#once again not listening to what i day nor taking me seriously is gonna bite yall in the ass and youre gonna blame me for it

[one-silly-cart00nist]

Memory Lane [Velvet & Veneer]

Am I writing for Trolls? I guess so :'D Inspired by THIS fanart

Wordcount: 1.3k past bullying, hurt/comfort, mentions of canonical troll abuse

The cell is small and unceremonious. Cold most of the time. The space is empty, spare for a twin bed and a desk. White walls that could seriously use a wallpaper treatment but the torturing temptation to glamour this place up is probably part of the punishment. 

A guard shows up three times a day to escort them to the cafeteria and the showers. (Those are gross. No use without slippers.)

Overall it’s not that bad. 

Boring and dull. Sure. But honestly that’s a pleasant change from the hustle of fame. No schedules to attend to, no guilt crippling up your spine. 

He’ll miss the yachts, and the stylists, and the modelling gigs… but he’ll survive. 

His sister on the other hand… 

Velvet has fallen quieter ever since their sentence started. Once she finally accepted that making scenes won't get them out. He hated seeing her helpless but Velvet made it clear none of his attempts to play therapist will help. Not even a little “you’ll get wrinkles from frowning that much” nor a little shimmy to the beat of their favourite songs. 

If anything, bringing up music made it worse. 

Which made sense… 

Veneer too wished it wouldn’t have ended this way. He wished it would have ended sooner, the ethical crimes at least. If Velvet listened and they tried practice maybe none of this was necessary. They could have just asked the troll to teach them to sing! 

On a rare night when Veneer felt courageous enough to speak up, he suggested just so. But Velvet burst out laughing like that was the best joke she’s heard all year and rolled her eyes. “Why bother asking if you can just take it?” 

Back then that was all it took. One word from her made Veneer bite his tongue and lower his head. Because she wasn’t that wrong was she—it was nice, all the wealth, all the positive attention. He wasn’t used to the latter. 

Veneer didn’t care about fame as it was, not until he tasted it at least. But who wouldn’t want attention? Who wouldn’t want the world to echo with praises to their name? 

That’s what she promised. 

°

°

°

Suburb house and dentists for parents. Not a pitiful life by any means. It still felt lonely spending half of their lives in school among kids who looked down upon them. At least they have each other. 

And sometimes that meant vibe checks at 1AM on the bathroom floor doing each other’s make up. Veneer’s favourite sibling bonding activity.

This time however the vibes were off. Deep blue. Less vibrant navy. 

Veneer could barely hold back hiccups, still too shaken to let go of the earlier events of that day. They were worse that day. Harsher than usual. Or maybe Veneer was just tired, weakened from the nonstop pushing and pulling, to have let them push him that far into the corner. 

“Are you gonna let him boss you around forever? Haven’t I told him off? Want me to bite harder next time?” 

Veneer shivers at the memory. Velvet’s teeth sunk into that guy’s forearm was terrifying but for wholly different reasons than what’s been going down beforehand. Now that he looks back it’s almost funny. “Geez girl you’ll get yourself expelled if you keep that up…”

“Perfect auditions backstory—kicked out of school, all hopes shattered but the humble dream of a star!” Velvet mused. 

“You’d have to survive mom’s lecturing first though,” Veneer teased her. A scoff is all he got in response, and the room fell quiet again. They’ve gotten quite loud with their conversation. If they don’t want to be caught here and now, they should tone it down. 

(And Veneer really doesn’t want to be seen like this—with eyeshadows and green nail polish. It’s a look for his own delight. For Velvet, when they pretend to be celebrities while they brush their teeth. For himself, to feel pretty.)

“Must I go to school tomorrow?” 

“Unless you want to be the one lectured…” Velvet echoes his own warning. 

“I’ll just get teased again…” 

He reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Velvet stops him, slapping his hand away, waving her own hand as a reminder his polish is still wet. 

“What a drama queen. Like I won’t. Do you see me complaining?”

“Well… yeah. All the time.”

“Gah. Cause they’re just being awful,” she groans and rolls her eyes while her hand flies mindlessly into the air, sprinkling a few drops of nail polish onto the tiles. Mom will kill them if that leaves a stain. Velvet doesn’t notice. “But we’re better than them! We’re better—than anyone. We’ll make them see.” 

She always sounds so sure of herself, so ambitious. It’s something Veneer has a hard time pretending. He’s grateful to have a sister like her. Someone to help him stand up on his feet and push him forward. Even if he doesn’t always see or like where they’re headed. 

Everything is okay with Velvet there. She’s always there for him.

When the kids at school make fun of his love for dancing, Velvet’s there. Words sharp like razors but pointed away from him. 

When he comes home crying. And shuts himself in the bathroom because they still share a room even at fourteen and he doesn’t want a confrontation. There isn’t a no confrontation option when your sister is Velvet, though.

She’s here. 

On the cold tiled floor of their bathroom, in the nook furthest away from the door where she’d lured him out from underneath the sink. She’s not even complaining about interrupted beauty sleep. 

She grabs his chin with the hand that’s holding the brush, turning his head. Her eyes are intense for a moment, distant like she’s not even looking at him. And then she softens, leans back. Pats his cheeks for good measures before she returns to the task at hand. “Wrinkles. You don’t want them, Ven.”

°

°

°

The world would see them and like them for a change. 

Veneer had to promise some things too: to stop crying at every mishap, to follow Velvet’s lead and never turn back. A compromise. 

First of many. Some more fair than the others. 

Guess there was a gradual change in attitude on her side throughout the years. Veneer wishes he would have noticed sooner. That he would have had it in himself to resist. But the truth is—he owes that part to someone else. 

They never asked for his name but Veneer thinks he caught it among all the chaos of that fateful Rage Dome performance. A troll named Floyd. Whom they have kidnapped, exploited, abused, and almost killed… Not proud of that one. 

Yet that little soft guy still spoke to Veneer’s heart in a moment of panic and desperation. Echoed words that were already there locked in the closet with everything else Veneer wasn’t ready to think about. Seeded a spark of hope. Not quite confidence, but close to it. 

How did a little guy like him see through Velvet better than her own brother…? 

Well he did spend months with them in the diamond prison. Must have heard enough. And he hadn’t known her at her best like Veneer did, so memories didn’t cloud his vision either. 

Who knows—maybe he had a sibling like her too and knew exactly what was going on. 

None of that matters anymore though. He did what he did. 

Veneer wonders if he’d have shared more wisdom, would they have had time. Would he have listened to him sooner. He almost regrets letting him free, but the keyword is almost. He looked so much happier hopping with his little friends than he was clawing at the perfume bottle walls. 

Too bad they got arrested right afterwards and Veneer hadn’t even had a proper chance to thank him. 

He hopes to meet him someday again. 

In better circumstances, but hopefully soon. 

[beann-e]

Summary : You were just a little insecure and insecurity’s never hurt anyone right

Your eyes pranced around the gym as you watched your boyfriend go up for his twelfth spike in his volleyball game . You hadn’t been counting but you knew for sure he’d made somewhere around there anytime you turned around you would see him up in the air hitting something you just weren’t fast enough to make out

Your hands coming up in a loud clap and cheer when you seen him make the last hit the ball making a loud thump throughout the court

You were happily screaming out his name until your eyes caught wind of someone yelling slightly louder than you

Eyes moving over to said someone every few seconds trying to check them out

Your cheering stopping when your eyes raked over her outfit that barely covered her legs a sweatshirt with your boyfriends name and number on the front and back you’d have thought she was his girlfriend

You decided to let her cheer for him as you placed yourself softly back in your seat taking in a cool breath of air as your eyebrows came together eyes shifting to the floor quickly before they ran back to the girl who’s friend was lightly tapping her

you biting your lip as she turned to you speaking loudly “ uh — hey if your gonna give me a love confession here don’t ok — “

she smiled widely “ i’m here for someone “ her painted thumb moved to the back of her jersey showing off the name as you stuttered and moved out the seats head low and hands sweaty

‘ she just doesn’t know y/n , and it won’t matter anyways— ushi doesn’t care for her he doesn’t even know her your ok y/n your relationships ok ‘

you moved to enter in through the lower level of the gym just in time to see the team bowing and giving their thanks ushijimas eyes scanning the seats looking for you until you waved slightly at tendou who moved you over quickly to ushijima

“ he needs some love — some cuddles he’s been practicing all week endlessly please reward him y/n - chan “

he sighed as he pouted putting his elbow on your head as you two stood in front of your boyfriend

“ he won’t take my hugs “

“ because your hugs always turn into something more “ he said facing tendou

you laughed “ something more ? is there something your not telling me —do you have a crush on my boyfriend “

“ no y/n who’d ever have a crush on ushiwaka-kun hes so — oh my condolences I forgot you were dating him “

“ tendou i’m sure you’ve said the wrong thing you give your condolences when someone or something has died “

tendou draped his body over yours “ no trust me something has died —“

“ what “

“ the conversation “

“ I do not understand “

“ how do you put up with him “

you smiled as you embraced your boyfriend. Arms barely wrapping around his body fully your poor body being suffocated in his chest and arms

“ bewause whes ‘ so fufffy “ your voice came out strangled as his grip was pressing you into his chest before he allowed you to look up at him

you smiled as your thoughts from earlier quickly vanished “ wakatoshi “ you said as you stared at him

“ yes my love “

you smiled softly “ I’m enough right “

“ more than enough —though I could fill my physical hunger with another match but why are you asking “

“ no reason “ you pulled away from him as you inched over to stand next to tendou again you knew ushijima liked physical touch when it was you but , he also still needed some space it was a lot all at once to just throw your love at him and he needed time to warm up to it so you always started out small .

“ ok so what are we doing after this “

“ i’m walking y/n home “

“ i’m allowing ushi to walk me home “

“ allow but you always beg me “

you pouted “ no that’s not true “

“ yes or you get really mad at me and then I go back to my house to find a deflated volleyball on my bed the next day “ tendou choked as ushijima continued

“ I always have to buy another practice volleyball too it makes me never want to do what I did the previous day again “ he shivered as you smiled

“ at least I still leave the she—“

“ USHIJIMA-KUN“ a loud voice rang through the gym causing both tendou and your boyfriend to scratch at their ears after hearing loud noises non stop on the court “ ushijima-kun i’m a big fan “

he turned to the girl as you smiled

“ you can go “ you said softly knowing he would ask you first but this time you decided to just let him leave talking to tendou as some time passed by until you seen a sight you’d rather not have

your eyes widened as you saw the same sweatshirt from earlier in the crowd ice running through your veins as you saw her with her polished hands on your captains uniform

“ earth to y/— hey what’s up why are you looking like that “

you smiled “ oh I just got confused for a moment“ you looked to the floor before looking back over to the wicked sight taking place next you

Taking side glances every so often to see her hands traveling to different places

“ let’s go talk to ushiwaka ok “ tendou said happily understanding what was happening to you he never wanted you to be jealous of someone else let alone feel insecure especially when so many were jealous of you and you didn’t even know

You both made your way up to the people in front of you hearing the end of the conversation

“ ushijima-kun why aren’t you talking “

“ because I want to respect my s/o and your advances seem wrong “

“ their not I swear — we can be friends I’m sure your s/o wouldn’t mind you just speaking to me right — their not mean right ushi-kun —someone mean doesn’t fit you —you need a friendly person “

“ I do not like that nickname “ he stared at the girl in front of him “ and I am also not talking to you because I simply just don’t want to talk to you “

“ h-hi guys “ you moved to hold your hand out to the taller girl “ h-hi i’m y/n wakatoshi’s s-“

“ oh god ushijima-kun this persons a stalker they were up in the bleachers not that long ago trying to confess to me “

tendou scoffed as he turned to look away feeling the embarrassment for the girl grow in waves

“ i’m sure my s/o’s not looking for someone else nor are they interested in friendly girls as far as I know “

he turned to you stoic face resting on yours “ are you y/n “

“ w-wait s/o “

“ yes that is what I said —you are a good listener “

“ did you just call them your s/o “

“ nevermind “ he looked towards the girl “ I take it back you are not a very good listener “

“ I-i’m sorry for earlier I was just — you were wearing my boyfriends jersey and I — I was a bit confused“ you smiled softly “ but if you wan-“

“ ushijima—kun — I really liked how you played in the volleyball game “

“ thank you what was your favorite part “

she shook not expecting the question before she put her hands in her pocket “ oh um when you hit it — that was totally cool and it made a loud echo “

“ oh you must not know volleyball terms “ he said confused “ if you want i’m sure “ he turned to you

“ y/n can you help her out — y/n watches all my games and tells me what I need to improve and what I did wrong i’m sure they could help find the play you were talking about they remember them all —they’ve been doing this a long time “

you smiled knowing that’s not what the girl wanted before playing with your thumbs looking away from the scene “ love are you going to help her she seems“

he spoke confused at the girl in front of him “ she seems quite upset “ he put his hands in between the two of them “ ma’am I assure you—you have nothing to worry about not understanding one of my plays—or the game itself is ok — do not be mad at yourself — my s/o will supply help “

tendous laugh came out as he moved his hand over it to turn it into a cough

“ tendou are you in need of water I would gladly go get you a bottle “

you knew ushijima felt uncomfortable and was trying his best to get out of the situation “ yeah you two can go get water i’ll explain your play to — um what was your name “

she looked from you to ushijima twirling her hair “ um sai “

“ oh ok sai —i’ll explain your play to her “ you moved to hug tendou as ushijima gave your hand a squeeze before walking off “ ok so the play I think your talking about is when goshik— “

“ I don’t know what your playing at but you need to stop “ her voice was sharp “ I don’t know if he’s your brother and your just joking to get me off his back or if your the sibling of someone on the team but “

your eyebrows came down as she was beating into you “ it’s not cool i’m sure you just got mad that I rejected your confession and so you came down here to screw over my chances with ushi “

you thought to yourself ‘ he only lets me call him ushi‘

your face dropped into a sad pout “ h-he’s just my boyfriend really i’m not lying “

“ but you are — look I feel bad really does he even know your going around lying to people like this and did you tell him the meaning of s/o meant something else “

“ no like I said he’s my boy— “

“ why do you keep saying that “

you kept saying it more so for yourself than for her you wanted to remind yourself that he loved you and not her that he was your boyfriend even through all her mean claims that she spit at you next

“ look you need to stop being a liar liars don’t die peacefully — no one would want to date someone like you “

her hands pulled at your hair and shirt “ look at how your dressed your so — your dressed like a child — a little boy and your hair is horrible and not brushed are you seriously thinking in your mind that your dating the ushijima ace of Shiratorizawa he may not be captain but still “

she scoffed as she stepped back “ look at you-- this just proves that your a liar if you were dating him you’d have tough skin seeing as though he has more fangirls than Oikawa — it’s literally only me down here and your on your knees crying in my face like a wounded dog “

you knew it was wrong to cry and have your head to the floor but you knew she was right . Why would ushijima like you let alone love and date someone like you when she was here

Her tall slender legs everything that you wanted , height something you always dreamed of , clear skin something you’d never managed to hold for more than a week and body exactly what you asked for in your prayers

Your mind couldn’t help but think she was more of a perfect fit for him than you’d ever be

and you just couldn’t see where you could be wrong

“ like I said stop lying and back the fuck off — I don’t know how you managed to manipulate ushijima into dating a fucking weird evil person like you but it’s not cool “

“ I find it quite cool how they got together actually“ tendous singing voice cut through as he took a sip of his drink

“ if you mean manipulating me with her patient heart and understanding for my busy schedule than yes y/n you really are evil “

“ I mean are you sure your not the weird one here — your the one trying to beat someone else into saying their not dating someone — like their relationship is gonna change if you get her to agree with you“ tendou scoffed continuing to speak to her

“ they’d still be dating no matter if she said no or not ushijima only has two things he focuses on volleyball and y/n so “

“ yes he’s correct volleyball has my heart in a way —and y/n has my mind— it’s hard to focus on anything else when she’s sitting in it all day “

“ told you — you had no chance even if you did make shorts to go along with that handmade jersey — which you really should have made —your legs look awfully cold “

“ he is telling the truth your legs have goosebumps — I really do hope you brought a jacket “

“ and I don’t know if your friends — the same ones laughing at you from the balcony right now “

tendou looked up waving at the girls “ hi margo “ the girl waving down happily

“ I don’t know if they told you before you came down here but they knew y/n and ushijima were dating so really your the stupid one not my best friend here “

he moved to drape his arm over you as he pointed at the girl

“ I mean your not stupid — that’s mean but you look really bad right now—yes “ ushijima cut him off as his stoic voice shook the girls core everytime he spoke

“ also I meant to tell you since y’know your friends didnt — your jersey you made “ tendou spoke

“ how— howd you know I made it — maybe I g-got it from— “

“ stop lying to yourself — ushijimas name is spelled wrong and hes not just the ace like your jersey says — he’s the captain ? “

the girl shook as she moved to play with her hands in embarrassment you finally noticing she had the words ace underneath ushijimas name that she forgot to add and I to before the j

“ well I do hope that’s not how people spell my name that looks deathly scary “

“ you may go “ tendous voice came out as the girl hurried off ushijimas loud deep voice making her freeze along with everyone else in the gym

“ Hey sai “ she turned to look at him tears in her eyes as his eyebrows furrowed “ you are very talented but — id like if you could put your talents to other use and maybe write my s/o a card explaining how pretty they are “

he looked to you “ their feelings are hurt and you are the reason and instead of fighting you in a volleyball match since you don’t have a team nor do you know anything about the sport “

the girls at the balcony laughed moving to leave the girl as ushijima continued “ i’d rather just have you sit down and rethink your hurtful actions and think about how pretty my s/o actually is — inside and out“

he nodded his head at the girl “ do you think you could do that “

tendou squeezed you in a hug as he draped the rest of his body on top of your head “ it’s either that or I continue to cut into you — I know I could do it for hours “ he sung out the girl crying as she shook her head in a yes motion leaving you alone with the two males around you

“ are you ok y/n “

“ yes love are you doing allright — I had a feeling something was wrong so I came back immediately “

you smiled softly “ e-everything is fine thank you both really “

ushijima looked to tendou as the latter understood and moved to whisper in your ear “ y/n I do think your really pretty myself and if you and ushijima weren’t happily together for 2 years already — and he didn’t do it like he does now — I’d make sure you knew your beautiful everyday “

you smiled at his kind comment you knew he just wanted to make you feel loved and to not believe your thoughts right now

“ do not listen to tendou he would have had no chance to date you seeing as though I liked you and am a lot bigger “

tendou laughed “ y/n doesn’t care that your big ushijima id totally win “

“ no she does — you have no space for her to crawl and cuddle on “

tendou waved him off as he walked towards the rest of the team as they closed the door and left you two alone in the gym leaving you to stare up at your boyfriend only to sit back on the bench

“ i’m sorry to make you do all of that ushi I just — I felt like I couldn’t say anything “ you bit at your lip

“ I don’t want you to think i’m weak and that you have to constantly remind me that you love me or even just to have someone who can’t stick up for themselves “

“ you are not weak “ he said as he sat down next to you “ you are one of the only people who can handle my energy and not break “

you laughed “ you have no energy ushijima “

“ if I have no energy then how do I play 2 matches of volleyball ? “

“ I mean no energy like that “

“ y/n I do not understand you are making no sense to me my love “

you laughed as more tears fell out “ I know ushi I know “

“ I do not understand why you are crying — If you understand that I do have energy that is no reason to cry just because you were wrong “

you played with your hands as he reached out to hold them rubbing them softly “ you do not have to believe her she was wrong “

“ was she though “

“ yes or I would not have said that just now “

he looked to wipe your cheeks “ you do not have to cry because you choose to believe baseless lies “

he wiped your eyes “ that is your own fault that you are sad right now —because you want to believe those idiotic claims“

he faced you as his hand moved to rub your cheek “ You are very beautiful and your smile makes me smile which I did not know I could do unless I was playing volleyball with my dad — that was the last time I smiled y/n—I thought i’d lost the emotion and you found it “

he sighed “ I look forward to my time with you because you always manage to make me smile and feel comfortable which I havent felt in a long time you make me feel loose and not so uptight “

he laughed “ there are times when I feel like tendou while hanging out with you and I cannot say I don’t enjoy it “

you smiled as he ran his thumb over your lips “ I love you no matter how you think you look or how others think you look — what I really love you for is your patience with this sport and my love for it “

you shook your head in a yes form you really did love him and you would wait anytime he said he had practice and couldn’t see you — only because you knew he had a talent and could go far with it and you didn’t want to be the reason he stopped short “ I love you y/n “

you smiled “ you couldn’t have said it with more meaning “ you laughed

“ well yes I could have used it in a way that has a different meaning the word means a lot of different things “

“ no I mean you couldn’t have said it without your voice sounding so bland “

“ what do you mean —does my breath smell bad is that whats making the words so tasteless to you“

you laughed “ no ushi I just meant to say them with meaning “

he smiled laughing while he spoke “ y-y/n I do not know what you mean my love “

“ like that “ you smiled hearing the happiness in his voice “ just like that “

he pulled you into a hug kissing your head “ I love you y/n more than the feeling of that last point I just scored — and more than the sport I wake up to practice for every morning “

[rendevousz]

not a lonely birthday

teen!actress!reader x platonic!jeremy renner

brief reader x marvel cast

req by @maximeevansblog : The reader (me ) is dating jeremy renner its the readers birtday, and jeremy renner spoiling her, taking to the hair salon and to the nail salon , and the trows a party for her, and he asks her to marry him, and a couple months later the reader is asked to been on say yes to the dress and alot of fluff please (i'm so sorry i couldn't write your exact request. i added the other cast too but it's still mainly jeremy renner so i hope you enjoy this still)

summary: you thought you were gonna have to spend your birthday alone but jeremy had other plans.

word count: 3296

note: i told her i couldn't really write romance because my blog is mainly teen!reader and she said i could just turn it into an x teen!reader so i did. i mean, i can write a non teen!reader but it probably won't be anytime soon so i'm not taking requests that aren't x teen!reader as of now <33

"are you sure you'll be okay?"

"yes, mum, i'll be fine here. i've been doing fine for the past two and a half months, what's another week without you guys gonna do to me?" you told your mother on the phone, rolling your eyes at her excessive, unnecessary worrying.

"we're so sorry about this, sweetheart," you heard your dad speak and you figured he must've been listening the whole time. your mum must've had it on speaker since the beginning of the phone call.

"you shouldn't have to spend your birthday all alone. i promise we'll make it up to you, honey." your mother spoke again and you groaned. "i keep telling you that it's fine. and what do you take me for, a loner? i've got the others here, mum, i'll be fine." you told her, a smile ghosting over your lips at how concerned she is of you.

your birthday was coming in two days and having a whole movie to film meant that you weren't allowed to leave the country for just a weekend to celebrate it with your family. so, they worked around your schedule and planned a trip to visit. unfortunately, your idiot of a brother managed to get himself into a skating accident and had to be hospitalised, affecting their whole plan of coming to celebrate your 18th birthday with you. well, not on the day of your birthday, at least.

"i'll make sure sarah'll bring you out to celebrate, okay? i'm so sorry about this, y/n." you could practically hear the pout in her voice and you held back the urge to tell her off for profusely apologising, you didn't want to receive a beating when she finally arrives here.

"i'll be fine, mum," you whined. "as i said, i'll be filming on my birthday too so i'll at least be with the cast then. it's never a dull day with them. and i'll be waiting for your gift from sarah on my birthday." you teased her. you knew she had a habit of getting birthday gifts way too early. for once, she was grateful for that because she had given sarah—your manager and also a family friend— your birthday present for her to safe-keep in case anything like this happened and she couldn't give it to you on your birthday.

"i'll give you permission to whack your brother once we come." your dad tells you seriously and you laughed. "thanks, dad. i'll be sure to remember it. anyways, i have to get back on set soon. i'll talk to you guys when i can?"

"of course, honey. have fun on set!" your parents bid you goodbye and you hung up with an adoring smile on your face. you missed your family and having been able to hear your parents' voices for a mere five minutes was enough to cure it for even just a little bit. sure, you were disappointed that you weren't going to get to spend your birthday with them but spending it doing what you love—acting— with the people, aside from your family and friends from home, that you love—the cast— didn't sound so bad.

"i'm so sorry about this, darling." you heard someone say, effectively breaking your train of thoughts. you turned to the source of the voice, meeting the hazel eyes of your manager and long-time family friend, sarah. she pulls you in for a hug that you groaned into but still returned. you rolled your eyes playfully when she let go. "i'm not upset, sarah."

"i know. but you're disappointed." she says softly, fixing your costume after the hug messed it up a little. "maybe i am, but it doesn't matter. i chose this life so technically i brought all of this upon myself. i signed up to have a normal life stripped away from me." you told her honestly, internally cringing because you hadn't meant to get that deep.

"y/n," her hands rested on both of your shoulders and she looks down at you with that stern mum glare she'd give you whenever you were being a little troublemaker. she was practically your second mum, having promised your own that she'd take care of you whenever you had to travel for filming.

"i know, i know, i'm sorry. i didn't mean it in a bad way. i love my job but it sucks that i have to be far away from family, you know?" you sighed. "i understand, darling. it's hard but hey, i'll be with you the whole day, okay? we'll go out and have a nice girl's day out together, do whatever you want. that sound nice to you?" she places a gentle hand against your skin, careful not to rub the fake dirt and wound makeup on your face.

"that sounds great, sarah. i have only a half day of filming that day, right?" you ask her, knowing she remembers your schedule better than you yourself do. "yup. anyways, they need you on set 3. get out there and make me proud, darling."

-

"and....cut!" the director called out and you dramatically dropped limp against the wire harness attached to your body, the wires holding up your weight so you didn't drop down to the floor but also didn't have to remain standing on your own.

you heard sebastian laughing, him being the closest to you in the scene you had just filmed. "you tired, y/n/n?" evans chuckled as he walked towards where you and seb were standing. "yeah, i just wanna sleep right now." you told them, standing up on your own when a crew member wanted to get your harness off.

"well, at least you get to rest now. you're done for the day right?" seb asked, the three of you now walking to the snack table together. "yeah but sarah wanted to take me out so maybe not rest but i'll get to relax. that's good enough," you say, peeling off a banana and taking a bite while the two men drank some water.

"she's taking you out later today? is there a special occasion?" chris asked and you smiled at him. "nah, nothing much. she just thought i've been stressed lately." you lied. you didn't want to seem attention-seeking for telling chris and sebastian that it was your birthday so you settled on a little lie.

"she's not wrong. you have been working hard and you deserve a relaxing evening off work." seb agreed.

