he stuck his tongue against his cheek as he slammed a roll into the basket.

“Shut up, Josh. I was just watching your um. Your technique…” you lied, taking note of your messy and loose rolls of forks and knives haphazardly piling up in your own basket. 

“God, you do suck at rolling, don’t you? I never noticed,” he bites back a laugh as he shakes his head, and you suddenly feel extra embarrassed at your lack of one of the most basic skills of serving. “Here, let me show you how I do it.”

“No, I’m fine, I’ve got it. I just– they’re just ugly. But they’ll do the job,” you argue as he comes around to your side of the bar, wiping his hands off on the white towel hanging off the back of his belt. 

“No no no, if bosslady sees this shit job, she might actually fire you on the spot. Actually surprised she hasn’t seen this, yet,” he says as he brings himself to stand behind your bar stool, his arms encasing your shoulders as he grabs your wrists, positioning your hands on either corner of the napkins. 

“Josh, I swear to god, you’re making me feel like an idiot.” And he was, no doubt. Thinking he can come over here and school you in front of everyone, making you out to look like a fool at your own profession. But you had to admit, you needed a lesson. And you couldn’t ignore the feeling of the warmth of his body pressed against your back, his hands subtly running against the backs of your fingertips as he took them in his own, leaning down to show you how to tuck the utensils down into a pocket before forcing the sides in. 

“See? Like this…” his breath was on the shell of your ear, warm and familiar as scenes from a week ago on your couch began to make their uprising again, your body stiffening at his simple touch. “Gotta use some force, little elbow grease to get them where you want. Then… tuck the edges, and roll…”

You huffed an aggravated breath as you accepted the fact that his hands had just helped you to roll the tightest, most perfect roll of silverware. “Show off,” you murmured.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he laughed as he pulled away, his hands squeezing at your arms as he detached himself and stepped away. The loss of the feeling of him was more disorienting than you’d thought it would be; feeling him so close again had taken all the breath from your lungs, and you hadn’t even noticed that you didn’t even take a breath the entire time he was behind you. 

“Will you two just get a room already?!” one of your coworkers, Jackson, suddenly yelped from the end of the bar, sending the rest of the group around him into a fit of point-and-laughs. “God, just do us all a favor and break the tension and get it over with, why don’t you?” You could feel your face turning a bright shade of red as you shied away, listening to the laughs and howls of your coworkers who had now become your friends. You had riled up enough gumption to retaliate with something, right before you realized Josh would undoubtedly be the one to take up for you, anyway. 

“What makes you think we haven’t, Jack?” Josh asked as he rounded the bar back to his own station across from you. “Think you fuckin’ know it all?”

Jackson was walking toward you, laughing as he placed a heavy arm across the back of your shoulders. “Nah, I don’t know shit. Just thought I’d be the one to break the ice if the two of you haven’t yet, huh?” he bellowed as he forcefully shook your shoulders side to side. You knew he was joking and speaking all in good fun, but it still didn’t stop you from thinking about decking him in the face if he said another word. “Might be a nice little thing for you to try out, huh Josh? Little bit out of your normal practice…”

“That’s not any of your business, Jackson,” you said as you tried to shove his arm off our shoulders.

Your eyes glanced up to Josh from under your awkward stance, finding him clenching his jaw closed as he rolled his eyes. “Leave the girl alone, Jackson,” he warned.

“Or what? You gonna call your boyfriend to come and kick my ass?” Jackson spouted to Josh, making the group beside you cease all their laughter, while sending a shot of rage straight through your stomach. “I don’t think so, pretty boy.” The room fell silent as everyone gawked at Jackson in disbelief of his words. His arm suddenly felt ten pounds heavier on your shoulders, and you felt a burning fury rising up in your throat at his completely rude and unwarranted display.

Josh, though, kept his cool, returning all his attention to the task in his hands. 

“No, but I will tell everyone at the end of that bar that you’ve been pocketing tips as you bus their tables,” he said under his breath, leaving Jackson unable to speak. 

“The fuck are you talking about?” Jackson refuted, his arm still heavy across your shoulders, making you more and more uncomfortable by the second. 

Josh’s eyes confidently skidded across the bar to everyone else before landing back on Jackson, his hands never ceasing rolling his silverware. “You heard me. I’m not stupid, Jack. Matter of fact, why don’t you tell them right now, all by yourself? Go ahead…” Josh raised his voice a little at the end of his sentence, pointing his chin to the group. 

“Tell us what, what are you saying down there?” one of them asked, all of their interest suddenly piqued. 

Jackson’s head snapped back to look Josh in the eyes, which he returned with an overly-confident expression that said try me. Jackson’s arm slowly slid off the back of your shoulders as he sulked away, mumbling some really nasty words under his breath that you chose to keep to yourself. 

Maybe it wasn’t all in good fun.

A full-body chill ran through you as you finally felt his touch leave your body, an overwhelming feeling of disgust overtaking you as you finally made eyes with Josh again once Jackson was far away. “What in the fuck was that?! Is he fucking crazy?” you asked, the rage still heavily present. 

Josh shook his head as he rolled his last utensils, sliding his basket to the side as he pulled your pile of napkins to sit in front of him. “Yeah, no, he’s a fucking asshole. He puts on this funny-guy persona, but underneath it, he’s fucking piece of work,” Josh explained. He was keeping his cool, but you could tell that his words hurt him a little. 

“Josh, that is not okay, it’s not alright for him to speak to you like that, especially in the workpl–”

“Just drop it, Y/N, okay? I appreciate your concern, but I’m used to it. From all angles. It just rolls off, now,” Josh said with the smallest hint of sorrow in his voice. “He tries to show off what he thinks is male dominance but all he does is make himself look like a fool. Plus he forgets that I have wayyy more seniority than him.”

“Yeah well, that’s all true but you don’t deserve to be spoken to that way. I’m going to say something to him,” you began to stand up, feeling the sudden overwhelming need to stand up for Josh.

“Stop, Y/N, stop…” Josh grabbed your arm, pulling you back down to the stool. “I’ve already taken care of it.” His eyes were telling you to calm down, but his hand on your arm said things were everything but calm. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, fighting him off while also trying to flip through your categories of comebacks you could throw down Jackson’s throat.

Josh gripped your arm even tighter as he forced you back down into your seat, leaning over the bar as he brought his face close to yours. His face was hot as it came into your proximity, his hand still gripping hard on the muscle of your arm. “I slipped an anonymous note onto bosslady’s desk telling her I saw him sliding cash tips. She’s probably back there watching the security footage as we speak…” he whispered lowly, his eyes bouncing from your lips and back.

You plopped back down into your seat as he released your arm, sending a quick look back down to the group as they now looked just as uncomfortable as you. Josh resumed his work, acting as though nothing had happened as the redness left his cheeks. “Did he take any of mine?” you asked, suddenly curious.

Josh nodded. “I’ve been suspecting him for weeks, but I just tonight watched him do it. Now you know why I don’t let anybody else bus my tables…” he whispered, shooting his eyebrows up. 

“Wasn’t he up for the assistant manager position?” you asked.

“Yeah, he was. He’s been here for a long time. But hopefully she is back there taking this seriously, who knows how much money he’s actually stolen,” Josh went on, running his tongue over his lips. You crossed your arms across your chest, feeling exhausted from the adrenaline rush of wanting to slam that guy’s head against the bar for calling Josh such horrid names and making fun of him like that. You could tell you were still seething. 

“Let his karma take it’s course, Y/N. Don’t get yourself too worked up over it, or I’ll be forced to help you relax,” he said with a buttery-soft grit to his voice, almost as if Jackson’s actions hadn’t bothered him in the least bit. You admired his way of staying calm in situations where the normal person would panic and act out… it undoubtedly was the reason he has been at Angelo’s the longest, and why he always has the largest section in the restaurant. He’s level-headed, and probably always has been. 

But the insinuation in his words didn’t go unnoticed. Suddenly your adrenaline rush to protect was overtaken by another kind of rush, one that Josh had brought on to you more and more over the past few weeks. “And how would you do that?” you asked, purposefully lacing your voice with the same sweet venom he had just used. The unabashed flirting had finally come to a head, where neither of you could hold it back any longer.

He shrugged one shoulder up. “I dunno, I’d figure something out,” he said with a wink that you almost missed. “Maybe I could let you be the judge this time, hm?” he suggested, circling back to the nearly perfect ten he gave you on your performance just a short week ago. Your chest surged with nerves at his insinuation, the blush rushing to your cheeks as he confidently slid the now full basket of perfectly rolled silverware right in between you. You sat back in your seat as you tried to push down the swirling in your stomach. 

“Maybe so. We going to the bar tonight?” you asked with more boldness in your voice than your actual body was feeling. Your entire body was actually already buzzing with anticipation to feel him near you again, and you were eager to get a move on with the night ahead.

Josh shook his wrist as he glanced down at his watch. He rolled his lips into his mouth as his deep brown eyes shot back to yours. “You off tomorrow?”

“I am,” you responded.

He licked his teeth, taking in a sharp breath. “Me too.”

Just then the swinging double doors to the kitchen swung open with force, and your manager, Heather, burst through them with madness dripping from her aura. “Jackson, can I see you in my office, please? Now.”

Oh fuck.

Jackson shoved the broom that was in his hands into the corner, shooting daggers at  Josh as he made his way toward her, the group again falling silent as they disappeared into the back. 

“Shit, karma hitting a little sooner than we thought, huh?” you said, holding back a vengeful laugh.

Josh chuckled as he untied the ties of his waist apron, pulling the straps from around him as he huffed a breath. “Guess so. Let’s get the fuck out of here?”

—----

You followed closely behind him and the rest of the group as everyone made their way down the street to the bar, watching as he lightly conversed with a few of your coworkers as they questioned him about what the hell just happened back there, and what Jackson could have been talking about. You couldn't really hear the conversation, but you knew that he was likely handling it with ease, just as he handles every other situation he’s faced with with ease and grace. 

You’d watched him talk to many-an unsatisfied customer as they yelled in his face about an incorrect order or a mishap, diffusing situations with the charm he had naturally built into him. You knew he probably kicked the most tips out of anyone that worked at Angelo’s, and for good reason. He was a pro.

You watched as Josh’s left hand slipped behind his back as he spoke to them, wiggling his fingers as he searched for your hand to hold his. You followed through, gripping the ends of his fingertips with your own, just to let him know you were there. He squeezed them tightly as he continued to talk, and the sweet gesture let you know that you were on his mind even though he hadn’t been able to speak a word to you since you clocked out.

You and Josh took your normal seats at the bar while everyone else retreated back to their designated booth, the night settling in even though it had only just begun. That inherent craving you had for Josh was always amplified with alcohol, and you knew that it would only be a few strong drinks before you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from letting your mind wander with the same thoughts that were probably already surging through his. 

Roy approached you at the bar, laying out two white bar napkins in front of you. “Evenin’ guys. It’s been a while, where ya been?” You and Josh both exchanged a confused glance, realizing that it had indeed been a while since you’d been here. 

“Uhh, just been a few long nights at Angelo’s, most of the time we’re all too tired to function after we leave, you know how it can be,” Josh said as he removed his old flannel and draped it across the back of his bar stool.

“Understandable,” Roy nodded. “Ok so, Josh, last time you were drinking the hard stuff. Want a beer tonight?”

Josh snickered. “Yeah, please. Whatever lager you have on draft is fine.”

“Be right up,” Roy offered as he knocked his knuckles on the bar. 

You leaned in to Josh, catching a whiff of the cologne he must have thrown on as you both stuffed your aprons in your lockers. “Has it really been a whole week since we were here?”

He nodded slowly as he knitted his fingers together and leaned on the bar. “Yeah, I guess so… since the night I uh, stayed over.”

“Huh,” you mumbled as Roy set your drinks in front of you. “Why did we go so long without coming back?” A week was actually a good chunk of time to be gone from this place. 

Josh hissed through his teeth as he plucked a toothpick from the tiny blue glass container on the bar, sticking it between his lips as he gazed at the TV above you. “Guess we just um… knew where the night might go if we did this again so soon. Wanted to wait it out, give it a few days.”

His admission made you feel all kinds of emotions at once– excitement, confusion, regret… Give it a few days? What does that even mean? The both of you downed your first round as if your lives depended on the alcohol within the glasses, both of you sure of the fact that you will need liquid courage for whatever escapades the rest of the night will hold. Or won’t hold…

You signaled to Roy for another round as Josh avoided your gaze, and you suddenly felt a little uneasy at what he’d said.

You slipped your hair behind your ear, feeling conflicted. “You don’t… You know we don’t have to do that again, Josh, I know we agreed to it, but–”

“No, Y/N, I want to,” he stopped you mid-sentence, bolting his head to the side to look into your eyes. “Believe me, I want to keep to that agreement.”

You sat back a little. “Okay, then… why did you want to wait it out? Are you sure you want the arrangement to be with me?”

His eyes ripped across you again before looking back at the TV, the toothpick still rolling between his thumb and fingers as he gnawed on the end of it. “Of course I want it to be with you… didn’t you want to drag it out a little? More fun when you can make it last, right?”

Again, his words stole all the breath from your lungs, almost making you choke on your refilled fizzy drink. “Um, yeah… I guess, I guess you’re right…” you choke out, unable to hide the fluster that had already overtaken you simply from him saying the words ‘make it last’.

Suddenly he’s laughing at you, gripping your opposite leg in his hand as he turns your body in the stool to face him. Your knees land between his legs as he holds you there, setting his toothpick down on his napkin as he takes a long drink of his new beer. He sets it back down as his eyes land on yours, his hand still gripping the thickness of your thigh. 

“What’s with you, baby?” he asks quietly, leaning in as he cocks his head sideways. “Last time we were here you were knocking me over with your wit and confidence. Now it’s like you’re a baby bird who hasn’t found its wings yet… what’s got you all wound up?”

You, Josh. You’ve got me wound up tighter than a banjo string.

Your knees are jutted up into his groin and his face is only inches from yours, the smell of the hoppy beer on his breath mixing with the cigarette smoke from your coworkers on the walk over. He’s right… he’s managed to reduce you into a shell of a woman in the matter of a week, and you have to remember that you are only just friends.

You clear your throat as he forces you to find your true self again. “I dunno, I wouldn’t account it to you teasing me all fucking week, though.”

“Teasing you?!” he all but shouts, causing you to slap a hand across his mouth to silence him. He playfully bites at your hand to make you pull it away. “Is that what you think I was doing?”

“I’m no stranger to passing glances and subtle touches, Joshua. You may not have been teasing me, but you sure as hell acted like you missed the feeling of your hands on me,” you said with a little bit of sass in your tone. “Brushing your hand against me every chance you got, lingering stares… you aren’t slick.” 

Josh could hardly help the grin that was growing on his face, his expression now plastered with a look so playfully sinister that you wondered how it was only a week ago that you were tempting him to come over to your house simply by offering to share a blunt. 

He pushed his tongue up into the corner of his mouth, amused at your boldness. “There you are. And the funny thing is, I wasn’t trying to be slick, Y/N. I was doing that with all intents and purposes of flirting with you. Outright.”

You lean your body in closer to his, challenging him as you sipped from your skinny straw. “And friends can do that? They can flirt with each other openly?”

“You had your mouth on my cock seven days ago, sugar. I think that constitutes my right to flirt with you,” he replies with an emblazoned growl in his voice, making you feel like you’re melting into putty. 

“Did you think it would make me want to invite you over again?”

“I fucking hoped it would, just wanted to put a little time between visits, ya know. Make you miss me,” he says, gripping his hand onto your thigh a little harder now.

“Make me miss you?! Don’t flatter yourself, Josh. I see enough of you at work,” you say with a wave of your hand. His hand sneaks higher on your thigh, and you find yourself thanking yourself for choosing to wear your slitted slinky black skirt to work today. The slit is exposing most of your thigh, of which Josh has wasted no time in reveling in. His hand is warm on your skin as the alcohol suddenly hits your system, immediately swirling your brainwaves with nothing more than thoughts of his hands traveling all over you, gripping at wherever he could get. All his attention locked in on you. The memories of your face between his legs again.

You smile at him as he leans in, shaking his head at you once again. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about last weekend every single waking moment since it happened, Y/N…” he growled into your ear. Your entire body shuddered at the feeling of his breath traveling over one of your most sensitive spots, making a slew of chill bumps arise on your skin against your own will. 

