#the fact that he lives far away and only calls me on sunday night says a lot about it

[sunofmoon]

.

[its-time-to-write]

pleaseee, a part 2 to ‘ you don’t want to know me ‘

i love jamie tartt so much and hurt / comfort is just my fave kind of writing <3

Got a rude interesting comment in my inbox about my content. It’s kind of a bummer how one that isn’t nice attempts to overshadow all the love that people give. I’m glad people enjoy my writing, but ultimately I write it for myself. Requests are super awesome because it helps me grow as a writer, but I do only write the things that I want to. And I think that’s ok. I’m happy that there are a lot of people who like to read the things I like to write, and I understand those that don’t. You don’t have to be unkind about it.

Anyway, thank you @jellycolors for this ask! Y’all really do like a pt. 2 morning after fic, don’t you?😂

never wanted you to hate me

The sun is at the perfect angle to shoot a beam directly into your eyes, waking you up at exactly 7:32am, twenty-eight minutes before your alarm is supposed to go off. It’s Sunday, which is stupid, because you’re supposed to sleep in. Instead, you’re awake in bed, with your blankets feeling warmer and heavier than usual. You blink your eyes open to Jamie Tartt, shirtless and on top of you, fast asleep. You’re pretty much pinned under him, unable (or unwilling) to move him off. 

You wonder how long you should let Jamie sleep, and what he’s going to think when he wakes up like this. You’re sure this is a far cry from his usual mornings, usually with some model or something wrapped around him. You think since he’s the one holding you, it’s probably fine.

Jamie doesn’t wake up until your alarm goes off and when it does, he startles and almost rolls off the bed. You laugh at his look of utter confusion, as it takes him a moment to figure out where he is.

“You alright?” you ask, still grinning. Jamie, however, is not.

“Yeah,” he replies shortly. “Gonna get my things and get the fuck out of here.” He stalks out your bedroom without another word.

The way he’s acting is a far cry from the Jamie who asked you to sit on the bathroom sink last night so he wouldn’t be alone. In fact, it’s closer to the prickish version of himself that comes out on the pitch. You don’t like that he’s being that way with you, so you follow him to your living room.

“What the fuck was that?” you say to Jamie’s back as he bends down to get his jacket off the couch.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he replies, still not turning around.

You cross your arms. “You come here all- all sad and shit, fall asleep in my bed, tell me you fucking love me, and now you’re just leaving? What the fuck?”

Jamie stills. “I was just tired. Didn’t know what I was saying.”

That’s a lie, and you’re not going to let him get away with it.

You make your voice as steely as possible. “Jamie Tartt, if you think I’m fucking stupid as to think that I wouldn’t know you’re lying, then you might as well just go.”

Jamie turns to face you, and he looks a little wild. “Don’t think that just because we’ve known each other for thirteen years, that you fucking know me. Leave me the fuck alone.”

You squint at him. He’s wrong again. You do fucking know him. You know him so well that you understand exactly why he’s reacting this way. He hates being vulnerable in front of anyone, so now he’s trying to cut and run, pushing away one of the last people who actually cares about him.

Jamie’s still standing by the couch, clutching his Man City jacket, knuckles white. He’s still shirtless, breathing hard and waiting for you to fire back. You don’t.

Instead you say, so softly, “You know I never talk about you, right? Not gonna fuck off to some tabloid and tell them you said you love some girl you’ve known since you were ten.”

Jamie deflates a little so you continue. “We’re going to talk about all this. We’re going to talk about Roy Kent and your dad and the fact that your mum misses you so she calls me instead, and I’m going to make you breakfast and probably hold your hand and by the time you leave, you’re going to feel better and maybe actually feel fucking happy, because I see you in pictures, Jaim, and your smile really doesn’t reach your eyes anymore.”

“It’s fucked, ain’t it?” he says quietly. “I’m twenty-three, still letting me dad push me around.” He puts the jacket back on the couch and walks toward you. “And Roy Kent- he’s been my hero since I was a kid. He fucking hates me, and now he’s got a reason because I ended his fucking career. Me. And I have to live with that shit. It was the fucking worst game I’ve ever had to play. I hate being with City, especially since they all hate me for bein’ at Richmond. Pep’s the only one who didn’t say shit, just told me I was a good lad. I’ve been feeling all these emotional things and I didn’t want to go to me mum and I knew you lived ‘round here, so I thought I’d come over. You always made me feel better after seeing my dad.”

Jamie’s right in front of you now, rubbing a thumb on your cheekbone. You’re absolutely positive he can hear your heartbeat, and you dare to thread your arms around his waist.

“I loved you the first time I saw you. That’s why I was always hanging ‘round. Mum knew, she teased me about it for the longest time. Always tried to get me to say somethin’, but I weren’t ready. And you always fucking saw right through me, which freaked me the fuck out. Even now, I feel like- like you’re looking straight through me to my soul, and it’s fucking terrifying. But-” he takes a deep breath, “I also feel safe around you. I dunno, maybe it’s ‘cause I’ve seen you eat so much cake you had to lie down on the couch and sleep it off.” 

He’s grinning now, and so are you. 

“Hey,” you say, poking his chest, “I was ten and you thought you were all great because you were a year older than me and way too smart to do shit like that, as if you haven’t puked from drinking too much.”

Jamie groans. “Fucking hell, maybe you know too much about me.”

“Not possible, Tartt,” you reply. “Now, you need a shirt and I need to shower.”

He smiles. “I think you might need some help. Heard you hate showering alone.”

You laugh. “Alright, you knob. Guess it’s been long enough.” 

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

II. of niceties and awkward second meetings.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce makes an offer you actually can refuse... at first.pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, bruce wayne is still a masochist, bruce wayne is ALSO reckless :). words: 3.5k. edited: 2/28/24.

After every surgery—good or not so good—when you’re rinsing off and getting patted on the back for a job well done, you elect to feel hope. And then you hurry to lock yourself in your office and try to catch your breath.

The weight of a life on your hands follows you from room to room, from work to bed, from daydreams to night terrors. Even when it’s good, it rarely ever feels good. Questions bloat your brain: what if there’s something you missed? What if, despite it all, it’s not enough? Is the blood on your hands, then? Is the life yours to save or the patient’s to endure?

There was no solid answer. All you could do was wait for full recovery and try not to let it consume you.