"oh she's walking over here right now. are you going now?" chris asked, eyes trained behind you as he watched sarah coming closer. you turned around, meeting her frown-etched face and you blinked profusely in confusion. "i thought we're going in two hours?"

"y/n, i'm so sorry. some stuff came up and i have last minute errands to run all day," she told you, offering a guilty expression when your face dropped slightly. "oh.. i– um, yeah, it's fine."

"are you sure it's fine? i promised you though," she frowned. "it's fine, i know you have a lot to handle and it's totally fine if we don't go out today. i'll just take a nap and be on netflix all day, i guess." you joked but sarah didn't laugh. "sarah, it's fine. you know i've been wanting to catch up on a list of shows. when else will i be able to do this?" you assured her, trying to mask your disappointment.

"i have to go now. i'll make it up to you, darling, i promise." she gave you a hug before running off somewhere. you felt bad for her because she probably had to be running here and there all day but it didn't change that you were disappointed. maybe you really did deserve this for choosing this life.

"hey kiddo," you felt someone ruffle your hair and you were almost going to go off on them for doing that before remembering you had just finished your last scene for the day. an arm rested over your shoulder and you looked up to see jeremy taking over sarah's previous spot.

"um excuse me? do we not exist?" chris joked when jeremy didn't greet him nor seb. jeremy rolled his eyes at them, turning back to look down at you. "you did great today, kiddo." he complimented and you smiled, thanking him.

"wow okay, i guess we really don't exist, huh? c'mon seb, let's go somewhere else where people appreciate our presence." evans sassed, glaring at you two as both men strutted away.

"good riddance," jeremy said, dropping his arm so that you two were now face to face. "happy birthday, y/n." he says, handing you a little bronze coloured box. you gasped as you took it in your hands.

"how'd you know it was my birthday?" you asked him, eyes wide in surprise. "of course i know your birthday, kiddo. after all, you are my favourite co-star." he grins, gesturing for you to open the box.

you did and your hand immediately flew to cover your mouth in shock. "jeremy! you didn't!" you gently took out the necklace from the box, examining it closely. the charm was in the shape of your favourite animal and the chain was gold. this must've costed him a fortune.

"jeremy, you didn't have to!" you exclaimed, pouting at him to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right then and there. "kiddo, i love you a lot, how could i not?"

playing clint's adopted, eldest daughter in the films, as well as a member of the avengers, you and jeremy worked together a lot. he helped you a lot with practicing your lines and emotions for specific scenes and you bonded over so many things you two had in common. even off set jeremy still acted like your father so practically everyone knew how close you two were. if sarah is considered your second mum, you'd say jeremy is your second dad.

"so i heard sarah bailed on your birthday date today," he says as he helped you put on the necklace, smiling fondly when you looked down at it happily. "thanks a lot, jeremy. you really didn't have to," you hugged him tight, the man chuckling as he hugged you back.

"and sarah didn't bail. she just has errands to run all day. can't blame her, she's a busy woman." you told him. "yeah yeah, anyways, how 'bout i take you out instead? a birthday lunch and a day out with your favourite cast mate?" he wiggles his eyebrows at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"you don't have anymore scenes to shoot?" you ask. "i do but i have plenty of time before then." he replies. you agreed happily and he tells you to meet him outside the set in an hour so you two could change out of your costumes.

-

"you ready for the best day ever, kiddo?" jeremy asks as you entered the passenger seat. "best day ever? then shouldn't we invite the rest?" you teased, buckling your seatbelt. "hey! i'm pretty fun too!"

you chuckled at his childishness. "i'm kidding, you are fun. now let's go already, i'm starving." you complained and he started the engine, letting you play whatever songs you wanted as background to your small talk.

you had lunch first at your favourite restaurant but not before you two had a debate of whether you were allowed to because you were supposed to be on a diet during the length of the movie shooting and him ultimately going 'to hell with that diet, it's your special day' and then dragging you in. after that, he said he had a surprise for you and told you to just get in the car.

when he finally stopped somewhere, you realised it was a pretty well known hair salon in town and you tilted your head in confusion. why would he bring you here?

"you said you wanted to dye your hair, didn't you? let's do it." he says nonchalantly, unbuckling his seatbelt before you both exited the car. "are you crazy? we're still in the middle of filming!" you exclaim in disbelief. this man was crazy.

"yeah but it's not like they can't just get a wig of your current hair and use that for the rest of the filming. scar and lizzie wear wigs all the time, you can too. now let's go dye that stupid colour you want!" he cheers, tugging you along with him by your wrist, into the salon. you chuckled at his antics, letting him drag you.

the next hour or two was spent with you worrying that your parents would kill you for this, or worse, anthony or joe. you knew it would be a meltdown for them if you came back with your hair a completely different colour.

jeremy assured you that the russos, as well as your parents, would not get mad at this but you were pretty sure you'd get an earful from both pairs. you made him promise that he would talk to both parties that he was the one who convinced you to do this. but once your hair was done, all worries flew out the window as you admired your new hair.

"you look great, kiddo. this colour looks good on you." he looks at you with a fond smile, trying to resist the urge to ruffle your newly done hair but failing. you pouted at him when he did so, reaching up to fix it again. "sorry, y/n/n, couldn't resist," he states, pinching your cheek.

"alright, next stop now, let's go!" he pulls you by the wrist once again and you let him, used to him doing this already. the next time he stopped, you damn right almost had another heart attack because again, this man was crazy.

he did not just bring you to a nail place. surely he isn't about to let you get your nails done, right? the russos would have your head and his too if you were to get them done and casually get back to the studio.

"no." you said firmly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stayed seated in the passenger seat. "c'mon, y/n/n," he whined, throwing a tantrum outside the car door as he tried to get you to leave the car.

"no, jeremy, they'll literally send me back here to get it off because in case you forgot, in all my scenes, i don't have fancy nails." you reasoned, noticing that jeremy has now moved to your side of the car and the passenger seat door has now been opened, the man continuing to make a fuss closer to you now.

"no they will not, i'll make sure they don't. c'mon kiddo, it's your birthday, let's have a little fun!" he says but you were still unsure about the whole thing. "i don't know.."

"okay fine i guess i'll tell you this now. they didn't want to tell you until later today because they wanted it to be your kinda birthday present but your avenger suit has changed. it's not like the one in the last movie, it's got gloves now! and the rest of your scenes excluding the last few ones are all in your superhero suit right?" your eyes widened at this new information, a smile growing on your lips.

"wait, for real? are you sure they're not just fingerless gloves?" he smiles down at you. "yeah. i planned this day well, okay? put some trust in me, geez," he sassed, moving out of your way as you finally exited the car.

"this better not be a joke, renner, because if it is, i'll have your head." you threatened jokingly. "yeah, yeah. oh also, can you just pretend to be shocked when they tell you about your suit upgrade? because i really wasn't supposed to tell you this." he scratched the back of his head awkwardly as you walked two walked into the nail salon.

the entire time, he awkwardly sat at the side, waiting for you to be done. when you were though, he quickly got up, as if he had been restless sitting down the whole time.

"they're pretty," he says as you walked back to his car. "yeah, i really like them. haven't had my nails done in a long time." you replied, getting in the car and waiting for jeremy to get in on his side. once he did, he immediately started the engine and started driving back to the set where he had to continue shooting and where you knew sarah would be waiting for you.

it was after many different topics and finally arriving outside the set did you decide to get a little emotional. "hey, i just wanna say thanks for today. i thought i was gonna spend the day alone watching netflix all day like some loser but you made this day really enjoyable. you have no idea how much this really means to me, thank you so much jeremy. i love you." you pouted at him, trying not to cry. "aw kiddo, of course. you're an important person to me. couldn't let you be a loser on your special day," he teases, bringing you into a hug where he didn't miss his chance to ruffle your hair.

once you let go, he kept an arm around your shoulder as you both walked in. he opened the door for you both and you almost jumped in place.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

your jaw dropped at the sight in front you. every single one of your co-stars, along with some crew members were wearing party hats holding up a banner that said 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Y/N'. sarah was in the middle, holding a huge birthday cake with a smile on her face. you slowly walked towards her, hand over your mouth in shock.

sarah gave the cake over to robert before opening her arms up for you. you gave her a tight hug. "you didn't have to do all this," you say, letting go of her. "jeremy and i planned this right when your mother called beforehand and told me they couldn't come in time." she explained.

you turned to jeremy who had been standing next to you the whole time, giving him another hug which he happily accepted. "you guys didn't have to." you told them, trying not to cry at the thought that these people loved you enough to do this for you.

"but we wanted to. and the rest wanted to join in too. now before you start bawling your eyes out, let's get this party started!" he cheered.

"but before that, make a wish, kiddo." robert tells you after evans finished lighting up all the candles. you closed your eyes, making a wish and blowing them all out. everyone cheered before walking away to grab food or to talk to others. or in your cast mates' cases, fighting over who gets to give you your present first.

"you knew it was my birthday!" you exclaimed when you locked eyes with evans, who was in the middle of a brawl with both mackie and robert. he laughed out loud. "yeah! i did! your lie couldn't fool me, child!" he says dramatically, before being pushed aside by robert.

you laughed as they continued to fight right in front of you about who you love more and therefore getting to be first to give you their gift. they even managed to slip in a few compliments about your new hair, while they were literally fighting. you watched in glee, realising that even if your biological family couldn't make it for your special day, you still had a second one to make it special.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg @andreasworlsboring101 @cay-writes-fan-fiction514 @teenwonder @sevenmorningstars @fleurlovesbucky

[mellowswriting]

Sweet but Fierce S/O

**some of these are more blurbs than headcanons... what can I say, it got away from me

Mando: 

The duality is something Mando sees often with you, and he can’t deny that he loves it. You aren’t just sweet and soft with him, an experienced bounty hunter who by definition was the opposite of soft, but you were so good with the Child. You could get him to sleep like you had cast a spell over him, fed and played and talked with him as if you could actually understand his babbling. Soft and sweet wasn’t something Mando saw often in his life and now he can’t get enough of it.

But Mando is familiar with fierce, and seeing the way you protect the Child and his beskar-clad father? It honestly turns him on beyond comprehension. How can the same hands that provide comfort and care so readily also viciously break the bones in the wrist of someone unfortunate enough to have made a grab for the Child? How can the same hands that make warm, delicious food for your little clan (a habit you picked up after balking at Mando’s tendency to survive solely on ration bars) also steadily hold a blaster to the temple of an idiot who tried to remove Mando’s helmet?

As a Mandalorian, he is so used to the world being black and white, either or. Every bit of you is refreshing to him - the considerate gestures, the soothing touches, the biting need to protect those you love. It’s a precious quality. 

It’s also incredibly attractive. Mandalorian culture is based in caring for and protecting children, so seeing you so fiercely loving?? Basically it makes him want to rail you into oblivion, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Frankie could use a little sweetness in his life. It’s been a tough time, coming back from all that shit that went down in South America. He was closer than ever with the boys of course, but something was missing. He needed something more. So when Pope introduced you to him at his barbeque, Frankie was beyond interested.

It was a whirlwind, falling in love with you. You changed his life in the best ways; taught him which yoga poses would help with his achy back, filled his house with soft blankets and delicious coffees, listened to him ramble on as he drove. And the way you talked about your work, your career? It’s enamoring. 

Your work is how he gets to see that fierce side. The two of you were out to lunch when your phone rang - it was one of your clients, apparently dealing with some sort of crisis. Frankie couldn’t deny you when you asked him to drive you to her home, especially since he had driven you to the small restaurant. Frankie leans against his car door as you go up to her house. 

Apparently her landlord was illegally trying to evict her. You have no issue getting in his face and telling him with a terrifying kind of calm that you have no issue calling the police and your company’s lawyers. You’ll have him buried in litigation and fines for the next decade if he doesn’t stop being a greedy piece of shit and go about his day elsewhere. If that wasn’t enough to have Frankie wide eyed (and drooling just a bit tbh), you seem to fall right back into your sweet self as you calm your client and reassure her that all will be fine. 

Hell, maybe Frankie could use a little spitfire in his life, too.

Javier Peña:

How? Just. How?

Javier doesn't understand how you've managed to be so sweet when surrounded by the shit you both worked with everyday. Your eyes are so bright and soft, your smiles easy and pure, every gesture full of unwavering kindness. Working in admin meant you saw all of the reports, all of the gruesome pictures of the aftermath of Escobar’s men. So again: how?

Christ, you always offer to get coffees for him and Murphy on those endlessly long days where every lead seems to fizzle out and he wants nothing more than to put his hand through a wall. Your presence is a bright spot in the office, even when the rain clouds hang heavy around his head. 

Javier seeks you out on those bad days. It isn’t intentional - usually, at least. He’ll tell Murphy he needs to go for a walk before he starts throwing things and will find himself at your desk with you looking up at him with those big, soft eyes and asking if you can help at all. If only he had the words to tell you that your presence was helpful in and of itself. 

Eventually Murphy gets onto him about it, tells him to just ask you out already because he’s tired of the longing. So Javi bucks up and makes his way to your desk with a surprising amount of nerves in his stomach. Fuck, how long had it been since he asked someone on an actual date and not just out to drinks as a prelude to fucking?

The sight of Agent Buchanan perched slightly on the edge of your desk gives him pause. The man is obviously laying on the charm and Javi is about to turn on his heel when he notices how uncomfortable you look. Javi’s eyes narrow because seriously? This dude is gonna fuck with the one literal ray of sunshine in the office? Buchanan leans forward and places his hand on your thigh and that’s when Javier is marching forward to break his spine in fucking half…

Before he can even get to you, you slip your fingers under his and give him that soft, sweet smile… and Buchanan’s middle finger is shoved back at a vicious angle. Over his pained sounds, Javier can hear the anger in your voice. “I said no thank you, asshole.”

Holy fuck. If Javier was interested before, he’s downright obsessed now. 

And as always, the honorable mention of Javier’s innocence kink. 

Ezra: 

At first Ezra thinks it's some sort of bluff, the charming and easygoing nature you portrayed. When you came across him in the Green wounded and in dire need of a new filter and probably a meal or two, you just… helped him. His very own partner left him for dead, and here you were, offering him a lifeline without expecting anything in return.

Yeah, no. That’s not something that happens, especially not in the Green.

He isn’t afraid to call you on it, either. This man is straight and to the point in every aspect of his life, might as well do the same in his death instead of getting jerked around. But you just… grinned, all conspiratorial, and whispered, “I’m actually just using you for good karma. This is a selfish act, don’t worry.” 

Huh.

It takes Ezra a moment to be assured that you aren’t playing some kind of long con as you nurse him back to health. You still clean his wounds and force him to take medication to help his lungs recover from the toxic air with confidence and ease despite his untrusting looks. Once he gets over his fears, there’s no getting rid of him. Ezra likes you. He likes the sweetness, the gentle touches. That’s why he offers you his partnership and beams when you accept.

Besides simply liking you, your kindness is a rarity that sparks a deep need in Ezra to keep you safe, protected. The idea of you harvesting on your own with no one to watch your back makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It’s the third day he’s out harvesting with you that he realizes you absolutely do not need his protection. You hear the duo approaching before Ezra does and immediately shove him into the raised, gnarled roots behind a tree - and the shot that would’ve caught him in the chest flies harmlessly past. Before Ezra can tell you to stay put and let him handle it, you’re scrambling out from behind the tree and he can hear the sound of your thrower discharging and a body crumpling to the ground. 

Ezra shoots out to help but you’re trying to wrestle the other man to the ground and Kevva damnit, he can’t get a clear shot with all that writhing about. Just as he goes to jump into the mix, whatever hold you have on the man straightens his arm out behind his back in a harsh, unforgiving line. The man’s thrower slips from his incapacitated hand and the sight of you snatching up midair and firing it right through his helmet has to be the most erotic thing Ezra has ever seen.

You can expect this man to wax poetic about the twofold of your personality for hours. Goes on and on about how he loves seeing the different ways you light up: in passion, in pleasure, in anger. It’s downright titillating. 

Marcus Pike:

Working with you gives leaves Marcus in the perfect position to see both sides. You’re so compassionate with the victims as you guide them through the legal processes but you also look ridiculously hot with a gun in your hand. Or while you pull on your bulletproof vest. Or when you’re strapping a holster to your thigh.

What can he say, Marcus can’t get enough of you either way. 

He loves when you give him that grateful smile when he brings you a coffee. The shoulder rubs you give him when he’s been sitting at his desk for too long leave him hazy with a mix of love and pleasure. The way you open your arms up for him to crawl into bed, still half asleep but still wanting him against you… it was pure heaven. 

Marcus also loves the hard edge in your voice when you’re interrogating a suspect. He loves the fire in your eyes when he wraps a hand around your throat and growls out exactly what he’s going to do to you, that bratty energy radiating off you and filling him with the need to break you down until he gets to see the pretty, begging glimmer of his sweet little thing again. 

Max Phillips:

Max is the kind of man who loves having a pretty, wide eyed thing beneath him, watching their face morph into that surprised pleasure. That’s exactly what he’s gonna get from you, too. He just knows it.

You’re the kind of person everyone loves working with, always offering a smile and kind words throughout the day. You work so hard and so diligently, that work ethic is something that leaves you offering your assistance when you’ve finished up before closing time. Max thrives on those moments where you peek into his office and ask if there’s anything he needs - maybe a coffee or some help with some paperwork. 

One day he decides, fuck it. Throws caution to the wind because hey, this is Max fucking Phillips we’re talking about here. So he waves you in when you pop by, lets you sit in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, and whispers “You can help by bending that pretty little ass over my desk.”, his hands braced on either armrest. 

The last thing Max expects is a harsh smack across his face. He stumbles back, eyes wide as you stand and glare at him. “Go fuck yourself, Phillips.” 

Okay, yeah. He deserved that. The great thing about him, though? Max also loves the chase. And what could be better than slowly but surely convincing you that the best thing for you is letting him rail you into oblivion? 

Pero Tovar:

Before he sees that fierce side of you, Pero keeps his distance. He’s a sellsword for god’s sake, he feels he has no business around such softness. He’ll hurt you, he’s sure of it. But that doesn’t stop him from looking. Pero often sees you in the market and every time, you take his breath away. You could usually be found aiding an elder in gathering their shopping into their carts or kneeling down to speak with the local children running amok.

As a man who spent his life surrounded by battle and hardship, it was a nice change.

It wasn’t long until he caught your eye, and Pero floundered. He didn’t know what to do with that first small gesture - he just stared at you when you offered him a small bundle of cheeses and meat to aid him on his two month long journey he was about to set off on. Of course he later cursed himself for the stunned silence he offered in response to your well wishes and the small wave you gave before you left him standing like a fool next to his horse. 

Pero would thank you properly when he returned, that was the resolve he came to while away. You deserved to hear the words at the very least. He takes a moment to clean up before he sets out to find you, not wanting you to see him covered in grime, and as always, he spots you within moments of entering the village. Except something is… off. Your face through the shop window lacks it’s usual brightness, your eyebrows pinched together, something akin to fear replacing the brightness your eyes usually held. That’s when Pero realizes there’s a man holding a dagger to the shopkeeper and demanding the man's coin. 

By the time Pero has his own dagger in hand and shoves through the door, the man is already crumpling to the ground from the harsh kick you landed at the back of his knee. Pero watches in  awe as you take advantage of his confusion to snatch the blade from his hand and point it at him with your foot pressed firm to his back. 

Despite just how amazing you look like that, Pero takes over quickly, wanting you out of harm’s way immediately. The assailant is taken care of after a small struggle and when you rush towards him to make sure he isn’t hurt, a fire lights in his belly. As you fret over him, your soft hands searching for any harm to his scarred, calloused skin, Pero knows. He’s found his person, he can feel it in his gut, deep in his bones. 

[platypanthewriter]

Lilies of the Valley

This one’s for you @mourntheantagonist​!  And @cherrydreamer​, thanks so much for the loan of your name!

Harringrove April Prompt day 30: Lilies of the Valley!  Neil had opinions about Billy's mom, and Billy's mom's makeup, and Billy.  What he thought doesn't matter anymore, but Billy's still a little worried about bringing it all up to Steve.  GNC Billy.

When Billy was five, he’d tried on his mom’s gold pumps and her rainbowy nail polish, and she’d laughed and spread her arms for him to stumble into.  “Hey, glitter-bug,” she said, kissing his head all over until he giggled, trying to protect his neck from her attack.  “How’s the prettiest boy in town?” she whispered, blowing raspberries down his chest and stomach, and then finally letting him up once he was giggling so hard he couldn’t breathe.  

She’d let him sit on her fancy vanity stool, spinning him now and then so they could see how he looked from different angles in the three mirrors.  “Oh no,” she whispered, her eyes very wide.  “I thought you were prettiest from this side, but every new side is prettier!  How is it, sir, being the prettiest,” she asked, offering him an imaginary microphone.

He beamed into her face, and cleared his throat.  “You’re the prettiest,” he told her, his eyes big with anticipation, and sure enough, she yelled and scooped him up, dumping him on the bed and cuddling him until they’d both laughed so hard their lungs hurt.  

“You are,” she whispered.  “I made the prettiest boy in the world.”

“You’re the prettiest girl,” he said loyally, and that time she kissed his nose.  “Anyway,” he whispered, “—you have…” he trailed off, reaching up to touch the sparkling powders over her eyes, and the bright greasy red on her lips.

She drew a shaky breath, pushing herself up, and glancing towards the door.  “...do you want to play with my makeup, baby?” she asked, and he sat up too, springing upright so fast they nearly clonked heads.

“Can we?” he asked, keeping his voice low, like hers, but nearly vibrating with excitement.

She bit her lips together, tucking some of his curls behind his ear.  “You know how there are some things we keep secret from Daddy, sweetie?”

Billy squirmed around to face her, nodding, and folding his hands like a grownup.  “Like when you kiss Mrs. Sally,” he whispered, then, belatedly, cupped his hands over his mouth.  

“Like that,” she told him, nodding.  “If I’d kept kissing Sally, he might have found out, and not let me see my lil’ glitterbug anymore.”

“I won’t tell,” Billy said, shaking his head, his heart pounding with the weight of adult responsibilities.  

“I know you won’t,” she told him, smiling, but she looked sad.  “But I can’t do anything that might make Daddy take you away, can I?”

Billy shook his head, wondering, as always, why his mom had married someone who didn’t like either of them very much.  He kind of wanted to ask, but she reached out and held his face, squishing his cheeks together like a fish, and he batted at her hands.  

“Makeup is like that,” she told him, and he frowned, trying to understand.  “If I put makeup on you, Daddy will be very angry,” she told him.  “So we have to wash it off before he gets home, and keep it a secret, just like me kissing Sally, right?”

It didn’t make a lot of sense, because Billy had seen his dad fussing with his hair, and his ties, and he knew his dad wanted to be pretty too—but maybe, he thought, his dad was mad because he was jealous, and that kind of fit.  He nodded seriously, licking his lips, as he wondered what the lipstick would feel like.

It felt weird and sticky, but it looked beautiful, and he gasped as he opened his eyes in the mirror, leaning closer to touch the mirror, and then touching his lips.  

“You’ll smear it,” his mom said, smiling, and Billy yanked his hand back into his lap.  He closed his eyes and felt the shiny powders brushing over them, his mom’s warm hand steadying his chin.  Very slowly, so as not to jar her efforts, he kicked his feet in happiness.

“There,” she said,” rubbing her thumb along his eyebrow, and squinting into his face.  “You’re adorable, honey.  Your mamma did so good.”  She spun him to look in the mirror again, and he stared as she kissed his cheek, and then redid his lipstick, because he couldn’t stop chewing at it, fascinated.  “Other mommies would be so jealous of my lil’ glitterbug,” she whispered.

An hour before his dad got home, she popped him in the bath, leaning in to scrub his face gently, and he sighed to see it go.  

“We’ll play again, sweetie,” she told him, kissing his forehead.

That night Billy’s dad clicked his tongue at her bright red lipstick, and went and got the Bible.  He made them stand, listening, while their dinner got cold.  

“‘Therefore I say unto you,’” he read, “‘Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. For the life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment.’  What do you suppose that means, Billy?”

Billy watched his mom shut her eyes, swallowing, and he tried to think, to get it right, but he never understood the Bible.  He told his mother once that he thought they should have somebody write it all down that talked normal, and she laughed for the whole afternoon, and then told him that was another thing to not tell his dad.

“I thought that school was teaching him to read, and now he can’t even understand language,” his dad said, and Billy’s mom flinched.  

“It means we should think about god more than looking pretty,” Billy’s mom said dully, and Billy watched her, and then his dad, wondering why he’d even wanted to marry her, because she was beautiful and funny and perfect, and Billy’s dad even got mad over things like the neighbor’s Christmas lights.

She didn’t wear the bright colors, after that.

 Years later, Steve was driving back from picking up burgers, and Billy shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, and slurped his soda.

“You ever miss fucking a chick,” he said, weirdly flat.

“Uh,” said Steve, who hadn’t.  “...um.  Uh, d’you?” he asked, warily, and Billy shrugged, unwrapping his burger.  He took a huge bite, grunting appreciatively, and Steve tried to think of what to say.  “What...are you missing,” he asked, slowly, and Billy smirked over.  

“Nothing big, don’t flip your shit,” he said, taking another bite of burger, and staring out at the passing scenery, as Steve tried not to shake him, or bite his lip, or look like he was flipping his shit.

“...what is this,” Steve asked, finally, clenching his hands on the steering wheel.  “You cheating on me?!”

“No,” Billy said quickly.

“You want to?  You wanna break up?!  Where the fuck is this going, Hargrove?!” Steve hissed at him, and Billy sighed, letting his head thunk into the window.  

“No, fuck you, I don’t want...any of that,” he sighed.  “Calm your tits, Harringt—”

“Fuck you,” Steve spat back.  “If you’re fucking bored—”

“No!  I didn’t mean that!” Billy shot back, throwing a french fry at him, and Steve grabbed it and ate it, chewing with his mouth open, and his teeth bared.  “Fuck you,” Billy sighed.  “I just asked you a question, don’t get all pissed.”  He sighed again, lowering the burger to his lap, and frowning past it.  “I just wondered.”

Steve had kinda relaxed, waking every morning and seeing Billy sprawled next to him, his hair in his open, snoring mouth, and he’d forgotten he was Steve Harrington, the guy people left.  “Fuck,” he whispered.

“I just meant the—they’re soft,” Billy said, glancing over, and then back down, his jaw working.  

“You’re saying I need to get fat?” Steve asked dryly, through his teeth, as he pulled into the garage.

“No!” Billy shoved him against the door of the car.  “Forget it.”