The music in the joint suddenly got ten times louder as he pulled away, that damned sly smile still plastered across his face. You took a second to really look at him, the way his lips curved, the curls that balanced and framed his face, the way his eyes twinkled no matter how much darkness filled the room. He’d become a man you respected. Not only personally, but professionally, as well, and the respect was slowly but surely morphing into an emotion with a lot more weight to it. You were beginning to truly admire him. 

“I have,” you whispered, covering his hand on your thigh with your own, forcing him to squeeze you even harder. Your heart rate had picked up so much speed, you were sure that he could hear it pounding over the sound of the music, but you didn’t care. His fingertips were burning into your skin, surely leaving behind marks that would be singed into your skin for weeks from the mere heat of them. Your actions were becoming blurs, desire overtaking your entire being as you craved the man sitting in front of you. A craving that would indeed be your downfall if you didn’t keep your head on straight.

Suddenly, Josh’s phone was buzzing on the bartop, two or three text messages coming through at the same time and catching his attention. The both of you looked at the screen as he picked it up, announcing it was messages from Heather.

His eyes scanned across the messages as you waited for him to finish reading, his face falling into one of such disappointment that it shocked you. 

“What’s wrong, is she okay?”

He nodded as he locked his phone and put it face down back on the bar. “Yeah, she’s fine. She fired Jack.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed. “Seriously?! Good! That asshole got what was coming for him! What else did she say?”

Josh shook his head as he sipped his beer again, “Ah, nothing.”

“Not nothing,” you said, lifting his phone from the bar to unlock it and read for yourself. “I know that look you just had.”

“Stop, Y/N, I swear,” Josh said as he tried to wrestle the phone from you. “Don’t–”

“How bad can it be?” you pressed, managing to pull the phone from his grasp and unlock the screen as you began to read aloud. 

“Hey Josh, sorry to bother you this late. I’m sure you noticed when I pulled Jackson from sidework tonight that I wasn’t in the best mood,” you read. “It came to my attention that he had been sneaking cash tips for some time now, and I was able to catch him on video this evening doing just that. I’m sending this message to all of you to apologize on Angelo’s behalf and to let you all know that Jackson and I had a conversation about it and he will no longer be working with us. I apologize for not learning of this sooner, and for the fact that I cannot repay or reimburse any of the money that was taken from you or any of the other employees. I told Jackson that if he had any heart that he should find a way to make this right with each and every one of you, so I am in hopes that he does,” you went on reading quickly, taking a breath before continuing.

“On that note, I’m sure you know that Jackson was next in line to be promoted to assistant manager. Since that is no longer the case, I want to offer the position to you, seeing as how you have been here the longest and always show nothing but the best work you can. You’re my most trusted employee, and know this business inside and out. I know this has been offered to you many times in the past, but I thought I would extend it again. Think about it, and let me know your decision at your Sunday shift. Thanks again, Heather.” Your eyes nearly burst from your head as you realize that Josh was just offered the job that Jackson would no longer be taking.

“Josh! Babe! Why do you look so sad?! You just got offered a promotion!” you wailed, waving his phone around in the air. 

He stretched his jaw as he ripped the phone from your hand and shoved it in his pocket. “Because, Y/N, I don’t want to be a manager. I want to serve my own tables, make my money, and go home.”

“But Josh, you’re so incredibly good at your job! Heather is right, you always give 100%, I swear sometimes I think that you could run that place better than our management could…” you relayed honestly. 

He shook his head. “Nah, they’ve offered it to me time and time again, and I always give them the same response. I’m happy where I am, Y/N. I swear.”

“But I bet you you’d make more money, and you wouldn’t have to work as many shifts, and you wouldn’t have to be on your feet as much and you’d have the opportunity to engage more with customers and actually have time to talk with the regulars–”

“I told you, I don’t want that. I’m content,” he argued, seemingly wanting to end the conversation. “Can we just drop it?”

The disappointment you felt put a hole through your chest. If anyone deserved this promotion, it’s him. And he knows it. “Will you just think about it?” you asked, placing both hands on his shoulders as you gazed into his eyes and pouted out your lower lip. “For me?”

You felt his entire body relax, his shoulders slump and the corner of his mouth tilt into a tiny smile. His eyes locked in on yours once more, making your stomach begin to turn over on itself again. “For you?”

“Yeah, for me,” you nodded. “You deserve to give something like this some thought, Josh.”

He laughed through his nose. “Fuck, alright, alright. I guess. I don’t like how you just did that, though…”

“What?” you played innocent. “Are you mad that I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger?” You hold your pinky up in his face as you sip down the rest of your drink, really feeling its effects, now. He pulled your hand into his, forcing your whole body into his chest. 

“No, that I’m beginning to have a harder and harder time telling you no,” he said. 

You laughed as he poked a finger into your side. You were absolutely reeling at the fact that all of his attention was yours again, finally. It gave you a high you could hardly contain. You set your drink down and leaned into him, both of your hands rested high on his thighs as your knees still dug into his groin. “Oh, is that right? Then how about we have one more drink. Then we go back to your house… so you can let me be the judge of–”

Josh cut you off with his lips crashing into yours, hot and heavy enough to stop your breathing altogether again. After a second, you inhaled him, the feeling of his tongue running along your bottom lip sending a surge of excitement straight to your core. You kissed him back, but only for a short-lived second as the fuzziness in your brain reminded you that you’re in a very public place. You let your tongue brush against his quickly, tasting the sweetness of him for the shortest second before ripping yourself away. 

You’re both breathless as you catch each other’s eyes again, red-faced and tensioned as you fight to put your lips on him again. 

“One more drink?” he asked.

“One more drink.”

—--

Thankful that Josh’s house was only a few blocks down the road, you pulled into his driveway behind him, throwing your car in park as you yanked down your sunshield mirror and assessed the looks of yourself. “Not too shabby,” you whispered as you wiped the fallen mascara from under your eyes and ran some fresh chapstick across your lips. You flipped the visor closed just as Josh was opening your car door for you. 

“Welcome to my humble abode, my lady,” he announced with an accent, holding his hand out for you to grab to step out of the car. You pulled the keys from the ignition and grabbed your purse before taking his hand, strong and sturdy as it pulled you from your seat. As your eyes adjusted in the darkness, you saw that Josh’s house was small, but quaint, a tiny front porch lined with white Christmas lights and covered with hanging plants. He had neighbors, but they weren’t too close at all, and a rather high wooden fence line surrounded the whole property. 

You followed him up to the front where he pulled open the swinging screen door onto the porch, revealing a bunch of old mismatched furniture covered in colorful patio cushions that looked surprisingly comfortable. There was a small radio playing a staticy old country station, and an old blue cooler making a rusty buzzing noise. You watched as he sauntered over to it, lifting up the heavy silver lid. “Want a beer or a seltzer or something?”

“Um, sure. Seltzer, please,” you responded, still taking in the overly-adorable front porch and taking notes as to how you could make yours look the same. He tossed you the can and you cracked it open, watching as he kicked his shoes off onto a rug by the front door. You followed suit and removed your own, not wanting to be rude as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The air conditioning hit you in the face in the same way that hotel room A/C does when you’re on vacation, cold and bitter but welcoming all the same. It’s an older home, but you’d never be able to tell it with the way he had it decorated. Salt lamps and old art covered the white plaster walls, white tile underneath all his oriental rugs. A giant couch sat in the middle of the room that connects to the kitchen, filled with cookbooks and open shelves on the walls that were littered with colorful plates and cups.

“Do you have any roommates?” you asked, wanting to fill the awkward silence that had come out of nowhere.

“No,” he sang as he walked you into the living room. “My brother and I bought this place a few years ago, he lived with me for a year then he got a girlfriend and left me here all by myself, so.”

“Aw, Josh… I’m sorry,” you giggled.

He laughed too as he flipped on a lamp. “It’s okay. It was kinda the plan in the first place.”

You take note of the multitude of blankets strewn across the couch and the cabinet full of vinyl near the sliding glass door… the framed photographs of people and places alike that line the walls, and the lack of any television in his living room. 

“No TV?” you asked. 

“Nah, I’d never watch it anyway. Rather read or listen to music,” he said, his voice almost sounding a little nervous. “You wanna see the rest?”

You nod as you swallow a drink of your seltzer, following him down a short hallway. “Down there is the bathroom and spare bedroom… in here is just a room that catches all my junk… laundry room…” you smiled to yourself as you began to notice that he probably hasn’t had any visitors in a long while, and the last person that came was probably his now ex. 

“What’s upstairs?” you asked as you followed behind him, walking through a wooden bead curtain. 

“My room. The best room in the house,” he said.

“Oh? And what makes it that?”

He takes your hand in his, warm and soft as he pursed his lips together. “Come on, let’s get out of our work clothes.” It suddenly strikes you that you both still reek of pizza, are probably covered in sauce and spilled beer, sweaty and gross from your fairly busy Friday shift. 

“Shit, Josh, I didn’t bring anything to change in to, I didn’t know I’d be–”

“Shh, baby. Friends share clothes, right?” he asked as you both ascend the old squeaky stairs, turning the corner at the top to the A-frame finished attic section of the home. You followed him in the darkness through more hanging plants and across plush rugs before you smelled a sweet earthy smell overtake your senses. Your hand was still in his, leading the way as he opened his door to his bedroom. 

The walls were a deep plum color, lined with gold accents and more photographs and art, dim low-light lamps and a giant beanbag in the corner. It smelled heavily of incense, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on just what scent it was.

“Wow…” you whispered out, laughing a little as you did so. 

“What?” he asks. 

You walk further into the room, taking a seat on his full-sized mattress that’s covered in a plush olive velvet comforter and tons of giant pillows. 

“Nothing, I… this is just not what I thought your house would be like,” you say, still in wonder that you kept seeing new, precious things every single place you look.

Josh joined you on the bed, bouncing it a little as he sipped from his own can. “Yeah, I like to think my room is like my escape from the real world, ya know? Come here to unwind, mostly. Oh, I forgot…” he got up and began searching through the drawers of his armoire, pulling out an old t-shirt and pair of shorts for you. “I’ll turn around.”

You laughed as you set your can on his nightstand, quickly getting undressed and changing into the clothing he gave you, while he stripped and did the same. “No peeking,” you said as he pretended to turn around, both of you knowing that you most likely would be seeing more of each other as the night went on. You took a second to breathe in the scent of his laundry, clean and floral as you pulled the holey white t-shirt over your head.

After you’d both changed, Josh took the opportunity and closed in on you again, gently taking your waist in his hands. “Like seeing you in my clothes… you look good…” he mumbled as he let his nose drift down your jawline.

You felt that same familiar chill run down your spine, already imagining him taking off the shirt that you had just put on. His hands gripped into your love handles, pulling you closer as his mouth drifted from your jaw to your neck, lightly sucking on the soft skin and pulling it between his lips. 

“This okay?” he mumbled as your hands finally drifted up underneath his shirt, your nails lightly scratching at the skin. 

“Mmhmm… very much…” you breathed, rounding your hands behind him to scratch along his back.

He made his way to meet your lips again, catching you off guard in the kiss that got cut short at the bar. His hands were fierce and his lips were fiery, his fingertips pulling at your skin as you kissed him back, letting your tongue push through his lips to show him how much you want him, too. The both of you worked to keep things cautious, knowing that you were pushing the borders of becoming too intimate for an agreement that is based solely on friendship and pleasure. 

You broke away, mirroring his earlier actions as you tiptoed just a little to take his earlobe into your mouth, biting at the skin just below it as you blew whispers into his ear. Your hands were wrapped around his neck and you could feel his chest heaving, his hips pressing themselves into you as you finally felt his length pressing up against your core. 

You let out a tiny pitiful moan, one that probably wouldn’t have been heard if the room wasn’t so quiet. He took you up in a tight embrace and held you there, your face caught in the nape of his neck as you both took a second to calm down, and breathe each other in. 

“You feel really fucking good, Y/N…” he said with a vulnerable tone. 

“So do you, Josh,” you agreed, your voice muffled by his shoulder. 

“No, like, you just… I don’t know how to explain it. You just… fit right here,” he squeezed you harder in his arms, letting you know that this is exactly where he liked you most. You squeezed him back to let him know that you were in complete agreement, but also felt the need to separate again, not wanting to let things drift too far into waters that you hadn’t even talked about exploring. 

So you pulled away, leaving your hands balanced on his stomach as you gave him a genuine smile. 

“You wanna see the best part of the house?” he asked, smirking as he ran a recentering hand through his hair. 

“Are we not in it right now?” you motioned up to the vaulted ceilings and hanging lights above you, twinkling away and casting warm shadows all over the room. 

“Not really,” he said, turning and walking over to a set of tall doors, pulling on the gold handles to open them. You walked up behind him, seeing that the door led directly onto a flat, concave area on the roof. He flicked on a switch, letting another set of string lights illuminate the small space, showing a slew of more cushions and comfortable furniture  nearly filling the floor of the whole thing. A tall spider plant took up most of the corner while the floor was littered with plush outdoor rugs, much the same vibe as was throughout the rest of the house. 

“Holy shit, Josh… this is, this is gorgeous,” you said, walking outside and up to the edge of the roof, able to peek down into his fenced-in backyard. A giant Oak tree extended its branches all the way above the roof, providing the perfect makeshift covering for the outdoor spot. The crescent moon was hung low in the sky, providing just enough light to make the scene all the more romantic. 

“This is the best part of the house…” he said, boasting a little as he removed the glass topper of a citronella candle, pulling a lighter out of nowhere and lighting the wick before replacing the tall glass cover. 

“I think I might agree with that,” you say, taking a seat on one of the oversized cushions. “Come back over here,” you beckoned him, suddenly needing to feel his hands on you again. He did just that, placing himself next to you as he took you up in his arms again, peppering your face with pecks. You could tell something was just a little bit off, as it felt as though he was holding himself back. 

“You alright, baby?” you asked, hoping that you calling him the pet name wasn’t overstepping too much. 

He nodded into your neck. “I’m good. Just trying to find my mojo again,” he laughed.

“Believe me baby, you still have it,” you said with utmost certainty.

He pulled away a little, meeting your line of vision. “Really?”

You nodded, “Ohhh yeah. You do, no doubt about it.”

He laughed again as he trailed a finger along the inside of your thigh. “Well thank you. It’s just been, ya know.” He huffed a heavy breath. “It’s been kinda rough. And finding you, and befriending you, it was a really welcome treat,” he said, adding a few more fingers as he drifted them along your leg. You felt another set of chills overtake your body, wanting more from him. 

“I’ll happily be your distraction, Josh,” you said, hinting toward being the person he used to fully get over his ex. “That’s not something I’m above.” 

The thought of being that person to him was extremely intriguing, even though it sounded a bit different upon hearing yourself say it out loud. 

“No, no, you’re not a distraction. You’re far from it. You’re… really you’re more of…” he struggled to find the words as his fingers drifted higher and higher to where you really wanted them to be. “You’re like a beautiful addition that I didn’t expect. And that might sound stupid, but… I really do appreciate your friendship, Y/N,” he admitted, biting his lower lip in. 

It didn’t take much for your hand to find him again, tracing your finger along the column of his neck as you both reclined on the cushions. 

“Not stupid, Josh. You’re the same for me. Finding you has been… an adventure, to say the least,” you smiled as you felt his curls fall onto your face, his head lying on your shoulder. And you were absolutely not lying; the day that Josh came into your life changed it for the better, giving you a whole new journey to embark on that you’d never once touched in your life, a new person to feel completely whole and trusting with, building a companionship from the ground up all while intertwining the needs you both had for the benefit of not only yourselves, but for each other. It’s been an experience of selflessness that you never even knew you needed, and if you had to guess, he didn’t know he needed it, either.

You enjoyed the presence of each other for a few more silent minutes, letting yourselves explore the potential of all that each of you held, but having enough self-control to not act on it, yet. 

“So, our deal…” he finally spoke up just as you heard the late summer frogs begin to chirp from the yard below. 

“Yes…” you urged him, letting your fingers pull at the hem of his shorts. 

“I want you to be the judge tonight… if you want to,” he said with his voice low, almost as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear it. 

For whatever reason, his insinuation from earlier didn’t click with you at the bar. You hadn’t put two and two together that he wanted to return the same favor that you’d given him a week ago.

“Oh,” you muttered as you felt his hand creep higher. 

“Again, only if you’re comfortable with that…” he said. You mulled it over for exactly one second before you began nodding quickly. 

“I’m comfortable, but only if you are, too,” you said, wanting to give him the space to back out and not feel pressured. 