Maybe tonight was a night for Thai. Maybe you’d call up your old roommates and get together at your place. Maybe you could finally tell them about the night Batman broke into your house, and how you stitched up his bullet wound, and then fell asleep 20 feet away because you had to meet Bruce fucking Wayne the very next morning and God help you if you embarrassed your boss by being late. So far, the only person who’d heard about it was the old lady who lived in the apartment below you, and all she’d done is pray for you.

You’d assured her you were fine, but she’d insisted on anointing your doors and windows before you left for work. The “demon of Gotham” she’d called him, herald of vengeance. The fact that you’d saved his life meant that you’d be spared in the reckoning... or whatever little old ladies learned in Sunday school.

Whatever she believed, you had no reason to think you’d be struck by lightning twice. Batman would not be returning to your home any time soon.

The thought almost made you sad.

There was no reason for him to return. Batman probably had a team of doctors waiting to tend to him if his arsenal of weaponry was any indicator of wealth. He wasn’t just any ol’ run of the mill vigilante, that was for certain.

You were just a blip. A freak accident. A glitch in the matrix. The chance that you’d been in the right place at the right time when Batman needed you most was just that: chance. And you were no gambler, but you could bet on your license that that man would never darken your doorstep (or window sill) again.

Maybe you’d stop by the liquor store too on your way home.

You’re rounding the corner when you collide with your boss, frantic as usual.

“Oh! Finally, there you are,” he grips your upper arms like a vice, eyes frenzied as they look you over, “why do you look like that?”

You imagine he’s referencing the dew of sweat on your skin and your scrubs out of whack. “I finished an operation fifteen minutes ago.” You answer, unimpressed. “I was just heading back to my office.”

Your attempt to sidestep him—to free yourself of the shackles that were his hands—proves useless. He spins to keep you in his grip, “You can’t! Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“You have a visitor.”

You frown, “A patient? No one’s on my schedule.”

“I’d like you to make an exception for this one.” His voice drops to a whisper. He readjusts your shirt sleeves as if dressing you up, prettying you for the highest bidder, and that sets you on edge, “Just trust me.”

You almost (almost) flinch away when he pushes you to your office door—now, a looming boulder instead of a gateway to your safe haven. Before you can even ask just who is waiting for you on the other side, your boss is rushing off down the hallway to do God knows what.

As if disarming a bomb, you slowly open the door to peek inside.

It scares the both of you, clearly, if the wide-eyed look he gives you says anything.

It’s like it hasn’t been a week since you’d last seen him. Bruce Wayne is wearing what looks like the same suit he’d worn last time, tie and collar stiff, jacket open underneath his billowy coat. But he looks awkward standing in your modest little office. He looks like he’s not supposed to be here, or at least not without his right hand man and the fanfare to follow.

He keeps his hands in front of him to show you he means no harm, “Your boss said it was okay to wait here for you.”

You’re still bracing yourself against the door, trying to figure out what he could possibly be doing in your office, what he’d possibly be waiting around for you for.

You think about the last time you’d seen him, when you’d grabbed him out of nowhere and his companion (Alfred, was it?) looked like he would have no problem breaking your spine if you dared manhandle him again. Oh God, he wasn’t going to sue, was he?

You swallow, “Uh, right. Can I help you?”

Bruce straightens up. His hands fall to his sides. You search his face to predict his next move but you’re puzzled to find that he’s just as clueless as you.

You didn’t know much about Bruce Wayne, that much had been established. What little you did know was some amorphous figure of nobility, the “prince of Gotham” as the press dubbed him.

Yet, standing before you in your simple little office, Bruce Wayne feels less like nobility and more like a stranger in foreign land. He keeps his hands in front of him and you’re able to make out purple dusting his knuckles. Bruised. Not bloody. Not recently. This piques your interest.

“How long have you been a surgeon?” Is his first question.

You slink into the room and debate on shutting the door, deciding to leave it open a crack; whether it is so you can escape or for him to feel unwelcome, you’re not entirely sure. “Four years. Not including the 12 years of school and residency.”

Bruce perks up just a tad to your bewilderment. “Did you study here in Gotham?”

“I did. I considered Metropolis.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Cheaper tuition.”

“Do you like it here in Gotham?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Wayne,” your voice comes out clipped—nervous—all the same, “I just got out of a surgery and I didn’t even know you’d be here so I haven’t got the faintest clue what you want-”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce apologizes, “I can come back another time.”

Come back? You assess his face once more, double checking for any sign of where this conversation is going, “Come back for what?”

For the first time since you entered the room, Bruce takes a step forward. A few, actually, ‘til he’s standing only a foot away and his whole deer-in-headlights deal is on full display. “A proposition.” Your head swims with big ideas. You’re thankful you’re still standing still. “I’d like to hire you.”

If Em could see you, she’d be laughing her head off at the look on your face. The emotions you're hit with are akin to blunt force trauma.

Bruce catches onto your distress and begins to explain, glancing away from your eyes to give you room to breathe, “Due to the nature of my job and the... events that transpired last November, I’m careful about my position in the public eye. I’ve decided to have a doctor on call, someone I can rely on in the event that something drastic happens again. It would be more menial work, but you would, of course, be greatly compensated: full benefits, triple your salary here. Nothing is out of the question.”

As the last word melts in the air, he finally locks eyes with you. Less deer-in-headlights now, more spotlight. More "I eagerly await your response".

You couldn’t even fathom the price point: triple your salary? You already made good money here, any more would be excessive. And then there’s the reality of the situation. You would be employed, solely, by Bruce Wayne. At his beck and call—perhaps moved into a nicer place within chauffeur distance of Wayne Tower—the support staff of the upper echelon.

Your mom wouldn’t bug you about moving out of Gotham ever again.

This all felt too good to be true. So good that your intuitive pendulum swung violently in warning. Bruce awaits your reply, wringing his hands before him and those glaring purple knuckles catch your attention again. How a CEO had managed those was a question you hesitated to entertain. Something else was going on here.

You knew Gotham was a corrupt city. It festered with crime in every aspect, that much the Riddler had made clear last Halloween. The late mayor, the DA, the police commissioner... and amongst his targets, Bruce Wayne had survived. Something else was definitely going on here.

“...I serve the public, Mr. Wayne. I reserve my skill for the citizens of Gotham without the... ability to seek better. I’m flattered you would consider me and I would be more than happy to point one of my talented colleagues your way in my stead. But I’m sorry, I can’t accept your offer.”

Bruce’s face falls for just a second. After all, if he were to wear his emotions on his face all the time, you doubted he’d be much of a successful businessman.