“Not likely,” Steve muttered.  Billy shouldered past him into the house, and then ignored him until Steve went to bed, and Steve laid up in their bed alone.  He didn’t cry much, but the couple tears that escaped went right in his ear, and he was tempted to just...go down and throw every porn cassette he’d ever owned at Billy’s head.

 The next morning he got up and made bacon and eggs—he was hungry, even if Billy was being an asshole—and Billy came in and helped himself.  

Billy’s eyes were swollen and red, and Steve didn’t know what to do with that—he’d never broken up with anybody he really liked, he thought, dully.  Maybe it was hard.  “Sorry for trying to have a conversation,” Billy hissed, and walked off, and Steve slid his plate of food aside, suddenly not hungry.  

After a few minutes, Billy stomped back in.  “What, you gonna stay out of rooms I’m in now—” he started, snarling, and then he stopped, and probably took stock of Steve’s head in his arms on the counter, and his breakfast getting cold.  Steve jerked his head up, rubbing his face.  “Fuck,” Billy muttered, grabbing Steve around the waist, and turning him enough to kiss.  “I don’t…” he said, softly, biting his lip.  “I don’t want somebody else.  Don’t be a fucking dumbass, jesus, of course I don’t want someone else—”

“How the hell should I know?!” Steve hissed back, but relaxing, a little, into the kisses.  “You just said you missed fucking women.  I’m not one, if you missed that—”

“I didn’t say that,” Billy told him, taking Steve’s hands.  “I asked if you missed it.  Stroking your hands up here,” he breathed against Steve’s lips, and slid Steve’s palms up where Billy’s sides were shirtless and smooth under his denim jacket.  “Feeling something...elastic, maybe,” he whispered between open-mouthed kisses, and lifted Steve’s hands up farther, to stroke over his nipples.  “Something silky.”

It felt like the conversation had taken a sharp tilt, and Steve felt like the marble in a little maze, trying to avoid dropping through the holes.  “...on you,” he whispered back, to be sure, trying to imagine it.  

Billy was perfect already, he wanted to say, from the little softness over the waistband of his jeans where he’d stopped working out so hard, once he was away from his dad, to stretched pink scars that reminded Steve there were more places to kiss.  But Billy was already withdrawing again, his shoulders hunching as he smirked, and Steve tried a “Keep talking.”

His hands were abruptly fuller of Billy as he leaned in, shoving Steve back against the counter.  “I gotta keep things fresh, right,” he whispered.  “Make sure you still want what I got.  Maybe…”  Steve waited as Billy searched his face, biting his lips, and then took a shaky breath.  “Maybe dress up...a little,” he mumbled, losing momentum, and Steve hurried, feeling the need to catch some fragile part of Billy before it smashed.

“You wanna dress up for me?” he asked, making sure to grin, because it honestly sounded weird, but Billy wanted to—and Steve didn’t really give a shit about flowers, either, but even if they gave him hayfever, he knew to be happy when somebody picked him out a present.  At least, he thought, whatever Billy was talking about was unlikely to make him sneeze.  

Billy’s smirk went a little smaller as he flushed, and he laughed, shaking a little.  “If—if you want,” he said fast, grinning tensely.  “If you...if that…” he muttered, looking a little shiny-eyed, and Steve slid his hands around the soft, scarred skin of Billy’s back, and down toward the swell of his ass.  “Imagine something bright down there,” Billy whispered, breathing against Steve’s jaw.  “You could snap the elastic, pull me over.”

That sounded like Billy Hargrove wanted to wear lace panties, and Steve fought back an instinctive snigger, squeezing him closer, and trying to think of something to say, something that wasn’t “You’d make duct tape hot, babe,” or “Y’know we could not do that, and just fuck,” or anything else that made it seem like Billy’d asked him about something weird as hell, and important to Billy, and Steve hadn’t even listened.  “Yeah,” Steve whispered, not sure what was required.  “Sounds hot,” he said lamely, but Billy relaxed against him.

“Yeah,” he whispered, nodding, and laughing, and stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair so clumsily he almost poked Steve in the eye.  “Yeah, yes, it’ll—it’ll be good, you’ll like it,” he whispered against Steve’s lips.

 The next day Billy disappeared after school, and came home squirming and pink-cheeked.  He wandered up like nothing was going on, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turned and drew him in.  Billy had his jacket buttoned, for once, and a flushed smirk, and Steve unbuttoned it from the bottom, sliding his fingers up over what felt like soft, elasticy cotton.  It was a clingy little camisole thing, he realized, nearly a tanktop, nearly unisex, but the satin edging around the top, the thin straps, and the bright red put it squarely in the women’s section.  

Billy laughed nervously.  “It’s not even that pretty,” he said, glancing at Steve’s face, and then baring his teeth a little into the distance.  “Fuck, this was dumb, in this little hick town, I couldn’t even find anything—”

It was stretched out across Billy’s chest, not the shape it expected to fit, and his nipples showed around the straps, the soft fabric clinging to his skin.  “No,” Steve whispered, sliding his hands over ropy satin straps, and Billy’s skin.  He ran a finger along the strap and down, his nail catching on Billy’s chest, so he shivered.  “No, it’s—it’s really...pretty, Billy,” Steve breathed, and Billy reddened like Steve had never seen before, his smile widening into a beaming grin.

“They’re just cotton,” Billy whispered, “—but they were red, at least—” 

Steve smoothed his hands over the soft fabric.  He slid his fingers down the back of Billy’s jeans, and felt—yep, he thought, grinning as he felt Billy laugh, another thin elastic edge that definitely wasn’t Fruit-of-the-Looms.  “Just cotton,” Billy whispered again, sighing.  

Steve had bought lingerie before, but he’d never really thought about it for Billy—or even Nancy, who was too ticklish for lace, and liked the spontaneity of showing up and pushing Steve onto his back on the couch more than she wanted to set anything up with candles and rose petals.  He felt a little guilty, though, seeing Billy squirming around, panting a little, his dick hard as a rock in plain cotton briefs, red or otherwise.  “So you…” Steve started, and then stopped, uncertain what he was trying to say.  

“What,” Billy bit out, glaring up at him, which looked...less than intimidating, in what looked like underwear for a kid, or somebody’s mom.  Steve ran his fingers along the line Billy’s dick made in the panties, fascinated, and it twitched.  Billy jerked his knee up, grinning, his freckles fading into his blush.  “Quit it,” he said.  “You’ll make me mess ‘em up.”

“...you like being...pretty,” Steve said, and Billy twitched, pulling his knees up and together.  “No, don’t, uh, don’t pillbug up,” Steve told him, leaning in to hug his boyfriend’s knees.  “Um, how...how pretty?  What...what kinds of…”

“The hell d’you mean how pretty,” Billy growled, warily, and Steve bent his head, pressing a kiss to Billy’s tanned knee.

“You just...want pretty clothes?” he asked, as Billy took a shaky breath.  “I just—I mean, you were talking about...girls.  You want like…” Steve ran his thumb over Billy’s tense, curled toes.  “You want I should paint these?”

“God, will you?” Billy asked, pushing himself up as he yanked Steve into a kiss,  knocking them both off-balance so Steve landed on top of Billy in his soft, elastic cotton, and Billy groaned.

“Yeah, I’ll paint ‘em,” Steve whispered, kissing Billy’s hot face.  “Don’t...really think you can get much prettier,” he said, feeling Billy’s cheek grin under his lips, “—but I’ll help.  I might have something upstairs.”

“The hell would you have,” Billy snorted.

Steve felt indignant for a second, then kind of dumb as he shot back “I could wear nail polish, you don’t fucking know,” before he registered that it probably hadn’t actually been an insult, and he started to feel his ears go red.  He cleared his throat.  “...uh, no, though.  I don’t.  But my mom.  There’s some of her stuff up there.”

“Oh,” Billy said, sitting up.  “You...you’d let me use your mom’s stuff?”

“Why not,” Steve shrugged, pulling him up.  “Maybe she’s got some nylons or something.”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, but he grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling him back around.  “You don’t think she’d...she’d think it’s gross, right,” he asked, still smirking a little, like he was trying to keep it up.  “She wouldn’t want some dude wearing her nylons.”

“You’re not some dude,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, “—and if she’s so damn precious about ‘em she can buy some more, come on.”  He drug Billy upstairs—Billy was very manhandleable, in bare feet and a sheer cotton underwear set, and Steve tried not to think about the difference it made—and pushed Billy down to sit on his parents’ chintz duvet cover.  He dug through her drawers, and found some nylons, and brought them over.  Billy laughed, wide-eyed, and Steve reached down and grabbed his foot, thinking.  “...y’know what,” he said, “—Mom used to do all this stuff to her feet, and I bet it kept her damn nylons from running.”

“...you saying I should go get a pedicure?” Billy snorted, and Steve shook his head, squeezing his boyfriend’s toes.  

“Nah.  Lemme see what she’s got, we can figure this out,” he mumbled, pulling out drawers.  “Can’t be that hard.”

“...you gonna give me a pedicure,” Billy muttered, like he didn’t know whether it was a question or not, and Steve was about to roll his eyes when he finally found the right drawer. 

“Oho,” he said, grinning over his shoulder.  “The mother lode.  Come look at the colors.  I mean, they’re mostly kind of pink, but there’s some reds.”

The bed creaked as Billy got up and came over, and his breath hitched.  He reached towards the lipsticks, and then jerked his hand back, and Steve grabbed the reddest one, and leaned to kiss him, softly, opening the lid.  Billy closed his eyes, panting a little, and Steve kissed him again, because Billy’d probably wanna sprawl around looking pretty for a while without anybody smearing it, once he had lipstick on.  

“Open your mouth, babe,” Steve said, and Billy did.  Steve could feel the pulse pounding in the skin under his fingers, but he just brushed the tip over the corner of Billy’s mouth, narrowing his eyes intently.  

Billy licked the tip of the lipstick, and Steve hissed at him, hsht! like Billy was a little kid, or a cat.  “I can’t do this if you eat it,” he pointed out, and Billy laughed.

“It tastes the same,” he said, softly.  

“...you eat it a lot?” Steve asked, realizing he had mouth open in concentration, and his tongue licking his teeth in the direction he was rubbing the lipstick on.  He bit his lips together, smiling in embarrassment.  

“I used to,” Billy said, letting Steve turn his head left and then right, and smiling.  “Mom would dress me up.”

Steve paused for a second, at that, his hand on the lipstick stilling, and then he started again.  “Dunno if I’ll do as good a job,” he said, and Billy laughed again, swallowing hard.  “...maybe I’ll get better with practice,” Steve told him, and Billy grinned, yanking him in for a hard kiss.  “Who-mmmph,” Steve protested, then leaned into it, feeling Billy sigh contentedly, and hum.  

When Steve pulled back, his dick went half-hard just for the way Billy looked, leaning back against the side of the bed in his soft red underwear set, his eyes closed, his grin smeared and lazy.  The red stood out, shiny and rich, and Steve wished—silently, to himself—that lipstick ever tasted even a tenth as good as it looked.  “...jesus, that’s nice,” he said.

“I’m the prettiest, right,” Billy whispered, and a couple tears leaked from under his closed eyelashes.  He sniffled as Steve lifted and turned his chin to fix his lipstick.  “Shut up,” he said hoarsely, even thought Steve hadn’t said a word.

“...just thinking you look gorgeous,” Steve told him.  “You look so pretty, babe.”

“...’life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment’,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve said “...what?”

“It’s a bible thing,” Billy said, his eyes widening as Steve pulled out a tray of eyeshadows, and held them up to Billy’s face, squinting.  

Steve squinted, decided the green would make Billy look like he had a weird Christmasy disease with the lipstick, and pulled out the other one, pinks and golds.  

“...it means you should worry more about following god’s word than dressing up like a slut,” Billy said, quirking his mouth.  “‘Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’  Like, God makes you like he wants, you shouldn’t...change it.  Try and...look...different.”  Billy sighed.  “He used to make us say it whenever we asked for new clothes.  I told him I might as well go to school naked, then.”

“I don’t remember the part in the bible where Jesus called people sluts,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss Billy’s cheek, and then concentrating on brushing gold over his eyelids.  

“Just be as nature made you, y’know, don’t...try to be...what you’re not,” Billy said, smirking.  “He never found out I wanted to wear lace panties.”

“Good,” Steve told his boyfriend, then whispered “God,” as he sat back.  “...Billy, god made you a lily.”

“What?!” Billy laughed, scrambling up to go look in the bathroom mirror.  He was quiet for a long minute, and Steve got up and followed, grimacing.

“I’ll get better with the little brushes,” he said, leaning through the door, but Billy was just making kissy faces at himself, entranced.  

“I’m the prettiest boy in the world,” he breathed, and Steve bit back a laugh.  “Come here.”  Steve wandered over to slide his arms around Billy’s waist from behind, and kiss his neck.  “...you like it, right,” Billy asked, and Steve nodded, squeezing him.  

“Come on,” he said, “Lemme do your toenails.”

“Jesus,” Billy said, giggling, kinda, his eyes shiny, and Steve just held him there, letting him look.

 The next day, Billy changed the oil in his car, his nails and lips red, and his face smeared with engine grease when Steve pulled him out from under the car for a kiss.  While he was tinkering, Steve drove clear to the Indianapolis Victoria’s Secret.  “I’m dating an Olympic swimmer,” he told them, having practiced the lie.  “She’s got no tits and these big shoulders, and she’s hotter than anyone else in the world, can you help me out?”

My other Harringrove prompts are here!

[blueprint-han]

a musical encounter.

pairing: music major senior!han x music major junior!reader

genre: university (?? idk) au; fluff.

⇥ warnings: very terribly™ written by a person who has a -8.9 knowledge in music, also the singing parts are not very well described and this may seem incomplete because i’m trying to force teach myself to write short, but oh well 🤧 I wanna write a longer fic based on this in the future hhhhhhhh. me after writing this fic: wow i really clowned myself at “short fic” didn’t I 🤡 also not proofread so be mindful of errors and google autocorrect <//3

word count: 1.7 K 🤡

⇥ disclaimer: this writing does not aim to represent the activities of the real Han Jisung, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: blurb drabble 😭 (why can I never write sh0rt hmph >:( )

network tag: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz + @sunoo-luvs

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @missinghan :’’) (requests for this are closed now!)

!!; song y/n is imagined to sing here is ‘Freedom 90, the Pitch Perfect Version (of course, with pre added acappella). You may find the song here, if you wanna listen to it. hhhhhh this is based on my rusty research about music equipment (which may be wrong) so if this is not what it’s supposed to mean please go easy on me. 😂

↯ note: hhhhh okay so this one has no direct mention or relation to your url but I rather picked it up from your url ~vibes~ (since the only idea that was dropping into my head was making han go missing ufhurg) so I hope you don’t mind ! Hope you like it uwu 💓 Happy reading. <3 Again this will not compare to your writing queen, but I tried. 😔 ⇥ dawn.☀️

“Gosh, this is a music recording, not a date — what’s there to be scared about?” Your friend chided, setting up the mic and the filter as you panicked behind the glass. “You’re a music major! Isn’t this supposed to be what you do?”

“You’re saying that like you aren’t one, and you totally didn’t freak out two days ago, Sana.”

Sana huffed, shaking her head before moving to connect all the wires in place. “Yeah. but…” Her voice came out low when she crouched down to fix all the wires. “The nerves shake off eventually. You’ve nothing to worry. Did you hydrate?”

“I’ve been sipping on this water bottle for the past half an hour!” You sighed, walking inside the booth to stand next to your friend. “And what do you mean ‘shake off’ — you mean that time you ‘accidentally’ broke the headphones when you wear putting them on?” A bite of your lip to stifle your laugh, and Sana’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“Wow, you’re gonna-” She slapped your arm after getting up. “-bring that up even though we had an agreement that we’re gonna keep it a secret?”

“Okay, ouch that hurts!” You chortled. “There’s no one here though, I still kept my promise.”

“Yeah right, in a rented schoolroom studio, with cameras everywhere.”

“They still wouldn’t be able to hear me, right?” You pointed out, bursting into a fit of giggles, nervousness be damned when Sana pouted in defeat.

“Fine, now help me set this up. Come onnnnn…” Your friend shook your arm violently to kick you out of your laughter. You shook your head, crouching over again to fix the wires while your friend set up all the equipment outside the booth.

“All set?”

“Yeah…” You took a deep breath fixing your dress up a bit before reaching your hand out, fitting the headphones snug over your ears. Your eyes caught on something black lying on the tables, and you pointed it out.

“Whose headphones are those?” You pointed out, and Sana looked to the direction. “Eh,” she brushed it off. “Probably the person who’d received this room to record before, they’ll take care of it.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, nodding. “Now come on, let’s start. We have to submit this tomorrow and I have a movie date, so it can’t get later than this.”

“Alright,” You chimed, clearing your throat once, twice before inhaling deeply. You were surely nervous before, but somehow singing always helped you disconnect from your surroundings, it was your escape — one of the main reason you’d chosen music technology in a heartbeat when you found out it was an option for your major.

“Ready? And, go.”

Sana hit a button, causing soft music to play through the headphones, a melody she’d carefully crafted over nights of 3 am coffee and many, many texts to you — most of them saying “I wanna sleeeepppppp waaaaa”. You’d obviously heard it before but you realised why it took her so long (nearly a week), because it was near perfection.

“Heaven knows I was just a young boy~”

The song went pretty smoothly on the most part, with Sana stopping you in between verses and and going over parts she wanted you to repeat, which you gladly complied. She was the senior, of course.

When it cam down to the last verse, about half an hour had passed — and you felt pretty good about it. your vocals were shining pretty well and blended with the music perfectly, which put you at ease.

“Okay, let’s finish this.” Sana said, focused on changing up the settings, before giving you a countdown, hitting play. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you waited for the beat drop to end, leading to your high note. That again. went pretty well, along with the rest of the song, finishing it up with an exhale.

When you removed the headphones and got out of the booth — you met the eyes of someone you did not expect to see standing there.

“O-Oh, hello Han-ssi.” You bowed down in gratitude, overly surprised of his presence.

Han was, just like Sana, your senior. He was one of the best students in your academy — of course, scoring the highest grade in all of his tests. Many would say otherwise because of his tsundere nature, but you could tell that he had a burning passion for music under those eyes. You’d listened to his tracks in various events your university hosted — and safe to say you were in love with his music. He had a way of making his tracks sound so… real? And natural — the kind that you wouldn’t get bored of no matter how many times you heard it.

Han bowed back and mumbled a silent “hello~” back to you before extending hia hand past you to grab the headphones placed on the table. Ohhh, so that’s why they were familiar. You’d noticed them hanging around his neck multiple times on campus.

Once he’d chatted with Sana and you for a bit (more Sana than you) and bowed before he left, you grabbed Sana’s arm before pulling her towards yourself.

“How long was he here for?” You whispered, a pout on your face.

“Umm, I think throughout the last verse?” Sana shrugged.

“What?” Your shoulders slumped. “Didn’t he come to pick up his headphones?”

“Are you seriously getting flustered right now?” Your friend narrowed her eyes playfully, making a teasing noise as she pushed at your shoulder.

“Ah,” You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so teasing, I’m just a little shy of anyone else hearing my singing.” You flapped your hand to brush her statement away — before she could say something or point it out how evidently flustered you’d grown of the fact that your role model — the Han Jisung — had listened to your music.

“Well, you’re a music major, kid. Get used to it.”

And with that, Sana bid her goodbye to you, helping you wrap up the place before hopping down the stairs, earphones plugged into her ears as she hummed a tune all the way.

You silently stood in front of the elevator, playing with the hem of your sleeves as you waited for it to arrive. Curse at your studios for being on the last floor of the building, waiting for the elevator seemed like an eternity.

You also didn’t notice the random person that stood beside you. it was getting late anyways, the sun was almost close to setting by the time you were done, so it was only obvious that the remaining students would go home.

“So, you sing?” A very familiar sounding voice echoed in your ears, and you flipped your head to the side, once again meeting the eyes of someone you didn’t expect to meet right now.

And of course, if was Han Jisung.

Now that you weren’t freaking out (but you were close to), you could focus on him a little more properly, and you immediately noticed the headphones hanging around his neck, again. He had a large black hoodie on, his hands were shoved into his pockets and his hair was neatly combed and parted. If you had to describe him in three words, it’d be “messy but clean”.

“Oh, h-hello again.” You bowed.

“Hi!” He reciprocated your actions, looking at you. “My question?”

“W-what?” Your eyes widened as you fiddled with the edge of your shirt.

“You sing?”

“I-” You started. “I do, I’ve loved singing since I was six.”

“Oh.” Jisung nodded, letting his words trail of for a second. “You sing really well. I listened to that last part of the song — really well done.”

Tensing up, a smile tugged at your lips. “R-really?”

“Yeah,” Jisung chuckled. “You have a pretty voice, Y/N. And that’s a genuine compliment.”

“O-oh.” You felt yourself grow bashful of his presence all of a sudden, your cheeks feeling hot as the heat spread to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You mumbled, diverting your gaze from your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“I mean it.” The boy said, frowning. at the sight in front of him — your eyes drifting from place to place and the way you shifted from one foot to other — you seemed to be uncomfortable, but in reality you just didn’t know how to respond. “You okay?”

“A-ah, I am, it’s just.” Moving your hands around, you tried to put your thoughts into words, only to fail miserably, before you sighed and collected yourself. “I just really like your music a lot, and I…” You trailed off, rubbing at your shoulder. “Kinda look up to you, so hearing you say that, it just means a lot to me. Thank you”

The boy standing beside you beamed like sunshine at your response, gently poking at your shoulder as he eyes you mischievously.

“You look up to me, huh?” He giggled when you stumbled over your words, bringing a hand to rake through his hair. “You’re adorable, I’ll tell you that too.”

“Oh my god stop, do you want me to combust?” You laughed, the nervousness laced throughout your statement.

“Okay fine,” Jisung nodded, attaching his headphones to the audio jack of his phone, rummaging through his playlist. “You wanna come to my studio once?”

“What?” Your head snapped in his direction, eyes widening as you took in what he said, excitement filling your veins? Han Jisung’s studio? Seeing him make music in front of your eyes? Is this a fucking dream?

“I mean, only if you want to, of course. I was just asking because you seemed like you’d like to see my music making process. You don’t have to say yes though.”

“Oh gosh, no, I’d love to!” You yelped, stopping him in his tracks. He smiled gently, nodding at you as he scratched his chin in thought.

“So, tomorrow morning is fine?” He looked at you with almost, almost pleading eyes, and you felt like your heart melted into a puddle on the spot. He was cute.

You smiled, shyly nodding as you quickly went through your schedule in your head. “I can work with that.”

“See you tomorrow morning then.” The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open as the both of you got in, giggling at each other.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning, that was for sure.

*silently puts on clown hat and leaves*

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor atleast this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

[esmealux]

Ship: Sailing

Part: 1 / 1 (But you can read it as a sequel to this piece.)

Setting: After 5x06

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: T

Summary: Ella finds out her OTP is finally happening. Or, Lucifer bragging about finally having sex with Chloe, Ella fangirling over it, and Chloe being horny so done with them.

Author’s note: I wrote this before watching 5x07, i.e. before seeing Ella’s actual reaction, so consider this an alternative take on it.

‘Hey, Ella,’ Chloe greets her as she walks into the lab, coffee in hand. Ella greets her back before holding up a crucial piece of evidence. ‘Okay, so I wiped the keys you found for prints, and guess wha-’ As Ella lifts her head to see her co-worker’s reaction when she tells her they have a new lead, she realises she isn’t listening; her face is turned away, an anxious look on her face. Or is it excited? Following her line of sight to see what, or who, has Chloe’s attention, she spots a familiar three-piece suit through the cracks between the blinds. Ella smiles knowingly. ‘So, Chloe, did you and Lucifer finally-

‘Good morning, miss Lopez!’

‘Well, speak of the Devil, I guess,’ Ella quips when Lucifer enters the room… with an unprecedentedly cheerful look on his face. She waits for his reaction to her remark, a nod of approval for playing along with his whole ‘I’m the devil’-thing, but this co-worker doesn’t seem to listen either. His eyes are fixed on Chloe, an ear-to-ear grin on his face. She smiles right back at him, their bodies leaning towards each other, like two magnets. Two in looove magnets. Chloe takes a sip of her Starbucks order, her eyes lingering on Lucifer, who is staring hypnotised at her lips. Something definitely went down between them. But then why didn’t they get here together?

‘So… you two didn’t come together today?’ She asks, making it sound more like a question than a statement. Her lips curve slightly upwards against her will, and she fails to hide the excitement in her eyes.

Chloe almost chokes on her coffee. Meanwhile, a complacent smirk slowly spreads on Lucifer’s face. ‘Oh, we came together, Miss Lopez,’ he informs her, looking smugger and… happier than Ella’s ever seen him. ‘Quite a few times actually,’ he shamelessly adds under his breath as he directs his smirk at Chloe. She’s coughing, her hand clutched to her chest; with a ‘Dearie me’ Lucifer places his hand on her back and looks at her with genuine concern. ‘Are you okay, Detective? Do you need anything?’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Ella reassures him. She needs answers. ‘I just- Are you saying what I think you’re saying?!’ Her smile grows bigger with every word. ‘Did you two-’ She lets her eyes slide back and forth between her friends. Lucifer moves an inch closer to Chloe, his hand gliding down Chloe’s back, only to brush his fingers discretely, or so he thinks, against her butt as he lets out a deep, satisfied sigh. ‘Mm-hmm.’

Oh. Ehm. Gee. Her Deckerstar dreams are coming true. Ella needs more information.

‘Finally!’ She exclaims, earning a look of agreement from Lucifer. ‘I mean, that’s huge, you guys! So tell me…’ She says, pushing aside some evidence, carefully of course, as she places her arms on the table and leans forward. ‘How was it?’ She cocks her eye, focusing on Chloe. (Ella notices her friend’s make-up is a little smudged, but the ‘freshly boned’-glow really works for her). Chloe doesn’t answer her question. Instead, she looks up at Lucifer, who’s standing even closer to her now, and shakes her head, followed by a classic Chloe eye roll. Ella does notice just the hint of a smile, though.

‘Oh, spit it out, Decker!’ Ella demands, crossing her arms. Lucifer casts a glance at her before looking at Chloe again. ‘Yes, Detective. How was it?’

Chloe sighs and places her cup on the table. ‘Well, there’s nothing to tell. It was just sex,’ she tells them, now failing massively to hide her smile.