“I used to be somewhat of a legend when it came to this,” he said with a stretch of his arms, pushing you further back into the cushions. “But that was many moons ago. If you’ll let me, I’d like to see if I still have what it takes… let you give me a true rating, just like I gave you..” he went on. 

You bit your lips in, suddenly feeling a little shy, but also completely empowered at the comfortability of it all. “I think I can do that.” 

There was a light breeze in the air, stirring up the smell of the citronella and whatever candle or incense he had burning in his room, making for what you felt was about to be a very immersive experience. 

He took a deep breath, rolling to his knees as he knelt between yours. He hooked both of his fingers in your shorts and underwear, giving you another look of reassurance as you nodded his way. He swallowed hard as he began pulling them down until they were all the way off, and he tossed them to the side as his eyes finally landed on your completely uncovered lower half. You felt shy, but not in an embarrassing way; the way his eyes took you in made you feel as though you were the most beautiful wonder he had ever laid his eyes upon, soft and sweet and all for him, tonight. 

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N,” he whispered lowly again, the flicker of the candle flame lighting up his doe eyes. He pulled your ankles up to his ears, turning his head to kiss the insides of your legs as they balanced on his shoulders. He worked his way down, switching from one to the other as he laid light kisses and pecks all the way down to your knees, sending you little looks of admiration every few seconds. After a few minutes familiarizing himself, he bent down, bringing himself closer to your core as he got comfortable laid out on his stomach. 

“I’m gonna go slow,” he whispered as he placed his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to him. You imagined that he was talking himself through it, so you went along with whatever he wanted to give you. You were fully exposed to him now, and though the feeling was a little uneasy, it didn’t feel wrong, in the least. 

“You do whatever you want, baby,” you reassured him, running your hand through his locks. “I can’t believe we’re about to do this on your roof…” you laughed, covering your face as you tried to lighten the mood just a little. You heard his high-pitched giggle fill the air, the one he only let slip out when he thought something was really amusing. 

“I know, I’m sorry…” he admitted, still laying wet kisses to the insides of your thighs. 

“Don’t be sorry, I’ve just never done this outdoors before,” you cooed, scratching your nails into his scalp as your body was already heaving a bit, in search of the connection it was so craving. You felt your hips buck up a little on their own as they sought him out.

“You’re fucking dripping, baby,” he said as his tongue ran one languid strip along your slit, not yet making its way inside yet. His words sent your mind into a carnal, visceral reaction, and suddenly you pushed all the comfort talk to the wayside as you imagined him fully, admiring the wetness that he created. “You really want me this much?”

“Yes, Josh… been craving you, please…” you pleaded, suddenly no longer able to hold on to anything besides what was in front of you.

“Craving me? That’s a powerful word, lover,” he went on, teasing his tongue around your lips.

“Haven’t you?” you rebutted. “You told me at the bar I’ve been the only thing on your mind since last weekend…”

You heard him hum a sweet laugh. “Patience, sweet thing, I’m getting there.”

His mouth finally connected to you, the thickness of his lips pulling you into him, his hands gripping hard on your asscheeks. Finally his tongue was exploring you, switching between long strokes and pointed pokes into your opening, flitting his tongue as deeply as he could inside you. “Oh, fuck, Josh…” you called out, your hands digging harder at his curls. 

He continued on, finally paying special attention to your clit as he brought his hand up to join his mouth, placing one finger on either side of it and alternating them as if he was pushing buttons. The indirect pressure was sending your mind into a frenzy already, even without the direct contact. He continued there for a few seconds before he licked his tongue up along you again, pressing it directly between his fingers and onto the sensitive bud. You felt the long-awaited and new overwhelming sensation, sending your head back into the pillows as he hummed onto you, vibrating his lips against it and sending an immediate convulsion through your body. 

“Oh my god?” you perked up, finally looking him directly in the eyes, your knees bending up to squeeze his head. “What in the hell was that?! Fuckkkk….”  you cried out, watching as he smiled on you. Cheeky fucker.

It was like he was starving for you, pulling you into him with heavy suction before extending his tongue back into you again, working your clit with his thumb as the top half of his hand added pressure down onto your abdomen. He was right, he knew exactly what he was doing. He just had to get familiar with it again. 

He pulled away, out of breath and heaving as you felt the devastating disconnection. “Switch me, babe… want you on top of me,” he barked, motioning with his hands for you to hurry. He helped you sit up to kneel as he took your spot on the cushions, pulling at your thighs for you to come and straddle his face. 

“Are you sure, Josh? This is–” you were breathless as you asked, already so close to orgasm and he hadn’t even shown off for you yet. 

“M’ sure baby, come on,” he commanded, slapping your legs as he repositioned. Before you knew it his mouth was on you again, pulling you down with force as you cried out in pleasure again, completely uncaring if the neighbors could hear your moans from their back porches. Your hands were balanced on the wall to hold yourself up, his tongue still doing whatever it wanted between your folds. The sensation was overwhelming, all-encompassing as you were sure you’d never felt anyone take care of you like this before. 

You could feel your wetness on his beard and mustache, the grittiness of his coarse hairs a bit grating, but you welcomed the bit of discomfort. You felt his hand come up, toying with your entrance as he paid special attention to your clit again, pulling it forcefully in and out of his mouth. 

“Can I?” he asked, wondering if it was okay to go that far as his fingers did everything but enter you all the way. 

“Yes, fuck, please,” you begged, the immense need to feel him inside you overtaking your decision-making skills. The next thing you knew, his two middle fingers were buried deep inside you, curling and twisting in a way that let you know that he had the fingers crossed, one right over the other. He pumped them in and out of you a few times, taking the breath completely from you as everything became almost too much to handle. You laid your forehead against the wall along with your hands, ignoring your own want to swirl your hips. 

“Come on baby, you can…” he growled from beneath you as he tapped your hips again, his free hand still gripped hard on your ass. He’d read your mind, so you did, swirling your hips in a figure-8 while his fingers and tongue continued their work. 

“Mmmhmm…”  he hummed onto you as your pitiful cries filled the air again, your body weight fighting to keep itself upright. Your mind was blacking out as you felt the pleasure overtaking you in waves, the constant realization that you were outside, on Josh’s roof, letting him devour you making you all the more dizzy. Just envisioning the visual of the scene made you want to cum right then and there. 

Suddenly he pushed you away from him, sliding his body down and out from under you, standing up on his knees again. He turned and pulled you backward by the waist as he bent you in half, pressing your head back down onto the cushion as he pulled your legs apart a little. You felt him maneuver himself again, leaning his head down as he gripped your ass in his hands again, connecting his mouth with you from behind. 

“Fuck!!!” you yelped at the sudden change in position, and for how downright confident he was being. Intimacy was suddenly out the window. You arched your back for him, giving him greater access to your most sensitive places. His hands worked to separate your folds as his tongue delved deep again, sending you so close to the edge that you almost lost it. 

Right then you knew that you needed more, you needed it all. Burying your face in the pillows for him was the only thing you wanted to do, from here on out. In whatever position he wanted… frontward, backward, upside down… You needed it. You needed to feel all of him. But you knew in the back of your mind that going all the way might not be in the cards. 

At least not tonight. 

Your cries were building up again as you swayed your hips for him, eliciting a heinous growl from somewhere deep in his chest. Every nerve ending in your body was lit up with electricity as you began to see stars, his constant attention directly where you needed it making all of your strings come untied. “Josh, fuck… I’m– close…” you cried out in a slew of breathless words. 

He pulled away again, gripping under your belly and flipping you back onto your back. “Errrghhh,” you complained as he edged you again, and you could feel your jaw clenched together with rage. 

“Don’t yell at me, baby,” he said. “Am I not giving you what you want?” His eyes were deep and hollow as the light flickered off of them again, making him seem more devious than he had ever looked before. He laid back down in front of you, pulling your knees to rest on his shoulders again. His fingers pressed into you again, and continued flicking deep inside of you, twisting up and curling as he pondered you. 

You gripped your hand around the back of his neck, pulling yourself up to kiss him, uncaring of your own wetness now transferred onto you. He moaned into your mouth as your tongue searched for his, his hand never letting up as your body began to tremble again. You could feel the sheen of sweat forming on your head and cheeks as he unraveled you, his fingers so perfectly deep and his thumb still expertly working your clit, you were positive that there was nothing else existing in the world right now, besides him. You pulled away, meeting his eyes with a question that he had no idea you would even ask. 

You didn’t even have to speak a word, he knew exactly what you were asking of him. 

He broke eye contact, looking down at the cushions as he continued with his hand. “I want to baby, believe me… I fucking want to… I want you, too…” he captured your lips in a sweet and longing kiss again, letting you know he was right there with you. “Just…give me this… let me have you like this… and…” 

You nodded, feeling the knot coming undone in your belly, anyway, unable to stop it even if you tried. 

“Promise me, Josh… you will, we will… want you, want all of you…”

He nodded hard as he pressed his forehead to your cheek, your body almost completely bent in half as the backs of your knees rested on his shoulders. “I promise sweetheart… one day…” 

With his promise and one particularly specific pump of his finger and thumb combination, you were falling over the edge, your whole body shaking and tremoring as you came undone for him, the sounds coming from your body almost embarrassing as you finally were able to hear your own wetness against the slap of his hand. 

When you finally came down, his tongue was on you again, cleaning up the mess you’d both made and swallowing it down. “God, you’re fucking delicious, Y/N, I swear…” he praised as he ran his tongue along you again, sending your body into a fit of shaking overstimulation. 

He pulled his t-shirt up over his mouth, wiping away any excess as he flattened your body back out, crawling up you to lay one last kiss to your now-soaked lips. 

You took a long, deep breath, cleansing yourself of being devoid of proper oxygen intake for the past few minutes. He finally joined you on the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head as he looked at you with a smug grin. “Told you I was a legend,” he said, adding a giant cheesy smile along with his boasting. 

“Okay, listen,” you said, slapping your hand onto his chest. “You can’t call yourself a legend, then ask for me to rate you. It doesn’t work like that,” you argued. “Unfair.”

“Okay, alright, whatever. Then what do you give me?” he asked, turning toward you and pulling your weak leg up over him.

You pressed your finger to your chin just as he had done when he was “evaluating” you. “Nine and a half.”

“What?! Now, that’s unfair, you can’t give me the same rating I gave you,” he complained. “Be serious, I’m a perfect ten.”

You swallowed hard, not wanting to tell him the real reason that you didn’t give him a ten was because the only way you know he could reach that level of perfection was if you could have him wholly and completely, though both experiences with him so far had been beyond stellar on all fronts, deep down, your thirst for him wouldn’t be satiated until that day. That, and the fact that you simply couldn’t let him beat you. 

“Sorry, that’s my rating,” you shrugged him off, reaching down for your underwear and shorts.

“Well fuck me,” he complained, rolling to his back. 

“I tried to,” you said in retaliation with a laugh, causing him to shoot his look your way. 

He met you with a look that you hadn’t seen from him yet, one that told you that there was something you were missing, something that he refused to divulge, but you were honestly too scared to ask. He bit his cheeks in and broke away from your stare, taking a choppy breath again. “I know we promised, babe, but… we’ve gotta remember that we’re just friends, yeah? Just friends–”

“Friends with benefits. Right,” you answered for him in a clipped tone, unsure how to take it. You wished that you could put it all out in the open and discuss things how they lied, but what Josh didn’t know was that you shared his same feeling of uncertainty, both of you so swept up in the idea of one another that you were too scared to fall. Too scared to take a leap that the other one might not want to share. 

Your feelings for Josh were growing. Sprouting new buds and new blossoms every single day, weaving themselves deeper into your bones than you had ever anticipated. But you could never tell him the absolute truth, it could ruin everything. It could turn your relationship up on its tail, causing the both of you to see the other in a light that neither of you even planned on shining in the first place. 

That’s the devastation of it all, the realization of the possibility you might be physically compatible while sharing little to no other characteristics with someone who could end up being more than just a friend. 

But the passion was there, you could feel it. It was almost tangible just now as he begged you to fly into oblivion for him, all at the touch of his hand. You couldn’t lose Josh, and he couldn’t lose you. Not right now, at least. The two of you had become dependent on one another, in all ways besides romantically. 

If you took that step… if you both let your guard down all the way… would things still be the same? Did he even want you in that capacity? You were too scared to ask, you were too scared to know. 

So, you cleaned yourself up, replaced your panties and shorts and followed Josh back into his lavish bedroom, letting him pull you up underneath his protective arm under his sheets and blankets, kissing you on the forehead as the two of you drifted off into a sleep that begged for more. The both of you lying to yourselves right where you were, waiting for the feelings to dissipate. 

Or worse, manifest themselves in a way that was much more gruesome than something a friend with a benefit could ever, ever give. 

xoxoxo jules

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[invertedspearofseveneleven]

Morning Light - Soft!Sukuna x reader

Summary - You fall asleep with Yuji, but wake up with the cuddliest Sukana fucking ever???? (So fluffy it makes you sneeze)

A/N - This Sukana is NOTHINGGGG like canon Sukana lmao. This was also my first Sukana x reader fic hehe so it's kinda short

This was from a DM from @malvikareader

"That reader goes to sleep with Yuji but ends up cuddling sukuna (and he's a Lil softie just for her)"

Thanks for breaking up my writing slump, your idea encouraged me to make an ASK GAME so if you like this, please check that out as well <3

In the afternoon, when the blinds are opened all the way, the room still won’t feel well lit. That’s partially because of the way the dormitory faces down the hill. The afternoon sun will be at such an angle as not to reach well to your side of the building, and the window also already has trees in front of it. 

However, in the morning, the sun is blinding. Normally, you wouldn’t mind, but after a night out with Nobara, Megumi, and your sweet boyfriend, Yuji, the light pushing through the blinds is making your head pound. 

Moving an arm off your side, you climb from the bed quickly, trying to stay as asleep as possible. You close the blinds and slink backwards to get back EXACTLY to how you were lying. No warmth wasted. 

In the now darkened room, you sigh at the feeling of Yuji’s arm moving back over you. This was a perfect morning, quiet, warm, and spent with him. Nothing was better, well, nothing you could think of cuddled up against Yuji, safe and warm. 

The arm around your middle closed on your waist, and you felt yourself being pulled gently up. Eyes still closed, you felt a smile split across your face and you let yourself be rolled over, strong arms sliding under you and soft lips resting on your forehead. 

“G’morning darling.” 

A heavy, woody smell fills your nostrils, like a bonfire, as a baritone voice murmurs the greeting, so deep it rumbles in your chest like bass from last night. Your eyes shoot open, locking on a darkly tattooed pec in front of you. Yuji doesn’t have tattoos, much less ones that snake down his front. You suck in a breath.

Sukuna was in your bed. Worse, you were in his arms.

You had only seen Sukuna in combat, when Yuji would step aside to let him take over in dire situations. He was terrifying from far away, and you had yet to see his true form. You felt your heart speed up, and your breathing become shallow. You hadn’t even looked up at the speaker yet. Could you? This was the King of Curses for fuck's sake. Were you even capable, or allowed? It was Yuji right? Somewhere in there-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a hand beneath your chin. Hot skin burning against your racing pulse. The pressure of your head being tilted back softly and insistently was spellbinding. Yuji would never turn you so easily, make you move so persistently, you should have realized when you were turned around, moments ago.

But now, you were seeing him up close. It was Yuji’s face, obviously, but something else was holding it in control. The tattooed cheeks and chin, the messy morning hair, the soft eyes.

Wait. His eyes. 

“Y-Yuji?” you manage to squeak out. The eyes weren’t exactly his, but they were gazing at you like his.

“Hmm? Oh, no, sorry love. Not exactly.” Sukuna shifted to peck your cheek, rubbing his thumb against the spot before making eye contact again. 

“But you…you’re not…” The words die on your lips. It’s confusing, but you don’t feel afraid, however much you’ve stiffened and drawn your hands away from the toned chest in front of you. 

Sukuna tilts his head, brows furrowing. “Not what?”

“Not, I don’t know.” Your eyes flit back and forth between his, and he sees, not malice or fear, rather curiosity. “Not scaring me. Not like I thought you’d be.”

The wrinkle between his eyebrows smooths, and he smiles again. His hand starts to play with your soft hair.

“Yuji, foolish as he may be, has priorities outside of being a useful shell. I respect next to nothing, and that shouldn't change for my vessel.” He gives a low chuckle before he looks back into your eyes. “But there’s something about you. I see how you treat others, how you think with a beautiful mind, but also with a beautiful soul. Difficult for me to understand, but it’s visible to even me.”