You’re thankful that he takes a step out of your personal space and doesn’t fuss, doesn’t try to shove a wad of cash at you, doesn’t throw more offers at you until you concede. “I appreciate your consideration, but that won’t be necessary. I should let you return to your work. Thank you for your time.”

You nod a little dumbly, the weight of what has just transpired starting to settle fully on you. Em would be far too angry at you to laugh, now.

With the grace of his pedigree, Bruce Wayne nods silently to you and leaves.

You notice once the muscles in your shoulders stop shaking that there’s something in your office that wasn’t there before. There, on the loveseat where Bruce Wayne had waited for you, was a business card.

You shakily approach the seat and collapse beside it, reaching out to read what adorns the back of the Wayne Enterprises logo.

Bruce Wayne CEO P: 212-XXX-XXXX

It takes the clatter of ceramic to pull you out of your reverie.

Beside you, Em hovers, “And here I thought you weren’t a fan.”

At the puzzled look you give her, Em jerks her head toward where your eyes had been focusing, mindlessly stirring in the events of the afternoon. At some point, the TV’s channel had changed from Days of our Lives to the Gotham News. They were running a story on a charity event downtown. Bruce Wayne was shaking hands on camera, the tagline “Bruce Wayne makes dazzling appearance alongside controversial mayor”. How fitting.

“‘m not,” you grumble, pushing your lunch around in yellowed Tupperware, “just thinking.”

“About?”

You glance at Em. Too little too late, your boss had clambered into your office shortly after Bruce left, pestering you about the conversation you’d had, disappointed when you’d told him you’d turned down the offer. “Imagine the press we’d get, one of our very own working for the CEO of Wayne Enterprises,” he’d argued, “you’ve got to reconsider.”

You hesitated to tell your tale again, fearful that you’d suffer the same reaction, but Em was not your boss. She would never let the topic rest. And it wasn’t like you signed an NDA, a truth that had only hit you hours after the fact, “I got a job offer today.”

Em’s eyebrows shoot up, “From West Mercy? Arkham?”

The very thought of working in Arkham Asylum had you abandoning your lunch altogether, “God, no. It was more like... on-demand. Concierge. A very rich patient wanted to hire me as their private doctor.”

“Wow... was it one of your patients?”

“No, I’ve never examined him in my life.”

“Him?” You recognized that tone of voice. A slew of questions were on the way if you didn’t elaborate fast enough.

Besides yourself and Em huddled in a corner, the break room was relatively empty. One of the ER nurses was napping, another engrossed in a game of Sudoku on their phone. You doubted they would hear even if you raised your voice above a whisper.

Quietly, because you clam up at the thought of saying his name out loud, you fish out his business card and slide it across the table to her.

It takes her but a moment to process. First a deep inhale, then her hand slaps the table (the Sudoku nurse glances up at you both and then changes his mind), then she’s gripping at your scrubs and shaking you violently in your chair, “Shut the front door! Please tell me you said yes!”

You frown, “No, I didn’t.”

“Why the hell not? I know you don’t keep up with the times in this city, but this guy is loaded!”

“I do keep up with the times. I just don’t give a rat’s ass about Bruce Wayne. A crime punishable by death, apparently.”

“But why in the world would you want to keep working here when you could be... having lunch on a terrace? Discussing lab results over Pinot Grigio? Jetting off to the Bahamas to check his vitals on vacation?”

You snort, “Exactly what I told him: I serve the public. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Could always do both.”

You tried to imagine it, for Em’s sake. The terrace lunches, the Pinot Grigio. You imagined the nice apartment from before and the esteem that your boss was sure you could bring the hospital.

And you imagined Bruce Wayne, with a limp. With bruised knuckles. Always looking at you with those big eyes that somehow told you everything and nothing at the same time. Like an open book in a dead language. You thought about the night that Wayne Tower caught fire and the world that had been crumbling down in Gotham had started to feel truly broken. Politicians die all the time, but the uber rich? Even you had watched the sky in horror.

And now that same man had asked you—you, of all people—to be there in case there was a next time.

You thought about the Batman. Would you say yes if he asked you the exact same question?

You hadn’t considered both.

You’re unaware that Em is leaving until her chair scoots loudly across the laminate, “Think on it. Seriously. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” Her hand brushes your shoulder fleetingly. Then she’s leaving and you’re left to think again.

It was a bit ironic that his next visit took place as you were perusing apartment listings.

You hadn't seen him get inside your home the first time. He’d just been there, as if he’d always been there and you just never noticed. This time, he doesn’t have the urgency to break in. He waits at your window… staring in at you. No knocking. Not even a muffled “Can I come in?”

You don’t know how he expects anyone to invite him inside their home with those kinds of manners. You set your laptop aside and walk over to the curtains, his figure becoming clearer, more menacing as eyes silently follow you. By the time you reach the window, your heart is beating at an unhealthy pace. You had been able to get that adrenaline down before. How did you manage that again?

Batman waits patiently. Your hand presses to the glass, the warmth of it leaving behind a visible print as you push up on the glass, “Don’t tell me,” his head cocks to the side as you begin, “another bullet?”

If he is suffering from a wound like the last, he doesn’t look it. He’s crouched on your fire escape with his cape billowing behind him and the light of your apartment giving off just enough of an ominous glow.

After last time, you’d sneaked some extra supplies back to your place under the paranoia that something might happen again. And, let’s be honest, no one would raise a brow at having everything you need to clean a gunshot wound in this city. You couldn’t say it was entirely just for him, though.

The silence goes on uncomfortably long. You start to wonder if he even heard you, the way he stares you down, unmoving. He resembles a stray caught stealing from a trashcan, seconds from sprinting in the opposite direction to avoid being caught.

Eventually, your heartbeat spikes again. What had he told you last time? To run if someone tried to break in? Maybe he had wanted you to sprint the second you saw a human looming on your fire escape, regardless of their vague bat shape. Was he angry? He kind of always looked angry.

“Have you noticed anyone following you?” His question causes just the briefest alarm.

Living on the not-greatest side of Gotham, you had learned how to keep your head down but your eyes everywhere. If some mugger were looking to jump you as you got out of your car, you’d know. You shake your head, palms beginning to sweat.

Batman assesses you for a bit longer. You can’t tell if he’s reading you for a lie or if his instincts are just telling him otherwise, but eventually, he accepts your answer.

And begins to leave.