‘Just sex?’ Ella repeats sceptically, trying to give Chloe her best ‘I know you’re lying and that you’re the murderer’-face (it’s not as good as Chloe’s, though). Lucifer chuckles and scoffs. ‘“Just sex”. Preposterous. I believe the words “best I ever had” were used.’ He puffs out his chest and grins, proud.

‘Well, of course it was! You two are crazy about each other – and that makes it tha best kind of sex!’

Chloe opens her mouth only to close it again. She clears her throat. Then she opens her mouth again. ‘Well, no, I mean, yes, but-’ She’s interrupted by Ella’s squeal and a pleased ‘See?’ from Lucifer. Chloe closes her eyes for a second, sighing, before she continues. ‘But I believe Lucifer,’ she turns her head to face him as she enounces his name, “was the one to use the words “best I ever had”.’ He beams at her unapologetically and smoothly steps behind her, placing both hands on her hips as he leans down to whisper in her ear. ‘Well, you might not have used those exact words, Detective, but you did…’

Ella can’t hear the last bit, but whatever it is, it makes Chloe blush and mouth fall slightly open. They both chuckle quietly together, Lucifer nuzzling his nose against the side of Chloe’s face. When their eyes land on Ella, she sees a mixture of confusion and concern on their faces. Apparently, she was staring. She can’t help it; the OTP feels are hitting her, and they’re hitting her hard.

‘Miss Lopez, are you alright?’ Lucifer asks her, his hands still on Chloe’s hips. She notices how he’s snuck his fingers underneath Chloe’s – or his own, it seems – shirt and is lightly brushing her side with the tip of his fingers.

‘What? No, I’m totes okay, are you crazy? You guys are the cutest! I’m so happy for you,’ she tells them, propping her head on her now folded hands as she smiles at them.

‘Thanks, Ella.’ Chloe smiles back at her before turning her body just a tad so she can look up into Lucifer’s twinkling, brown eyes. Her hand slides up his forearm, slowly and lovingly. ‘I’m happy for us too,’ she admits quietly. Lucifer’s lips part and the softest smile forms on his face. He looks… emotional. Are his eyes a little damp? Adorbs.

‘Uhm,’ Chloe mutters, taking her eyes of Lucifer, who continues to look at her like she’s everything he never knew he wanted. Her hand slides back down his forearm and into his hand. Their fingers intertwine. Ella’s afraid her lips might be stuck in a stupid grin for the rest of the day. ‘Would you mind not telling anyone about this?’ Chloe asks, raising her and Lucifer’s hands a little between them. ‘Just for now?’

Ella nods, still entranced. She’ll gladly keep her mouth shut if it means the two lovebirds get a little more undisturbed time in their bubble. ‘Of course.’

‘Thanks,’ Chloe whispers, before letting her gaze glide back to her tall, dark and handsome boyfriend. They seriously can’t keep their eyes off each other. Nor their hands, it seems; Lucifer’s index finger is tracing patterns on Chloe’s thigh, their hands still locked. Meanwhile, Chloe’s free hand is on Lucifer’s lower back, clenching his suit jacket. Their eyes are sparkling with warmth and joy… and love? Suddenly Ella feels like she’s invading their privacy.

‘I’ll give you guys a minute.’

She starts walking towards the door, getting a double-shot of Lucifer’s signature scent as she passes her two friends. Neither of them seem to notice that she’s leaving. Just as she’s about to open the door and make her exit, she turns around towards them, clearing her throat. They stop whatever conversation they’re having with their eyes to look at her. ‘Just a tiny tip. If you don’t want people to know about you two, you know, shagging,’ Ella imitates Lucifer’s British accent, and the power couple share a glance and a chuckle, like there’s an inside joke. ‘Well, maybe think about, like, freshin’ up your make-up a little, Chloe. And you might also want to put on a shirt that doesn’t look like you picked it up from a certain Mr. Morningstar’s floor,’ Ella pauses to wink at Lucifer, who’s never looked more delighted. ‘Also, his cologne is aaaall over you. Oh, and,’ Ella begins to add as she notices something from this new angle. ‘That’s a really nice shade on you, Lucifer.’ She gestures to her own neck to show him what she means, but he doesn’t seem to listen to that bit.

‘She smells like me?’ Lucifer asks, clearly satisfied. As he breathes his partner in, she rolls her eyes and tries to cover up the dark lipstick marks visible above his collar. ‘Oh, buttoning up now, are we? Funny, ‘cause in the car you couldn’t rip it open fast enough.’ Lucifer chuckles. Chloe shakes her head and palms her face.

‘In the car?!’ Ella exclaims, maybe a little too loudly. ‘I get it, girlfriend. Once you get a piece of this,’ she gestures towards Lucifer and clicks her tongue, ‘how can you get enough?’

Lucifer grins at Ella. ‘I sure hope she can’t.’ Chloe tries feigning annoyance, but she can’t help but bite her lip and look at him hungrily. She’s totally already thinking about when she’ll be able to jump his bones again.

‘Anyway, just thought I’d remind you that pretty much everyone here are, like, literal pros at piecing two and two together, and you, my good friends, are screaming ‘guilty’ – guilty in having had mind-blowing sex all night.’ She watches their faces as Lucifer’s grin grows even wider with a delighted ‘Oh’ and Chloe’s cheeks turn slightly red. ‘I’m just gonna grab a hot chocolate. Please don’t have sex on the evidence while I’m gone. This case has enough butt prints already.’

Before the door closes shut behind her, Ella hears Chloe playfully scolding Lucifer. ‘What did I say about being smug?’

‘How could I not be?’ He defends himself, and there’s that soft lovey-dovey voice again. Ella has never heard Lucifer talk like that until today. Just before the door clicks, she hears the sound of a kiss.

Ship: Sailing.

Day: Made.

[notaversetohedonism]

Daisy Chains and Daydreams

Pairings: Mostly Moxiety but with some Logince as well because I love them and couldn't resist

Content : Fluff, Probably a bit long winded but it's the first fic I've ever finished 😅, mentions of food as a potential CW, as well as mentions of anxiety/panic attacks as well as general feelings of mild anxiety

Word count : 1960, jus a little one shot :)

"I'm boredddddd" groaned Roman, leaning his head back so that it rested on Logan's lap. Logan flinched slightly at the gesture, but was able to keep his composure well enough not to let out the squeak playing on his lips.

"I suppose today has been rather slow" he replied, turning a page from his novel without looking up. Virgil and Patton walked into the room quietly, perhaps hoping that the other sides would not have noticed their absence. No such luck, unfortunately.

"Hmm, Winnie the Blue and Patty-Cake," Roman began with a smirk "Couldn't help but notice that the two of you were, should I say, mysteriously absent?" Virgil simply shot him a death glare, where Patton looked sheepishly down at the carpet, a blush forming upon his freckled cheeks. God. His freckles. Typically his face was clear and bright, but on the odd summer where the sun shone a little brighter, they appeared. Virgil, as should surely be apparent, was a fan. Before they had gotten together, he often lay awake at night staring up at the ceiling, imaging tracing every single one beneath his fingers.

Virgil collapsed in an undignified heap on the couch. He, as the most cynical side, was not a fan of weather in general, but he despised these summer months. How was he supposed to maintain his edgy persona without a hoodie to pull over his head when he had had enough with Logan and Roman's nonsensical bickering? The only thing that had convinced him that dying of heatstroke was not the way to go was Patton tentatively offering up one of his many identical blue shirts.

Patton sat down next to his boyfriend, sliding his fingers into Virgil's and tracing his thumb in gentle circles on the top of his hands. The one gesture that was sure to make Virgil melt. As if he wasn't already doing that in this ridiculous heat. He looked up at Patton, the softest of smiles on his face. In return, Patton gave his usual wide, brighter than the sun itself, grin.

"Hey everyone! I had an idea!" he suddenly burst out, as if the thought had just entered his mind and he had to get it out before it left again.

"Yeah Pat?" asked Virgil softly, a light blush emerging just barely visible underneath his foundation when he saw the identical smirks on Roman and Logan's faces. Patton of course, noticed this. He gave Virgil a look the two of them had come up with together, asking with his eyes if Virgil was ok with this or if he needed to stop. Reassured by the slightest nod of Virgil's head, he continued,

"Why don't we go for a picnic? It'll be fun, and with the breeze it'll be cooler out there than it is in here!" Patton giggled, practically clapping his hands in excitement. There it was again. The ache in his face. Virgil, despite his reservations, had absolutely no intention of giving one of his typical cynical remarks that would have no doubt have been rewarded should any of the other sides been the one to suggest the concept. Logan and Roman both at the same time had said

"Sure!" causing them to blush and turn away from one another. Patton had been badgering Virgil for weeks to let him help set them up, but Virgil had gently insisted that this was something for them to discover in their own time.

"Let's do it," Virgil said, his voice starting out very quiet but becoming a little louder as he continued "It could actually be fun" Patton all but squealed with joy as he jumped up to prepare the food. That was another thing Virgil's mind would often wander to.

They could all cook to some degree. But Logan followed the recipes so meticulously and to every minor detail that the food was often a little bland, Roman had a bad gague of how hot was too hot, and Virgil, naturally, was petrified by the idea of burning himself on the hot stove. When Patton stepped up to the stove, however, it was like a whole other world. One could taste the pure love worked into every bite. The sides would typically cook for themselves, but if one was having a particularly rough day, or if they got sick, then Patton's cooking was sure to make them feel better. Virgil often received it after a panic attack, and more often than not it was the thing that grounded him.

"Oi, Panic at the everywhere, go get ready!" Roman's voice cut through Virgil's thoughts. The nickname still bothered him somewhat, but he could tell Roman was making the effort to be a little nicer to him.

"Alright Princey, if you insist." he smirked, sinking out and back into his room. He wasn't the biggest fan of wearing shorts, but he knew wearing jeans probably wasn't his best idea. He pulled on some loosely fitting jean shorts and, of course, Patton's blue shirt stayed on. He sat for a second on his bed, no longer feeling the need to repress his smiles now that he was alone. Patton saw them; when Virgil was with his boyfriend he couldn't keep them in, but he still felt a little wary around Logan and Roman. They had accepted him, but as the anxious side he still had his reservations. As he sat, Patton suddenly appeared at his side.

"Virge, are you ready to go? We're leaving soon!"

"Gah, Pat! What have we said about appearing in here with no warning?" Virgil exclaimed, but with no real bite to his voice Patton knew he was only kidding.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! This is gonna be so much fun!" Patton giggled, pulling at Virgil's hands. Virgil would never in a million years admit it, but secretly he found Patton's somewhat childish nature the cutest possible thing.

Before they got to their picnic spot, they had a short walk to complete. Roman and Logan forged ahead, arguing about something Virgil didn't understand, nor did he really care about. He was with Patton, and he felt safe. Their hands were loosely intertwined, their pinky fingers locked but not so tightly that Virgil could not pull away should he feel the need. It had taken a little bit of time and a lot of clear communication, but Patton was now very good and understanding of the way his boyfriend felt about affection. He craved it deeply but it often overwhelmed him. But right now, Virgil was quite possibly the calmest he had ever been. The two didn't exchange many words as they walked side by side, only the occasional comment on the beautifully scenic park, or a stifled giggle between themselves as Roman or Logan would make some loud statement.

Finally, the close-knit group of friends found the place they were seeking. They stood in a little alcove discovered by Patton and Virgil on their first official date (by that point they had actually been on about seven, but Virgil was not exactly good at reading the room and thought Patton was just being friendly. Friends kissed on the forehead goodbye, didn't they?). Tall willow trees encircled them. The space was small, but not so small that it felt uncomfortable for their slightly larger than usual party. But what Patton and Virgil unanimously agreed was the best part was the daisies. They grew here wild and free, mostly white and pure but with some pink and some purple, exciting and joyful.

"Thank goodness! I understand that being fit and healthy is necessary for me to remain the most handsome Prince in all the land," Virgil barely stifled a snicker, "but seriously guys? Now I see why your dates always take such a long time!" Logan said nothing, but gratefully slumped onto the soft grassy ground. All those long hours and late nights working tirelessly on his computer did not leave optimal time for exercise.

"Ok everyone, food time! I know it was a little short notice but I hope you all like what I've prepared for us!" Patton said, grinning. Virgil looked inquisitively into the basket that Patton had carried with them for their whole journey. And just. Wow.

Sandwiches in the flavours each side liked best, as well as at least five different types of cookies, and best of all? A rather respectably sized vanilla cake. Their favourite. Roman clapped his hands, Logan raised his eyebrows with a pleasant surprise, and Virgil once again gave his tiny smile. Just a slightly lifted corner of his mouth, but still one Patton recognised well. His own mouth initially mirrored Virgil's, but his smile only grew from there into the one the sides knew so well.

"Alright everyone, dig in!" Of course, no convincing was needed here.

After having stuffed themselves silly, the group sat on the ground, quiet and content. Even Logan, who at this point during an outing would typically be badgering the sides to get back so that he could finish his next series of extraordinary projects, simply closed his eyes and looked up, barely concealing his satisfied smile. With his closed eyes, he did not notice the barely concealed glances of pure adoration given to him by Roman.

Virgil sat propped against a tall, sturdy willow tree, staring at Patton's back lovingly, quietly pondering what the taller side was doing: his back hunched slightly, humming a tune to himself. Within less than five minutes of wondering, he had his answer.

"Uh, Pat? What's this?" he stared in mild confusion at the interwoven daisies sitting in a loop against his pale wrist as Patton looked at him with soft eyes.

"It's a daisy chain! See, I wove them together like this!" As Virgil sat patiently listening as his boyfriend weaved together the pretty little flowers, a thought wandered to the front of his mind. "How on earth did I get so lucky?" Overcome by emotions and bravery, he dared to utter,

"Pat, is it ok if I kiss you?" As Patton gave him an unreadable look for just a few seconds, he wondered if he had crossed a line. But suddenly, he was rewarded with an enthusiastic

"Of course!" and a pair of lips on his own. As Patton eventually leaned back from the kiss to regain some of his air, he suddenly stared at Virgil intensely.

"Uh, y-yes, Pat, what is it?"

"Your eyeshadow, it's purple!" Patton conjured a mirror, shyly holding it up to a stunned Virgil's face.

"And it is. The credit for this one goes to you, Pat." Patton, clearly thrilled but wanting to make sure his boyfriend was comfortable, opted, instead of saying a word, to lay his head down in Virgil's lap, looking up at him with what could only be described as pure adoration. In that moment, it was just them. Roman and Logan's quiet chatter faded into a barely audible whisper, the bird song silenced. They were together, and they were in love. A realisation that would later strike Virgil, and he would spend many am hour wondering how best to say so to Patton, but for now, they sat happily.

But what was the most exciting thing about the beautiful day they all shared together was that by the end of it, as Patton layed his head on Virgil's legs, Virgil saw Roman and Logan's tentatively intertwined hands, the awkward but hopeful smiles on their lips. Virgil decided not to tell Patton right now. Because at this moment, with his hands gently running through his boyfriends soft hair, a daisy chain around his wrist, he felt calm. He felt happy. Maybe tomorrow things would change, but just this once, Virgil decided it was alright to focus on today.

[buckysgoldenheart]

F-Buds: Seb Stan x Reader

Summary: You and Seb are friends with benefits and Seb has had enough.

Words: 2345

Warnings: Cursing some. Not proofread. 

Your fist pounded hard against the door belonging to the one person you could turn to in your moment of need after an undesirable crisis.

“Seb, open up!” Slow footsteps could be heard on the other side of the wood panel and you groaned loud at his lack of haste. “Seb, seriously, open the damn door!”

Your clenched hand paused mid-air as the door swung open to reveal your disheveled friend. He rubbed his eyes with one hand as the other ran through tousled locks.

“Finally!” You said, throwing your hands up and slipping past him into his large apartment. You tossed your purse on the couch as Seb closed the door, his body still half asleep.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” He asked, finally meeting your Y/E/C eyes that held nothing but frustration, though not intended for him. No, your anger was directed toward the man you had spent hours, hours, with only for him to leave you alone by the end of the night, sexually unsatisfied. He was a rare man looking for commitment which was not something you were ready to give.

“It’s 2 a.m. Are you aware of that?” Seb said, folding his arms across a solid, bare chest, finally taking in the full view of you. “Well, look who’s all dolled up. Big date?”

“Oh, shut up.” You groaned at his sarcastic tone. “You know I wouldn’t be here at this hour if my night went the way I wanted it to. Seriously, when did men start wanting relationships? Isn’t it supposed to be all sex, sex, sex with you guys?”

Seb rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess it depends on the people and, ya know, timing.”

“Timing.” You scoffed as you slipped out of your jacket and set it over the back of a barstool. “One of those things desperate people make up to make themselves feel better about getting dumped.”

Seb rolled his eyes and puffed out a breath.

“’Oh, well, he was nice, but the timing wasn’t quite right.’” You said in your best ‘ditsy girl’ voice. “AKA, ‘he dumped me and broke my heart, but I’m not gonna tell you bitches that.’”

“Why are you so cynical? God Y/N, do you ever want to find someone?” Seb asked as he watched you kick off your skyscraper heels.

“I’m not going to go scan the city with a metal detector so I can settle for some scrap of a man just to say that I have one.”

Arms still crossed, Seb leaned against a wall and watched you place your heels by your bag. “Yea, well what if there was a man that really cared about you, but you brushed him off because you didn’t give him a chance?”

Your face pinched. “That’s stupid.”

“Oh, really? Because you go around looking for men to fuck, and even when they want you for more than your body you completely shut them down. Then you come running to me to satisfy you.”

You whipped your head to his at the judgement. “So, what?”

“So, what? Y/N, you’re scared of love, of even the possibility of love and it hurts me to see you go through life like that.”

“I’m not fucking scared, Seb. Don’t be ridiculous.” You whined, then after a few seconds of silence between you, smiled your best suggestive smile and swayed your hips as you strutted over to blue-eyed man.

He held your eyes with his as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, but he portrayed no emotion at your behavior.

“C’mon Seb, I don’t want to have this conversation. Can’t we just kiss and have our amazing sex and just call it a night? I’m stressed and I need release. I need you.”

Seb wasn’t grabbing you. He wasn’t holding you close to his body or making any move to kiss your lips. He just stood there while you hanged off him, his arms at his sides as you pouted.

He sucked in a deep breath and you instantly got excited for him to give in to you and make a damn move. A smile replaced your pout as you felt his hands graze your hips before trailing up the length of your dress, along your curves until he made his way to the arms clinging to him. Rough palms grasped firmly on your forearms.

Slowly, he untangled your limbs and placed them back at your sides, holding them there for an extra second to make sure they stayed in place before releasing you and taking a step back.

“No,” He sighed, struggling on the word. “I can’t.”

“What?”

Seb sucked in a breath and swallowed. “I can’t—I can’t keep doing this with you. It’s not…fair anymore.”

You crossed your arms and planted yourself steady, your posture straight like a wall ready to block out the coming assault. “Fair to whom exactly, Seb?”

A dead chuckle shot out of his mouth, stinging your ears. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“What!”

“God, Y/N!” He nearly shouted, fisting his hands in his dark brown hair. “I let this go on for too long. I really did. I only allowed it in the first place because the woman I’m in love with threw herself at me, repeatedly, claiming that I was the only one that could satisfy her. I didn’t have the willpower to tell you no, to ask for anything more from you because I knew you would end what little we had.

“I was stupid, and weak, and I’ve wanted you so bad for so long and I felt like I finally had a piece of you, but that’s not enough anymore. It’s time for me to step back from this, because otherwise I’m gonna go insane.”

His heavy breathing was the only thing that could be heard throughout the apartment now. That, and the agonizing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. “You love me?”

Seb scoffed and crossed his arms, the muscles budging more, it seemed, than an average humans should. “You fucking knew that.”

“No, Seb, I didn’t.” God, if you had known…

“Just go.”

“What?” You recoiled as if he had hit you, tears stinging your eyes.

“Just…please, Y/N, I can’t, just go.”

  -----------------------------------------------------------------

Next Day:

 You groaned around your ice cream spoon at the knock on your door. You didn’t want to deal with anyone; at this hour, it would most likely be the old bat next door who always complained when your TV volume exceeded five. If she knew what was good for her she’d turn herself right around and go back to that doily museum she calls an apartment. God, you were mean when you were hurting, but who disturbs someone fifteen minutes before midnight anyway? It’s the time when the most miserable of people binge-watch brain-cell-killing reality TV and eat cookie dough ice cream topped with full snickers bars and m&ms. What asshole would dare interrupt that?

Yea, you weren’t answering that door. Or, you wouldn’t, if whoever was on the other side would leave you in miserable peace.

“Agnes!” You yelled as you harshly set the ice cream carton on the coffee table and walked to the entryway. “If you go away now, I’ll turn the volume down to a respectable seven, but that’s it!”

You waited a moment to hear if the tiny old lady’s footsteps would retreat, but then the knock came again. At the sound, you huffed out a deep breath and whipped the door open. “Son of a bitch.”

“Who is Agnes,” Seb asked. “And why does she deserve the hard end of your wrath?”

Somehow the frown on your face grew deeper at the casual nature of the joke. “Don’t worry about my relationship with Agnes, ok? Just mind your own business,” You snapped, then turned on your heel and went back to the couch.

“Ok,” Seb started, “You didn’t slam the door in my face so I’m going to assume that I’m allowed inside of the apartment.” When you didn’t respond, he continued. “Is this a fair assumption?”

Without looking at him and his annoyingly handsome face, you grabbed the carton and began to dig in again, then made a small noise that neither agreed nor disagreed with what he said. You couldn’t decide if you had made a mistake once he finally entered your apartment and shut the door behind him. When he chose to block your view of the awful reality show, you realized you definitely had.

You took another bite of your dessert. “I don’t know if you know this, but you make a better door than you do a window.”

“I do know that,” He said, sloughing off his leather jacket, tossing it next to you on the couch, and aggressively rolling up his long sleeves just above the elbow.

“What, are you gonna fight me?”

“Depends on whether or not you plan to actually listen to what I have to say.”

You pretended to contemplate for a minute, staring him down as you continued to eat more snickers. “My boxing gloves aren’t here, so rain check on the fight.”

“Alright.” He groaned, then took the remote off the table and clicked off your show.

“Hey!” Seb held the remote out of your reach then turned and threw it through the open door of your bedroom. “Are you fucking with me?”

Seb walked closer to you and bent down at the waist, planting is arms either side of your body on the couch and forcing your eyes to meet his. You could feel his breath against your lips as he spoke. “You are going to listen.”

“Oh, yea?” Your eyebrows rose and you crossed your arms in the small space between your bodies.

“Yea.”

Your eyes remained locked as you moved to stand, not caring that his body was blocking yours and so forcing him to lean back until he stood tall in front of you. “So, you just get to be the biggest hypocrite in the world, do you? You get to get mad at me then force me out of your place when I try to talk to you, and now you come over here and demand I listen to you speak?”

“…Yes.”

Your shook your head and rolled your eyes, then went for the kitchen. He followed. Grabbing a soda out of the fridge and opening it, you said, “Alright, fine then. Go for it.” You took a sip.

Seb’s eyes widened a bit as if he didn’t expect to easily persuade you, but they settled back into determination. “Ok, look, I know asking you to leave—”

“Yelling at me to leave.”

“Fine. I know that yelling at you to leave was a dick move, but…” Seb paused and stepped towards you. You head jerked back at his sudden movement, but your body remained planted in its spot. “I didn’t expect to get so upset, ok?” He said. “Well no, that’s not true. I knew I’d be upset. I got pissed every single time you only came to me for sex, but I didn’t think I would lash out. It’s just…it’s been a year.”

He sounded exhausted and you finally understood. You finally saw just how long you had been in denial, and how long you had been hurting more than just yourself. You looked away and to the blue tiles of your kitchen floor. Seb grabbed your hand and you jumped a little at how fast he managed to move to you. “Look at me,” he whispered and squeezed your fingers. With his free hand he took the soda out of yours and put it on the counter, then grabbed that hand as well. “Y/N.”

You took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Seb…”

“I’m sorry.” He dropped your hands and placed his own on your cheeks, brushing away the tears that began to fall at some point. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s ok, Seb.” You cut him off. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I didn’t think I was. I knew what I was doing to myself, but if I thought I was making you feel the same, I never would’ve—”

Sebs eyebrows pinched together. “Doing to yourself?”

“What?”

“What exactly were you doing to yourself?”

You flinched and sighed. As you tried to lower your eyes, Seb’s grip on your face held firm. “Damn it,” You whispered to yourself, then said to him, “Why do you think I keep coming back to you every chance I get; why nothing ever works out with these other men? I tried it, finding someone else to sleep with so I could stop torturing myself, but it never worked. At the end of every date, I turned them down just so I had an excuse to be with you.”

Seb’s jaw dropped and after enough agonizing seconds of silence, you brushed his hands off your face. Deciding to keep your ice cream from further melting, you moved around Seb’s body, but he turned and grabbed you around the forearm. “What exactly are you saying?”

“It’s not clear?”

“No.”

You shifted your body back in front of his. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

He smirked then. “I said it to you. It’s only fair.”

You rolled your eyes and ran a hand through your messy strands. “You know I’m not good at this stuff.”

Somehow, he got closer to you. “Yea, I do.” He placed his hands on the sides of your neck and stroked the edges of your jaw with his thumbs. “I can wait. I have absolutely nowhere to be.”

“Oh, really? You have nowhere to be at midnight on a Tuesday? I’m shocked.”

“Y/N.”

“Fine,” You sighed, closed your eyes for a moment, then looked at him. “I love you.”

Seb smiled and touched his forehead to yours long enough for you to smile as well and place your hands on his chest. “I love you, too,” He said, then tilted your head back and touched his lips to yours.

 Tags: Perm: @dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @hawkeyeharrington @dani-si @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz @xceafh @jazzwoman897 @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999 @ufffg @debra77 @rebelliouscat @anise-d-castle6 @projectxhappiness @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @lowkeysebby @stringgeek13 @quotemeow @notmyfault404 @jjamesbbarness @stangirl4eva @guera31 @sophiatomlinson23​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @hiddles-rose​ @vibhati123 @mywinterwolf​ @picapicapicassobaby​ @lokilvrr​ @private-bucky-barnes

[thefanficmonster]

Not Alone

Valkyrae (Rae) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mention of death of a pet, Grieving

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Angst

Summary: When Y/N doesn’t join the scheduled stream of Among Us with some cheap reasoning that everyone else falls for, Rae is far from convinced. She goes on to check the situation on her own just for her suspicions and worries to be confirmed further - something is off about Y/N and Rae is nothing if not determined to find out what.