Your arms relax and you feel Sukuna’s warm chest under your hands once more, earning a wide smile from him. He doesn’t let his eyes drop from yours, and he grows serious.

“This, well, this is the first time you’ve woken up with me at the controls. I’ve pulled you closer late at night, but never spoken with you, I realize. This must be strange.” He’s, gosh, he’s babbling. You watch his long fingers flip a strand of your hair absentmindedly, his chin held in his hand as his eyes dart around, finally breaking eye contact. He looks back.

“I’ll switch, if it means you’re more comfortable, if it makes you less…” two strong fingers press at the side of your neck, and you realize he’s noticed how fast your heart was beating. 

“...nervous.”

You stay still, and the only sound in the room is the shared breath between you. You realize he’s serious, that he must have seen you the way Yuji had for so long. Something about that had your attention. He had witnessed love so strong it had changed his otherwise calloused heart. You doubted anyone else would have woken up like you had, still cradled in his arms. Your decision has been made, even before he had finished that sentence. 

“No.”

Sukuna looks surprised. That was certainly not the answer he expected. But he feels a warmth fill him when he realizes you want him to stay. You move closer, resting your head against his chest, breathing in that wood burning smell, and you hear a soft laugh above you, feel another kiss at the top of your head, feel strong arms holding tight to you.

The birds chirp outside, and the sun rises higher, but in the darkened room, a King of Curses falls asleep with his weakness.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR SIX

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, mentions of harassment, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 4.8k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

6:00 ───ㅇ─────────────── 24:00

HOUR SIX - 9:00 PM

Eddie holds the front door to apartment 2C open for you, finally letting go of your hand for the first time since you’d plead with him to leave the drunken men at the bar. You can’t look him in the eyes, head tilted downwards as you brush past him and don’t even stop to overthink the smell of his cologne taking over you when your sore shoulder bumps his chest.

The adrenaline is wearing off. The fear is settling like a heavy knot in your abdomen. 

It was a part of the experience of being a woman, they’d always told you. Men would gawk, boys would be boys, and it was always something you’re supposed to laugh off. You’ve felt wandering hands of strange men during night outs with your friends, you’d been on the receiving end of one too many attempts at flattery that crossed a line. You’d never done anything about them; you were always taught to smile and move past it. Don’t engage them. Don’t give them reason to lash out. 

And the men you had chosen to trust and surround yourself also did nothing.

You don’t blame them. Steve, a brilliant example, was usually oblivious. But he did what he could, throwing a casual arm over your shoulder and somehow blinding these men with charisma and charm as he subtly would pull you away from them in the midst of lighthearted laughter. 

Eddie is the first man in your life to have ever defended you so vehemently. He’s the first to not smile and nod it off, to not reduce himself to a simple bystander. Not only did he do something about it, but he had lashed out as you normally craved to. 

If you hadn’t interfered, he would have punched the guy, Jason. You’re sure of it. 

He’s still angry, footsteps heavy as he yanks off his jacket once the front door is locked, and you can’t quite decipher if his irritation is at you or the situation. If he’s still fuming about the fight, or if he’s still not quite cooled off from the entire interaction that had taken place outside. 

When he gently grazes at your throbbing shoulder, fingertips hovering over your skin as he pushes the collar of your shirt out of his line of sight to see the handprint, you start to find your answer - it’s the latter. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs gently, walking towards the kitchen and grabbing a stool from his breakfast bar to drag behind him. He settles it near the counter across from his fridge, flicking on the fluorescent overhead lights of his kitchen.

When he nods to the stool, you sit wordlessly. 

You’re shaking, still trying to let your brain catch up as you grapple with what exactly happened.

Jason had grabbed you, roughly. He’d been trying to get you to go home with him. He was drunk. He had just been resorting to his instincts, he was just a boy being a boy. 

Eddie’s actions are beginning to soften now that he stands before you. You can see him flexing his hand that had held yours, tightening it before stretching it back out. He does it a few times. Tightening and stretching, tightening and stretching. You don’t comment on it. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?” his brown eyes are staring into yours as he asks you, full of something resembling care, cautious as he gages you. 

The simple act of him asking for permission cracks something in your chest. It’s not a bone, it’s not a shard of glass, it’s not a vine of hope. 

But it’s something, and certainly not something bad, so you nod. 

When he pulls on your shirt this time, he allows his skin to come in contact with yours. You feel the chill of his rings sweep over your hot shoulder, and your eyes flutter shut in an effort to ignore the electricity that begins to pulsate down your spine. It shocks from the base of your neck into your lower back, leaving a trail of rippling tingles in its wake. 

Had his palm against yours elicited this same reaction? Had he felt this when your hand clutched his bicep?

You remember the last time you were in this kitchen, the way the two of you had been fighting and that aching to see him bleed as you once did. The ache is long gone. 

Because all it takes is one look at his face when you finally find the bravery to open your eyes again, and you can see his scarlet written plainly in his expression. You’ve been bruised, but he’s been pricked. Your hurt and his hurt are one in the same in this moment as he takes in the shape of a handprint, plain as day, red and angry despite the layer of clothing that had attempted to separate you from the drunken stranger. 

“I should go back down there and kill him,” he says under his breath, his eyes never leaving your shoulder. 

“No,” you whisper with a small shake of your head, “You shouldn’t.”

The sound of your voice has his head snapping up, eyes locking with yours once more. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t.” 

Because he’s not worth it, because he was nothing more than a drunk boy. Because if you go down there, I’m scared you’ll get hurt. 

You don’t say a single thought that comes to mind, especially the last one. You just shrug. 

“I should have punched the fucker when I had the chance,” he grits out, his eyes landing back on the soon-to-be bruise, “I should have knocked his teeth out for laying his hands on you. If I ever see him again, he’s a dead-man walking.” 

You can see his anger building once more with every shaky breath, eyes glazing over and shoulders tensing. You don’t even think before you’re bringing a shaking hand back up to his shoulder, landing without much hesitancy, delicate in its weight against him. 

He glances down at it in shock. It’s as if he didn’t expect your touch, or maybe he does feel those same shockwaves set his system off balance from something as simple as your hand on him. Either way, you don’t see his shiver as he brings his free hand to cup over yours. 

“Just one reason,” he presses, palm impossibly warm against the back of your hand, tone finally wavering, “For or against me going back out there. Say the word, and I’ll put him six feet under.” 

“Don’t,” you’re insisting now, and when you squeeze his shoulder, he returns it against your hand, “He’s just some guy. He was drunk, and he probably didn’t know any be-”

“If you say he didn’t know any better, I might actually get mad at you.” 

Eddie’s a man. He hasn’t learned the art of letting go like you have. He has the privilege of being angry like this right now. 

You don’t respond, and he sighs, taking a step back as your hand falls back to your lap, “You should ice that. I’ll grab an ice pack.” 

You watch his tense back as he turns to his freezer, the way his shoulder blades flex against his t-shirt as he digs for the promised ice pack. It's a wide, unfamiliar terrain, an expanse that you can picture yourself running the very tips of your fingers over. 

In a moment of weakness, you imagine what’s beneath the shirt. You imagine your fingertips tracing over bare skin and freckles, possible scars that have stories for another night. 

As quickly as you think it, you push the image away. 

Once he brings the ice pack to you, wrapped in a paper towel, he’s moving back across the kitchen and leaning on the counter opposite of you beside the fridge. He crosses his arms and legs alike, simply staring as you press the cool material onto the injured space. 

“Why are you defending him?” Eddie asks suddenly, brows furrowing, “He… He was an asshole. There was no excuse for how he was treating you, someone he doesn’t know. Why didn’t you just tell him no?” 

“Easier said than done,” you hum as you focus on treating your shoulder rather than looking at Eddie again. You’re coming to learn that looking at him is a dangerous game, always risking to find another feature of his to learn. 

Dimples, cologne, shoulder blades - if the list grows too long, it’ll only be harder to discard the new information after tonight. 

“You’ve never had a problem saying no to me,” he points out with a cock of his eyebrow. You’re grateful that his tension is lightening up, falling back into an easy rhythm between the two of you rather than being furious. 

But you can’t stop thinking of that scarlet across his face. A red to match the own beneath your skin. And you didn’t even have to crack open his chest to see it - it was presented to you in a moment of weakness, a moment of grudges forgotten and protectiveness fierce. 

You step out on a limb once more with Eddie. Something tells you that you won’t regret it.

“Because you don’t scare me.” 

Five simple words, but their weight is not lost on him. His face falls, and before you can mentally prepare yourself, you’re looking into his honey brown eyes. 

They’re doe-like. They aren’t hard like Jason’s had been, full of whiskey and righteousness, but sincerity. Your words affect him. 

And so you continue on, “If I say no to you, I’m not scared you’ll lash out. Not physically, at least. You’ve been mean to me, don’t get me wrong, but… but no meaner than I’ve been to you,” you take pause, you let your words settle onto his shoulders as your hand had, “You’re a lot of things, Eddie, but you’re not one of the guys who hears convince me when I tell you no.” 

“Because no means no,” he quickly says, tilting his head, “You shouldn’t take that shit from anyone.”

He pushes off the counter, still looking at you as he crosses the space he’d placed between you two. 

You could freeze up, but you don’t. You’re not scared of him. You never have been, and you don’t think you ever will be. 

“If a man ever acts otherwise,” he continues, “If a man ever lays his hands on you, if he ever does take it as convince me, you call me. You call me, and I’ll show him just what convincing means.” 

He’s standing in front of you now, and you hadn’t even noticed your knees spreading, leaving a space between your thighs for him to easily occupy. He stops short of it though, not pressing into your space, not yet. 

“Is this that scary dog privilege Nancy is always going on about?” the corners of your mouth quirk, looking up at Eddie through heavier lids. 

The fear is gone. And all that’s replaced is exhaustion. It tugs on your limbs and mind alike, catching right up with the alcohol from the night. 

“Scary dog privilege?” he echos, starting to grin as well. He takes another step forward, and the spice of his cologne is back. 

It’s stronger here, outside of the bar and in his own space. 

“She’s always saying we should invite you out to bars and stuff,” you explain, smile splitting wider, “Says guys would bother us less with you around.” 

His smile falls, and he grows serious again, “Do guys bother you a lot?” 

“It’s the bars in a college town, it’s norm-”

“Jesus Christ,” he interrupts, “Okay, yeah. From now on, tell Nance to invite me,” he groans running a hand over his face, “I can’t believe you’re trying to tell me that shit is normal. What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” 

“It’s not always so scary,” you try to convince him through feeble laughter, “Most nights don’t end in bruised shoulders, you know. It’s just… I don’t know. It is normal.” 

“Fuck that.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “Fuck that, but that’s just the way it is.” 

He isn’t convinced, it’s written all over his face. His head is tilting again, and he’s looking with those warm brown doe eyes, and you know he isn’t convinced. 

There’s a tension in the air that you can’t handle. You have to break it.

“What if I don’t want you to join girls’ night?” you ask him, keeping a teasing tone.

“Too fuckin’ bad.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to utilize your scary dog privilege.” 

He takes a final step, and now, he is standing in the space your thighs had allotted for him, “Sweetheart, let me make myself very clear. It doesn’t matter how pissed you make me, how crazy you drive me. I don’t care if we’re being civil or not, if you’re my…. My enemy or whatever the fuck you think I should call you – I meant it. If a guy like that asshole tonight ever bothers you, I’m kicking his ass.” 

You know he means it. For the same reason that you know that you’re not scared of him. 

He’s infuriating. He gets under your nerves and he will argue with you at every chance he gets, and yet, Eddie Munson carries an air of safety. It’s never been clearer to you than now, after spending so many hours with him, after seeing so many different sides to him that you hadn’t been privy to before. 

“What if it’s not me? Guys flirt with Nancy too, you know.” 

“Byers can handle his own, and so can Nance.” 

“And Robin?”

“I’ve seen her slap Steve on a dare. I have faith in her.”

“You don’t have faith in me?” 

His eyes widen at your question, nearly at a loss for words, “I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean… It’s not that.” 

“Then why does your protection only extend to me?” 

Your knees fall closed the slightest amount, and they bump his hips. He doesn’t move - he doesn’t so much as flinch. 

“Fine. If you don’t like it, I can also protect Nance and Buckley.”

“I never said I don’t like it,” you breathlessly correct. 

You’re going too far. You don’t understand how the two of you ended up here; the shards of civility still linger in your chest and gut, but they might as well have vanished. It’s easy to forget about his cruel words when he’s this close, when he’s making promises like that. 

Cruel words. The two of you need to discuss earlier. You need to know why he said what he did. Because now he stands before you with promises of protection and molten eyes, and you no longer believe him.

If he truly hated you, if he truly believed the answer he’d given you, he wouldn’t be saying these things. He wouldn’t care this much. 

“Can we talk about what you said?” you whisper, and like that, the moment shatters. Once soft eyes turn hard, and he takes several steps back until your knees’ feather light touch disconnects from him. 

“There’s nothing else to say,” you’re surprised he doesn’t play dumb. He knows you’re talking about him hating you. 

“Nothing else to say?” you scoff, trying to bite back any of your own cruelty, “Eddie, you said you hated me before you even met me.” 

“I know what I said-”

“And I don’t believe a damn word you said now. So, why the cop out answer?” 

His eyes narrow, “You obviously believed me, or you wouldn’t have stormed off.” 

You swallow hard, nodding, thinking over your next words carefully, “Because it hurt. Because it felt like we were… we were making some sort of progress, and all of a sudden, you’re telling me I never stood a chance at being your friend.” 

“You asked me, and I was honest.” 

“No, you weren’t.”

“How would you know if I was being honest or not?” 

The back and forth is suddenly making you want to scream. Because you know - you know he was lying, or he wouldn’t be so suddenly defensive. 

“Why can’t you admit it?” you finally break, sighing hard as you look at him, shaking your head softly, “Why can’t you just admit it was a cop out answer, and tell me the truth?” 

The ice pack that had been reduced to being long forgotten slips from your shoulder, landing on the floor with a riveting smack. Eddie is quick to bend over and grab it, as if he was fleeing your stern look before he stands up straight, hand stuck out in your direction with the offering of the pack. 

“Just because it wasn’t what you wanted to hear doesn’t mean I was lying,” he says, waiting for you to take the ice pack. 

You take the pack roughly, and your fingers make contact with his palm. The same palm that had pressed to yours, the same palm that had guided you down the dark street and kept you close until you were back in his apartment. 

You know he was lying. 

“It’s not a matter of it not being the answer I wanted,” you snap, temper growing thin, “It’s a matter of you lying to me, and I don’t understand why. It’s a matter of you saying shit about how you’d protect me, no matter the circumstances, and yet also saying shit like that. It doesn’t fucking add up, and it doesn’t take a genius to see through your bullshit.” 

“I didn’t lie.”

“You did.”

You’re back to square one – just like that. Two stubborn idiots, both two headstrong to back down. 

You’re tired. You’re exhausted of this, of one step forward and three steps back. It was never a dance you were fond of, and your desire for it doesn’t suddenly grow as you sit here in Eddie’s kitchen, arguing and pushing his buttons for answers. 

“What do you want me to say?” he bites, honey eyes now a dark and stormy shade with the clouds hanging over them heavily, “Do you want me to say there was just some magical moment it clicked? That there’s something you can fix, you can change, to make me not hate you?” 

“Yes!” you finally shout, throwing your hands up, still clutching that damn ice pack, “Yes, I actually do want you to say that. What is so wrong with us being friends? What is so wrong with us, at the very least, not being enemies?”

“Everything!” his volume raises right along with yours, “Everything is wrong with that?” 

“Why? Tell me what’s so fucking wrong with it, and I’ll let it go. Hell, I’ll leave you alone the rest of this night, the rest of your life, if it means you being honest for once.” 

“When else have I lied to you?” he seethes, and you immediately miss the moment his anger wasn’t directed at you. You miss when the two of you toed the line of being on each other’s side and not opposing forces. For a brief moment of false serendipity, it hadn’t been you versus Eddie, and it killed you to admit that it had been nice.

It kills you to admit you want that, not whatever this is. You don’t want to scream at each other anymore. After tonight, you’re done. You don’t want this back and forth, you don’t want the constant bickering, you don’t want to play this game anymore. The dance is over for you. Really, it should have ended in Steve Harrington’s apartment, the night you’d thrown a glass at Eddie. The night you decided you actually hated him, not for the sake of hating him because he hated you, but because he had truly cut you. 

“If you’re lying about why you hate me, how am I supposed to believe a word you say to me tonight?” you finally ask in a quiet, even, resentful tone. 