“Wait,” you stutter out against your better judgement, when he’s already stood to his full height, one boot positioned on the railing to propel himself below. He looks over his shoulder at you very slowly, “how’s your... side? Wound heal okay?

He looks down to where you’d stitched him, where his armor had been mended. “It’s better.”

You sigh, relieved. “You’ve gotten it looked at, then.”

“Someone looked at it.”

His wording gives you pause. “What about your stitches? Did you get them redone?” He hesitates. “You... did get them redone, right? Better. Preferably by someone who wasn’t worried about you dying on their living room floor.” Your skin prickles when you see his guilty look. “Batman, if you’ve been fighting crime every night for the past week with the same stitches I put in you days ago-”

“I’ve been through worse.”

“So you keep saying.” You really don’t mean to grit your teeth at him, practically stomping your foot because you’d, at the very least, expected him to be a bit smart about a bullet wound.

But, then again, you were talking to a man dressed as a bat.

You crawl out onto the fire escape, chilly and biting and unforgiving as the night may be, and watch Batman turn halfway toward you. You have to resist the urge to brush your hand against his side, an act far too intimate with Kevlar in the way. You look up at him, “Don’t suppose you’d let me take another look at it?”

The first time, sure, he let you because he was close to dying. With a motto of “I’ve been through worse” at his disposal, you doubted he would let you do it again unless the circumstances were dire.

Sure enough, he moves defensively away from you. You take heart in that it seems less like he distrusts you and more like he’s got a bravado issue. Not great, but better. Easier to fix.

You think of the medical supplies in your apartment and wonder if you’ve got what it takes to coax him inside. “I thought that you might not come again. Guy like you fighting crime every night must have people on hand for stuff like this, right? You’re not just any vigilante. Couldn’t be.” His unsettling glare makes the cold seep into you just a little bit more, “You don’t. Do you?”

He doesn’t answer you. His eyes shift from yours to the cityscape. Looking for a way out, maybe.

But if he wanted to leave, he would leave. Why would he hesitate?

“I just want to look. Make sure it’s not infected. No poking or prodding, I promise.”

“It’s not. I had someone look at it.”

“A doctor?”

“...No.”

“Someone who knows what they’re looking at, at least?”

He looks down at you. There’s something there that he’s keeping close to his chest, too much information for a stranger (even one who’s saved his life). You wait to see what his decision will be. “You work at Gotham General.” Batman states, matter-of-factly.

“...I know you were bleeding to death when I told you, but you’ve got to keep up in this city.” You see a hint of a smile on his mouth that is just as easily written off as a scowl. “What about it?”

Again, that look.

Just as you’re certain that you’re about to break through to something, a siren goes off in the distance. Sure enough, when the both of you look to the sky, his emblem is carved out in the clouds, beckoning him down to the streets once more. Your heart sinks. You were so close.

Batman waits a beat, positioning himself on the railing again. His eyes find yours over his shoulder, cape fluttering with the promise of taking flight, “They’re lucky to have you.”

He leaves. It feels even colder when he does.

[hauntedwitch04]

Leaves

Andrew Garfield x reader

Words: 0.7k words

Warnings: none, just fluff and idiots totally in love with each other

Author’s note: Hi everybody! Sorry to be this late, life is just being crazy right now.

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🎃Halloween party 🎃

DAY 6: “I got some leaves on my way here for you, they are really pretty”

Ever since I was little, I have always collected leaves in the fall. It sounds kind of sociopathic, but my mother and I and then with my sisters, for as long as I can remember we have collected the strangest and most beautiful leaves that we found on our walks in the park during the fall.

Although I am no longer a child, I wanted to keep this tradition alive because it makes me feel closer to my family members who now live far away from me.

When I told my fiancé, Andrew, I thought he would think I was crazy instead he told me it was one of the sweetest things he had ever heard and asked if he could participate in this tradition as well, understanding perfectly well if I didn't want to because it was a very personal thing. I had not been able to help but throw myself at his neck, saying that I would love to share that thing with him, because after all for me and for my whole family it was now part of us, but until today he had never done anything to help me with my collection.

I am baking another pan of cookies, to the tunes of "Nightmare before Christmas," when I hear the front door open and close.

"Hello love!" I hear Andrew shout as he hangs up his jacket and takes off his shoes. "The cold weather has finally started!" He says sarcastically as he enters the kitchen, knowing that I was waiting for nothing more, as I hate heat and summer, while loving to death autumn and the cold it brings. In response I tongues at him as I keep humming the songs and then remember what I was supposed to tell him.

"Althea called me, you know about the surprise party for Iara's birthday, and she told me that it will be around three o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday, but that if we want to get there the night before she has a free room." I tell him, while I am still intent on checking the cookies that I am now taking out of the oven to make sure they are ready. I see him go wide-eyed and run off, and immediately I cannot understand his reaction so abruptly to what I have said.

After a few minutes I see him come back with a book, which he rests on the table. I open it and he proudly shows me a bright red leaf, with a few hints of orange, that seems to be almost heart-shaped.

I feel my heart melt inside my rib cage, seeing with how much love and dedication he is showing me what he has found, and I refrain from kissing him there his moment.

"I got some leaves on my way here for you, they are really pretty. This is my favorite, though. Do you like it?" He asks looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes of his, and I can no longer stop myself from leaving a sweet kiss on his lips. He is caught a little off guard, only to immediately return that gesture of affection from me.

"So am I to take it to mean that you liked it?" He says once we break away, giving me that sly little smile that I so badly want to wipe off with a slap.

"I would say yes, in fact I would say he deserves to have his own frame and a place on the fireplace." I reply, before going to get a photo frame, where there is already a picture of us in a park taken by one of our closest friends. I open the frame and place the leaf next to our figures, and close it all up, before putting it back on the fireplace where it was before. We both stay staring at that frame for what seems like hours, him with his arms around my waist and his chest against my back, while I keep my hands on his, hugging a little and enjoying the perfume he is wearing, which I gave him last Christmas. We don't say a word, but there is no need because we can both feel each other's happiness.

[latibvles]

titling is for the weak. part three to the band au. also putting this on ao3 so uhh watch out for that when I post the link there! this turned out WAAAAAAAAY longer than I initially planned for it to be. anyways have the guys, a bar, a performance, and Vicki's perspective again as a treat. a special thank you (again) to @almost-a-class-act and @cody-helix02 for listening to me lament over naming this goddamn band. this one is aptly just called “The Bar Scene.” You Can also read the rest of this under the tag “ #au: let me down easy ” :)

A Sunday with Devil’s Piano starts in the studio. Reuben “Chuckler” Jeurgens (although his friends also call him Lew, of which he has many) walks in with Wilbur “Runner” Conley hot on his heels. Between them are five iced coffees. Jeurgens smiles as he crosses to put the fifth in the mini fridge they put in the practice room.