Requested by @alex3atsbugs  Hello dear, consider this my farewell to the adorable little Marceline, I hope the cutie is looking down at us from heaven right now. Marceline, I might not have known you but I miss and love you regardless.  You have a special place in our hearts and you will never be forgotten. All my love, Vy ❤

“Ok so we’re only waiting on Lily now, right?“ Sykkuno asks, adjusting his earbuds as he scans over the settings for the game since he was the one to create the lobby which is now almost complete - lacking one more astronaut before the game can start.

Rae, who’s been scrolling through Instagram, looking at fanart and edits, snaps her head up to look at her computer monitor with confusion written all over her features, her brows furrowed, “Wait, what about Y/N? Aren’t they coming?”

This sudden change has surprised Rae more than someone would consider reasonable. But, in her eyes, it’s perfectly reasonable and justifiable considering Y/N has never skipped a stream nor have they ever not reported to her even for the tiniest of things such as running late. Even if they are not joining today, which is a huge oddity in and of itself, they would’ve definitely told Rae about it.

“Oh, no they won’t be joining us today. They said they were experiencing some technical troubles.” Sykkuno replies nonchalantly which aggravates Rae a tiny bit. She cannot comprehend how no one else is seeing anything odd here. Maybe it has something to do with how attentive she is when it comes to Y/N - she’s not sure why, but she is - or maybe it’s just a gut instinct but regardless, she can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. Not to mention that in all their years of streaming together on Twitch and now on YouTube never has Y/N dealt with technical difficulties that led to them not being able to stream. 

Y/N is the type of organized person that is constantly on top of things. They’d never let a technical difficulty get between them and providing their fans with entertainment. Chances are, if there really was an issue, it would’ve been fixed by now and even if it wasn’t...

Y/N would’ve let me know they wouldn’t be joining, Rae’s mind screams, almost altering her calm facial expression. 

“Hey can you give me about five minutes? My router’s acting up, I’ll restart it.“ Rae blurts out without as much as a second thought. Her thoughts are elsewhere right now, she’s got more important things to worry about. Luckily, her ability of rational thinking pushes through to the surface even without her guidance. 

She mutes her in-game and stream mics, takes her phone and rises from her chair, giving the camera what she hopes is a more apologetic rather than distressed smile before walking off-frame. Once out of view, she dials Y/N’s number, tapping her foot anxiously as she waits for her call to be picked up.

“Hello?“ When it does get answered, she’s met with a sniff before the weak voice utters the hesitant greeting word.

“Hey Y/N! What’s up?“ Rae tried to balance her question between a ‘what’s up?‘ in the ‘what’s wrong?‘ sense and the usual cheerful greeting she uses it as. She doesn’t want to end up seeming paranoid.

“Oh, hey, Rae. Nothing much. Aren’t you supposed to be streaming right now?“ Y/N’s tone raises a bit as they try to apply a bit more energy and enthusiasm into their words, presumably to erase any suspicion that sniffle might’ve caused in their friend who appears to have a sixth sense for when things are up with the people they care about. Or with Y/N specifically.

“Um...“ Rae spares the stream set-up a skeptical look, buying herself time to think of an excuse to partner her negation. She doesn’t want to lie to Y/N but she’s aware that they’ll be quick to ditch the conversation and postpone it if she admits to indeed be streaming. “Um, no, not yet. We scheduled it a bit later. Will you be joining us?“

“Uh, no, sorry, I won’t be able to. I’m sick and feeling like absolute crap so...“

Rae automatically stops listening, not on purpose, she just can’t hear Y/N’s voice over the alarms going off in her head, screaming at here that there’s something SERIOUSLY wrong. The stories not adding up - neither of them making sense to begin with - the lack of any authentic energy in Y/N’s voice, that sniffle she heard at the start of the call. It’s all so scarily wrong that it sends Rae one second away from entering full panic mode.

“I thought you were having technical difficulties.“ She blurts out without any thought of it’d make Y/N feel or how it would change the course of the conversation. 

Y/N inhales sharply as if caught completely off-guard and backed up into a corner, “Oh, yeah, that too. My computer keeps crashing.” Being backed up into a figurative corner doesn’t stop them from trying to further pursue this lie they’ve come up with. A lie so blatant and obvious there’s really no point in them trying to keep it going. Yet they choose to do exactly that.

“Y/N, you’re BSing me, you should know better than that!“ Rae whines almost desperately, “Please, tell me what’s going on? We’re friends, I don’t deserve to be kept in the dark, Y/N!“

There’s silence on the other end, loud silence that almost sends Rae into a breakdown. Some may consider it an overreaction, but let me ask you - wouldn’t you be upset and worried if someone you immensely care about was acting oddly and completely out of character.

“You’re going to think it’s ridiculous.“ Y/N’s voice cracks, letting it be known, clear as day, that they are barely balancing on the edge between keeping it together and crying.

“Of course I won’t, baby! I would never! Talk to me.“ Rae pursues, her heart breaking a little at the sound of her friend’s sadness. It’s taking a really big toll on her, not being able to hold Y/N in her arms instead of trying to gauge out their answers over the phone which is proving to be not at all effective or helpful to either of them.

Y/N sniffles again, “My hamster, Marcy...” She inhales to prevent a sob from escaping her lungs, “...died this morning.”

Rae has heard enough to be sent into action.

                                                            *  *  *

“Thank you so much, Rae. I would’ve probably stayed in bed all day with no effort to keep living whatsoever. You’re an amazing person, I hope you know that.“ Y/N gives the hand of Rae’s that’s holding hers a small squeeze, “I’m so lucky to have you.“

The two friends have been sitting on the couch in Y/N’s living room, the atmosphere a mix of melancholy and comfort. The comfort Rae’s been offering Y/N for the past hour or so has been almost entirely silent, in the form of physical affection, to be exact - hugs, soothing backrubs, gentle abstract patterns drawn on their arm, playing with their hair etc. Needless to say, it’s been far more effective than the attempt of calming them down and helping them out over a phone call.

“Don’t ever thank me for being your friend, Y/N. The honor’s all mine“ Rae rubs Y/N’s shoulder reassuringly, resting her head against theirs.

“Rae, you ditched a whole damn stream for me! Of course I’m gonna thank you! Who else would do that for me?“ Y/N protests, their glossy eyes looking up at Rea, lit up by the small smile that has managed to make its way onto their face.

“Only someone utterly stupid and heartless WOULDN’T do that for you.“ Rae says firmly, holding stern eye-contact with her friend.

Y/N looks away almost shyly, smile growing wider, their cheeks becoming rosier. “You have a way with words, you know...” They bite their lip nervously, “Could you help me express my emotions in the post I’ve been planning to make all day? My fans loved Marcy and I’m sure they’ll be as crushed as I am, I just want to appear strong so they don’t worry about me, you know?” They shrug their shoulders hesitantly as another tear escapes their eye.

Rae carefully and gently wipes their tear away with her knuckles, “Of course, Y/N. You don’t have to do this alone - you don’t have to do ANYTHING alone. Because you are never alone - you’ll always have me.”

Something about what Rae just said and the way she said it has struck a nerve in Y/N that has provoked a few more tears to spill out of their eyes as they somehow manage to whisper a: “Thank you” before throwing their arms around Rae, enveloping her entirely in the warmest of embraces. 

Meanwhile....

“Yo guys, how long does it take for a router to be reset?“ Sykkuno asks his fellow ghostie buds out of the blue.

“Less than five minutes. Why?“ Lily replies.

“Cause Rae said she’d reset her router and be back but she’s been gone for two hours so....“

[amara-scott]

Unexpected Journey

Movie: Triple Frontier Characters: Tom "Redfly" Davis x Reader Categories: some Angst, yelling, a lil fluff (good ending?)

"Could you pass me the salt?" I ask, stirring the sauce while keeping my eyes on the recipe that is written in this old book my mom gave me last month. She said even her grandma used it for cooking. Definitely looks and smells like that. I sigh, glancing up and see Tom staring down at his phone. "Earth to Tom?" I swing the tea cloth over my shoulder and lower the heat of the stove, seeing as the sauce is done anyway.

I take a couple careful steps toward his figure, him leaning against the countertop a few feet away. He is chewing his lower lip, deep in thought. His fingers moving across the screen as he types away.

"Hey there." I say, tilting my head slightly, trying to take a better look at his face. He finally meets my eyes but only shortly, looking back down onto the screen.

"Hey." He replies. At least. I throw the towel onto the counter next to him and stroke his upper arms.

"What's up?" I ask, not trying to come off as too nosey. He sighs, locking his phone and placing it onto the counter beside him before fully paying attention to me. He sends me a small smile. A tight one that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Nothing, all good." I hum at his reply, raising a brow, not believing him. He wipes at his face, gulping and turns to the side, my hands falling off his forearms I kept stroking with my thumbs.

He walks over to the pot, stirring and tasting with a spoon, his eyes squinting. "Needs salt." He holds out his hand to me and I grin, shaking my head as I see his smirk growing.

___

"-And I told her, you can't just walk up to him and say that! He'll think you're insane!" I giggle as I tell him about last weekend where I went out to drink cocktails with my best friends from high school. It's been way too long since I've seen them, us all having lives but all kept living in the same town we grew up in together.

He chuckles along and takes another bite of his potatoes, dipping them in the sauce. He seemed distant all day. Especially after that text conversation earlier.

"So, what's going on, Tom?" I try again, gently.

"Nothing, why?" He looks up, sitting up straight and takes the napkin to wipe his mouth before taking a sip of his beer.

"Just- you seem distant and like something is bugging you or someone-"

"-(Y/N), everything is good. Don't worry, okay?" He tries again but I don't get that reassuring feeling whenever he says 'it's all good'. Quite the opposite actually. The more I hear it, the less I believe it.

I place down my fork and clear my throat, drinking my wine. I place the nearly empty glass back down on the table and sit back, crossing my arms. Eyes boring holes into the table cloth.

"It just doesn't seem that way, is what I'm saying-"

"Seriously, let's drop this, okay? Nothing is the matter, you're about to make a big fuss over nothing. Just- don't." I look up at him as he uses his stern voice, like he's scolding me. I frown at him, rubbing my thighs, the topic really itching me and he knows it.

"But if something was the matter, you know you can talk to me, right?"

He sighs, closing his eyes, jaw tight. He stands up then, taking our plates and walking into the kitchen. I look after him and regret saying anything. My eyes back on the table, the rain outside catching my attention next. Loud, whistling wind and hard droplets coming down on the windows.

What a great date night. I stand up with a heavy sigh and take our glasses, following him into the kitchen. He's loading the dish washer as I walk up next to him to empty our drinks and he steps aside, giving me room to add the glasses to the dish washer. I close it and when I turn around he is gone. Way to avoid me now. After grabbing two bottles of water for us I head up as well.

I enter the bedroom but he's not here, neither in the bathroom. So he's in the study. I roll my eyes and place the bottles onto our night stands, getting ready for bed. I thought we'd have a romantic dinner and maybe even have sex but- I guess not. I am mad at myself for ruining this. But also disappointed, he clearly keeps something from me that is bugging him. But I realise it's probably for the better to just give him space.

I pull my dress over my head and glance at myself in the mirror as I take one of his shirts from the drawer. My new lingerie set. I huff, pulling off the black lace bra and throw it into the corner, missing the chair but I don't care right now.

"Tom, you coming to bed?" I ask down the hall as I enter the bathroom.

"Yeah, in a few." So, no. He won't. He will wait until I'm asleep.

Once between our comfy sheets I lie there, staring at the ceiling and listening to the rain. Soon my eyes drop closed and I drift off.

Light kisses to my neck stir me half-awake but I don't move, nor do I open my eyes. I feel him cuddling up to me, arm around my waist as he pulls me a bit tighter against him, breathing down my neck. I shift my hand up, placing it above his' and lacing our fingers. His thumb running across my hand as he leaves a kiss on my shoulder.

"I love you." He whispers, his beard tickling my neck. He told me one day that he hates going to bed without telling me at least once. I smile into my pillow but don't answer. Hoping he believes I fell back asleep already.

___

The next couple days we don't talk as much. Silent smiles and quick kisses. That's all. But I want to give him space. I remind myself every day. I know I would want the same.

We sit at the table, eating breakfast in silence. I choose to make his favourite for him while I eat cereal. Not really in the mood for anything fancy. The radio is playing in the background softly. The window open, allowing fresh air to enter our kitchen and the morning sun warming my skin.

"Santiago wants to come over later." He says and keeps his eyes glued to the newspaper beside his plate. I take a sip of my orange juice and nod.

"Does he want to stay for dinner? I wanted to make fresh homemade pizza." He nods, sending me a small smile.

"Sounds good." Conversation over. I hold back a sigh and stand up, clearing the table off dirty dishes and grab a few bags from under the sink.

"I'll go get some groceries, I'll be back later." I kiss his cheek, leaning over his shoulder and he places his hand on mine that rests there. His lips brush against my knuckles.

"I love you." He says, glancing at me over his shoulder as he lets go of my hand. I smile and kiss his cheek again.

"Love you more." I walk into the hallway and put on my shoes, grabbing my keys and phone, throwing both into my bag.

"Do you need anything else, Tom?" I call out but he says no, so I walk out the door, taking the silver pick up to get shopping.

Once I'm done I make my way back, parking in the driveway, another car already there. Santiagos. I smile, finally someone else to maybe get Tom back to his usual self.

I step outside and open the backseat door, taking a glance at the five bags and deciding I only want to walk once. I got this. Once I have all of them in my hands and arms I turn to the side, kicking the door shut with my hip, but it didn't close fully. I roll my eyes, sighing. Can't change that now.

"Need any help?" I nearly drop a bag at Santiago's voice but turn carefully, smiling at him through the paper bags.

"Hey you! How are you?" I say but slowly feel my arms getting heavy. He jogs over and takes the bags easily.

"Gimme those- I'm good, what about you? You look good." I wave him off, smiling and close the truck again. Walking toward the front door with him.

"You charmer, I'm good- you're staying for dinner?" I ask and he nods, grinning.

"Wouldn't miss (y/n)'s famous homemade pizza for anything." I open the door for him and take my shoes off after closing the front door once he's inside.

"Oh, you're in for a treat mister." I joke and follow him into the kitchen.

"Yeah? I sure hope so."

I see Tom outside in the backyard, drinking a beer and tell Santiago to go back to his playdate. He pinches my side and I flinch, playfully glaring at him as he exits, taking a couple cool beers with him on the way.

I store everything away and prepare the dough already, prepping all toppings and making the sauce. Once I'm done the men both walk back inside, Tom walking up behind me and kissing my cheek.

"How was the store?" I sigh thinking back.

"Damn crowded. For whatever reason. It's a sunny Friday afternoon."

"I feel like grocery stores are always crowded. No matter the day or time." I agree with Santiago as I pop a strawberry into my mouth, I offer them some after washing them and they happily start munching.

"So, what's the occasion for your visit? Just stopping by?" I ask as I sit down with them at the table. Must be torching outside.

"Yeah, something like that." I nod, not pressing the subject.

"Actually-" He starts again, glancing at Tom who shakes his head at him. "-come on man, you have to tell her eventually." He sighs, rubbing at his face.

"What's going on?" I ask, folding my arms and looking between them both.

"Nothing, it's-"

'-no, Tom, I'm actually tired of hearing that."

He looks up at me, hard face. "Let's not do this right now."

"When? Later? Tomorrow? In a week? Tom, I've been waiting for at least two weeks now. Giving you space, not pressing the subject- but I'm drained. I'm constantly worrying, my head is full of scenarios and none of them are any good. You either tell me or I will squeeze this out of Santiago."

There's a moment of silence before Santiago stands up. "I'm gonna be outside guys, Tom should be the one telling you." He pats my shoulder on the way out and closes the door to the backyard once he's outside.

My eyes are glued to Tom but he is just staring at the table, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"It's a bit more complicated." He starts and I sigh, relieved. He's finally telling me. At least that's what it feels like.

"I don't care how long you need or if you have to start over and over again. I'm right here, right beside you." I take his hand from his head and hold it in mine on the table. I send him a small smile, hoping I could encourage him to tell me everything that's been resting on his big heart.

He gulps, nodding. "You know that Santiago and I used to work together. Back in my military days." He pauses, looking at me. I nod, remembering him telling me on one of our first dates because I mentioned that a man in a uniform is instantly more attractive. He wanted to brag. But I also admired him. His bravery. I still do.

"Him and a few others I served with are going on a mission again." He continues, eyes not meeting mine. I stop stroking his hand but don't pull it off. I gulp.

I also remember telling him no matter how hot a guy is in a uniform, I could probably never be with a soldier, the constant worry, the goodbye. Not knowing what might happen.

I slowly nod, glancing over to the backyard, watching Santiago talking on the phone. I look back at Tom who finally meets my eyes.

"And you're joining them?" I state, even though I wanted it to be a question. He sighs, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

"I'm not sure." I pull my hand away and rub my eyes, standing up and walking toward the sink, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. I gulp it all down, setting the glass back down on the counter, hanging my head a bit. I close my eyes, then feel him behind me, running his hands up and down my arms.

"That's why you've been ignoring me?" I ask, turning back around, his hands falling to his sides.

"I needed to think. I had to weigh my options."

"What conclusion did you come to?" I ask, trying not to sound disappointed or sad. But it's hard.

"That I have to do this-" I want to interrupt him but he holds up a hand. "-I have to. If I want to be able to give you what you deserve. Provide for you. Have a good future with you. I can't even fucking afford a new fucking truck right now. How am I supposed to offer you a good, happy, carefree life if I can't even do something as simple as that?" He stops, seeming frustrated with himself and shaking his head at himself. He's avoiding my eyes now. "I fucked up my first try at a family. I don't want to loose you too."

I wait for a moment. Watching and waiting. But when he doesn't add anything I step closer and hug him, pulling his head down to my neck. I stroke his scalp and his arms go around my middle, pulling me even tighter. I feel a warm and wet sensation on the shoulder where his head is laying on.

"It's okay, you're okay." I whisper and can't hold back my own tears anymore. Seeing him break down like this was never something I'd want to witness. But I'm glad he opened up to me. Finally. The shows me he trusts me enough to let me in.

"You don't have to do any job for me, earn any money for me, dress a specific way for me- hell I don't even mind the truck. I love him. I call him Chuck the truck sometimes. You refused to name him, so- I had to get creative." He chuckles into my shoulder before lifting his head, shaking his head at me.

"I don't deserve you." He says, cupping the right side of my face and running his thumb across my cheek.

"Wrong. You deserve everything, Tom." He sighs, looking down between us before finding my eyes again.

"I don't." He argues but I can't respond before he kisses me, holding my face with both hands now. I melt against him and my fingers wrap around his wrists.

"I can come back another day-" We pull apart and look over at Santiago, holding up an empty beer bottle while grinning.

"No, you'll suffer for what you started."

With that Tom kisses me again, grinning against my lips as I giggle, hearing Santiago groaning and walking back out.

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 8

WARNING. HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Richie watched as the sun sank steadily towards the horizon, lighting the sky red, orange, yellow, begging the clock to tick just a bit quicker so he could be free from his job. Britney and Mason, douchebag 1 and douchebag 2, were chattering away like hormone-driven starlings right behind him rather than wiping down the counters like they probably should have been. It was 30 minutes until his shift was up and the flow of customers had more than ebbed by now. Normally, Richie wouldn't want his shift to ever end; normally meant he had Bev or Ben at his side to keep him from drowning himself in the backroom sink. Tonight, neither were here, so he was stuck with the two preppy assholes he was so desperately trying to tune out. On any other occasion the music leaking from the tinny speakers would have been enough to get him through the day, but tonight things were different and the radio was instead tuned to bark out the score of some sports game Richie couldn't care less about but had the one or two patrons (who were already served and seated) tilting one ears towards the sound in interest. If given the chance Richie would have been just fine talking with Britney and Mason; he didn't like them, not really, but his big mouth was begging to run after almost a straight 45 minutes of near-silence and professionalism, and the problem was that they didn't seem too fond of talking to him.

And so, Richie simply stood. And waited. And grew more and more bored out of his mind. His fingers began to drum against his chin which was rested on the palm of his left hand which was- in turn- propped up by his elbow on the slightly-sticky surface of the counter. He fought the urge to tap his foot and he fought the urge to hum or dance or bop his head all because he didn't think he could stand knowing the other two would judge him for it. Judgement wasn't often something that bothered him but the memories of last night's talk with Beverly kept trying to pop up into his brain. Yes, that was another reason he was desperate for something to do- Richie just couldn't stop thinking about that talk. The door to the cafe popped open and, golly, it was Richie's lucky day- in stepped one bite-sized brunette with a tentative scowl on his face full of freckles. Just like that, Richie perked up again, his smile splitting his face right in two and his stomach beginning a circus performance consisting of backflips and pirouettes.

"Well, wouldja lookit that!" Snapping his fingers, Richie leaned forwards and across the counter to greet Eddie with his bright eyes, "Spaghetti-man, welcome! Just in time, I was tempted to throw myself into one of the ovens!" Eddie's scowl vanished and instead came a confused little grin that looked pretty goofy and melted away the last of any problems the world had to face.

"Christ, Rich, that's a little dramatic," Eddie pulled up to the counter and began to say something else but, well, Richie was a little distracted taking in the sight of him alone. It had been nearly 24 hours since they'd interacted and, after his little talk with Bev, Richie couldn't really get Eddie out of his mind. Fitted in a fluffy coral-toned knitted sweater and a pair of black jeans, he was looking adorable. Imagining Eddie with some accessory like a bracelet or black nails was even cuter- suddenly, Richie felt very much like Bev said she did whenever she went digging through his wardrobe. Eddie quirked a brow and snapped Richie right out of his thoughts.

"Sorry? What was that? My head's still a lil' out of it tonight," He straightened his back, blinking his scattered thoughts away and cracking his knuckles as if he were being thrown into a cage match, "Can I get you something to drink? To eat? A seat at the bar, maybe? I could use someone to talk to, I feel like I'm going crazy around here," As he said 'crazy' Richie spun a finger around his temple, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

"I actually just came by to say hello, since... y'know. The party and... and all that shit. We had a deal, didn't we?" Eddie took up Richie's offer for a barstool, leaping up onto it and folding his hands on the counter. He glared down at the tabletop as he spoke, bashful. It warmed Richie's heart and he smiled even wider, clasping his hands and holding them up to the side of his face; his eyelashes battered wildly and then he was the Southern Belle.

"Well, my oh my, ain't you a doll? Stoppin' by just to get a glance at lil' ole' me?" With another roll of his eyes (that seemed to be an Eddie Kaspbrak trademark) Eddie finally looked up again and rested his cheek on one hand.

"I regret it now, Trashmouth. You're gonna make my ears bleed." Laughing, Richie spun on his heel, briefly catching Britney and Mason's gazes and then went straight for the cups to whip up a signature drink for his friend, even if it was against company policy both to create anything original and to give out anything without it being paid for. Who gives a shit, Richie thinks to himself, and gets right to it.

"How's a mocha sound, Eddie Spaghetti?"

"It's- It's fine, but how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Especially not with, like-" Eddie didn't need to finish his sentence, nor did Richie have to actually see him to know he was passing discreet glances at the two coworkers most likely listening in. Eddie was embarrassed about his silly little nickname. Challenge accepted- Richie had plenty of those. Flipping switches, tapping buttons, spinning around the kitchen with practiced ease, Richie pumped out a perfect dark chocolate mocha with steamed vanilla milk and caramel sauce drizzled artistically across the mountain of whipped cream on the top. It was a masterpiece- no surprise there.

"And here you are, Eduardo." the cup was set down and Eddie gave Richie an awkward, thankful smile. "Enjoy it- and here, dip one of these in it," Sliding open one side of the bakery treats display case Richie pulled out a slice of banana bread, "It's fantastic. Like, seriously, Eds. Ten out of fucking ten."

"When did your shift start today? I didn't know you worked," Eddie's cheeks flushed a soft red thanks to his own curiosity and he hid it with a sip from his drink. Richie shrugged,

"Nine. I was exhausted. Had to steal a coffee or two throughout the course of the day like the rebel I am." Richie reached up, popping the collar of today's brightly coloured shirt (pink, blue, yellow, purple, an amalgamation of triangles and circles and squares) and hunching his shoulders in, grimacing dramatically and sauntering back and forth like a biker dude who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and loved the road more than anything else, "I run 'gainst the law, dawg," Eddie cracked a toothy smile and let out a dancing chuckle, "I rob gas 'tations and pick pockets for a livin'," Richie reached a hand up and began to fuss with his hair in an attempt to transform it into an impromptu mullet. Bringing the attention towards his curls Eddie's face screwed up but his smile still lingered.

"You need a fuckin' haircut, dude, like- wow. It's like a whole mop, Richie," And then Eddie's eyes grew wide and he recoiled, "Did you make my drink with that mane exposed? What if- what if you got your stupid hair in it? You know you're committing a guideline 37 health code violation? It's literally against the law not to wear a hair net, you know. And did you wash your hands?" Richie flipped his collar back down as Eddie spoke, letting out a huff and stumbling over to the sink to jam his hands under the faucet. "I heard people's hands carry up to almost five million different kinds of bacteria. You'd better not be putting that into people's-" Richie's hands now soaking wet, he lifted them and flicked them violently in Eddie's direction. The shorter boy cut himself off and let out a startled cry as he was assaulted by these droplets of water, half-jumping-half-falling out of his chair to scramble out of range. "You asshole! This sweater is a gift from my mom you know, and it could get damaged or-" Someone in the shop barked out a hissing 'shhh!' and Eddie went silent, his face bright red.

"The patrons request silence, my lo- friend, jeezly-crow," Richie dried his hands on the towel just near the sink, acting like he hadn't almost called Eddie 'my love' (he only didn't say it because of his coworkers and Eddie's pride) and returned to standing across from him. As soon as he was near enough Eddie delivered a half-assed punch to his forearm that was more teasing than actually harmful.

"That was quite the show," Britney, for once in her life, regarded Richie with a glitter of amusement in her eyes, and then glanced over at Eddie who was now smiling sheepishly and clearly dreading meeting a new person. Britney stuck out a hand, "Nice to meet you... Eduardo, was it?"

"Ah- Eddie, actually, my name is Eddie- Richie is just... just stupid sometimes, sorry," Rapidly, Eddie wiped his hands on the front of his shirt and took Britney's hesitantly within his own. Only Richie noticed the way his brows flicked a little closer together- Eddie was uncomfortable. That much was obvious.