If he can’t tell you the truth about this, then his words mean nothing to you. All the talk of protection, all the promise of defending you, means nothing. 

The crack in your chest this time is not pleasant. 

“Ask me anything. Ask me, and I’ll be honest,” he suddenly demands.

Even in his anger with you, he doesn’t crowd you. There are still boundaries. 

I’m not scared of you. 

Even now, as he glares down at you, you’re not. Eddie Munson doesn’t scare you, but the pounding of your heart, how badly you need to hear him tell you the truth, does.

You could ask him the same question from the bar: Why do you hate me? 

You could get your answer of crystal clear honesty right here, right now. You could ask him what you ever did to get under his nerves like this. You could ask him why he’d been kind at all the first night if all he ever planned to do was throw brutal punch after metaphorical punch for the rest of your relationship. You could ask him anything, and he would answer you honestly at this moment.

So, of course, you fuck it all up. 

“Yeah? Okay, fine. Let’s start with why you have porn magazines with marked pages of models that look like me.” 

Wrong question. The moment for honesty slips from your grasps. 

He laughs bitterly, throwing his head back as he finally turns from you, “Fuck you. Truly, fuck you.” 

He starts to walk away, and you discard the ice pack onto the counter before standing from the stool and following him, “You said ask you anything, and you’d answer honestly. I want an honest answer.” 

He stops suddenly and turns to face you, making you nearly collide with his chest. There are no hesitant hands to land on your bicep, not outreach from him to steady you. All he does is stare, hard and hateful, as his chest heaves. 

“It’s all a fucking game to you, isn’t it? This entire thing is just one giant joke. I try to give you what you want, I try to offer honesty, and you throw it in my face.” 

“It’s not,” you correct with venom, “I want the answer to that question. You owe me that much. After everything you’ve said tonight, about hating me before we met, about celebrating my death, I think I’ve earned that answer.” 

There’s a flash in his eyes. For a moment, the hatefulness breaks, and you see Eddie for who he is – a guy who can’t say what he means. Maybe his dishonesty isn’t from a place of getting under your nerves, but because he can’t even be honest with himself. A part of you must have known it, must have known you wouldn’t be getting any honesty from him, and that’s why you went with that question. You couldn’t handle another lie or excuse as to why things had to go as they did. 

“Sweetheart, I think we both know why.” 

Honesty is a bitch. Hand in hand with karma, you realize now, it is capable of stunning you into silence. 

What the fuck does that mean? 

“I obviously don’t,” you wave your hands between the two of you animatedly, growing frustrated, “If I knew the answer to any of the questions I have for you, this argument wouldn’t be happening.” 

A chuckle of disbelief. A streak of crimson that bleeds from your wounds of civility. 

You see it clearly now; even if Eddie has let you believe he also bleeds, the two of you will never share the same shade of scarlet. Your hurt and his hurt do not go hand in hand. It never has, and it never will. The two of you are not stars that align once every hundred years, you are not a rare phenomenon to witness. 

You’re two people who hate each other. Who hate without reason, apparently. 

“Fine,” you gasp out, now being the one to take steps back, “Fine. You don’t like that question, Munson? I have hundreds more. Why do you hate me? If what you said wasn’t a lie, why were you ever nice to me when we first met? Why would you give me that false hope? Why do you pull stunts like that in the kitchen, promising things you can’t do? Why do you seem to enjoy hurting me?”

Like a tired candle, his anger immediately flickers out. 

It’s not from the breath he lets out, it’s from your gust of your own honesty. 

Why would you give me that false hope? 

Now that you’ve broken the dam, it’s flooding out. There will be no answers, so you don’t worry about what spills from your mouth now. He’s made it clear that honesty is an illusion, just like civility, and you’ll always have to watch it slip between your fingers. The buds of hopefulness on your vine will never be nurtured to bloom, and are doomed to wither before they reach potential. 

“Why were you so cruel that night at Steve’s?” your voice breaks, “Why did you say those things you said that night? Why do you avoid me? Why can’t you stand me? I’m tired of it, Eddie. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“I…” the syllable is the only noise he makes. The rest of his sentence dies on his tongue. 

The air of safety has left the room. There’s no safety, no friendliness, in the air you two share. Suddenly, you’re back to six months earlier, standing and looking at him with wide eyes as shattered glass crunches beneath both your feet, nothing but hurt to take the place of what once was wrath. It’s just you and him, bystanders forgotten, moments of hope bursting into flames as they eat away at your stomach and heart alike. 

“This is why,” he whispers, no longer meeting your heavy gaze. 

“What?” you snap, “This is why, what?” 

“Why we can’t be friends.” 

You know what the cracks in your chest are now. Vines, decaying and breaking of fragility until they’re nothing more than dust. 

“You’re right, we can’t be friends,” you choke out, trying to not cough on the vines’ dust, “Because you can’t be honest with me. Honesty was never an option, was it?” 

“It wasn’t,” he looks impossibly small. It’s no longer a fair fight with his sagging shoulders and shining eyes, “How can I give you honesty when all I’ve ever done is hurt you?” he pauses for only a moment, before he’s starting back up, whispering your name before continuing on, “All I’ve ever done is hurt you. I have only given you reason after reason to hate me. And you just- you kept giving me a million second chances. You want honesty? Fine – I don’t deserve your second chances.”

“No, you don’t,” you say before you can think it over, before a small voice in your brain can say but I will still give them, “But is it really a second chance if you never let me give the first chance to begin with?” 

Your words have a certain finality to them that you immediately wish to take back. You want to grab the words from the air between you and tuck them back into your chest, hide them away from him. Because you’re admitting to him once more that you always wanted something more than this, something better than this with him. You wanted friendship. You wanted civility. You wanted him to like you, to laugh with you like he had that first night, even if it had only been once. Part of you even wanted to go back in time and take back ever joining his friend group, invading his life, so you never would have had to endure that sudden departure into cold shoulders that eventually transformed into brutal words and harsh insults. 

You should have never taken that 8 AM math class. You should have never let hope flower in your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say, “I regret it.” 

You don’t know what exactly he regrets, don’t ask him for any more honesty, as he turns heel and walks down the hall. He walks away from you, into his room, shutting the door. Both on you and the conversation. 

And yet, you still follow him down the hall. You still press your back to the wall across from the door, and you still slide down onto the floor across the room he’s now locked himself away from you into. You could leave. You could tell your friends that the deal is off. But you don’t.

You sit and you wait and you let your own sentiment of regret rest on your tongue.

You regret it, too. You regret everything that led to this moment. You regret whatever you did to Eddie Munson to make him hate your guts. 

But mostly, you just regret pushing him so far. Somehow, you still let the blame fall on yourself as you stare at the closed door, wondering what could have been if you just stopped asking questions you couldn’t handle the answers to. 

When the groupchat texts you for the photo proof of the hour, you don’t reply. Instead, you click onto your individual text thread with Steve, and type your answer there.

YOU: i fucked up. 

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[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘

summary: will byers was announced deceased, and now your friend barb is officially missing. steve is a grade a asshole and breaks jonathan byers camera, how fun! the figure you saw in the woods and in your nightmares ends up in one of the photographs jonathan took, leaving suspicion that will is alive, and barb is in danger. maybe hawkins is cursed after all!

“Watch out for that freak,” Steve called over his shoulder, jerking his thumb back toward Jonathan. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Y/N hissed, stepping into Steve’s path and shoving him hard in the chest. Her eyes blazed with fury, searching the boy’s face for answers. Steve staggered back a step, surprised. “Oh-ho! Watch out for Ms. Prissy,” Tommy snickered, his arm slung around Carol, who blew a bubble with her gum she smacked on, watching with a gleeful expression. It’s almost like they were born to be assholes. Y/N ignored them, her glare fixed on Steve. “That ‘freak’ over there was just minding his own damn business! And you just had to destroy his stuff for no reason? Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Steve raised an eyebrow, his expression turning cold. “That freak was stalking us. He took pictures of us at my party last weekend. Photos of us in the pool, in my house—from my backyard. Creepy, don’t you think?”

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: mention of death, missing persons, cursing, and season one steve lol

word count: 4k

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The night enveloped Hopper’s trailer in a suffocating darkness, the only light coming from the flickering glow of the TV in the living room. Y/N sat on the couch, her sketchbook open on her lap, with her hand moving almost mechanically as she tried to lose herself in her drawing. Reality was becoming all too overwhelming—the sweet boy Will Byers was still missing, and Barbra was nowhere to be found. The murmur of the TV served as a background hum, a flimsy barrier against the overwhelming dread.

“Breaking news,” a voice from the TV cut through the regular hum of the news channel, snapping Y/N out of her reverie. She glanced up from her sketchbook, pausing her movements, her heart already pounding harshly in her chest. 

“This is live, reporting from the local Sattler's Quarry. The missing child, Will Byers, has been found deceased here in the quarry. Police suspect—” 

Y/N’s heart plummeted to her feet, her eyes widening in complete shock. Guilt rushed straight to her stomach, making her feel nauseous. She stared at the screen, unable to process the words she heard. That sweet boy she had just met, in this quiet, small town—was dead?

She was the last person Will was with, the last person that was responsible for him.

And she was the reason he was never coming back to his family.

“Y/N?” The trailer door creaked open behind the girl, a familiar voice cutting through the heavy silence in the dimly lit home. Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Hopper's gruff voice. She turned, her eyes meeting his weary gaze. 

"Hopper?" Her voice shook.

The police chief stepped into the trailer, his presence bringing a sense of both comfort and foreboding. "I'm sorry, kid," he mumbled, his voice heavy with regret. 

"I came here as fast as I could to check in on you." He added as Y/N's breath caught in her throat, searching Hopper's expression for any sign of hope, if somehow, maybe this was all wrong—maybe Will was still alive.

"Is he really gone?" Her voice cracked, with tears threatening to spill over.

Hopper's eyes softened, his usual air of authority momentarily faltering in the face of the girl’s raw emotion. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Uncertainty gnawed at him, his usual confidence shaken by the weight of the situation. 

Hawkins was a normal, quiet town, but now—it’ll never feel the same.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

The interior of Hopper’s trailer was dimly lit by the early morning light filtering through the thin curtains. The clock on the wall read 6:29 AM, and the smell of coffee lingered in the air, a comforting but slight reminder of normalcy amid the chaos.

Y/N stirred in her sleep, waking up—startled by the sound of her alarm sounding off. She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, then turned off her alarm, trying to shake off the lingering dread weighing down on her. The events of the previous night, the news about Will Byers's death—are still fresh in her mind, and it feels like they’ll never leave.

She threw off the bed covers and swung her legs over the side of her bed, the cool wooden floor sending a shiver up her spine. With a shaky sigh, she stood up and tracked toward the kitchen, hoping a quick breakfast would help clear her mind. As she stepped into the kitchen, she noticed Hopper’s coat and hat were gone—he’d already left for work. 

Definitely busy. 

The TV was still on from the night before, the volume low, displaying the morning news. The girl went to the fridge, grabbed a carton of milk, and poured herself a bowl of cereal. The monotonous sound of the news anchor’s voice provided a backdrop to her routine, while Y/N sat down at the small kitchen table, stirring her cereal absent-mindedly as she listened to the news.

"In our main unfolding story, the body of Will Byers, a local boy who went missing earlier this week, was found last night in the Sattler Quarry. Authorities are still investigating the circumstances surrounding his death."

Y/N’s heart ached at the mention of Will, the guilt still lingering in her heart. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to forgive herself, the situation seemed to shake the entire town. The girl took a bite of her cereal, trying to push her thoughts away, considering turning off the TV for the morning. She couldn’t take anymore. 

"And in a developing story, a Hawkins High student, Barbara Holland, has been reported missing. Authorities are urging anyone with information to come forward."

The spoon Y/N was holding clattered out of her hand, milk splashing onto the table. Her blood ran cold as she stared at the TV screen from the kitchen table, which now shows a picture of Barb’s school photo. First Will, and now Barb is officially missing? 

Y/N finished her breakfast quickly with what she could stomach and got ready for school, her mind racing. As she rushed out the front door, she grabbed her shoulder bag, making sure her sketchbook was inside. She’d been sketching the things she’d seen and dreamt about, and maybe—just maybe—there’s a clue hidden in her sketches.

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥

The bike ride to school felt like a blur. Y/N moved with the flow of students, her eyes downcast, trying to ignore the whispers and sidelong glances thrown her way. She knew what they were all thinking. First Will Byers, now Barbra Holland. Two kids were missing from this town, and Y/N knew both of them. The weight of reality settled heavily on the girl’s shoulders, making every step feel like treading through thick mud.

She reached her locker, her fingers fumbling with the combination lock, her mind too scattered to focus. Just as she managed to open it, a voice cut through the noise around her.

“Y/N, have you seen the news?” Nancy’s sudden voice was tight with worry, her eyebrows knit together, and Y/N turned to see her friend standing there—her eyes wide, face pale. She didn't look good.

Y/N felt a pang of relief upon seeing Nancy. She nodded slowly as she turned to her locker, glancing at the mirror she’d hung inside, catching her own reflection. She didn't look much better than her friend—her under-eye circles were darker than usual, and her eyes looked heavy with exhaustion.

“Yeah, I saw it,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The hallway seemed to close in around the pair, almost as if everyone was leaning in to catch their conversation.

Nancy glanced around, noticing the curious eyes of their classmates. She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, her voice shaking. “First Will, and now Barb? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Y/N bit her lip and felt a knot form in her stomach. “What if…” She paused, unsure if she should continue. 

“What if whatever happened to Will... happened to Barb too?” She asked, the thought chilling her to the bone.

Nancy’s eyes darted around again, ensuring no one was listening. “I don't know... I saw something last night, Y/N. Something... strange,” she said, her voice barely audible over the din of the hallway. “But I can’t talk about it here. I'll talk to you about it after school, okay?

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding. “Okay,” she agreed, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. She glanced around at the other students, all seemingly oblivious to the weight of the entire situation.

“After school,” she repeated, trying to focus on the promise of answers, however vague, that Nancy was offering.

Nancy nodded back, her blue eyes intense. “We’ll figure this out,” she promised. “Whatever’s going on... we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll get Barb back.”

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥

The bell echoed throughout Hawkins High, ending the school day that seemed to drag on longer than usual. Y/N made quick, rushed footsteps out of her last hour, saying farewell to her teacher, and tracking toward the parking lot. The girl followed the crowd of peers through the school doors, looking around for her friend Nancy, but instead—spot Steve Harrington and his group of friends, along with Jonathan Byers.

That couldn’t mean anything good.

The parking lot was busy—school buses traveled around to pick students up to go home, with others driving or biking to their houses. Hawkins Middle School was across the street from the high school, with some middle schoolers walking to the high school parking lot for rides from their siblings or older friends. It was a cloudy day, with a windy breeze sending chills down Y/N’s spine.

Y/N watched from a distance as Steve’s group gathered around Jonathan, who was trying to exit the situation. Tommy, the freckled boy, yanked Jonathan’s shoulder bag as he walked, stopping him in his tracks. A surge of anger flared up inside Y/N. Why were they picking on him? Especially now, with everything he was going through?

She saw Steve take Jonathan’s bag from Tommy, rifling through its contents while the rest of the group snickered. Carol stood by, a smug smile on her lips, and there was another girl with them—a dark redhead Y/N had seen around the school, usually with a camera. Probably in the photography club.

Y/N’s heart sank as she saw Steve pull out a handful of photographs. From a distance, she couldn’t make out what they were—but she knew they were Jonathan’s. The boy reached out desperately, but Steve held them just out of reach, taunting him before tearing the photos in half, his friends laughing around him. Y/N’s blood boiled. She started marching over, fury written all over her face.

Steve, finishing with the photos, dug into Jonathan’s bag again and pulled out a camera. Y/N quickened her pace, watching in horror as Steve inspected it for a moment, then let it slip from his hand, shattering against the pavement with a sickening crunch. Jonathan fell to his knees, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces. Y/N’s hands clenched into fists. She’d seen enough.

As she stormed towards the scene, Steve and his friends were already walking away, heading toward the school building. He spotted her approaching, a smug look crossing his face.

“Watch out for that freak,” Steve called over his shoulder, jerking his thumb back toward Jonathan.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Y/N hissed, stepping into Steve’s path and shoving him hard in the chest. Her eyes blazed with fury, searching the boy’s face for answers.

Steve staggered back a step, surprised. “Oh-ho! Watch out for Ms. Prissy,” Tommy snickered, his arm slung around Carol, who blew a bubble with her gum she smacked on, watching with a gleeful expression.