“For Lena, when she comes in.” He explains, in reference to Lena Riggi, the sound engineer who’s worked with the group since their first album, and also known for her work with the Basilone Brothers. As Conley heads immediately to the drum kit, Sidney “Sid” Phillips, bassist, walks in — face lighting up when Chuckler hands him the coffee, but he’s looking around the room like something’s missing.

That something, or rather, someone, is Bill “Hoosier” Smith, their lead guitarist and typically — the first one in the room.

Vicki taps away at the keyboard, glancing periodically at the digital clock on the bedside table, and then at the slip of paper, the name of the club the guys would be performing at sprawled in Corrigan’s neat print. He’d given her the venue name and address earlier that day. The guys would be playing tonight in town, as good of an opportunity as any to get photos. She figured she could hack away at the beginning of the article now.

But her words keep getting away from her and what replaces them isn’t nearly as productive.

Staring at the blinking cursor on her screen, the only thing that comes to mind is an acoustic guitar, its owner smug-grinned and messy-haired, making sharp remarks in a rumpled white t-shirt. And every time he caught her stare, she knew he got a sort of satisfaction from watching her face flush, or watching her look away.

Monday was worse. A clean-shaved, alert, not-hungover Bill Smith was more bold than late, disheveled, embarrassed and hungover Bill Smith. He brushed by her, looming over her notepad and she could smell the spice from his aftershave — but she didn’t say anything. He gestured with his pointer finger to her heading, grinned.

You always make a heart for the letter I?

Only for headings, she’d wanted to say. But he was far too close and his eyes were far too blue for her to form a coherent thought, so she just rolled her eyes instead

Vicki’s been working far too long to not be able to recognize a honey trap. Bill could be as kind and funny as her neighbors in Melbourne, it didn’t change the fact that rock bands lived life in the fast lane, and she’s watched too many of her coworkers end up in messes of their own after falling for the easy smiles and pretty faces that this line of work attracted.

The first thirty minutes is a hodge-podge of activity. They step into the booth to record what they can, and exchange ideas for new songs for their next album. “He’ll show up,” says Conley, not especially worried about his bandmate’s absence. “He’s just directionally challenged.”

And sure enough, thirty minutes past call time — Bill “Hoosier” Smith walks into the studio. He’s narrow-eyed and clearly exhausted from the previous night (when the band held a much more intimate performance at The Troubadour). What occurred after the band’s 30-minute set? They’ll never tell. But Smith wastes no time in grabbing his guitar, and getting down to business.

The best and worst part was that Bill, contrary to what the gossip mags and paparazzi claimed, didn’t mind striking conversation and answering questions. He, like the rest of his bandmates, was endearing in his own way. He talked fondly about his grandparents and his parents, his siblings and growing up in rural Indiana.

But Bill would ask questions too, and no one wants to hear that sob story, so she skirts around it with the story of how she met Bob Leckie after her interview and how he’d crashed on her couch for a couple months after breaking up with a girlfriend.

She takes one last look at the clock, and scrunches her nose. She’d have to continue this later. Thanks a lot, Hoosier.

Picking out clothes isn’t a difficult affair — slipping on the black dress and the heels, flattening her hair and parting it down the middle, hanging her camera around her neck in lieu of a necklace. Vicki calls for a cab while putting on makeup and thanks whatever higher power there is that she doesn’t poke her own eye out with a mascara wand when her brain is elsewhere.

By the time she’s stepping into the cab from the hotel lobby, she’s already fiddling with her camera in an attempt to stave off her own thoughts.

It was a smart move on Corrigan’s part, keeping their talent fresh with these smaller gigs and not letting the local nightlife forget their faces. She wasn’t at The Troubadour the night they performed, but she’d be there tonight. If the label wanted them to maintain relevance, this was definitely the way to keep at it without compromising the quality of their work.

Vicki sees the line out the door before she sees the white lights of the sign for the bar itself, and withholds a groan as she pays for the cab. She had no personal qualms about pulling out her ID, and if that didn’t work she’d just have to call Corrigan. She takes one last look at herself in the cab’s rearview before stepping out and crossing the street. She focuses on the precise click of her heels rather than the indiscernible noises of offense as she skips the line. The bouncer at the door looks at her with a raised brow.

“I’m with the band,” she supplies him with, watching as his eyes narrow, reluctant to let her in. She reaches into her purse to grab her Press ID. As she’s pulling it out, a warm hand presses against her back, and she snaps her head to the right.

Hugh Corrigan’s in one of his finely tailored suits, and behind him are three familiar faces with large black cases in their hands. He smiles at her, then looks to the bouncer as Vicki flashes the card to him.

“She’s with us,” Corrigan reaffirms with a nod, ushering her inside before security can object. He immediately retracts his hand after that as they walk into the mostly-empty bar, its future patrons outside and buzzing with excitement. “Hope you weren’t waiting there too long, Miss Graves.” He offers, all squared-shoulders and polite smiles.

The ones trailing in behind him are anything but polite.

“Shit, I didn’t realize you were comin’ to this thing,” Chuckler’s voice is drenched in mirth, flashing a smile. “What, you invited Leckie too?”

“What if I did?”

“Well we would’ve told Hoos here to put on a nicer shirt.” Without meaning to, her gaze immediately moves to him — and Sid lingering beside him, and he returns it. He’s in a black short-sleeved button-down, a watch on one wrist and several bracelets on the other. His hair’s parted and gelled in an attempt to keep it out of his face. He eyes Corrigan with blatant suspicion, although the latter can’t see it, before looking back at her and eyeing her up and down.

“I think he looks alright as he is,” Vicki decides, without thinking about it too hard. His lip curls, and she’s grateful for the dim lights hiding her flush. Adjusting the end of her dress, she rolls her eyes and looks away.

The back entrance door slams, echoing through the space before Runner calls out.

“Y’know the band performing before us is called Dumb Fucks?!”

—

Dumb Fucks isn’t half-bad for an opener, but she’s not here for them, so she sits with her Coke and lets her legs swing from the barstool, watching and waiting to approach the stage later once the guys take it. She didn’t plan on drinking anything stronger until after she got her pictures — if she stuck around that long. Across the bar, tending to drinks, a familiar face hums.