"It's part of my charm, isn't-"

"Oh my God, I know, right? He's such a goofball!" With a horribly dopey grin, Britney pushed at Richie's shoulder and let out a high-pitched titter, "Imagine having to work with him every day!" Both boys let out an awkward chuckle, sharing a glance that said a multitude of different things; Who the hell is this chick? and Well she's just a little rude. and Can she maybe leave us alone? and many, many other things as well. "So, Eds- can I call you that?-" Britney didn't give him a chance to protest even though he wanted to, "How long have you and Richard been friends? How'd you meet him?" Britney leaned in just beside Richie, basically elbow to elbow as she crossed her arms and leaned into them to- oh- everything clicks together just like that, just as Britney uses her arms to push her chest higher. She was trying (and, well, failing, frankly) to flirt with Eddie. It seems that the asthmatic has yet to notice.

"Well, I... Not long, we just met a little over a week ago, I guess. It's actually kind of funny we-"

"Only a week?" Britney batted her lashes and Richie debated on telling her that her interrupting was not a good flirting technique, "But you two seem so close already! Gosh, I'd have guessed you two were high school friends at least!"

"Nope," Richie interjected before she could continue, "Just new friends. He's great, I'm great- that makes double great- Anyhow, Britney, we should let him enjoy his drink shouldn't-"

"Quite the mouth on him, huh?" Somehow, impossibly, Richie had failed to get her attention. Demanding all eyes on him was his specialty, but it was as if Britney had garnered some sort of tunnel vision, like a race horse with blinders perched on either side of it's head. Flirt racing. Place your bets. Richie felt a flame of jealousy and immediately squashed it down, feeling like some bitchy schoolgirl. "Chatter chatter chatter, all day long. How do you deal with it?"

"I don't, usually," Eddie was fiddling with the hem of one sleeve, his cheeks puffed out lightly in irritation. Who knew one man could have so much patience. "I... Well, I kind of like the chatter, actually. My own thoughts race so fast, it's cool to finally have someone who can keep up with them." Shrugging, Eddie turns to Richie and opens his mouth to speak, but, what a surprise, Britney beats him to it.

"I'm sure I could keep up with them, hon, if you gave me the chance," Britney let one eye fall down in a wink and Eddie gaped, frozen. His face drained of colour, a ghastly white that highlighted each and every one of his freckles- then it flooded red and he gripped the sides of the counter, looking at Richie again but this time as a silent plea, a save me oh my God- "What's your number?" She smiled, her rose red lips curling up in a way that could only be described as evil, "Or I can give you mine. I'd like to get to know you better." One part of Richie wanted to let this play out just because it was such a wonderful opportunity to watch Eddie flounder. The other part, the moral part, was screaming at him to intervene.

"Oh- I, I uh- I'm so-sorry I don't-" Eddie's tongue was tied. He swallowed hard and shook his head, his breath beginning to come in hitches, "I- I'm not interested I'm s-sorry if you got the- the wrong idea or-"

"Oh, come on, pretty please?" Britney leaned in closer and Eddie leaned away. "With a cherry on top? I promise it'll be fun-"

"Fuck off, Brit, he said no," Richie tried to keep his tone level, knowing that if he didn't his jealousy would show, but it seems he wasn't firm enough and that Britney didn't quite get the message. Eddie was still shaking his head, patting at his pockets as if searching for something, something to get him out of this more than awkward situation and turning up empty handed.

"We can maybe go to dinner tomorrow night or something like that, I'm a pretty fun girl when you get to-"

"Britney, that's enough!" Slamming one hand down on the countertop and raising his voice, all eyes turned to him- even those of the patrons, though this time no one hissed out a shush. After a beat of silence, Richie continued with a calmer tone, "You're clearly making him uncomfortable, I think you should just get to wiping down the counters or something so we can start closing up," Someone behind Richie scoffed; Mason. His other coworker. Rounding on him, Richie crossed his arms, trying to look somewhat intimidating in the face of this super-jock. "What's your problem, huh?"

"Well, I just think your little friend there's really makin' a mistake," Mason shifted his weight onto one foot, peering around Richie and staring the poor flustered Eds straight in the eye, "She really is a great chick, and... Well, you look like you could use a ride like her." Eddie's jaw dropped and his face went redder. He looked as if he were about to pass out, and Richie was stunned all the same.

"Jesus Christ, man, you can't just say that! What the hell's wrong with you?" Richie took a step forwards, glaring even harder but Mason wasn't deterred, wasn't afraid, was still dead set on either picking on Eddie or maybe actually attempting to give some sort of skewed advice.

"She'll do nearly anything you want if you ask nice," Britney was smiling though she looked a little stunned herself by this show of boldness, "And it seems she likes you, too. You're her type- short, thin, kinda... well, kinda girly to be honest," Eddie stared down at the tabletop, fighting to control his erratic breathing and seeming to have given up on patting his pockets for- oh shit, his inhaler. Was Eddie having an asthma attack?

"Mason, you fucking idiot, give it a rest. Eddie isn't interested. Leave him the fuck alone!" Richie was growing irritated- something about Mason felt off today. Usually the boy didn't outright pick on other people, he was always at least subtle about it.

"Oh, shit-" Mason let out a little chuckle, and stepped around Richie to approach the counter, "Unless- wait, unless you're not into her?" Richie was so close to slamming a fist across Mason's stupid face. After years of not understanding why everyone called his own face punchable, Richie finally got it. Some people just looked like good boxing practice.

"No fucking shit Sherlock of course he isn't into-"

"Unless you're some sort of fairy?"

Oh, the silence that followed this statement was suffocating. It was as if a thick blanket of quiet had throttled the room; Eddie's hitching breaths had stopped- in fact, so had his breathing altogether. His eyes had hollowed out, his face had lost all colour for good this time, and his shoulders had jumped up to his ears. Britney's mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide, breath stolen away in a more figurative sense. Richie was entirely and utterly shocked. He had known Mason wasn't the ideal fella. He cheated on girlfriends and drank too much and stole things, but this- this was... more than Richie had expected. It took a lot for Richie to dislike someone and he disliked both him and sort of Britney for quite the big book of reasons; but downright homophobia was not in his book until today.

"What. The fuck." Richie's voice had gone low, dangerously low. Mason turned to face him instead, his eyes dancing with quite the colorful array of emotions yet somehow appearing haunted, dead, all at the same time. If Richie had to get all poetic and describe it he'd say those eyes were reminiscent of an ocean- chaotic in the crashing of the waves, and yet endlessly empty. He was smiling wide. Proud. Like a shark. Eddie was still silent.

"Maybe I've got things wrong, maybe that was wrong," Mason held his hands up defensively, and Richie made the mistake of letting him continue, "Maybe... Well maybe he's not a fairy." A pause, blood thrumming loudly in his ears, "Maybe you are, Tozier. Maybe you're the little fag-"

"Shut up, Mason. Just shut the hell up." Mason leaned in, arms crossed, smile smug,

"You know, as sick as you are, it doesn't even surprise me." From Richie's right there was a gasp, a choked sound reminiscent of some form of words.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I swear to God-"

"I probably should have realized sooner, to be entirely honest. I mean, your hair, your clothes, your stupid nails and your stupider voices-"

"Richie- Richie I-" Richie's head was spinning with red hot rage. His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, his teeth gritted tightly.

"You don't know a single thing about me you asshole,"

"I guess it's possible both you and your friend here mingle with that crowd, huh? Maybe the- Oh Jesus, maybe the reason you're so defensive is because the two of you are, like, boning or-" And, that was the final fucking straw. Richie didn't register his hands flying out to shove, hard, at Mason's chest until the boy was stumbling backwards, right over Britney taking them both to the ground. Richie was taller than Mason. Mason was heavier than Richie. With the right momentum, the right force and angle, he could- and did- send Mason almost flying.

"You're a fucking pig, you know that? Jesus- and to think I might actually, one day, maybe be able to tolerate your obnoxious ass here at work?"

"Rich- I c-can't-"

"Wow, I was naïve! Do you have a single scrap of human decency in that tiny frocking brain of yours or are you only powered by fucking and alcohol?"

"R-Richie! I-"

"Well guess fucking what, you dog? I've got quite the gift for-"

"Richie!!" Just as Richie was about to spit right onto Mason's stupid face Eddie dragged him out of his furious haze with a choking wheeze. His head snapped right, gluing onto Eddie's trembling form; one hand was grasping at his throat, the other supporting him on the countertop, shaky, pale. His face was as white as a sheet and he looked positively awful with his mouth open wide and his chest heaving painfully up and down. "Rich- I- I-I-I c-ca-can't breathe I-"

"Shit, Eds, I'm so sorry," Richie didn't waste a second in hopping over the counter, tearing off his work apron and tossing it to the floor, discarding his anger with it, "Come on, let's go, let's get you some fresh air okay? We can hurry to your place and get your inhaler, yeah?" Despite the hate, the disgust, Richie couldn't care less about how he must have looked as he took Eddie's hand and began to drag him to the door, half-drunken mocha and quarter of banana bread left for the other two to clean up. On their way out Richie was almost certain he heard one last snide comment, some slur, but his only focus right now was Eddie and the way he was sucking in rasping breaths like a drowning man. Rich shoved the door open with one shoulder, holding it ajar and letting Eddie pass by, resting a hand on his back as he did so and beginning to steer him down the sidewalk in no particular direction. "Where's your house? What's your address? Should I call Bill or Stan or- We have to get you to your inhaler, don't we?" Cowering like a hurt puppy, Eddie shrunk into Richie's side, still gripping and clawing and gasping. "W-What do I do where do I go what-"

"No-" Eddie forced the words out through gritted teeth, shaking his head and holding up a single finger- just give me a minute. The two came to a halt underneath the golden glow of a streetlamp just recently lit. The sky was a dark purple now, growing into blue.

"Eddie, don't you need you inhaler?" He shook his head again, and Richie screwed his brows together, "But your asthma, we can't risk it we should just-"

"NO, Rich- Just-" Eddie gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, "Just give me a- a fucking minute!" Richie shrunk away, pulling his arms to his chest and taking a tentative step back. Eddie turned, hiding his face, and continued to sputter, refusing Richie's help and planting one hand over his eyes and forehead. A minute passed- Richie tried to suggest once more that the inhaler was the safest option. Eddie denied it with another string of breaths and curses. At last, an agonizing three minutes later, the rise and fall of Eddie's chest grew steadier.

"Are... Are you sure you're alright? I... I don't know how asthma works but I don't think ignoring it is healthy." Risking being yelled at again Richie stepped forwards and placed a soft hand on Eddie's frail shoulder. For one quick moment those big brown eyes stared up at him and then they flicked away, down to their shoes instead. The smaller boy's ears burned red with shame.

"I don't-" Eddie scoffed, "I don't fucking- I don't fucking have asthma okay? I'm fine. I just- need to- calm the hell down."

"You- what? You don't have asthma? Then what was all that stuff at the party-"

"It was nothing, okay? It was just my stupid brain being all messed up! It's not asthma, jackass, so just- let it go, please. Jesus," Eddie shook off Richie's hand and took a few steps back, one hand rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He started to pace. "I can't believe that guy, what an asshole! And that girl, I just-" He cried out incoherently, too frustrated to piece together another phrase, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Eddie, I really am. I don't know what got into them- Mason especially, he isn't usually that bad and I... Well, that wasn't cool. Something was wrong about him tonight and- fuck," Richie brought his hands up to his face, underneath his glasses to scrub it vigorously, "I don't know, man, I'm so sorry." When Richie's hands fell again Eddie was looking at him, one hand on his hip, the other pressed against his chest, concerned. A pause.

"Are you okay?"

"What...? Of course I am, I'm not the one who almost choked on-"

"Then what the fuck did you think you were doing in there?" Eddie surged forwards and, this time, pushed Richie with both hands, though the outcome was very different and Richie hardly budged.

"Woah woah Eds what-"

"He could have hit you! Are you stupid or something? That guy would have had your fucking neck snapped before you could even do anything about it and you were just going to let it happen because he said some nasty shit to me?" Again, Eddie thumped a fist into Richie's chest, and then another.

"Of course Eddie he can't just-"

"People have said that shit to me all my life, Richie, you don't have to go risking your stupid neck because of it!" This time Richie caught Eddie by the wrist before his shove could connect, and then caught the other hand right after, holding them tight, "Let me go, Richie I can't deal with you being like this right now it's like you're not even listening to me and-"

"Eddie, calm down you're gonna throw yourself into another fit!"

"I'm okay, asshole, I'm not gonna break down and die right here and now because I'm angry at you! I-I get angry all the time I'm not some child- I-" Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and then he spat out the words coated in acid, "You don't get to act all 'night in shining armor' just because some airheaded asshole wants to tell me what's good for me! I can take care of myself and I fucking hate it when people treat me like some stupid kid!" Eddie was gasping again, though this time he kept his mouth shut tight, trying to hide that he was struggling. He looked furious and terrified and hurt, a trio of emotion that Richie never wanted to see on his face again. Richie let out a sigh, closing his eyes and letting go of Eddie's wrists. As soon as he did Eddie crossed his arms and took a step back, averting his gaze. The tips of his ears were burning brighter.

"I... Eddie, I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to- to belittle you or talk down to you or anything like that. I just saw that you were getting badmouthed and I acted before I could really think."

"That doesn't surprise me, Trashmouth, you seem to be a little fucking impulsive." His voice strained, it was evident that Eddie was trying to reign in his temper, his 'asthma' already calming down once more. "Just... just please let me handle myself in the future. I can do it, I swear,"

"Yeah, I... I know you can. You're," Richie chuckled, and punched Eddie weakly, tentatively in the shoulder, "You're all sorts of spunk in one tiny package," Allowing himself to grin just for a split second Eddie slapped offense onto his face and wore a pout that would better fit a toddler.

"Are you calling me short? That's real low, Rich, that's just-"

"Low, is it? Yeah, I guess it is, huh?"

"Oh- fuck you!" Eddie rolled his eyes and turned away to conceal his smile as Richie let out his bright cackling, ripping through the silence of the night in a way that was more pleasant than Eddie thought possible. "God, you're just such an asshole, I hope you know that," He jabbed out an accusatory finger and Richie shot up his hands in mock surrender as if that finger were a gun.

"Don't shoot!" He hollered, stumbling a step back, "I have a wife and kids to get back to!" Eddie laughed, dropping his hand, and just barely stopped himself from asking if Richie had a husband to get back to instead. That was a can of worms for another day.

"I'm exhausted now thanks to you. You're like a baby, always whining and shit. Come on, Stan works and Bill's probably asleep by now. Wanna come watch a movie or something? I think we have a copy of Die Hard lying around." Eddie began to walk back in the direction of the cafe- Richie had taken the complete wrong path in their hasty escape- waving one hand for him to follow. Richie was now beaming, knowing just what to say to (hopefully) piss off Eddie even more.

"Oh, awesome! My favourite Christmas movie!" Eddie spun on him. Mission accomplished.

"What the fuck did you just say? Christmas movie?!"

[the-darklings]

—𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒖𝒔;

pairing: john wick x f!reader

word count: 7.2k+

summary: You want him to fear you. And he will. 

warnings: STRONG VIOLENCE, blood, emotional distress/trauma, mentions of torture, swearing, angst. 

notes: Thank you so much for the feedback on Part 1!!! Ngl, I got carried away again but there’s something deeply enjoyable about these two so here we are. Fair warning, this one is gonna get messy. 

children of ares series: 01 | . . | 03 |

“I’m surprised you’re alone.”

Your head lifts at the sound of his voice over the music.

John stands behind you in that familiar, overly calm manner of his that never seems to waver. The dark suit he wears seems to make him blend in with the darkness of the club as he nods his head towards the empty seat opposite to you in a silent question.

Your lips twitch upwards slightly, and you lean back in your own seat. “You don’t need to ask.”

John slides smoothly into the booth, and his obsidian eyes sweep over you once but the action is hardly sexual or makes you feel uncomfortable in any way. It’s a warming gesture, a protective one, and it makes something pleasant bloom in the pit of your stomach.

You’ve only been back in the great game for two months, and in that time Tarasov has only allowed you and John to work together once. He seems hellbent on breaking you in on solo missions. You aren’t sure if it’s his version of additional punishment but you find any thoughts of your boss beginning to fade as John gazes at you silently.

The singer on stage transitions into another song, her sultry voice dipping as a slower number begins. Winston, at least, knows how to choose his entertainment.

I give him all my love, that's all I do.

“How’s Venice?” you ask eventually, and John blinks as if he’s been lost in thought. “Any trouble?”

John doesn’t miss the tinge of sarcasm in your voice and his mouth twitches into one of his almost-smiles. “No trouble. I’ve been back for a week.”

Your eyebrows jump and you shift in your seat. “And you didn’t drop by for a visit? Why I’m hurt.”

Something changes in John’s eyes then; it’s a subtle shift you only pick up on because you’re starting to know his tells, and your nerves prickle at the silent intensity of his gaze.

And if you saw my love, you'd love him too.

“You seem to be making new friends,” he states, at last, a touch flatly, and this time your eyebrows rise in genuine surprise.

“The Italians,” you offer offhandedly, tapping your fingernails against the smooth wood beneath your hand. “They’re hardly my friends. The old man is even more unpleasant than Tarasov. His kids are promising though. Gianna likes you at least. Couldn’t shut up about you when she learned who I was. I think it made Cassian jealous.”

You don’t bother hiding the sardonic bite in your words, but John is not one to indulge in petty gossip so you don’t expect him to comment. He listens to you patiently though; the same way he always does, no matter how inconsequential the topic is, and it suddenly hits you just how much you’ve missed him.

It’s only been a week but the ache is like a dull throb that quakes your bones every time you move. Too often you have caught yourself wondering what John was doing or how his missions have been going. His presence here, now, is like a soothing balm you haven’t even realised you needed.

A love like ours could never die.

Before you can change the topic, however, John speaks, “Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

The seriousness of his voice only makes his morose expression even more severe, and your teasing half-smile crumbles away. “Are they that dangerous?”

John’s expression gives nothing away but he does lean closer, his eyes sweeping over the other patrons in a knowing manner. “Everyone in our world is dangerous,” he states gruffly, his words soft.

“And so are we,” you comment lightly, your lips curving playfully, dangerously. “It would be unwise for people to forget that.”

The singer on stage leans closer into the microphone, her words hushed and sensual while the song progresses and you blink, leaning back in your seat.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” you speak up, finding it hard to talk all of a sudden. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you but…”

“It’s your birthday.”

He says it so simply and in that blunt manner of his, it’s like that fact somehow explains everything in the universe and you stare at him, uncomprehending.

“I—I didn’t realise you knew when my birthday even was,” you whisper over the growing lump in your throat. You can’t recall the last time you celebrated your birthday, or when anyone even bothered to remember it. So even though you have never taken much interest in celebrating it before, this feels different. Somehow, John knowing and coming to see you because it is your birthday feels… “Was it Winston? I swear that man knows everything.”

He gives me everything, and tenderly the kiss my lover brings, he brings to me.

But John doesn’t indulge in your line of inquiry. Instead, he reaches inside his jacket and takes out a black velvet box, placing it in front of you.

For a second, you feel your heart seize.  

Your suddenly clammy fingers squeeze tightly before you forcefully relax them and calmly reach across the table, taking the box into your hand.

Much to your surprise, it is a ring. Just not the type most women would hope for.

It’s a viper. A silver, coiling thing that has beautiful detail engraved across its entire, curling length. The head sits slightly bent to the side, exposing the little gems in its eyes that reflect the exact same shade of your own.

For a long moment, you’re speechless, adrift. You stare at the ring in your hand as something warm simmers in your gut.

“Happy birthday.”

Your eyes lift to him. His expression has softened a touch, just slightly, but you imprint it in your mind. You hoard these moments—these rare, precious minutes with him when his and your guards are both down, and it truly does feel like it’s just the two of you against the world.

One day, inevitably, when something goes wrong—and it always does—you will miss him so terribly. You will miss him like one misses the feeling of the sun on their skin, or how gentle breeze feels kissing your skin on a warm summer’s day.

You will miss him the way the sun misses the moon.

You will miss him because you love him.

And it makes you so very sad that you do.

I know this love of mine will never die. And I love him, ooh.

“So then he says to me, he says—hey, are you listening to me?”

“Always.”

You bob your head happily, your arms still linked as John unlocks the hotel room door. You sway on your feet slightly and his grip on your tightens. The main reason you don’t drink is because you don’t trust the world you’re in nor the people in it. But you allowed yourself this indulgence tonight, and you wonder what it says about you that there’s a part of you that trusts John so completely that you don’t even hesitate.

It’s a simple truth to you.

John will keep you safe.

It’s not like you’re drunk, either. Yes, perhaps a bit tipsy but it’s been a while. These last few months have been soaked in blood and poison, not alcohol. A viper strikes without mercy or prejudice. They only leave devastation behind.

And that’s what you want. Devastation.

If only because you never want to give Tarasov a reason to lay a hand on you again. In fact, you want that same wariness he regards John with to be directed at you. You want him to hesitate, to shift in discomfort every time he thinks you will not be happy with what he has to say.

You want him to fear you.

And he will.

He will.

The room is dark when you enter and John reaches for the light switch, kicking the door closed with the back of his foot. You lean against him for a moment—a purely selfish and self-indulgent few seconds in which you savour his warmth and unyielding strength before letting go. The world tilts to the right without John’s steadying grip on you but you still make it to the couch, falling onto it with a bounce and a loud giggle.

It feels good to laugh. You haven’t in a while and it feels almost foreign.

John is right behind you. Your dark, silent shadow. He doesn’t speak but his eyes gleam with amusement when you squint at him.

“I’m not drunk,” you grumble and John’s eyebrows rise.

“Uhu,” he grunts, watching your pathetic and clumsy attempt to take off your shoes.

Why is it easier to kill a man than take off these stupid things?

A moment later, another pair of hands join yours, carefully peeling your fingers away. Your breath hitches in your throat and the pleasant warmth in your blood turns into an inferno when your head lifts to see John kneeling before you. The slopes of his face are relaxed—almost gentle—while he patiently works on unclasping your shoes. His touch is featherlight, and yet it still manages to shoot bolts of lightning up your leg.

You stare at him wordlessly, caught in the moment. The ring on your hand gleams in the low light, and you bite your tongue to control the sudden urge to say something you know you will regret the moment you open your mouth.

Instead, you focus on the few rebellious strands of hair that brush against his forehead whenever he moves. You should tease him about it. His hair is getting long. Except you don’t mind it, at all. Biting back a shiver when his fingers grasp the back of your heel, you stare at his partially hidden eyes. They look so dark in this light. Merciless. A monster’s eyes that swallow every shred of light in the room.

Except they aren’t. Not to you.

In sunlight, they’re more golden brown than obsidian. You know because you’ve caught yourself looking one too many times, and they always struck you as beautiful.

God. When did you become so—

So soft.  

“When—” you start, and stop. Your tongue feels clumsy but you force yourself to say something. “When I was eight my parents they, uh, they moved us to Italy. I didn’t know what for back then. But we were on the run. I knew that much. We lived in Bulgaria before that, and I don’t think whatever my parents were involved in went that well. But, well, before my parents managed to make anything of themselves in Italy they really struggled. Most days we barely had anything to eat. My father stole often.”

John’s hands pause briefly, but he resumes his work without interrupting you. You’re grateful. Now that you’ve started talking, it feels like you can’t stop.

“That summer I went through a bit of a growth spurt. Well, of course, we didn’t have money for new clothes so my Mama stole for me,” you continue, your voice hitching in places. “And—and this one time I needed new shoes so badly because my old ones were falling apart. So she stole this beautiful blue pair for me. They had jewelled clasps and this pretty floral pattern and—it was the nicest thing I’ve ever owned. I loved them immediately. That is until I put them on. They were too small. And I, uh, I can recall it even now, my Mama’s face when she asked me if they fit. I could have told her the truth. But we had scraps for food and people in town were starting to whisper about our family. So I smiled at her and told her that they fit perfectly. She gave me this look…it was so sad. She hugged me tightly and neither of us spoke after that because we both knew that I was lying.”

John is looking at you now, listening intently. He looks both older and sadder all at once but you don’t point that out.

Instead, you wiggle your free toes and smile through the sting prickling your eyes. Your smile feels brittle when your eyes meet but you only stretch your lips further.

“All I can remember is the feeling of those beautiful shoes squeezing my toes till they were numb,” you whisper softly and chuckle harshly immediately after. A tear escapes and you wipe it off angrily. “My feet were bloody but I said nothing. My parents were keeping us alive, and the least I could do is keep my mouth shut and wait. But I swore to myself that one day I will never have to worry about being forced to wear shoes that are too small for me. Never feel trapped again. Tarasov thinks he knows me, thinks he understands me. But he doesn’t. I’m scared of him, that’s true. But one day…one day he will be the one to fear me.”

“I know.”

The laugh that escapes you sounds harsh, perhaps a touch shrill, but you love him so much at that moment. Love his easy, unwavering faith in you.

The nameless thing between you finally has a name and you shudder in both happiness and fear.

John rises to his feet with the elegance of someone who is in complete control of his body and extends his hand towards you. There is no hesitation when you grasp it in yours. He helps you stand but when he moves to let go, your own grip tightens. His hand is so warm that a selfish part of you doesn’t want to let go.

The Boogeyman. The monster you’re supposed to hide your children from.

You reach for his tie, pull harshly, and kiss him.

It’s a slow thing; shy and fragile, much like your feelings for him. At first, John doesn’t move. He remains still and silent, but when he finally does move, it’s equally as careful. Slow. His free hand comes to rest lightly against the small of your back and you shiver.

The kiss is only a simmering, slow joining of you and him that last no more than thirty seconds before he pulls away.

You’re gasping. Breathless. Suddenly hot all over. No amount of alcohol could ever make you feel like this. Shivering from such simple contact.

You’ve kissed people before, but they’re not John.

No one could be John.

His fingers brush against the curve of your jaw, always so delicate and slow. You know how easily these hands can take lives. Which only makes his careful touch that much more thrilling.

It’s pathetic. How weak he makes you.

“We can’t,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and low, and his words slice through you like a hot knife. Your eyes snap open, and you haven’t realised that you’ve closed them till the exact moment you have to meet his regretful gaze. He looks conflicted, a deep frown twisting his features. His lips part and you hold your breath. “Maybe if things were…different.”

“Different?” you echo numbly, blinking, and pull away slowly, your eyes dropping to the floor. Your lips still tingle, the taste of him on your tongue, and you can’t inhale without remembering what it felt like to share oxygen with him. “Okay.”

“(Name)—”

“Don’t.”

Your eyes lift to his, hard and unblinking. “I always knew nothing could ever happen between us. Not while Tarasov holds us tied to him. You don’t have to explain yourself. It was stupid of me to except anything from you.”