It’s almost like they were born to be assholes.

Y/N ignored them, her glare fixed on Steve. “That ‘freak’ over there was just minding his own damn business! And you just had to destroy his stuff for no reason? Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his expression turning cold. “That freak was stalking us. He took pictures of us at my party last weekend. Photos of us in the pool, in my house—from my backyard. Creepy, don’t you think?”

Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “What, did he catch you hooking up with your ex?” She shot back, recalling the rumors she’d overheard in the hallway.

Steve’s smug facade faltered for a moment, a flicker of panic showed in his eyes, blinking—trying to process what the girl just said. “How do you know about that?” He demanded, his voice rising slightly.

“It’s no secret, Harrington. Word gets around fast in this school,” Y/N said, her tone cold. “But that doesn’t give you the right to trash someone’s stuff, especially not someone who’s dealing with as much as Jonathan is.”

Steve’s face hardened again, masking his surprise. “Whatever. He’s still a freak and a stalker,” he said dismissively. “I’ve got a game to get to. Try not to get too upset, alright?” He shoved past Y/N, bumping into her shoulder, with Tommy and Carol following with mocking grins.

Y/N rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath as she turned back to help Jonathan, but someone grabbed her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

“What are you doing? I thought we were biking home together,” Nancy said, her voice laced with impatience.

Y/N turned to face her friend, frustration in her eyes. She gestured toward Steve and his group walking away, then to Jonathan, who was kneeling on the pavement, gathering the torn pieces of his photos and the shattered remains of his camera. Understanding dawned on Nancy’s face, and she followed Y/N over to the boy.

“Hey,” Y/N spoke gently, crouching down beside Jonathan. Her tone softened, seeing the distress in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry about what they did. It was messed up.” She began picking up the torn photos scattered around him on the pavement. Nancy joined her, and the two girls silently offered their support.

Jonathan gave a small nod of thanks, his voice flat but appreciative. “Yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, stuffing the pieces of the ruined photos into his bag.

As Y/N gathered up the torn fragments, one caught her eye. She froze, narrowing her eyes to make out the shape in the darkness. Her heart skipped a beat. She recognized it instantly—tall, monstrous, just like the figure she’d seen in her dream that is sketched in her notebook.

“Jonathan,” Y/N called out, holding up the piece of the photograph. “Can you zoom in on this? Is there any way to make it clearer?”

Jonathan looked up, confused by her urgency. “Uh… like enlarge it? I don’t know, why?” He was hesitant, his hand hovering over the piece.

“Steve told me what you did,” Y/N announced quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. “And I get it. I do, but that doesn’t matter right now. I just need to see this up close. Please,” She handed the photo to him, her eyes pleading.

Nancy leaned in, peering over Y/N’s shoulder at the fragment. As she got a closer look, her face paled, and her expression shifted to one of dread.

“That’s what I needed to tell you, Y/N,” Nancy said, her voice low, hesitating before she began speaking. 

“Yesterday, I went looking for Barb in the woods. I thought I saw a bear at first, but it wasn’t right… And whatever it was—I think it looked like that.”

Jonathan stared at the piece, realization dawning on him. He swallowed harshly, his voice almost a whisper. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but… my mom’s been saying things. Describing something… like this. She thinks—she thinks this is what took Will.”

Jonathan glanced up at Y/N and Nancy, hesitating for a moment. “And I think I’m starting to believe her…” 

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐚𝐛

The heavy metal door of the high school’s red room creaked open, revealing a dimly lit space bathed in the eerie red glow of the safelights. Jonathan stepped inside, holding the door open for Nancy and Y/N to follow. Y/N clutched her shoulder bag, thinking about how she’d always been interested in photography but never had access to it—she was deeply fascinated, examining her surroundings.

Inside, the walls were painted a deep, absorbing black, which made the red light even more intense. Posters of famous photographs and student work covered the walls, some curling at the edges and held up by pushpins.

The room was small and cramped, with barely enough space for more than a handful of people. Several workstations lined the walls, each equipped with an enlarger, trays for developing prints, and an assortment of tools scattered in what appeared to be organized chaos.

"Over here," Jonathan spoke quietly, leading the girls to his workstation. He placed the torn piece of the photograph under the enlarger and turned it on, casting a bright light onto the surface. As Jonathan began his work, the two girls looked at each other, worry painting their faces.

“You were saying your mom… saw this thing?” Y/N softly questioned in the silence of the room. “Yeah, I know how it sounds…” Jonathan spoke, continuing to focus on his work. 

“Did she say where it might have gone?” Nancy added, with curiosity tracing her voice, folding her arms.

“No, except that she saw it come out of the walls,” Jonathan answered—almost as if what he said was normal, hearing a timer go off, placing the piece of photo in water to process.

“Have you been doing photography for a while? I’ve always been interested in it,” Y/N asked, changing the subject, watching the boy move the water around in the tray. 

“I mean, yeah… I guess I’d rather observe people, than—you know,” he paused, meeting her eyes. 

“Talk to them.” She finished his sentence. “I get it,” she shrugged, and as Jonathan was about to continue speaking, she looked over at the photograph, narrowing her eyes.

The image began to come into focus in the tray, revealing a scene that sent chills down the group's spine. Nancy and Y/N leaned in closer with Jonathan between them, their eyes widening as they saw the faint outline of a mysterious monster-like figure lurking in the background. The figure was barely visible but had enough detail on it—shrouded in shadows.

"That’s what I saw," Nancy shuddered, her voice tinged with fear barely above a whisper. She watched as her friend reached into her shoulder bag with urgency, pulling out a sketchbook, opening it—and searching through the book.

“What are you doing?” Jonathan questioned Y/N as she flipped through the pages, stopping on the one she meant to find.

“This,” Y/N said, pointing at the drawing in her sketchbook. The creature she had drawn was almost identical to the one in Jonathan's photograph. She looked up at Jonathan and Nancy, who were examining her work closely. It was the first drawing she had ever sketched of the recent nightmares—the one that showed the monstrous figure hunting a smaller, shadowy figure.

“This is what I saw in one of my nightmares,” Y/N explained, her eyes widening slightly as she connected the dots in her mind. “The night Will disappeared—on the sixth. It looks exactly like that thing in the photograph.” She pointed at the enlarged photograph Jonathan had just printed, her finger hovering over the indistinct creature lurking in the shadows.

Jonathan leaned in, his brow furrowing as he studied the drawing. “What’s that thing hiding behind the tree?” He asked, pointing to the small silhouette in the sketch. He met Y/N’s eyes, searching for answers.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, shaking her head. “I just... saw it—in my dream. That thing was hunting it. It felt so real.” Her voice was low, as if speaking louder might make the nightmare reality.

Nancy's face was etched with worry, her eyes flicking between Y/N and the drawing. “How the hell did you see this?” She asked, her voice edged with disbelief.

Y/N shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she repeated, her voice tinged with frustration. “I keep having these damn nightmares…”

The three stood in silence, trying to process the weight of what they were seeing. The only sounds were the soft hum of the ventilation system, and the rhythmic dripping of water from the large industrial sink in the corner. The red glow of the safelights bathed their faces in an eerie light, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls, making the room feel even more isolated from the rest of the school.

Jonathan broke the silence, his voice trembling. “My mom… she’s been saying things, about that body they found at the quarry… She thinks it’s a fake. She thinks Will’s still alive.” His voice shook as he looked at the two girls, the fear and uncertainty clear in his eyes.

Y/N's eyes widened as realization dawned on her. “And if Will is alive…” she began, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Then Barbara might be too,” Nancy finished, her voice catching in her throat.

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫

It was late afternoon, and the soft golden light filtered through the windows, lighting up the trailer's interior. Outside, the screech of tires announced a vehicle coming to an abrupt stop. Y/N stepped out of the backseat of a Ford, leaving Jonathan and Nancy waiting inside, and hurried toward the trailer.

She rushed inside, heading straight to her room. In a flurry, she grabbed a backpack and started packing—a flashlight, batteries, a water bottle, and a few snacks. Her movements were urgent, her thoughts racing with worry for Barb. They had to find her.

“What’s going on? Why are you in such a rush?” Hopper’s gruff voice startled Y/N as he appeared in her doorway, leaning against the frame.

“My friend Barb is missing,” Y/N replied, still packing. “I’m going to look for her!”

“No, you’re not,” Hopper said firmly, crossing his arms. “We’ve already got one kid dead and another missing, we don’t need more. We’re working on finding her. I’ll handle it.”

Y/N paused, frustration and guilt flashing in her eyes as she looked up at him. “But Hopper, she’s my friend! No one can find her! It’s only a matter of time before she shows up dead, just like Will. And it’s my fault—if I hadn’t left Will to go home on his own, none of this would’ve happened, I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

Hopper’s expression softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. “I said no, it's not your responsibility. Go tell your friend Nancy and that Byers kid to go home, I saw them through the window. Joyce is probably worried sick that he’s not home by now.”

Y/N zipped up her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder defiantly. “What, am I on lockdown now? You don’t understand, Hopper. Something’s wrong. I can feel it,” Her voice was tinged with desperation.

Hopper walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. “I know you’re scared, kid,” he said gently. “But it’s my job to find her, and we will.” His eyes met hers, conveying a sincerity that made her pause. 

“Trust me on this, okay?”

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, the tension in her shoulders rising—biting back her tongue before she said something she’d regret.

“There’s another search party tonight,” Hopper continued. “I’ve got to handle some things for Will’s mom, too. But you—don’t do anything stupid. I mean it.” His tone was stern as he stood up, heading for the door.

“I won’t,” Y/N mumbled, feeling a sense of defeat. 

“And tell your friends to go home. If I find out you left this house tonight, there will be consequences.” Hopper added as he left the girl’s room, the door firmly clicking shut behind him. 

Y/N stood alone in her room, the weight of helplessness pressing down on her. She heard the front door open and close as Hopper left. She dropped her backpack on the floor with a sigh and glanced out the window, seeing Jonathan and Nancy still waiting in the car, watching as Hopper got into his vehicle.

The girl walked outside to the Ford, approaching the driver’s window, which was rolled down. "Where's your stuff?" Jonathan asked from the driver's seat, his arm hanging out of the window.

“Hopper won’t let me go out, he has me on lockdown or something,” She sighed, frustration evident in her voice, meeting Jonathan’s gaze.

Jonathan looked at her, puzzled. “Wait, you live with Chief Hopper?”

“Look, it’s a long story,” Y/N replied, rubbing her forehead. “There’s a search party that Hopper told me about going on soon. Let me know if you find anything. And be careful, okay?”

Nancy nodded from the passenger seat. “We will. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

The girl watched as the pair drove off, the sound of gravel crunching under the car’s tires fading into the distance. She stood for a moment, the cool breeze brushing against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Y/N turned and traveled back inside, hoping against whatever hope there was left, that her friends would find something—anything, that could bring the missing back.

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[ohdearlingwhathappened]

A Pair Made in the Pits chapter 2

Falling Behind Part 2

Chp 1, Chap 3

A/n: Here's Chapter 2 of this series. I have started my current semester, so chapters are going to be quite slow. Apologies in advance! This has primarily not been beta read, so let me know if you find any discrepancies. And most important, enjoy the chapter!

Having two robots kill them all by driving into the side of a cliff after quasi kidnapping them was not how Y/n thought this would go down, but with a shriek, she closed her eyes and silently asked any deity that may exist to please rain vengeance down on her kidnappers. That is, until she realized there were no sounds or feelings of the crash and the light beyond her eyelids dimmed from the harsh Nevada sun; opening her eyes, she realized that they somehow were now in a grey corridor that eventually lead to a rather large open room in which two more robots stood, probably having been alerted to their arrival considering their already apprehensive looks. At Bee’s stopping, the younger boy Y/n now knows as Raphael, or Raf as he prefers, gets out and she slowly follows him out and takes her place standing in front of the children. She knows, logically, that if anything were to happen, she likely wouldn’t be able to stop anything, but she might be able to buy them time, at the very least.

“I thought there were two.” The red and white robot questions the blue and pink bot. He was the first one Y/n had seen once they had entered the clearing, of sorts. He had been standing over by what looked to be a large computer, though she supposes it’s quite normal sized, or possibly even small, for them.

Ever snarky, the effeminate bot responds, “Haven’t you heard- humans multiply.” before walking more over towards the middle of the room.

Y/n snorts, unbelieving of the situation she and these kids are in, and looks around before hearing human-sized steps moving past her and toward the hulking figure of the green robot, “Miko! Don’t-”

“I’m Miko! Who are you?”

“Bulkhead?” The larger, green robot seemed tense, obviously not used to talking to many other humans, especially teenage girls, most likely. Oblivious to the apparent nerves, Miko gives an excited gasp and begins her questioning.

“Are you a car? I bet you’re a truck. A monster truck! Do you like heavy metal? How much do you weigh?! Have you ever used a wrecking ball for a punching bag?” The questions were an absolute onslaught that, despite not being the one having the questions shot at them, were making even Y/n’s head spin. 

“Miko, hon, give um- Bulkhead- some space to breathe. Besides, I think there are more pressing matters at hand here.” Putting a hand on Miko’s shoulder, Y/n pulls the young girl away. Receding into her thoughts she tries to determine who exactly is in charge, so she can begin ripping into them, and no offense to any of the present company, but they don’t exactly seem like the leading type. “I’m sure one of these robots will have an explanation as to why we had to be dragged out to the middle of nowhere, instead of just letting us go back to our lives.”

“Puh-lease.” The red and white bot scoffs out, leading to Y/n glaring up at him. 

This is the second time one of these indicated that they aren’t all that meets the eye, and the lack of explanation is beginning to make Y/n’s blood boil. However, before she is able to snap back some witty remark, heavy footsteps draw her attention back to another tunnel that weirdly appears to have an almost immediate dead end, but looks to have metal arches and wiring throughout the skeletal infrastructure, to see the largest one of these robots yet. 

“We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron, also known as autobots.” His deep voice rumbles throughout the room, making Y/n feel as if she could feel the vibrations in her very bones. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Jack take a few steps forward and doesn’t stop him. For some reason she can’t explain, the alien before her has eased some of her worries and fears, making her trust that the kids were in safe hands. Just by answering a question.

“Why are you here?”

“To protect your planet from the Decepticons. We came here after our home became inhabitable after years of civil war.”

“I take it those are the guys who attacked you and Rafael last night? My turn for a question- why are we here?” No matter how much some of the explanation put Y/n at ease, there was still a lot to go over, hence why she dons the defensive and accusatory tone and crosses her arms. “No offense, but your war has nothing to do with these children. Why bring them here and further risk their endangerment?”

“Ms. Y/n-” Miko tries to interrupt, but the woman is quick to give her a pointed look.

“No, Miko.” She looks back up to Optimus Prime, and keeps her pointed look on her face, “Don’t you think yesterday was stressful enough for these kids? They are teenagers- Raf is only 12! They should be worrying about their grades, what new video game is coming out, who their soulmate is and what their quote says- not some intergalactic war.” Y/n huffs, annoyed with the situation in front of her. She may not be these kids’ parent, but she does feel responsible for them. “If it was a few other adults or even just myself, that would be different. We’ve gotten our quotes,” her words begin to fade, and she hangs her head, “even if they might be fucked.”

Miko flinches at the misted mention of her teacher’s quote. Having been a host student partially under the care of Y/n for nearly a year now, knows of the woman’s quote circumstances. When the teen came to the states, she had been ecstatic to get away from her overly controlling parents, but she didn’t exactly trust anyone in Nevada either. In a way to get her to open up, Y/n sat her down in one of the offices of the school and played a sort of 20 questions with the girl, to help her loosen up. The questions could be as impersonal as what’s the best place to get food in Jasper, or as personal as questions regarding her quote. 

“So I can ask anything?”

“Yep. Anything you want.”

“And you aren’t going to back out if I hit some sore spot?”

“I promise I won’t. You have my word, Miko.”

“Okaaaay. How old are you?”

“Oooo starting off on the hard-hitting questions, huh?” Y/n smiled and pretended to think about it, “I know I must sound ancient, but I’m 26 years old.”

“Meh, you aren’t as old as my parents, so you aren’t that old.” Miko leans back in her chair, thinking about what to ask.”What’s your relationship like with your mom and dad?

“Well… my mother died when I was 12. It was a car crash- she was a lovely woman, from what I can remember. My father, on the other hand, changed after her death, and once I got my quote, he kicked me out.” She shrugged, smiling faintly. It wasn’t a fond memory, but it was nearly 10 years ago, so the pain had faded, but some scars still remained- metaphorically and physically.