“You didn’t tell me you were working tonight,” Margie points out. Margie was currently interning at Fusion, and worked as a bartender here on weeknights. Vicki shrugs, watching the brown-haired girl salt a rim swiftly and then get to work on a margarita for someone two seats down. “Or that the drummer was cute.” Vicki laughs, with a roll of her eyes.

“Right, cause that’s what at the top of the list, cute drummers for Margie.”

“Well it could be, if you loved me more.”

“I love you just enough,” Vicki assures as Margie moves down the bar to slide the margarita over the counter, take another order, and mix another drink.

“Not enough to get me the number of your cute drummer friend.”

“You mean my drummer client?”

“Same difference,” and then, tossing a rag over her shoulder and leaning on the bar, she gets a catlike grin. “Although the guitarist couldn’t stop looking your way during soundcheck, you know,” there’s a giggle in there, somewhere, as Margie’s grin grows and Vicki rolls her eyes, reverting her attention back to the band onstage to avoid Margie peering right through her.

“Kinda hard not to look when someone sticks a camera in your face, I reckon.”

“Oh you’re the worst,” she bemoans, all but flinging herself on the countertop. “Right, cause every guy you interview smirks at you and licks their lips and totally shows off on a guitar solo, right? All for the camera?” Vicki laughs, turning to look at her friend who’s resting her chin on her fist.

“Do you want me to answer that seriously?” Margie huffs, exaggerating her point by rattling her cocktail shaker with a certain type of vigor as the opening act wraps their set. Ice rattling is drowned out by the scattered applause and faint murmuring as the lights of the stage dim so they can change the drumkit and the guitars. She then finalizes it by sticking out her tongue before pouring the drink into another glass and breezing by to another patron.

Vicki rises after a few minutes, camera in her hands, as the murmuring starts to crescendo and the lights come up with Runner’s familiar drum kit. There’s a fairly sizable crowd around the stage, but thankfully she gets to the front of it — and there’s enough room for her to move about. Her palms are unreasonably sweaty, and her hair’s standing on end, ignoring the occasional bumps and jostling from other people trying to cross the floor.

When Chuckler comes out, and then Sid, she can’t help but giggle at their stark contrast. Chuckler, all rock-star swagger and charm, versus Sid, who’s somehow maintained that endearingly sweet smile, his cheeks already flushed under the lights. He catches her eye and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he takes his spot further from her, at the left of the stage. And then Runner, full of energy, waving his sticks in the air once he takes his spot behind his beloved drums.

She really tries not to stare too hard, when Hoosier walks on right behind Runner. She knew it was coming, but Vicki swallows hard nonetheless. He looks positively golden under the lights, catching all those shades of dirty blonde in his hair, that looks way softer than she remembers it looking earlier (not that she’d been looking for long). Now though, it feels almost criminal to look away. She might need a drink after this after all.

They go straight into the first song. Chuckler’s voice in the mic is a surefire wakeup call, and she snaps back into herself.

She heard and watched them practice several times in the past two days, she even sat through soundcheck prior to this. She had pictures of them tuning up, one where he looked through his lashes and grinned at her, but said nothing.

This is fundamentally different. Were it not for the view being a bit different through her camera, she could get completely lost in the sight of him. It feels less like her losing her train of thought and more like him stealing it.

And if Vicki weren’t so painstakingly alert, every hair standing on end — she could mistake that warm feeling in her stomach as her being drunk.

She shifts her focus to Sid and his bright grin, fingers dancing across the neck of the bass. He nods his head along to the music and she smiles as the camera shudders and she gets three more shots of Sid, in all his bass-playing glory. Then shifting his attention to Chuckler, sticking his tongue out on the ad libs, his raspy baritone reaching every corner of the room.

By the time he greets the crowd at the end of the first song, they’re already buzzing with energy, barely able to contain their murmurings as Chuckler speaks into the mic.

She watches and moves as her camera requires of her, taking pictures throughout and conscious of bumping into other patrons. The guys onstage work up a sweat, jumping around or otherwise moving. Hoosier gets this grin on his face that she’s never really seen. All-encompassing, directed towards the guys around him, his hair no longer neatly done and now strewn about his forehead. He licks his lips and her eyes divert to his hands as they fly across the frets. He makes it look effortless.

He looks golden.

By the end of the set, she’s already making her way towards the bar, to Margie who’s got one of her more knowing smirks on her face.

“So are you gonna introduce me to the drummer or what?”

“No, but if you get me a drink I might change my mind.” Margie laughs at that with a roll of her eyes, but likely recognizes the look on Vicki’s face — fixing to make her a Manhattan.

Now, at the very least, she can blame the warm, tingly feeling on alcohol and not—

“Thought I knew that lady in the front row.” Fuck.

She turns her head, as Hoosier takes up the seat next to her. She swallows hard as she catches the whiff of sweat mixed with whatever cologne he wears. In the moments where he asks Margie to get him a beer and she agrees, Vicki does her best to brace herself.

“And what if that seat was taken?”

“I’m sure whoever he is won’t mind if I keep you company.” Vicki scoffs, finishing off her drink and ordering another.

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

Hoosier twists the bottle around between his fingers. Vicki’s gaze moves from his hands back to his eyes. He runs his fingers through his hair, to push some of it from his eyes, but it still falls over his forehead.

“Well then what would you call it?”

“A bad idea,” his brows shoot up at her forwardness. She takes a sip of her drink, focusing on the burn of the whiskey as she swallows rather than on the intensity of his stair. “You’re much more marketable if you aren’t seen with a girl. The public likes attractive, single young musicians.”

He leans towards her and she sucks in a breath when his arm brushes hers. She tries to tell herself it’s for purely logical reasons — it’s a crowded bar and he’s just spent the past two hours carrying harmonies and talking into a mic, so he doesn't want to strain his voice by talking over the din. But Hoosier makes it very hard to believe that, looking her up and down like he did when they first walked in.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bad liar?” She turns her head a little more to stare at him, saying nothing. “‘N you still haven’t told me to go away yet.” He points out. She swallows hard, licking her lips and returning his stare.

“Would you go away? If I told you to?”

“If you want me to,” She doesn’t have a response for that, not one that’s true, so she says nothing. But Vicki doesn’t look away, and neither does he. He just grins, knowing, and she doesn’t know if she wants to wring his neck out or pull him towards her and make him finish what he’s trying to start here. More importantly, she really hates how he’s seeing right through her right now. “You look good, by the way. Forgot to say that.”