But it still stings. God does it sting.

John takes a step towards you but your hand snaps out, pressing against his chest and stopping him in his tracks. Against the black of his shirt, the ring on your finger gleams even brighter.

“Please,” you plead and hate yourself for being reduced to this, again. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he says firmly, and his hand comes to gently rest on top of yours.

Shaking your head, you jerk your hand away and—for the first time since you met him—you turn your back to him.

That foolish, naive girl that still lives deep down begs for him to say something, to turn you around and kiss you again. Tarasov and consequences be damned.

But John is a man of discipline, of honour, so when a few minutes later you hear his retreating footsteps and the soft closing of your hotel room door, you don’t react.

The pain, as always, comes later.

You don’t sleep.

You can’t.

It’s almost like your body sobered up in a span of softly whispered “we can’t” and John walking out of the door.

He wakes up at the crack of dawn. You leave long before that.

The shower you take is barely lukewarm but you can’t bring yourself to adjust it. Instead, you allow few silent tears to join the water going down the drain, and try your hardest to control the sob that tickles the back of your throat.

Down, down, down.

Getting changed is a dull blur, as is gathering your clothes and walking out of the door. John is only next door. A part of you considers stopping and letting him know that you’re leaving. But as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you immediately crush it to nothing.

The truth is that you’re not made of marble.

Seeing him now would just be torture.

So you walk past his door.

Charon, ever the professional concierge, doesn’t let his surprise show upon seeing you up so early.

He takes your details, takes your room key. He wants to ask, you know he does. You certainly look like a mess but you can’t force yourself to speak even when you usually would.

“We look forward to seeing you again very soon, Miss Vipress.”

You pause for a brief moment, contemplating.

But don’t reply before walking away.

Tokyo is, frankly, freezing for this time of year.

The cold nips at your nose and you shift in your spot on the floor, your joints creaking in protest. As time continues to pass without your mark making an appearance, your focus starts to waver.

If John were here he would tell you to never relax on a job.

John.

The mere thought of the name coils your stomach into an uncomfortable ball of bitter emotion. Perhaps you took the coward’s way out when you left without saying a word but who can blame you? It’s too hard. Too hard knowing that even if he feels something—he didn’t push you away immediately, he even kissed you back—he still can’t be with you. Your world is not made for silly daydreams of love and happiness.

That’s why you have stayed away.

Why you haven’t seen him in weeks, maybe even months. Time tends to blur when you go from one job to another and you’re glad for the distraction.

It’s better this way. Distance will do you good.

Last you’ve heard, John was back in New York because Tarasov has been planning something big for a while. Frankly, you’re just glad he gave you free rein for the time being.

That’s how you’ve ended up in Tokyo. Your rather handsome 1 million contract has been set up to take out some Yakuza boss that’s causing trouble to his competitors in Kyoto. One power-hungry man going after another. Some things never change.

But the pay is good and it’s a pretty clear cut mission so in hindsight, you can’t complain too much.

Except, your target is almost thirty minutes late now.

Unease prickles down your spine the longer you wait.

Something creaks behind you.

The first man drops dead before he comes anywhere near you, a poisoned needle making him twitch on the floor in agony.

But there’s more.

They appear like a swarm from every darkened corner of the alleyway. Somehow they know your exact location.

And they have come prepared.

Never before have you been as thankful for the foresight to bring enough poison to take down a small army as you are then. You let the suppressed gas canister do its work first, the dispersing poison inside making men and women alike drop dead to the floor. Their skin blisters and eyes haemorrhage from their blood vessels rupturing upon contact. The next stage is their lungs collapsing and you hope they die before that.

Despite your hope, most of them choke on air and blood, dying in agony.

The rest is a hail of bullets and blades.

You have the advantage of being immune to your own poison and dance through the carnage easily, knowing full well that on a windy night like this one the gas will only stay in the air for another few minutes at most. Then, it will disperse into a milder irritant. A pesky distraction at best.

A blade slices across your arm and you snarl low in your throat, your muscles aching from the strain of trying to hold back another assailant aiming for your jugular.

Give yourself space.

A poisoned blade is slick in your hand. Wet from all the blood you’ve coated it in and you stumble back, slicing viciously. The figures in black have to climb over their dead comrades to reach you now, and you try to keep them back by releasing blade after blade, needle after needle of poisoned metal at them. Those that get close enough meet their end at the end of your fists and gun.

Focus.

Shoot, duck, reload, aim, throw, exhale.

Deep breaths. Control the pain tearing through your split knuckles.

You focus on breathing, on alertness that makes your body tense so much your muscles—even well trained and strong—still strain under the pressure.

Shoot, left, drop, slice, reload now.

The figures keep coming.

And coming.

Despair ceases your mind when you realise that if you stay in the alleyway, your chances of making it dwindle to nothing.

John’s stern voice goes devastatingly quiet in your head.

Whoever sent these people after you clearly didn’t underestimate your abilities like so many have in the past.

Knees hitting the floor, you roll, slicing through the tendons on the man who just tried to gut you with his sword. The man crumbles, shouting in pain, and you grasp him by the neck, your knife sinking deep into the unguarded flesh. You drag a line, blood spilling and hug him to you, letting the hail of bullets hit his body instead. The man squirms before stilling, his gasps of pain ceasing forever.

In the dim light, you catch the look in his eyes.

He looks scared.

They always look scared.

There’s movement behind you and you turn sharply, but too late to stop the knock on your temple.

Your head spins as you drop to the side, kicking blindly. Your vision swims and you grasp your gun before firing. The first two shots miss but the third finally hits and you groan, scrambling to your feet.

Disorientated, you don’t react fast enough.

A bullet tears through your leg and you scream, crumbling to the floor. Then comes a kick to your stomach, making you curl into a ball and roll on the floor.

Your vision is white from agony.

Fingers covered in blood and shaking, you attempt to curl them into fists—attempt to reach for your leg and ebb the blood-flow.

Footsteps draw closer and you snarl, trying to open your eyes and see the face of the one who did this to you.

A kick to your side hits brutally and you roll onto your stomach, gasping for air. God, it’s so hard to breathe through the agony travelling from up your leg and sides.

“Stop your squirming, bitch.”

The words are acidic in their bite, spoken in clear Japanese but twisted by an accent you can’t pinpoint.

You don’t listen, trying to regain your senses, knowing full well that it’s a matter of seconds before they put a bullet in your head.

But before you can do anything pain pierces through your shoulder, and you choke on your scream.

A blade.

A blade that has gone clean through your right shoulder, and currently creaking against the dirty pavement underneath you. Your blood looks black in this light and your head swims.

Blackness takes you before you can form another coherent thought.  

You live.

But the following days make you wish you hadn’t.

The man grins widely as he talks.

His name is Kishi. Or at least that’s what others call him.

He likes visiting you. Likes seeing you weak and beat, likes spinning tales about all the wonderful things they were still eager to try on you. Whenever he suspects you’re not listening to him closely enough, he has others beat you till you lose consciousness.

That’s the best scenario you can now hope for. When compared to their other methods, being beaten is like being tickled.  

But you’re so thirsty it’s getting hard to focus on anything he’s saying.

A scream echoes from somewhere in the far distance, and your eyes flutter closed for a second.

Figuring out that you’re not the only one being kept here was the easy part. But realising that you’re in a remote location far from any urban activity that at least gives you a sliver of hope someone may stumble upon you has been a whole other mental blow.  

Torture is a wicked, ugly thing.

Human bodies are resilient though, and according to Kishi you’re their “guest of honour” which meant that after the pain came some deranged form of care.

They have decided to keep you alive for now, but you doubt that’s going to be a permanent arrangement. Eventually, they will either grow bored or the reason they’re keeping you here will expire. After that…

After that, there are a great many things that can happen to you. None of them pleasant. Most of them horrifyingly terrible and painful in fact.

Effectively, your continuous existence depends on getting out of here before that happens.

Easier said than done, of course. You’ve been bound from head to toe. You couldn’t so much as twitch without catching someone’s attention. Your muscles have long since cramped and gone numb from disuse as well as blunt trauma.

The only chance—if any—you have of getting out is…

You force your treacherous mind to quieten. Force yourself to banish the thought of the one person you could imagine missing you, perhaps even looking for you.

But that hateful voice in the back of your mind reminds you that there’s no reason why anyone would care enough to look.

You are, as you’ve always been, alone.

“Enough.”

Kishi speaks in English which is rare.

Apparently, he finds the language ugly. Some delirious, pain-riddled part of you can’t blame him for thinking that despite the fact that he’s responsible for your torture.

Your teeth clatter loudly in the now quiet room, and your lungs rattle with every deep inhale of air.

It hurts to breathe. Things blur in front of you and you try to blink the droplets of water still stinging your eyes.

It’s cold. It’s so, so cold.

“Still fighting, aren’t we?” Kishi mutters thoughtfully, this time in Japanese, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Didn’t know bitches came this tough.”

Few men chuckle but Kishi doesn’t laugh. Kishi only stares.

His eyes are dark.

So dark that if you focus on just them you can almost imagine that—

A shaky breath escapes you but you don’t speak. You’ve lost the ability for sarcasm and humour days ago. Especially after you’ve been shown just how much more severe these sessions can get if you show disrespect.

“Leave us.”

The men shift; surprised, wary. “Master?”

Kishi’s eyes leave yours, and his face twists into a sneer when he faces his men. He’s in his late forties at least, and you can tell from the lines etched deep into his face that this is a familiar expression. His face knows this hatred, this cruelty, as if it’s second nature.

“I said fuck off!”  

The men obey because they’re afraid, not because they respect him. In fact, they can’t leave fast enough as the metal door groans shut and you stay slumped in your spot.

Your hands are still bound, wrists raw and blistered, but your feet aren’t. They simply dumped you in this creaky chair after they were finished. Your soaked clothes cling to your skin and you shiver again, your body trembling from the effort to hold yourself together.

Kishi stares.

Your throat bobs when you swallow, waiting for him to say something. He always speaks first. That’s a fact you learned early on. After you spoke first once—sarcasm flowing free and your mocking tone making others cringe—Kishi punched you so hard that your teeth rattled upon contact, one of your back molars breaking free. Blood dribbled down your chin after, the impact still vibrating through your skull and neck.

A rough, warm hand touches your jaw and you jerk back to reality.

A phantom memory of another warm hand touching you in exactly the same manner mangles your heart to pieces, leaving a fresh bleeding wound in its place.

“John.”    

It’s a strangled, weak whisper but this time more than your physical body aches. Longing and terror mix dangerously till for the first time in days—maybe weeks, months for all you know—you feel tears fill your eyes.

The fingers against your jaw tighten till you whimper in pain.

“Who is this John you long for?” Kishi questions curiously, his hand jerking your head from side to side while he inspects you like one would a slab of meat. Clinical, indifferent. “You plead for him in your dreams. Whisper his name when the pain gets too much. Do you hope this John will save you? He won’t. You’re dead to the world. You’re nothing but a piece of meat for me to do with whatever I please. I’ve been keeping my men away from you. But perhaps…”

He makes a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat before he throws his half-smoked cigarette to the floor. His rough fingers slide away from your jaw and down the slope of your neck, causing you to jerk in your seat. Kishi laughs at that; a cruel, empty sound as his eyes lift to you.

“What’s the matter, huh?” he mocks, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you going to plead for your John? Some weak, pathetic nobody? Did he give you this? Is that why you fight so hard, eh?”

Kishi grabs something from his inner jacket pocket, and awareness slams into you when your foggy mind registers what you’re looking at.

Your ring. John’s ring.

A small breath escapes you, and your swollen fingers twitch.

Kishi’s smug sneer sparks something in your gut—something hard and cold and furious. When you reach for the familiar coil of the viper, his other hand slaps yours away harshly. Your teeth grit from the shooting burn but you stay silent, obedient. Being reckless now will not do you any good.  

But you’re grateful for the pain too because for the first time in days you feel awake. Your body is weak and broken in so many ways but—

Your hands are bound tightly, but your feet aren’t.

And more importantly, you’re alone. For the first time since you’ve been taken, you’re alone in the room with this man.

I don’t need anyone. Not when I’m the most dangerous one here.

Biting back a smile, you let your head to loll back and stare at him.

He notices your expression and his features darken.

“Closer.”

You don’t recognise your own voice; it’s faint and frayed around the edges but that doesn’t surprise you. Your cracked lips hurt from simply speaking but you don’t regret that either. You stopped talking a long time ago, and Kishi hates it. He wants you to engage in his sick little game.

That’s why he leans closer.

Because he believes that you are weak—or perhaps he doesn’t think that you’re weak at all, but that he’s managed to somehow strip away your killer instincts instead.

His breath stinks of tobacco and you force your expression to relax when you come face to face.

“Closer, please.”

Kishi’s hand presses against your waist suddenly, eager, his breaths growing more shallow with every second. Sickness squeezes your already cramped stomach but you hold your breath to calm down.

Just a little bit more.

Kishi’s hand is rough as he explores, his lips eagerly pressing against the shell of your ear and you smile.

“That nobody is called John Wick.”

Kishi freezes as if struck by lightning.

And that’s all the time you need.

The kick you deliver to his knee makes him slump against you but you don’t register the moment your teeth sink into his neck.

You don’t register the agonising pain as he tries to free himself by jerking you back by your hair.

There’s just the sensation of hot blood in your mouth as you rip.

Kishi stumbles back, gasping, helplessly grasping onto his neck where his life force is leaking far quicker than he can stop it. Your ring falls to the floor with a sharp cling! and you follow its path with your eyes.

A knife appears in Kishi’s hand and you jerk to the side, the chair crashing with you as the man topples over to the floor behind you.

Your legs don’t obey you at first but with a scream of frustrated pain, you still manage to kick him in the head. Scrambling on your knees, you hurry towards the fallen knife. Your fingers skim over it but a weight falls on top of you, pulling you back.

Everything cries with agony as you squirm wildly, screaming into the dirt as Kishi tries to push your face into the ground. Your bound hands feel like a deadweight but you only fight harder, trying to throw him off. He punches your barely healed right shoulder and you scream again. Your fingers—

Jerking, you slam the back of your head into his face. Kishi shouts something you can’t make out but it gives you just enough time to turn around and bury the knife into his neck. His movements cease as he stares down at you blankly. Shocked.

You jerk the knife out, blood pouring, and stab him again, deeper. With all the hate and hurt roaring in your ears, you barely hear his chuckle before he slumps over you. The weight of his body makes you cry out and breathing heavily, you awkwardly push him off. Kishi, now eternally still, collapses beside you with a heavy thud.

For a while, you lay there unmoving, staring up at the ceiling, convulsing from both adrenaline and terror.

There’s blood all over your mouth, inside your mouth.

There’s just enough time to forcefully turn around before you throw up. The lumpy rice from last night looks as pathetic as you feel, and your fingers sink into the cold dirt beneath you, tears stinging your eyes. Some still escape and you scream again, this time in frustration and rage.

You want to get up, but you can’t.

You’re too weak, too exhausted.

So weak, so pathetic, you couldn’t save your family and now you can’t even save yourself.  

Tears come even harder, prickling your already bruised skin even more.

A glint of silver suddenly catches your eye and you still.

Your ring. John.

“Master, sorry to disturb you but everything went so quiet—”

The man halts in his tracks, stricken by the scene before him. Of his master laying in a pool of dirty blood.  

Your mind goes crystal, terrifying sort of still.

The bloody knife in your hands leaves them so fast the newcomer doesn’t have enough time to even react. It doesn’t stick like you wanted though—it’s too heavy, your hands are bound and you’re too exhausted and disorientated to throw accurately. Despite all that, luck is on your side, and it slices against one side of the newcomer’s throat, cutting through the fragile skin like soft butter. Blood rains freely, almost like its been eager to escape its host, and you fall back onto the dirt, gasping in pain. Cold sweat covers your forehead and you ghost your fingers gingerly over your ribs.

It’s too hard to breathe, but broken ribs would leave you in mind-numbing sort of agony. Cracked, then? Or bruised?

Inhale, exhale.

The newcomer continues choking on his blood. Kishi is still.

Ferocious, savage sort of satisfaction blooms when you hear the man finally fall silent. You have never—not once—taken joy in taking lives before. You always made light of your job because you had to. Because too often it felt like if you didn’t make a joke or tried to lighten the situation, you would drive yourself mad with the cruelty of it all.

Digging your fingers into the dirt, you turn onto your stomach.

Your legs feel like jelly but if you can’t walk, then you’ll crawl to freedom.

First though—

First, between muffled curses of discomfort and even more tears, you craw your way towards the silver ring laying on the ground.

It’s covered in dirt and blood.  

You grab it in a fist of dirt and it feels like a victory, like your love for John. Because it’s both sweet and painful all at once and you blink rapidly. Dirt crumbles from beneath your fingers and you put the ring on.

Or try to.

Your bruised, swollen digits are not what they were when John first gave you this ring.

They shake so badly that for a moment you can’t help but think that it’s useless to even try. Helplessness swells inside your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, gnashing your teeth till you feel your gums starting to hurt.

Then one centimetre at the time, you force the ring onto your finger.

It hurts.

But everything is hurting so you don’t open your eyes till it’s done and when it is you stare at your hand in low light. Seeing the ring back where it belongs fills you with the energy you needed to crawl back onto your knees. Digging your fingers in, you half-crawl, half-stumble towards the now dead guard. You don’t bother to look at him because you need to get out of here first. Sooner or later someone else is bound to come looking and you have no time to waste.

It takes considerable effort to unhook the small, well-fashioned blade from the guard’s belt with your hands still tied. But eventually, it comes loose, and you grapple for the handle, awkwardly twisting your hands till the blade kisses your bindings delicately. It takes almost five minutes of painful hacking until the binds finally come loose. Your wrists look mangled; angry, red lines cutting deep into the delicate flesh.

You throw up again. Or try to, at least. Your empty stomach cramps painfully, jerking your whole body from its central gravitational point. Forehead pressed deep into the dirt, you calm yourself and gather strength in your core.  

Then, sticking the short blade deep into the ground, you use it as a crutch.

Your knees give out almost immediately, making you fall face-first into the dirt again. Your still healing leg aches terribly and you feel more tears in your eyes.

Weak.

“Stop crying,” you croak to yourself, bitter and angry about your own inability. “Stop crying.”

Your hand curls into a tentative fist, John’s ring pressing into your worn skin and gritting your teeth once more, you force yourself to rise to your knees.

Kishi’s knife is the first priority after the small sword. It makes you feel better, more like yourself, to be armed once again.

Free.

For now.

Blades you know intimately well. A part of you wishes you could grab the poison they took from you but there’s no time for that.

Swiping your forearm over your eyes, you inhale deeply, ignoring the crackling in your lungs. Then, you rise.

Your knees wobble again, every muscle straining.

Short, wheezy breaths slip free but you don’t care about the fact that you sound like you’ve just ran a marathon.

There’s only the end goal.

Get out, get out now.

One foot in front of another. It’s hard to breathe and it’s even harder to walk.

But you keep walking.

Step by step.

You want to see John again. Even if—

Stumbling out of the door, you stare at the dark corridor to either side of you. They always bring you from the left side which leads deeper into the underground facility. Surely that means that going right will lead you to some semblance of safety.

Hope is a dangerous thing. But right now it’s all you have. Because without it you might as well go back and lay down beside Kishi and wait for your own death.

Every step is a varying degree of agonising, but your shoulder presses against the wall as you continue moving. It’s a slog and your head spins with every clumsy step. The taste of blood lingers too and you heave once more. Nothing comes up. Small mercy.

Commotion.

You almost fall over again in your hurried attempt to stop.

Have they figured out you’re gone already?

There are no cameras in the “fun room” as Kishi used to call it. But no—no, you realise in dazed confusion, the commotion isn’t coming from behind you but from the direction you’re heading towards.

It’s so close you can hear the sounds of a struggle from just around the corner. Both the blade and the knife tremble in your hands but you wait for your chance, listening intently.

The telltale sound of what has to be a body hitting the ground reaches your ears, and light footsteps move in your direction. The moment whoever it is rounds the corner and makes themselves visible, you’re going to slice their arteries open.

The person draws closer, closer, closer.

Now.

You lunge the moment a silhouette rounds the steep corner, your knife and sword raised.

But the figure reacts faster, slamming your body back against the wall, excruciating grip on your sore wrists. You feel the blades slip free from your hands and fall to the floor.

You stare.

The figure stares, too.

Then, a raspy, hysterical giggle forces itself from out of you.

It seems like you’re wrong and you never did make it out of the fun room. Maybe you died during the torture or Kishi gutted you like a pig during your fight. Or perhaps the guard did move fast enough and you’re now long dead.

It would certainly make more sense than seeing John right in front of you.

Here. After all this time.

The thought makes you laugh again; a bubbling, hysterical sound and you don’t realise you’re crying till John’s horrified features begin to blur.

That’s funny, too. After all he’s done, after all you’ve seen together, it’s hilarious to think that it’s here—now—that he looks so horrified. This is hardly the worst thing he’s seen.

His hands drop away. “(Name)—”

He sounds hoarse, and so terribly sad.

For some reason, something odd sticks out about him. Your shaking hand reaches out and tugs on a loose strand of his raven hair. “Your hair has gotten long,” you whisper and laugh again, choked. “It looks really g-good.”

You don’t remember losing consciousness.

. . .

an: there’s more where that came from~ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[platypanthewriter]

Yellow

Harringrove April prompt 22, Yellow!  Billy learned a lot of shitty coping skills from his dad, but maybe, after the Mindflayer, Steve Harrington doesn’t hold it against him.

The first time Billy saw his dad hit his mom, and he did nothing, just stood there with his heart pounding and tears streaming down his cheeks, he cried afterwards, knowing something was wrong with him.  He didn’t have a name for it for a while—he’d clamber inside the closet door until it stopped, shaking and nauseous, or hunch over his breakfast, wanting to scream and drown out his mother’s cries.  

It was like he was liquid inside, soft like a water balloon, collapsing in a shivering heap instead of helping, calling the police, standing between his mom and his dad—doing something.  

His dad named it, one day.  He held the front of Billy’s shirt, shaking him as Billy’s knees threatened to give way, and said he was yellow.  Clear through, his dad said, where a man would bleed red.

Billy imagined himself like a runny egg.  If he smashed, he’d ooze yellow until he melted away into the grass, he thought, dripping through his father’s fingers.  He didn’t think it sounded that bad, really, vanishing—his mother wouldn’t have to try and get in front of him anymore.  Wouldn’t get hit.

He toughened up a little in school—he could stand his ground for longer, before he started to shake, and his tears spilled over, and his knees dumped him down on the ground.  He learned to keep his mouth shut, too—it didn’t help, asking his father to stop.

Mostly, he learned it was scarier to wait for things, and that in school, if he hit first, threatened first, he could usually win.  Afterwards, he went and let his knees collapse in a bathroom stall, shaking and sweating as he rode the high of victory, wiping his eyes and breathing into his cupped hands.  

That got better as he got older, too.  Most of the time, he realized, other kids were more scared of him—Billy Hargrove, he thought, laughing, yellow clear through, runny with it—than they were of each other.  His teachers said ‘That little Billy Hargrove’s a scary kid,’ and ‘Keep an eye on him, with the others,’ and ‘He’s gonna hurt somebody, someday.  He’s gonna do somebody harm.’

Billy liked it. 

The other kids didn’t think of the things he did, because they weren’t yellow inside, runny and soft and jiggly.  They didn’t think of how it’d feel to have their fingers bent backwards, or the paper cutter closed over their hands, or their faces held in the pooled water in the drinking fountain—but Billy did, always, and when he wanted to be scary, he knew what to do.

They didn’t know he nearly screamed when the bus driver—an old lady, like fifty-five, skinny-wristed and gray-haired—grabbed his wrist and yanked him around, because he thought she was gonna put his face right through the window of her bus.  They didn’t know because he laughed at her, dared her to do it—and even when she screamed in his face, nobody knew he wet his pants, a little, and barely made it to a seat before he fell on his ass, because he was shaking so bad.  He kept laughing at her once he was back there, calling her names, until she stopped the bus way too soon and made him walk.

When he got home, two hours late, all Neil had to do was walk up to him, and Billy’s yellow liquid center dissolved like a Cadbury Creme Egg inside, yelling a little and throwing his arms in the air like his dad had even done anything.  His dad laughed as Billy slid down the door, trying to scramble away.

 After the Mindflayer, it was even harder to hide it.  The yellow in all Billy’s cells had him breaking out in a sweat every time somebody grabbed his shoulder, and biting back a yell when the nurses tried to get him to quit squirming around.  

They left him alone with Steve goddamn Harrington, and Billy felt himself dissolving, his eyes stinging and tearing up as his heart pounded, his whole body turning into a shaking, cold, sweaty mass.  Maybe Steve would just press a pillow over his face, he thought, hold it there until Billy stopped choking and gasping for air.  Maybe he’d slide his hand aorund Billy’s throat and let Billy stare up at him, crying like a fucking baby as he died, his hands too weak and shaky to fight.

Maybe he’d just hurt Billy, the way Billy’d hurt him, Billy thought, closing his eyes at a surge of nausea.  “...the fuck are you doing here, Harrington,” he grated out, flatly.  

“You’re such a fighter,” Steve snorted, dropping into a chair next to him, and Billy felt like his heart restarted, watching Steve lean away, tipping the chair back to stare out the window.  “That’s what the nurse said, anyway.  You’re such a fighter.  I knew that already, huh?”

Billy wanted to laugh, every part of him feeling more liquid every second Harrington was there, glaring, his jaw set angrily as his earnest brown eyes narrowed at Billy.  A fighter, Billy thought, swallowing back acid.  “...why are you here?” he asked again, his voice failing him and ending up a breathy gasp.  

“Max wanted somebody to stick around,” Harrington said, shrugging, and Billy dug his nails into his palms, wondering whether he could cut deep enough that the yellow would leak out, staining his sheets.  

“Why?” he asked, through gritted teeth, and then his dad walked in, and Billy let his head fall back against the pillow.  It hurt to breathe.

“He’s doing good,” Steve reported, when neither Steve nor his dad said anything.  “Nurse says he shoulda died, but he’s a fighter.”

Billy’s dad knew how wrong that was, and he snorted a laugh, looking him over.  “...so you do bleed red,” he said, softly, and Billy twitched a little for no reason, like usual.

“...what,” Steve said, and Billy could feel confused eyes lingering on his face.

“He’s no fighter.  He’s yellow inside,” Neil said, sighing.  “Like pus.”