“Your quote is that bad? What is it?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, what language is it?”

“If I knew that, I would know what my quote says, wouldn’t I?” 

“Can I see it?”

“No.” The smile evaporates from Y/n’s face, not a trace of it remaining.

“But you said-”

“I said I would answer your questions, Miko, and I have. This is the one limit I have, and I request that you respect that… Ok?” Miko’s eyes flicker between Y/n’s and nods. Noticing the tension, Y/n smiles gently and clears her throat, motioning for the girl to continue- “Now back to your questions- I can’t imagine you’ve gotten them all out.”

“I understand your worries… Ms. Y/n,-” The giant in front of her snaps her out of her reminiscing; it had only been a year and yet the girl had become a trusted and dear person, to Y/n. “-but Decepticon activity has spiked, and with some of their warfront having seen the human children, I fear they may not be safe. Our war has been ongoing for a long time, and while we have not seen nor heard of their leader, Megatron, if his return is as imminent as I believe it is, it would be best to keep the children, and you, in our care whenever we are able.” Optimus looks down at the woman before him, the worry obvious on her face, and kneels down to better look her in the eye. “I assure you. These children will be safer nowhere else.”

“You understand this is a lot to take in, right? I am going to have to not only have the burden of these kids’ safety on my shoulders, but I am going to have to lie to both pairs of Miko’s parents and if I see Jack or Rafael’s I’ll have to lie to them as well. If anything goes wrong, I will never be able to forgive myself.” Y/n’s arms wrap around herself, hands gripping onto the fabric of her blouse. She breaks eye contact with Optimus and looks Jack, Raf, and Miko over, trying to confirm what she was thinking.

The truth is, the woman had already made up her mind, but she was hoping for a slip up, a wrong comment, anything for her to be able to deny the mechanical giant before her. But looking into his eyes, there was nothing but determination and truth glowing from his steady gaze. She drops her shoulders and brings a hand to rub her face, regretting the action slightly when she feels some of her mascara come off in small grains- today had been long.

“I understand your concerns-”

Y/n lowers her hand and looks back at Optimus with determination of her own.

“But I believe you will keep them safe.”

The base is quiet until Miko lets out a cheer of excitement and throws her arms around Y/n’s neck, thanking her for choosing the right choice, before going back over to the boys and speaking rapid fire- likely about how cool this situation was and how much fun they were going to have. 

Miko always had the ability to look at the brighter side of situations- apparently even when being taken under the supervision of giant, alien robots who call themselves Autobots. Raf, despite the little time she has spent with the young boy, Y/n can see that he is a more positive person, with a somewhat more logical spin on things. Finally, there was Jack Darby- a boy who she had seen throughout the halls of the high school and of which Y/n was able to make acquaintance with his mother- a nice woman, a little older than Y/n, who liked to drop off things like a lunch or Jack’s work uniform to the office whenever she got a moment away from the hospital; Jack was more of a mystery to the woman- only knowing he became embarrassed when his mother came to the school and that he was doing just fine in his academics. 

“Optimus, with all due respect, the humans are in as much danger here as anywhere. They have no protective shell!” The grumpier mech of the bunch brings up his own counter argument, waving his hand to refer to the four humans before continuing, “If they get underfoot, they will go… squa-iish.” 

“Hey!-”

“Then for the time being, Ratchet, we must watch where we step.” Optimus ends the argument before it can truly begin, cutting off Y/n and inadvertently telling the other bot that the humans will be staying for the foreseeable future. 

But before anyone else can get another word in edgewise, a green light begins flashing while an alarm blares throughout the compound, making the bots turn to the giant computer screens and the humans stiffen.

“What’s that?” Jack calls out over the alarm, bringing Bee’s attention back to the group, the beeps and chirps from earlier is the only response he gives.

“Proximity sensor. Someone’s up top.” Raf pipes up from behind Y/n, making her quirk an eyebrow at the fact that he can understand the yellow bot, but it is quickly overshadowed by the fact that another human is aware of the Autobot’s existence. 

“That would be Special Agent Fowler- he is our liaison to the outside world. As he tends to visit only when there are issues, it may be best if you do not meet him at this time.” Optimus turns back to the four smaller individual in the room, once he was aware of who was dropping in to visit, and at his explanation, Y/n reluctantly ushered the children to go hide around the corner of the platform, positive it would keep them out of sight, just as long as this Agent Fowler didn’t walk too far forward or do a survey of the base’s condition. As the leader of this group spoke to the agent, Y/n turned to the children and pinned them with narrowed eyes.

“While the boys are talking, I’m setting up ground rules,” Y/n whispers, her hands finding their place on her hips as she begins her little TED talk about spending time with giant robots. These children would listen to her whether they wanted to or not, “First of all, and quite possibly the most obvious- no talking about this with anyone, not your parents- host, biological, or otherwise; no one at school; work; band; clubs- nobody. Second, they are in a war- this is not an intergalactic daycare program- this is not fun, happy times-” As if on schedule, Bulkhead ripped a piece of equipment out of the electrical socket it was welded into and crushed it while speaking to Fowler, “-so treat it like the warzone that it is. Third, none of you are to go on any kind of mission. I don’t care if they need a human sized partner for some easy peasy scouting mission, if one of you are able to fit in a small area, or whatever the hell they do- they have the help of the government, so they can ask them for any help. The fourth, and hopefully the last rule, be careful and rely on me. Jack and Raf, I know you two don’t know me very well, but I promise you can come to me for anything.” She looks at Miko and grins, “You already come to me instead of your host parents- that still applies here. You kids are my responsibility and priority- if something happens at any point, you get the fuck out of danger. I don’t care what you lose- your phones, a school book- it doesn’t matter. Am I understood?”

All three of the kids nod, each murmuring some form of affirmation of hearing her.

“Great! Sounds like the agent has left, so let’s rejoin the lot of them and figure out where to go from here.” Y/n, dropping the serious- and downright intimidating- stance she held, smiles and walks around the corner not waiting for any more of a response from the three. 

“What do you mean Cliffjumper’s life signal came back online?” Arcee, who had previously been leaning against the elevated platform that leads to the elevator which Agent Fowler had left through, straightens and approaches Ratchet and his computer systems. The kids, following Arcee’s interest, had made their way up onto a railing-lined platform to get a better look at the computer themselves, leaving Y/n at the base of the main structure’s stairs. “Is that possible?”

“It shouldn’t be. It’s probably this primitive earth tech that we’re stuck with.” Ratchet slams his fist against the base of the computer, hoping it would possibly make the computer 

“If there’s any chance Cliff’s alive-” Arcee looks up to Optimus, hope for their previously thought-to-be dead comrade easily seen throughout her body.

“Ratchet, prepare the sick bay- we may need it.” The stoic bot nods to the others and they all begin to walk towards the stunted tunnel Optimus had come from earlier, leaving Y/n to wonder if there was some other sort of trap door like there had apparently been when she and the kids entered the base with Bumblebee and Arcee. Miko, as if already forgetting what she was just told, leans over the railing,

“What can we do?!” The girl was thrilled at the prospect of seeing some giant robot action, only to be brought quickly back to reality.

“Absolutely nothing! Did you not remember a single thing we just went over, young lady?!” Y/n snaps, making the girl visibly droop and glance at Optimus, hoping for another reaction.

“Miss Y/n is correct, you will stay here- with Ratchet.” His words ring with finality, making both Miko and Ratchet give a whine and groan respectively, and before anyone knows it, a portal appears composed of all sorts of shades of blues and greens. It would have been gorgeous, if it’s appearance wasn’t so sudden and startling. “Autobots, roll out!”

And just as fast as it appeared, almost as soon as the autobots disappeared into it, so did the swirling mass.

“What just happened?!” It was now Jack’s turn to nearly fall over the railing, leaning as far out as he could- as if he didn’t believe his eyes. To be fair, Y/n herself was still trying to believe hers. 

“I transported them to the designated coordinates via the groundbridge.” Ratchet explained nonchalantly, as if whatever he just said was common knowledge. 

“Oh, yes, because that explains everything.” Y/n grumbles to herself, tired of all the new information she’s been receiving today. She already had to deal with one attitudinal robot after dealing with attitudinal children and coworkers all day, she was not going to listen to another one for whatever condescending and blatantly bothered comments he may throw at her and the kids’ way.

As he gives the kids a rundown of the “groundbridge”, Y/n half listens as she looks around the base, trying to get some stable understanding of where she is; with everything changing and new information being thrown at her every five minutes, the need for something to be relatively unchanging was almost necessary, unless Y/n wanted to pass out from information overload.

The base itself is older- it had to have been abandoned by the government far before the Autobots arrived. And upon further inspection, there are three tunnels, not two. There’s the tunnel they arrived through, the stunted tunnel that holds the technology for the groundbridge, and then there’s the third tunnel that Y/n could only assume went further throughout the silo’s infrastructure. Walking towards the new area, she begins to wonder about the bots’ living quarters. 

I wonder if they have their own rooms here. I can’t imagine them all spending every second of every day with each other- they’d go mad. I wonder if their suites would be suited to their vehicle forms… like a kind of habitat. Pfft they could call it a habsuite. Though, that sounds as if I’m likening them to animals so perhaps not. Having a short giggle to herself at the random word, Y/n’s thoughts are abruptly cut off by Optimus’ voice coming through the computer system ordering Ratchet to open the bridge-thing. Heading back over towards the ambulatory mech and the kids, she notices a lack of a new body among them.

“Cliffjumper?” Ratchet inquires, bringing everyone’s heads to hang, confirming the worst news- he was gone. The air is solemn, the loss of anyone- mechanized or organic- is always a hard blow to be dealt to one’s psyche, and Y/n’s heart goes out to them for the loss of their friend. 

“What was that explosion?! Was there a fight?! Can I come with, next time?!” Miko once again taking her place at the railing, misses the que that now is not the time to be asking about their next adventure. Y/n knew the girl was just excited, but she was coming across as insensitive.

“Miko-”

“Hey hey, Miko, let’s go see what the bots hide in their sock drawers.” Thankfully, Jack had a better grasp on the situation and led Miko away so that what happened could be discussed, despite her aired grievances.

Optimus approached Arcee gently, it being obvious that she was the most shaken up over what had happened on the other side of that portal, “Arcee, what did you see?”

The bot in question wrapped her arms around herself. Any trace of the spunky bot who Y/n met earlier that day was gone, leaving behind a shaken, hurt woman who was still in shock after seeing her friend gone.

“Not Cliff. At least, not anymore. He was mutated. Butchered. Like… something from those con experiments during the war.” And before anyone could catch her, her knees hit the ground and her arms caught one of the cases to keep herself up. Bee whirred in what could easily be understood as concern for his friend, but she waved him off, “I’m fine… just dizzy.” 

Ratchet, the obvious medic of the group, immediately begins running diagnostics and scans, finding what Y/n could only see a glimpse of some kind of purple goo.

“Cliff was covered in this stuff- leaking it.” Upon hearing this, Ratchet scrapes some off of her and tells her to take a decontamination bath at once. She nods and accepts Bee’s help to the makeshift shower. 

“Optimus?” Jack calls the attention of the giant mech who leans down slightly and waves his phone a little, “I hate to bug but no bars?”

Not having even thought about the time, Y/n looks down at her own and startles at the time blinking back at her- 10:32. While it might not be a big deal for her, she can only imagine the panic the kids’ parents might be going through. Miko might have the excuse of going over certain study materials with Y/n, but the two boys had nothing to protect them from their parents’ wrath. 

“I didn’t even think of curfew!” Y/n yelps. “Miko, I don’t normally encourage you to lie to your parents, but this is kind of a special case. Just let them know I was helping you with some of your studies and wanted to speak with you about possible extracurriculars. I’m sorry, boys, but I don’t know if I can help you come up with any excuses as to why you’ll be getting home so late. I suppose you can partially blame me, Jack. Your mother has my number, so she might call me, and I can cover for you.”

“Earth customs… I hadn’t considered.” Optimus hums stands upright. “The issue of your safety remains. Bulkhead, accompany Miko home and maintain covert surveillance in vehicle form.”

“Curbside duty, got it.” He nods in response to his orders.

“Bumblebee, watch over Raf. And Ratchet-”

The mech doesn’t even turn around, “Busy!”

“Arcee, you’ll accompany Jack.”

After a moment’s pause, she brings a hand to her forehead and heaves a sigh, “Oh, still dizzy.”

“You’re fine, says your physician.” Ratchet deadpans, foiling Arcee’s attempt to get out of babysitting, leading her to hunch her shoulders and groan.

“And I will join you to your home, Ms. Y/n.”

“Oh! Um alright.” A sort of awkward smile is shot up at him and with everyone’s positions set, the humans get situated in their guardians and they all ‘roll out’.

*       *       *        *       *       *

The drive back to Y/n’s home was quiet. Staring out into the desert seemed to be the only option she could come to; today was… something. One second she’s hearing yet another rambling session from Mrs. Albert and now, she’s riding home in a sentient semi-truck that can transform into a metal man from outer space. A metal man who seems to have the worlds on his shoulders and on top of it all, he’s lost another soldier- another friend just hours ago. There is nothing Y/n could possibly say to begin expressing how sorry she is for his loss and for adding to his already-present, heavy workload. Not that she had the time- even though she could have sworn she had just been looking at the wide expanse of the desert, Optimus was rolling up to the front of her house. 

After a moment of neither of them speaking, a sound that would normally be the noise of a semi stopping rings out, and the air coming from his vents could easily be understood as a kind of exhale in attempt to gain Y/n’s attention, “Ms. Y/n, we have arrived.”

“Just Y/n is fine. Unless you’d like me to start calling you Mr. Optimus or Mr. Prime.” The woman snorts and the seats vibrate slightly as a low chuckle runs through Optimus’ alt-mode.

“Understood.”

“...I-... I’m sorry. About your friend, I mean.” Fiddling with the ends of her right-hand sleeve and noticing it had started to bunch up at some point in the day, she pulls it as far down as possible. 

“Cliff Jumper was a brave soldier and good friend. I will see him and our other lost friends when I eventually rejoin the Allspark.”

“The Allspark?”

“A well of power and energon from which all life on Cybertron came from and will return to- until all are one…” There’s a wistfullness to the mech’s voice, as if there are more meanings to the what he’s just said, ones in which he yearns for. Jolting himself out of whatever thoughts were whipping around in his head, Optimus continues, “...but that is a story for another day. For now, you must recharge. I will see early tomorrow morning, Y/n.”

The door to Y/n’s right pops open, and she hops out- albeit a tad awkwardly- and looks back at the semi, “Thank you, Optimus. For promising me to keep us, but most importantly the children, safe. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

Stepping into her house and into her bedroom, she didn’t even get the chance to change out of her work clothes. Looking at the bed, she decided it would just be best to just pass out and deal with anything that needed to be done in the morning. Before long, her eyes were fluttering shut and sleep finally had her within its grasp. That is until one particular realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Her car was still parked in the school’s parking lot.

What a day.

Taglist: @the-unhinged-raccoon, @hystericalanarchy

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part three

art by the insanely talented @stainedlilac!

author’s note: sorry for the delay but i've been tinkering with this for a few months! i get married in a week so this is my wedding gift to you all. it's here and he's stoney-baloneyed and hot and bad and our poor reader is falling right into his trap. we got some defiling of a scarf this chapter. it's about 4.1k words. part one here, part two here. ao3 linky.

“She’s not even listening!”

Your eyes blink into focus on Catherine who is laughing. You groan and lovingly give her a dirty look.

“It’s Friday, let me zone out if I want to.” You slouch in your seat and twirl your glass in your hands. What had they been talking about? You try to remember but they are right — you absolutely have not been listening and you do feel bad about it. It’s been harder to make plans ever since you started your new job, despite the normal hours. Most nights you come home exhausted but also strangely excited for the next day to start. This is the first time you’ve seen your friends since and you should at least try to pay attention. 

“Okay, okay I guess zoning out is okay. I guess you can’t do too much of that at your new job?” Erica chimes in and leans over the table closer to you. “I feel like whenever we didn’t have calls we would always have these zone out staring contests.” 

“Oh my gosh, yes. And then we would realize that we’ve been staring at each other for a weird amount of time.” You give a soft laugh. You do miss working with Erica but you don’t miss the job. Catherine starts to chime in about how she barely has any time to zone out as a teacher and your mind starts to drift again, having heard this kind of talk from her so many times before. 