Musicians really are nothing but trouble.

“You didn’t have to,” She can feel a flush creeping up her neck, but she certainly hasn’t drank enough to be incoherent. She knows it’s him, doing that. She hates that too. “I saw you staring.”

“You said I looked good,” he returns, bumping his knee against her bare one. “And I saw you staring.”

“I said you looked alright.”

“Ain’t it funny how synonyms work?” She rolls her eyes and snorts, shaking her head slightly.

“You’re not funny.”

“Then why’d you laugh?” He challenges, and she knows it’s meant to be playful. Vicki presses her lips together, and with her free hand, she takes his shoulder, gently pushing him back so there’s a distance between them again. It’s hard to ignore the heat of his skin through his shirt or the firm muscle there. He looks at her hand, and then at her. She glances to Margie tending to the bar through her periphery, in an effort to remember where and who they are.

“Cause this isn’t gonna go how you want it to.” She lets her hand fall, resting her elbows on the bar itself, waiting for the scrunch of his nose and some kind of venomous words thrown her way that she won’t write about to maintain some semblance of pride. You weren’t the first, Bill Smith, and you probably won’t be the last — but I’m damned before I become a notch on your bedpost.

But he doesn’t do anything like that. Bill takes another sip from his beer, then sets it down.

“I don’t want it to go anywhere,” he sounds almost reassuring. The smile Bill gives her then, is almost boyish. “I just like it when you talk.”

It’s not what she was expecting and the way he says it, as warm as he feels, leaves her without anything that she could say in rebuttal. She can’t help but wait for a ‘but’ or some kind of catch, even though nothing of the sort comes from him. Vicki stares at him, mouth slightly agape but he doesn’t seem to notice until she clears her throat.

“Watch my drink, yeah? I’m going to the restroom.” She watches him drag the glass towards him, and without another word, she slips off the barstool to beeline to the bathroom.

If Vicki’s heart is hammering harder than it had been all night, that’s no one’s business but hers.

[buggie-hagen]

Sermon for Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost (9/24/23)

Primary Text | Philippians 1:21-30

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

Dear People of God,

          The Lord’s Prayer. Simple. Perhaps something we take for granted. We do pray it every Sunday. Some might say, “What’s so special about the Lord’s Prayer? Why say it so often? By praying it this much do we risk it becoming rote and meaningless?” To this I say the Lord’s Prayer is special because when the disciples were looking for guidance in how to pray our Lord Jesus used it to teach them how to pray. So we do pray it often. There is no shame in it. It lays a good foundation for our whole prayer life. And, if nothing else, we know that God delights to hear it. People may worry we pray the Lord’s Prayer too much, that when we pray with our lips our hearts are far away. Well, not paying attention can happen anytime, whether we are praying a prayer we know well or praying a prayer we’ve never heard. So do be attentive to the prayers. Especially with a prayer like the Lord’s Prayer I encourage you deepen your understanding of it, to turn it over in your heart, look under the rock. Contrary to what some churches think, there is no such thing as praying it too much. I’ll throw tomatoes at them and double down, I encourage each of you to pray the Lord’s Prayer even more than you do now. I urge you to pray it not just on Sunday mornings. But every morning.  When you rise from your bed, that is a good time to pray the Lord’s Prayer. Also. Every night. When you lay down in bed, that is a good time to pray the Lord’s Prayer. I also urge you to pray the Lord’s Prayer frequently throughout the day. Are you about to have a doctor’s appointment you are worried about? Are you stressed about a relationship that you have? Is someone you know giving you a hard time? Each of these are a good time to pray the Lord’s Prayer. Are you bored? Have you nothing to do? Are you mowing the lawn? Are you going for a hike? These too, are a good time to pray the Lord’s Prayer. In the Lord’s Prayer are seven requests we make to God. Each packed with meaning. Maybe you don’t grasp every aspect of it every time you pray it. But it might at a different moment. One time it will hit you on top of your head and you’ll understand and see that we endlessly benefit from praying the Lord’s Prayer. Read your Small Catechism to get just a taste of its benefits. And if you don’t have a Small Catechism, ask me for one and I’ll give you one.

          Now I bring the Lord’s Prayer up because of our reading from Philippians. This is one of Paul’s prison letters. When you’re in prison, especially 2,000 years ago, you’re not having a good time. He’s going through a great deal of suffering. Why? Because of his work to proclaim the gospel. And yet, while he is still suffering, Paul, the great preacher to the nations, takes time to tend to the needs of the Philippian Christians. One verse to note here is where he encourages them by writing, “For [God] has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well” (Phil. 1:29). It’s one thing for him to call believing in Christ a privilege. In fact he will say that our salvation and our believing is itself a doing of God. But here Paul also says a privilege we have is suffering for Christ. This is perhaps hard to understand because in some sense we live pretty comfy lives as Sweetwater County Christians. We’re not being tossed in jail for our witness to the gospel like St. Paul or our Philippians siblings were. We are free to openly treasure things like the gospel, the common faith, and the Holy Spirit. But is it really true that we are not suffering in some way for Christ? Some would say no. Christians in America have never suffered an ounce for their faith. And its true, our blood is not systematically required of us like the martyrs. But I wonder about that word “suffer.”  Is everything really peachy keen for us right now? Has there ever been an era of the church of Jesus Christ where his Christians aren’t suffering in some way? As a people who treasure the gospel of the forgiveness of sins, as people who treasure faith, and who have been given the Holy Spirit---we represent a breach in the kingdom. But who’s kingdom? I’m not talking about God’s kingdom, but the kingdom of the world. Someone is not pleased with our very existence. He’s frothing at the mouth. The scriptures call him a prowling lion (1 Pet. 5:8). Take note. When we pray “Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in heaven” we are disturbing the kingdom of the devil. He actively opposes everything God does. He cannot bear it when a single person teaches or believes rightly. So he will do everything he can to turn upside down the kingdom of God that is present in and among us. In the Large Catechism, under “Your will be done on earth as in heaven” it says, “Therefore we who would be Christians must surely expect to have the devil with all his angels and the world as our enemies and must expect that they will inflict every possible misfortune and grief upon us. For where God’s Word is preached, accepted, or believed, and bears fruit, there the holy and precious cross will also not be far behind” (LC 3:65). Wherever this word of God is active there is opposition to that word.