“What,” Steve breathed again, as Billy’s dad turned away and walked out.  “What—that—what the fuck was that,” Steve whispered.  “Billy?  What—”

His sputtering was hilarious, and Billy laughed, closing his eyes.  In a couple minutes, though, his dad was back, and he had the nurse with him.  “She tells me you’re afraid of your medication, Billy,” his dad said, and Billy grunted as he tried to scoot away, and his body didn’t respond, just laying there twitching dully, while Harrington watched him lose his shit over a few pills.  “I don’t want it,” Billy tried, swallowing again and again as his eyes welled up again, because the pills made everything muddy, far away and echoey and terrifying, and he shook his head, and realized he’d started to cry.

“Wait, no, no,” Steve scrambled up, leaning over to brace his arms between Billy, and his dad and the nurse.  “Stop, wait—wait, dammit, jesus.  What are those?!”  

The nurse opened her mouth, but Billy’s dad just said “This is none of your business, son.  Get out of the way,” and Billy couldn’t help the soft noise he made in the back of his throat, or the tears that dripped onto his pillow, itchy and hot against his face.  

“I’ll get him to take them,” Steve said, running around the bed to stand with his back to Billy, facing off against Billy’s dad and the nurse.  “You’re just freaking him out.  Tell me what they are, I’ll get him to take them.”

Billy’s dad was getting pissed, Billy could tell, he started saying something like “Do you think I can’t handle—” but the nurse grabbed Steve’s hand, looking relieved.  

“You’re his friend?  Okay,” she said, handing him the little paper cup they’d held Billy down for before, as he choked and tried not to swallow.  “These are antibiotics, she said, poking around in there.  “These are for the pain.”

“How bad is it if he doesn’t take them? Steve asked, and Billy listened, partly to see what Steve Harrington was gonna say to try and get him to swallow half a pharmacy, and partly because he’d been so out of it since he woke up in the hospital.

“He won’t rest and heal without the pain medication,” she told Steve, who nodded seriously, frowning into the cup like Billy’s chest ache was some huge medical problem, instead of the logical result of chronic cowardice.  “And these are the antibiotics, and if he doesn’t take those, he will very likely get an infection.  He could die.”

Billy snorted a laugh, and his dad stepped towards him, his eyes narrowing, but Steve waved his hands in the air.  “Okay!” he yelled, so abruptly Billy flinched.  “I’m gonna try and get these in him.  Everybody out, let him sleep.”

The nurse marched Billy’s dad out while he hissed at her, and Harrington dropped to sit next to him.  “You heard all that,” he said, and Billy smirked at him.  

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fuckin’ die,” he whispered, clearing his throat, and Harrington grabbed the cup with the straw, and held it to his mouth.

“Here, drink up,” he said, but Billy bit his lips together, raising his eyebrows.  “What,” Harrington said, looking annoyed again, finally, like he usually did.  

“Mmmn,” Billy hummed, smirking with his lips tightly shut, and wondering what Harrington would do.

“Uh,” Steve said, frowning at him, and then blinked down.  “Oh, no, dude, look, I didn’t put drugs in there, it’s been like two seconds, I’m not a magician.”

He shook the cup and showed Billy, and Billy frowned at him, opening his mouth a little in surprise—and Steve shoved the straw in.  

“Ha,” he said.  “Okay, Hargrove, why don’t you want your meds?”

“Sh’up,” Billy mumbled, around the straw.  The water wasn’t that cold, but it was good, anyway.  Drinking was an effort, though, and he concentrated on it, until he ran out of water.  

“Hang on, lemme get you some more,” Steve said, and then sat the cup of pills down on the bedside cabinet, out of reach.  “Look, there they are, okay, I’ll be right back.”

Billy sighed, and let his eyes close until he felt the straw at his lips again.  He opened his eyes to see the cup, and Steve Harrington’s narrowed eyes.  

“Jesus, it’s not, like, untraceable poison,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.  “You know what you’d have if I dropped your pills in here?  Wet pill-gravel.  That tasted like death.  Chemicals.  They wouldn’t even go up your straw...why won’t you take them?”

Billy looked back at him, and tried to think of a reason he could tell someone who he’d beaten almost to death, and wasn’t even afraid of him.  Harrington had pretty eyes, he thought, huffing a laugh, and groaning.  

“Billy,” Harrington hissed.  “Come on.  Talk.”

“...I’ll take the...antibiotics,” Billy muttered, trying to squirm so he’d hurt less.  “...if you leave me the fuck alone.”

“Okay, let’s start with those,” Steve said, which didn’t inspire confidence, but he dug around in the cup and pulled something out.  Billy had to just hope they were the right ones, since once he was full of painkillers, Harrington could feed him anything.  “Here, swallow,” Harrington said, tipping the cup to his lips, and then he snorted, which made Billy try to laugh, and nearly choke.  The water helped, and then he eased back, panting, and let himself hurt.

“How come you don’t want the pain stuff?” Harrington asked, tugging Billy’s blanket up, and tucking it in.  “Is it ‘cause of your dad?”

“...what,” Billy tried to ask, but he just made a weird choked noise, his heart pounding again.

“I don’t know,” Harrington said, sliding down to fix the blanket around Billy’s foot.  “He’s, uh.  Maybe you don’t wanna be three sheets to the wind if he comes in all the time.  Keeps saying mean shit to you.”

“...no,” Billy whispered, his eyes welling up again.  “Shh...shut the fuck up, Harrington,” he wheezed, trying to breathe.  It took all the effort he had in him to pull the blankets up over more of his face, and even then he couldn’t stop sniveling.  At least Harrington already knew what he was like, he thought.  Wasn’t like it mattered.

“Shit.  Fuck, okay,” Harrington said, more softly.  “Shit.  Okay.  Look, how about—what if you take half.  Take half the pain stuff, and I’ll stay here.  I’ll keep watch, all right?  I”ll make sure you’re okay.”

Billy’s hands shook like he had the fucking DTs, and he clenched them, swallowing.  “...why the fuck, Harrington,” he breathed.

“Hey, uh, I’m just…” he smoothed the blanket on Billy’s leg again.  “I’m just pissed at your dad, okay.”

The idea of not hurting was...unbelievable, at the moment, and Billy closed his eyes, trying to think about the scratchy hospital gown, and the dry air, and not how it would feel if he just...gave in, like always, and let Harrington...do whatever it really was Harrington wanted to do.  “...okay,” he whispered, opening his eyes to watch Harrington brighten, and drop a pill back in the cup.  “Here,” he said, touching it to Billy’s lips, and then the water.  “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he said, for some reason flexing his biceps, and Billy snorted another laugh, and then muttered “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck,” as it worked his chest under the bandages.

He started to drift too soon, while Harrington was still talking about Russian spies, or something.  

 When he came back to himself, he was warm, and he did...hurt less, he realized, risking a deeper breath.  There were fingers in his, and he stayed still for a long second, appreciating the relief before he opened his eyes.  Harrington was still right next to him in a chair, in the dark hospital room, watching the hall.

Billy must have made some kind of noise, because Harrington looked over, and then the fingers wrapped around Billy’s squeezed.  “How you doing?” he asked, softly.  “I need to go—”

“No,” Billy hissed back, automatically, his fingers clenching Harringtons, and his eyes blurring with tears.

“Jesus,” Harrington muttered, and Billy groaned, sniffling.

“I know,” he grunted, swallowing hard, as Harrington leaned over and patted his face down with Kleenex, like he was a toddler.  “...I know I’m like this,” Billy sighed, trying—and suceeding, finally—to let go of Harrington’s hand.  He grabbed a handful of bedsheets instead.  “Just go,” he hissed.  “Fuck off.”

“I just need to pee,” Harrington said, thumbing the tears off Billy’s wet lashes.  “I’ll come right back, I promise.”

Billy’s lungs made a shuddery noise, and Harrington bit his lips together, frowning down.  “Go take a shit or whatever,” Billy choked out.  “I’ll live, Harrington.”

“You sure, man?  Looks like maybe I should piss in a bucket,” Harrington said, like a total shithead, and Billy had to bite back another laugh.  

“Fuck off,” he gasped, and Harrington must really have had to go, because he just nodded, squeezed Billy’s hand where it was clenched in the blankets, grabbed Billy’s sad little plastic cup and straw, and walked off.

 He’d promised to come back, and he probably would, Billy thought, watching him go.  He’d still have to leave, Billy reminded himself, because Harrington was a human being with parents and a bed of his own, but he’d hardly have stolen Billy’s water cup as a souvenir.  Billy watched the door of his room, his stomach sinking as he wondered whether Harrington would come back first.

Harrington did.  He dropped back into his chair beside Billy like he intended to stay, and Billy bit his lips together before he said anything dumb.  “I’m gonna have to go home and shower sometime,” Harrington said, and Billy said “Yeah, I know,” before the sentence was even all the way out of Harrington’s mouth.

“Not like I want you here stinking up the place,” Billy forced out.  “Go home.”

“I thought about going while you were out cold,” Harrington said conversationally, and Billy shivered, breaking into a sweat, but Harrington squeezed his hand again.  “—but that seemed kinda shitty, right?  I tell you you can pass out ‘cause I’ll keep watch, and then I just leave.  And maybe I could make it back and you’d never know—”

“You’re coming back?” Billy asked, and of course his voice fucking cracked, and he sounded like a scared kid.

Harrington paused, and then raised his eyebrows, nodding.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’m coming back.  Look,” he said, “—it’s three in the morning.  Your dad’s probably home in bed.  How about I go now, and I’ll be back before visiting hours?”

Billy stared at him.  “...that’s not enough time to sleep,” he muttered, trying to remember Harrington was a person and not a tall wall between Billy and the rest of the world.  

“...you let me worry about that,” he said.  “Are you gonna be okay?  By yourself, for an hour or two?”

“Been surviving so far,” Billy growled back, unaccountably giddy at the thought of taking more pain pills, later, and sleeping the day away with Harrington like a rock next to his bed.  “Do whatever you need to do.”

“I’ll be back,” Harrington said again, and Billy took a deep, shaky breath, and believed him.

 It didn’t seem like that long, really, before Harrington dropped into his chair again, smelling freshly of shampoo and shaving cream, and squeezing Billy’s hand through the blankets.  He had circles under his eyes, and Billy watched them, watched Harrington’s face and eyelashes.  Watched him grin.  

Billy was still kinda high, and Harrington’s stories didn’t seem to make a lot of sense, but he was there, holding up the straw for water whenever Billy made a face because his mouth was dry, or tucking the blanket around him when he shivered.  Billy started wondering, hazily, whether the yellow in him would come off on Harrington—whether he’d wash off yellow streaks in the sink from touching Billy while he cried.  

“You want to go back to sleep?” Harrington asked, shaking the last pill in the little cup, and Billy took another shaky breath.  

“You’re gonna stay?” he asked, because Harrington had let him, so far.  

“You’re kinda sweet when you’re loaded,” Harrington said, holding the cup to Billy’s lips.  “It’s like the rabies wears off.”  Billy bared his teeth, but grinned, and Harrington brought the cup with the straw back to his mouth.  He was a little clumsy one-handed, since he was letting Billy crush the life out of his fingers again.  “But yeah, of course I’m staying.  I’ll be here.”

The water tasted kinda like plastic, and it wasn’t very cold, but Harrington’s hand in his was so warm that was all Billy could think about.  He wondered, and did not ask, what in the hell he’d said that made Harrington let them hold hands.

Harrington didn’t seem to even be thinking about how fucking gay it was, stroking Billy’s hand with his thumb, their hands clasped under the blankets, and Billy wondered, too, whether he was being treated like a little crying kid.  “Sorry I’m yellow,” he mumbled, as he started to drift.

“You fought off the Mindflayer,” Harrington said, watching the door.  

“Picked the easiest target, didn’t it,” Billy told him.  “I tried once to call the police and then I just—flipped over for it,” he laughed, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain through his chest and abdomen.  “Showed my belly and throat, right.”

Harrington’s hand tightened on his.  “You fought your way out.  You saved El.  That was some scary shit, dude, you’re not chicken, or whatever, what is this, third grade?”

It was hard to formulate an argument with Harrington, when his brain was full of drugs, and he wanted to sleep.  “S’not just the Mindflayer,” he whispered.  “S’me.  I’m—”

“No, quit it,” Steve told him, his voice firmer, and Billy opened his eyes again, watching him.  “Just stop, okay?  You did good.”

“I did good,” Billy repeated, snorting softly, but he squeezed Harrington’s hand, pulling it closer.

“Yeah.  You did good,” Harrington said, squeezing back.  “You’re a fighter.”

My other Harringrove April prompts

[tenglows]

30 + 45, enemies 2 lovers & jaemin? 💘

[ 30: could we pretend that we're in love? ] + [ 45: listen, it's for science ] i got a little carried away with this one, i loved the plot so much i’m even considering writing a second part

the prompts

you had never liked jaemin, so when he yanked your arm at school's dismissal time, to say you were confused was an understanding.

“what do you want?”

“i need your help”

“care to explain why would i help you?” your words were harsh as you glowered at the boy.

you had never really given importance to jaemin's existence before. he was just another one of those guys that was on the verge of being the bad boy. arriving late to all of his classes -that is if he even cared to arrive-, grades pulled down by the ground, and an attitude who had teachers pulling their hair.

that was until you got partened up with him for a project. you didn't mind at first, figuring you would simply be nice to him. you knew he didn't have much friends, but he didn't seem like a bad person. you would make sure to be kind and get the task done. but when the time came, you honestly didn't have the chance to find jaemin's personality out. he never took interest in the project nor in holding a conversation with you. it was a known fact that he never did the school work, but this was a project that held the majority of the percentage for your final grade, so you thought he would do this part.

he didn't. and you both failed, even with your pleadings to the teacher. it was the first time in your life you didn't pass, and it wasn't even your fault. you hated jaemin ever since.

“could we pretend that we're in love?” he spoke quickly, and you had to had heard wrong.

“what?” you couldn't be more baffled, and he could see it in your face. your mouth was slightly open and your eyes big as if they were about to come off.

“listen” he sighed. his usual charm wasn't shining through, he didn't look badass or tough. he was fidgeting with his fingers, and couldn't meet your gaze. “my parents keep pressuring me to find a girlfriend and i was figuring... you are smart and all- i think they'd like you. and they would leave me alone once and for all”

he was kidding. he had to be.

“what?” you repeated, laughing out loud, waiting for him to crack the joke. but he didn't. “are you serious?”

he nodded. by the way he still looked at everywhere but your eyes you could see he did mean it.

“it would be only a dinner. for them to like, meet you. that's all”

“and what’s in it for me?”

“i'll do anything. i'll do your homework, tell the teacher the project thing was my fault, i'll pay you, heck whatever you want. please”

you wondered why this was making jaemin so desperate. the usually collected jaemin. you also wondered if it really bothered you. yeah, you didn't exactly felt like giving out favors to him, but really, it wouldn't be much trouble. it was better than doing his homework, after all.

“only a dinner”.

you were standing in front of jaemin's door at the moment, him hesitating to come in just as you were. he was nervous.

“remind me again why i'm doing this” you breathed out.

“listen, it's for science. do it for our project alright?”

“not really since we already failed that one” he groaned at your remark.

“y/n, not now”

“you know, if you had asked me to do this at that time i would have still done it. and i don't understand why you had to be selfish about the project. if you want to ruin your life that’s fine by me, just don’t take me down with you”

“seriously, y/n”

you were interrupted by the door opening, a grown woman with a teethy smile coming into view.

“jaemin! y/n! come in” she gave you both a big hug and guided you towards the house.

sitting at the table, you felt bad. jaemin's parents were so excited to have you, asking lots of questions and being really generous. you didn't enjoy lying to them.

“how was school, jaemin?” his dad asked as he passed you the mashed potatoes. jaemin cleared his throat.

“it was good. they made me captain of the team” he smiled excitedly. you had heard around that the boy was really good at football, but the idea of him having something he enjoyed at school seemed impossible. it was sort of relieving that it was true, though.

“well, i always tell jaemin sports aren't gonna get him anywhere. am i right y/n?” the man looks at you with expectant eyes and a laugh that pierced through your ears. you peeked at jaemin, who had darted his eyes towards his plate.

“i think you will lead my son into the right path. he tells me you're very smart, i heard you won the maths olympics?”

the rest of the meal carried out the same way, jaemin's parents asking about all your accomplishments and future plans while he just ate in silence.

after helping his mom clear the table, she told you to leave the rest to her and find jaemin, who had gone to the backyard. he was sitting on the tree trunk, eyes lost and unfocused.

you sat down next to him. you wanted to say something, but had no idea which words to pick.

“you look just like your mom” he nodded, still paying attention to the ground.

“i told you they'd like you”

“yeah, me or my mathematic skills” you tried joking, not really knowing how to be around jaemin yet, but his soft laugh made you feel relieved.

he didn't say anything after that. but he noticed your squirming, so he looked at you, waiting for you to add something.

“i'm sorry about your parents” he brushed it off with a gesture.

“they've always been like that”

“have you tried talking to them?”

“they never listen” he took a deep breath. “that's why i thought that if i brought you home as my girlfriend, they'd be less disappointed in me”

“didn't you tell me they were pressuring you?”

“yeah, that was sort of a lie” he smiled again. “i just wanted to make them proud”

quiet fell upon you for a moment.

“you will when you become the best football player in history”

he looked at you and you shared some smiles, turning away almost instantly.

“you didn't have to do this, thank you. i can do that long ass essay mr.groff gave us if you like” you gave him a look, asking if he was the best option to do your homework. “i've actually already done it” he handed you his phone, showing the long google document. you were taken aback by how well the paper was written.

“jaemin, you could get an a with this” he shrugged. “why don't you ever do your assignments?”

“i guess people never expect anything from me, so i don't show them otherwise”

that was the first time you understood jaemin. it wasn't that he acted like that because he was lazy or a bad boy, it was nothing more that he felt like he had to fit the image everyone had of him. everyone treated him as if he was uncapable, so why even try to change the opinions everyone formed?

“i’ll walk you out” while you went over some possible replies in your head, he was faster.

“goodbye mrs, see you soon” you hugged the woman before following jaemin towards the door.

“don’t worry, you don’t have to come back ever again” he whispered and you giggled.

the next day, you showed up at jaemin’s football practice. you sat on the stands, watching him run behind the ball. he was good. he surely wasn’t named captain for no reason.

when practice had ended, you went down the stairs, standing in front of the boy until he noticed you. he looked at you in shock, staring at the notebooks of different colors that your arms were holding.

“what are you doing here?” his voice was sweet.

“we’re going to your house to revise for the upcoming exams” he took a pause, biting into his cheek. a small grin creeping up on his face.

“really?”

“your mom told me she’d bake cookies the next time i came round after all, so”

“okay, let’s go” he tilted his head towards the field exit, leading the way.

he knew he was going to be the one opening the door to for you today. he knew he was about to let you in in more ways than one.

[its-ya-boi-autumn]

sjdbfisdb your writing is so good!!!! i loooovveeeee the feitan ones so much ahg. im content starved. i dont know if youve already done this since i just found ur acc, but could you do one with with machi in it? maybe fluff? idk...

I've actually never done Machi! I love her so muchhhhh I'm an attention whore for her 😂😂 I didn't know if you wanted male or female, so I did this platonically and tried to avoid anything suggestive of gender (most of the time I try to do that anyway but still)

"Right on time!" you greeted Machi happily, smiling gently at her. She didn't return it. Must of been in a bad mood. Your own mood changed slightly, eyebrows furrowing and squinting at her.

"What happened? You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just ran into some trouble on the way here. " Her arms were crossed over her chest defensively though she finally let a small smile tug at her lips. You sighed in relief. At least you wouldn't have to deal with the bad attitude all day.

You wouldn't necessarily call it a date, mostly because Machi and yourself had been friends for a few months, but you'd offered to take her out to the small cafe just downtown of your apartment. To your surprise, she obliged.

"So, other than that 'trouble' you ran into, how's your day been so far?" you tried to make light conversation. Machi didn't seem to be very talkative in general, though she let her arms fall down to her sides.

"Eh, it's been okay I guess. It happened the second I woke up. Some guy just started banging on my door and yelling."

"How long was he there for?"

"Dunno, don't care. Must of been all morning." she looked away from you and instead to her side, watching for something. Her alertness didn't go unnoticed, though you said nothing. You wanted to avoid making her uncomfortable or seeming invasive at any cost. She told you what she wanted to, and that was all. You didn't want to ruin your relationship when it just started. Though, your own anxiety was beginning to swell in your chest. Who was she looking for?

"So, have you ever been to this place before?" you attempted to start a new topic in order to muffle the apprehension wrapping itself tightly around you. You even started searching for an unknown source of your worry, darting your eyes every where for a threat you didn't even know was there. Machi seemed to take notice.

"Don't worry, nothing is here right now." she started, "And, as long as you're with me, you're safe. Also, no, I haven't been here before." she chuckled at your reaction. You let your guard fall down and continued to walk with her. You had seen Machi fight before so you knew you were probably safe. Still though, you couldn't help but be wary of the world around you. Your hands fumbled over each other nervously.

One of Machi's hands covered both of yours, lowering them slowly. You met her gaze. She was... Gentle?

"Hey seriously, don't worry about it. Everything's gonna be fine~" she reassured you softly, never taking her eyes off you. The world around you seemed lighter now, better than it was a few moments ago.

The two of you simply kept walking together, bodies in sync with one another while you spoke. Machi didn't seem the domestic type, but right now she was rather calm and perceptive. Not only of her surroundings but also of your conversation. She was genuinely listening and giving effort to hold up with you. This in and of itself made you glow on the inside.

Eventually, the two of you managed to make your way to the small café on the corner. You would have passed it up entirely had Machi not pointed it out to you.

“Alright, I hope this was worth leaving home for...” Machi spoke more to herself than to you, and you knew she didn’t mean it offensively. However, the words still reached you in a negative tone. You didn’t let it bother you too much as you knew she’d like it a little bit at the very least.

There wasn’t much to the area. It was rather bland looking and unassuming for someone who was new to the café. Machi didn’t seem to mind though, even letting her guard down more. Obviously, despite the cream color of the walls and typical swirly cursive writing on the white boards, this place struck her as somewhere comfortable. Safe. Safe from whatever had been bothering her earlier that morning. A part of you wanted to ask her about it, to see if possibly you could help with whatever it was. The other part of you said that it was none of your business though and that it would just be better not to ask. You were sure that whatever it was, Machi could handle her own.

“So, what do you think?” you asking while stepping in front of her view, eyeing the photos on the wall of coffee brews and of food they served here. Machi said nothing, still taking it all in. You didn’t push her, at least not until the waiter arrived with two menus in hand.

“Two?” She held up two fingers. You nodded, tugging on Machi’s sleeve to ensure she wouldn’t be in the way of the next customers to enter. You snapped her out of her trance, letting go of her immediately so she wouldn’t feel alarmed. She followed willingly after you and seated herself across from you in the chair closest to the wall. The waiter set your menus down on the glossy wood and pulled out a pen and paper pad.

“Can I get you started off with some drinks?” her voice was pitched in a friendly manner, fake and rather transparent. Machi took a quick glance behind the waiter even though her menu was right in front of her.

“I’ll just have some green tea for now.” she started, her hands playing with the edge of the menu.

“Just an iced mocha for me, thank you.” you smiled at the waiter as she wrote down your drinks.

“Alright, I’ll come back out when they’re ready.” she said, placing her paper pad back into her apron pocket and walking off. For a few moments, neither you nor Machi spoke. Both of you stared at your menus, searching for something to eat. You hadn’t really found anything to eat yet since you had been feeling picky lately when the waiter came up and handed out the glasses with your drinks in them. Machi closed her menu and set it to the side, her hands folding on the table and her back completely straight. Was something off? Did she sense someone nearby that shouldn’t be. She seemed to be relaxed but on the off hand she was awfully aware of her surroundings. Not that it was a bad thing entirely, it just made you nervous. It made you feel like maybe you should be more aware as well.

Machi plainly told the waiter what she wanted and then turned her attention to you. Blushing you stuttered out something you thought you might want, even though it didn’t sound entirely appetizing. You were more focused on Machi’s mood changes than on your order. The waiter said something you didn’t quite hear and then walked off again.

“Are you okay?” her voice broke through to you. You flinched at the sound. Her brow cocked up in judgement.

“Yeah... just anxious, that’s all.”

“I already told you, as long as you’re with me, you-”

“I know! But your mood keeps changing, like you sense something somewhere and it’s making me jittery...” you blurted a little louder than you wanted to, drawing the eyes of some people close by. Machi took notice of this but made no move to meet any of them. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry... I just wanna know what happened and you keep making it seem like whoever was bothering you is still close by.”

“He is.” her voice was completely flat. You shrunk in your seat, head and eyes down to avoid her own. The monotone change made you think you had upset her, making you feel insecure of your next moves.

“I’m sorry...” you mumbled it, you didn’t even know if she heard. Machi sighed, pulling her chair closer to the table and taking a quick glance around the café.

“Look,” she started, “he’s not an enemy, he’s an ally. He’s just been causing some trouble lately and he’s been following me around. He won’t hurt you or me, so we’re okay. I don’t know about anyone else though.” she explained. Her voice remained soft, an attempt to reassure you of your situation while still being honest. A part of you thought it worked as your hands and legs stopped fidgeting about the table. Everything was going to be okay. Whoever this ‘ally’ of Machi’s was couldn’t of been that bad if he hadn’t already shown himself. You tried to calm down some more, just to not create a scene for anyone else. Straightening your back, you leaned forward on the table like she did.

“Okay, can I get a name?” 

“No, that puts both of us in danger.”

“D-danger?” you uttered, feeling yourself shrink again. Machi’s eyes widened. She must of said something she shouldn’t have. Maybe she meant to word that sentence differently and just hadn’t thought about it. Either way, it made you start to worry even more.

“Hey, y/n, we’re okay. I’m right here. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you and I don’t think he’d even try to.” she tried again, trying to make sure you wouldn’t cause a scene. You tried to comply and calm down.

By the time you had actually managed to sit still, your food had arrived in front of you. Machi was already digging in before the waiter could set her plate down.

“You must have been hungry!” you joked, taking a bite of your own food, changing the attitude if the atmosphere once again. Machi didn’t laugh back, just hummed a yes in response, too busy chewing to actually speak. You giggled to yourself, hoping that whatever she was talking about earlier was just talk and that there wasn’t actually anyone there to bother the two of you. And if there was someone here, you hoped they’d just leave you be. You were having a good time with Machi, and you enjoyed her company. You didn’t want this to be ruined by some random stranger.