You think about what happened today. There have been situations over the last few weeks that made you ache in ways you know you shouldn’t for your boss but today might have been the most intense one yet.

You can’t stop thinking about it. 

***

You walk into the den and immediately smell the strong aroma of marijuana which means that you are getting goofy Terzo. There is still some hesitation in your steps, not wanting to bother him especially since from what you can see he is in the middle of watching something. You take a few moments to scan over the den. In the corner of the room is a wooden bar with a fancy cabinet behind it filled with fancy liquors and crystal glasses. You’re surprised by how stylish this room is compared to the rest but then again, the lights are off. 

Terzo is snuggled up on the couch in a t-shirt and shorts, his body draped across the couch entwined in a blanket. Your gaze drifts to the television and you gasp, giving up your position in the room. Terzo’s eyes immediately find you and he gives you a sleepy, sideways grin. His makeup is smudged which is common but it looks particularly messed up around his eyes. He’s been wanting you to come in here to see him, his mind wandering from the television every so often to think what would happen if you did — and now you’re here. 

“Ah, toppolino! Come, have a seat.” He slinks into the corner of the couch, offering you the space next to him as he gives it a few pat, heavy-lidded eyes giving you a flirty look. You swallow thickly, hesitating for what feels like an eternity before you relent, your feet feeling heavy as you walk over to the couch. You take a seat where he gestured and he’s quick to offer you the half-lit joint between his fingers, his shoulder leaning against yours as he quirks a brow. A breath catches in your throat — you’ve worked for him for weeks now and he always offered but something always held you back from accepting. 

Not today. 

You take a deep, long drag as he holds the lighter to the joint, his eyes never leaving your face. It burns but you don’t cough, perhaps trying a bit too hard not to. Terzo is so pleased, his smile only widening as he watches you inhale and exhale the weed. He feels a rush from you finally giving into this temptation, having tried to lure you in since you started. You don’t know that he’s been eagerly awaiting you to accept because he saw it as another step closer to doing what he wants with you. He’s slowly trying to wear away at your boundaries, especially after your reaction to him raising his voice to you. Terzo knew he could get you to play along. 

You feel him relax next to you, leaning in to rest his head on your shoulder as he turns his attention back to the television. Your eyes stay trained on the floor for a long moment, caught off guard by him. A blush rises to your cheeks. You choose not to think too hard about it and end up being your gaze up to focus on the footage playing. 

“I didn’t think you were in an acoustic band.” You say after a long moment of silence, becoming distracted by the video. It’s of him, dressed in the clothes you’ve grown so used to seeing in photos, performing to a small crowd of people, flanked by two men in masks. Terzo laughs, deep and full, and it makes you smile. He doesn’t laugh like that often. 

“I am a man of many talents, puffetta. This was to give the public a little taste of myself and the new album. We did a handful of these acoustic shows.” He picks up some blanket and smoothes it over your lap, heat rising through your chest up to your cheeks as his hand lingers in your lap for a moment. He notices. He always notices. Fingers lightly drift up the top of your thigh before he gently takes your hand in his. Your breath catches in your throat. Terzo’s touch is so soft, his hands feeling like butter as he places your own in his lap.

“You have a very nice singing voice.” Your voice comes out quiet like a house, almost shy about complimenting him on his talents. But in truth, it draws you in like a siren song. The way he moves his body, using his hands to accentuate the lyrics, and the deep eye contact with the camera and those in the crowd, is all but an act of seduction. You almost catch yourself swooning at the way he croons before remembering that he is sitting right beside you on the couch, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand that’s currently in his lap. The weed is hitting and you find yourself staring at the way his thumb moves, the way it feels against your skin, your eyes hazy and your cheeks starting to burn.  

“Grazie a mile. I see you like my dance moves too, eh?” He nudges you playfully and you giggle. Giggle! The weed is hitting. You are comfortable next to him, eyes hazy as your attention shifts from him to the videos and then back to him every so often. The more you look at him the more you notice how the brightness of his face starts to fade until his lips are pressed into a straight line. Maybe it’s difficult for him to watch this, his glory days, which seem to be such a thing of the past for some reason. 

“Have you thought about getting the band back together? Or doing some solo shows or something? You look like you belong on the stage.” 

“It doesn’t work like that, toppolino. My time was up and that was that.” He gives a sigh, shaking his head. There’s genuine sadness in his voice. You don’t understand how it could be so difficult for him to perform again but you choose not to pry. If he wants to talk about it, he would and his short response tells you all that you need to know. Silence passes between the two of you and Terzo lets go of your hand only to curl both of his arms around your waist. You rest your own hands on your stomach and he places his own on top of yours, fingers stroking gently at your wrists. It’s like he knows every way to take your breath away.

Terzo slips his shoulder behind your back, his chest pressing against you and he rests his head on your own shoulder. The two of you continue watching in comfortable silence, his wonderful singing voice filling your ears, his quips and jokes making you giggle. You feel moved by his former self and you feel… bad for him. You never had before but now, seeing how much he thrived in front of a crowd, how at ease he was and how their energy fed him compared to him living completely alone in a giant house makes your heart feel heavy in your chest. It doesn’t last too long, though, his deft touch and the way his exhales tickle your neck clouding your mind along with the weed.

Even with the slightly uncomfortable topic of conversation, Terzo is buzzing. It is taking all of his self control not to pull you into his lap and slip his hands between your legs, to feel if you are as aroused as he is right now. He wants to taste you. He wants to make you whine, to make tears stream down your face from how good he makes you feel, to hear his name dangling off your lips while you are completely at his mercy. Terzo grits his teeth as he holds himself back, trying to revel in the moment without pushing too far.

You start to feel hot. Tension building inside of you that is making it hard to focus on the video. You become all too aware of the way you’re breathing, chest rising and falling with each deep intake of air. Your head starts to feel heavy and you lean back, further pressing your back against Terzo’s chest. He makes a quiet, surprised groan, his hands squeezing your wrists tighter. Your cheeks flush and you feel a familiar throb between your thighs, shifting your body to try and stifle it but it just makes you press even further into him. It feels like something is about to snap inside, a bad decision about to happen even though it’s all you want right now until —

ZAP! 

You swear you see a flash of green and then there’s a sharp pain on one of your wrists. A surprised yelp spills out of you and you quickly snatch your hand from his grip. Terzo moves impossibly fast, somehow already on his knees in front of you, your delicate wrist already in his hand. 

“Oh no, have I hurt you?” He sounds sick with worry, his fingers lightly brushing over the spot.

“Just a shock. It’s all—“

“Non muoverti, prendo del ghiaccio.” Terzo murmurs and climbs quickly to his feet, leaving you alone in the room as videos of him play on the tv. You have no idea what he said. You run the pad of your thumb lightly over your wrist, reaching the mark only for it to sting from your touch. He’s back and on his knees before you again, already having your wrist in hand as he presses an ice cube wrapped in a paper towel to it. His sleepy, black locks fall into his face as he looks up at you. You watch as he stays focused on you and your reactions while he knits his brows, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Care is written all over his face.

It makes you feel wanted. 

“I am so sorry, toppolino.” His voice cracks as his eyes drop down to your wrist. He wants to kiss it better so badly. How could he have done that to you? What even was that? Terzo’s mind flickers back to how you felt against him, how warm you were in his arms. He feels a pang of anger for having that moment ripped from him. You reach out and lightly tousle his hair.

“Don’t worry.” You smile shyly and pull the ice cube from his hand so that you can hold it yourself. “I should check how the landscaper is doing.” You almost feel guilty for leaving him but you’re a teensy bit too high to handle the intensity that is radiating off of him. Terzo nods slowly but he still stays kneeling in front of you as you stand. The look in his eyes sends shivers down your spine. You reach out and ruffle his hair as another reassurance but you can’t help but get caught up feeling how soft it is beneath your fingers before leaving the room. 

Terzo stays on his knees and presses his face against the cushion of the couch after you’ve gone. Your scent lingers on the blanket. He groans quietly and digs his hands into it, bringing it up to his face. He was so close. So close. Terzo could almost taste you.

How much longer could he wait?

***

“New job is taking up a lot of your time, huh?” Erica asks as you eye your drink, contemplating if you should have another. There’s judgment in her voice but you ignore it, chalking it up to her being maybe a little bit jealous that you’ve escaped the call center. 

“Oh, definitely. He’s kind of a mess.” You smile and end up sliding your drink to the center of the table, deciding you’re finished for the night. It is Friday but you still have to drive home and you’re not trying to stay out for longer than you have to. “Rich, though. And also loves weed.”

“He sounds perfect. Maybe you found yourself a sugar daddy.” Catherine speaks up and you find your cheeks flushing red. It’s not the first time you’ve thought of Terzo as daddy. 

“He’s already paying me a lot.” You give a shrug, attempting to push the thought of how he had yelled at you, his anger making your core ache for him in a way you’ve never felt before. “But maybe — I might be open to it.” They both giggle. Your mind starts to wander, thinking about what he might be doing now. 

Terzo clocked the scarf you removed from your neck that morning. It’s a deep red with a black floral design and a silky texture. You left it on the entryway table and when you left for the day you didn’t notice that it was gone. In fact, you completely forgot all about it. Terzo had grabbed it and slipped it into his pocket before scurrying up the stairs to hide it away in his bedroom. Now, he is laying in bed with it in his hands, feeling the soft satin against his fingers. Maybe he would keep it forever, hidden away in a drawer in his room for him to use when he is missing you. Maybe he’d start a collection of your things.

He hums quietly, tilting his head back against one of his pillows as he brings the scarf to his face. Terzo takes a deep inhale, breathing in your scent and then giving a rumbling moan. He was so close to having you today. He could see it in your eyes how badly you wanted him and then he ruined it. Terzo pulls the scarf from his face, dragging it down his chest before settling it against his shorts. His cock is already bulging and throbbing underneath the fabric just from your scent and reminiscing about earlier in the day. He is certain that the seed is planted, all it needs to do now is take root and grow.

But it would have been so easy to take you today. He could have moved his hand closer and closer to that spot between your legs, lightly drifting his fingers along the seams until you couldn’t take it anymore, begging for him to go just a bit further. You would have spread your legs wide from him as his hand slipped down your pants, toying with the waistband of your panties. 

“Fuck.” Terzo’s hips jerk from the scene he has come up with in his mind, pressing your scarf more firmly against his bulge. His thoughts are a blur now, jumping ahead in his little fantasy to think about how your tight little cunt might feel around his pulsing cock. Terzo would keep you in his lap, hands firm on your hips as he pushes in as deep as he possibly could. He imagines what you might sound like, soft little sounds spilling from your lips while you take him. And then, he would stay still and make you squirm, make you beg for him to move his hips, to take you and –

A growl catches in his throat as he makes a mess in his shorts, his hips stuttering and his free hand fisting into the covers. Terzo could never finish out his fantasies of you, always reaching the point of no return before any real action could be thought up. His chest rises and falls, giving strangled breaths as he closes his eyes. How long would he last when he finally fucks you? His lips curl into a small smile at the thought – even if he cums early he would make sure to play with you until you're a whimpering mess. He sits up in bed and lifts the scarf to examine the damage: if there are any cum stains on it. None that he could see. He hums in satisfaction, dropping the scarf back in his lap but his gaze stays fixed on it.

An idea crosses his mind. 

You’re about to ask for the check when your phone lights up. A frown crosses your face as you focus on the message preview.

You left your scarf. Come get it. Now.

“What is it?” The concern in Erica’s voice snaps you out of your trance. The color has drained from your face, anxiety brewing in the pit of your stomach from his tone. You left your scarf and Terzo sounds pissed about it. Is he in one of his moods? He has hardly ever texted you nor has he asked you to come by after hours before. You suck in a deep breath and grab your phone, slipping it into your coat pocket.

“Duty calls.” You offer a weak smile, your heart pounding in your ears. “Everything’s fine. Uh, just shoot me a venmo request for what I owe for dinner, alright?” Before they get a chance to respond you’re walking away from the table, brisk steps as your breathing starts to speed up. You can’t help but feel like you’re in trouble even though you don’t know how leaving a scarf could be a punishable offense. Your brain typically jumps to the worst possible conclusion, especially when your boss is the one aggressively texting you at 7:30pm on a Friday evening.

“Hey! Wait!” Catherine is chasing after you, nearly out of breath. You blink and realize you’re already at your car door, your feet having taken you where you needed to go while your mind raced. 

“I said you could shoot me a Venmo request—“

“No, no, this isn’t about that. I promised my brother I would ask you-“

“Dylan?” 

“Y-yeah, he’s been asking about you. A lot. He wanted me to ask if you were interested in getting dinner with him sometime.” Catherine is nearly out of breath as she rattles the question off to you. To say you are frazzled is an understatement. You’ve had a crush on Dylan since you were a kid and even though so much time has passed since then, the two of you having grown up, you still had a soft spot for him. You wish you could take a moment to fully comprehend the fact that your childhood crush is asking you out for dinner (through his sister, which isn’t the best but can’t win ‘em all) but the gnawing stress of Terzo’s text overrides everything. 

“Sure, yeah!” You are frantic, quickly getting into your car and then shouting through your window that is not rolled down. “Give him my number or whatever!”

And you’re driving away. There is no way you can think about anything right now, your thoughts running together in strings that make no sense. But there’s no way Terzo could be mad at you because you haven’t done anything wrong. Your feet slam on the breaks, throwing your car into park and opening your door in one swift movement. The rambling thoughts that had been clouding your brain disappear once you see him standing on his porch, waiting for you. You suck in a deep breath and hold it for a moment before getting out of the car, forcing yourself to mellow out. The last thing you want to do is march up there guns blazing. 

He is absolutely delighted. You came when he texted, sparing no time and not even giving him a heads up you were on your way over. He must have weaseled his way deep into your head and it makes groan to himself, eyeing you in your car. Terzo wonders what else he could ask of you. 

“Buonasera, toppolino! You did not answer my text.” Terzo waves to you, the scarf dangling off of his fingers. He doesn’t sound angry whatsoever which is baffling to you. You end up standing right in front of the porch steps and he is towering over you on the top step, his shoulders broad in his smoking jacket. Terzo’s face is blank but there is a spark of mischief in his eyes as he starts to twirl the scarf in front of you. “Is this a gift you left me, eh?” He’s wearing his smoking jacket again but with a dress shirt underneath that is tastefully unbuttoned to expose his dark chest hair. You’ve seen it plenty of times before — he had a knack for being shirtless in front of you but this felt far more enticing, like he had framed his chest just for you.

“I forgot it! I don't even remember wearing a scarf this morning.” You cross your arms, eyes narrowing at him. Still a goof it seems. “Was it really important to have me pick it up now? Was my scarf bothering you?” You’re teasing but there is an edge to your voice because how could you not be annoyed at the situation? He worked you up for no reason. You left dinner with friends for this. Terzo’s lips twitch into a grin and he tilts his head, eyeing you suggestively. 

“Scusi? I am being a gentleman, puffetta.” He dramatically walks down the stairs until he is on the last step, still towering above you as he brings the scarf up to your neck. Your breath catches when his fingertips brush along your neck, looping the scarf around your neck and making sure to touch your tender skin more than is necessary. “I don’t want that pretty little neck of yours to get chilly.” You forget why you were frustrated with him in the first place as he touches you, your lips quivering and your skin burning from the sensation. Terzo is so handsome in this light, the dark paints around his eyes making his mismatched irises glow. He cups your jaw and tilts your head back, looking over his work of tying your scarf firmly around your neck, thumb lightly grazing along your cheek.

You look delicious to him with your lips parted and your eyes half-lidded. Terzo could easily take it too far, he thinks about gripping your neck and squeezing just to see what would happen but baby steps. You would be begging for him to touch you sooner or later. His thumb swipes at the corner of your lips before pulling his hand away from you and taking a step back up another stair, miraculously not tripping over his own feet. The two of you stand still and stare at each other before finally you adjust the scarf around your neck that he tied just a tad too.

“What does puffetta mean?” You break the silence. Terzo’s brows shoot up as he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, giving a small shrug.

“Smurfette.”

“Smurfette?!” That has never been one of your guesses. 

“A term of endearment, puffetta.” He watches you flounder deliciously. “I’ll see you Monday morning.” Terzo winks and turns on heel, walking inside his quiet mansion and turning off the porch light to leave you in darkness. 

The nerve of him. The absolute gall to have you show up here only for him to dismiss you so quickly. You breathe heavy, realizing that your legs are wobbling from the way he had touched you. 

You want more.