          Being brought into the kingdom of God we are targeted by the flaming arrows of the evil one. This is one reason we do pray in the Lord’s Prayer that God would “deliver us from evil” which can also be translated as “deliver us from the evil one.” We pray this firmly believing it absolutely to be true that God delivers us. And yet at this time we do suffer misfortunes and griefs of many kinds in this life, which St. Paul calls a privilege. As we wait for the kingdom of God, which is already among us, we live in a paradox. On one hand, we have God’s promise that he will deliver us. And delivers us even now. On the other hand, we do experience evil and suffer in body and soul. Yet, as Christians, when it comes to suffering, we do not walk the path of seeing and feeling. We walk in faith. Which means that we walk in pitch darkness. Our only crutch in the darkness of suffering is that God made a promise to us in baptism. Forgiveness of sins, eternal life, and salvation are ours in the crucified Christ. Christ who is our light in the darkness. Therefore the suffering we endure becomes a redeemed suffering. For Christian suffering takes a particular shape—the shape of a cross. In it we are being transformed into the image of Christ. So our suffering is transformed into the precious and holy cross, and that turns us away from all other things—and teaches us to rely on Christ alone. (pause) Don’t believe someone when they say the Christian life is easy or that you should expect never to suffer. Rather, know this, Christ is most profoundly with you when you suffer. You have the promise that God will work all things out for your good. And, therefore, even as you suffer in this life, you have this comfort: “that the will and purpose of the devil and all [y]our enemies shall and must fail and come to nothing, no matter how proud, secure, and powerful they think they are” (LC 3:70). Until on the last day when we are raised from the dead, we continually pray to our heavenly Father, “Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as in heaven.” Enduring all things we wait for the Lord, who is faithful no matter what, and who will wipe away every tear. He will. And as Luther once said, “A Christian remains with the testimony of Christ; she listens to Christ’s words and follows Him into the darkness. Thus we find ourselves in a sack, wrapped in Christ’s cloak. He leads us to where He is, and in Christ we ascend into heaven. It is He who saves."

[journals4546]

12/10/08

My life is so fucked.  Ryan hates me, I fucked that up to no return.  I need to resolve myself to the fact that I will never see him again, never get to be with him, or hear his voice, unless I want to call his voicemail over & over again, pathetically.

Then Posi Thom had to go & develop feelings for me & ruin everything, so things are fucked there, too.  Not to mention not even Luke want to hang out with me.  I went to see him the other night, & since then he hasn’t talked to me at all.  He was probably thinking, “Wow she got big,” & changed his mind.

And Blond has a girlfriend.  And Fake Plastic Dave has a girlfriend.

Fake Plastic David.  Living, breathing Ken doll, too pretty for his own good, but mustn’t be too aware of it because for some unknown reason he likes me.  I’ve met him  on & off through the past couple of years, but we got to know each other a few weeks ago.  He told me he found me attractive, fun, & smart.  Listing my qualities always did have a nice effect on me, shamefully.

So we flirt through texting.  It’s not horribly mature, but he makes me so nervous in person.  I found myself shy & without any intelligent or cute words when he came over to see me on Sunday.  He messaged me, “What are you up to, darlin?”  He had a few hours before he had to go back to Ames, & he wanted my company.  So I got off work early & rushed home.  He was outside his truck in dead winter, wearing a tight white t-shirt, tight jeans, a scarf around his neck, looking like a freaking model off the runway.  He was also holding a chess board, but we ended up playing Monopoly.  “Snake eyes, spanks for everyone!”  He’s a very strange kid.  He also called me about ten minutes after he left.  We were joking around & he mentioned his girlfriend.  “Oh, is that gonna make things awkward?”  I swallowed my disappointment & surprise, played nonchalant.  “No, why would it?”

“I don’t know, I just think you & I have this great chemistry…”  He began talking about how that might be dangerous towards his relationship, & he was laughing while saying this.  I joked back, told him we’ll just let the sexual tension build up until it explodes, like a bad episode of “Friends.”

I can’t see any reason why he likes me, other than he was high as a kite when we hung out the first time, & I played a sweetheart.  He’s far, far out of my league.  But I won’t help him cheat.  I’m sick of being that girl.

And no matter how pretty Fake Plastic Dave is, I’d still take Blond over him.  I still melt when he gets fascinated by my dimples, & gives me that blinding smile when he tickles my cheeks, his translucent blue eyes bright when they look into mine.  I wish I could have him as a distraction.

I messaged Ryan last night, from deep, deep inside my black pit.  Told him Nich’s pills were in my room & I was scared to be alone.  Told him I knew I’d fucked up his life so badly, & I was so, so sorry.  Asked hm to please call me, please…

No response.  Cried myself to sleep.  It’s becoming the only way I can fall into an unconscious state, sobbing til I lose all my energy & pass out.

Chelsea told me he called her today, looking for me.  Said he talked to Nich.  I’m sure he asked him to keep his pills away from me.  It would explain Nich’s awkward high-fiving me every time I see him.

I told Ryan I didn’t want to be in a life where he hates me so much, & that I didn’t know how to get him to love me again.

Merry Xmas to me.

[storiesofsvu]

Cautious Ch 5

Warnings: Language.

In the two weeks that followed things shifted in your lives, you were back at your apartment, and while you still jumped at sudden noises every so often, you knew you were safe, and were sleeping fine at night, well rested each day for work. Olivia was quick to notice just how much she missed the domestic-ness of having another person in the apartment, someone to talk to, just the knowledge of another body around more often. She was more than happy to watch the brightened way you worked through cases, the knowledge of McKidd being behind bars making you feel safer, much less on edge.  

Friday night rolled around, sighing, she closed the fridge, knowing that there wasn’t anything edible in it anymore. She had just picked up the phone to call for take out when there was a knock at her door. Brows furrowing at the thought of having to shift back into work mode, she moved across the room, swinging the door open.

“Y/N?”

“Thought your fridge might need some restocking.” You held up a bag, your head nodding towards the phone in her hand, “About to call New Dynasty?” 

“Yeah…” She laughed, amused at the fact that you even knew which restaurant she was planning to order from. She noticed the way you were lingering in the doorway, “Thought you said something about a date tonight.”

“Meh…” You shrugged, “He bailed on me last minute. Probably a cue that I shoulda stuck to just women.”

“Oh?” That was some new information.

“What can I say? I like the wine, not the label.” 

“Well if you’ve got nowhere to be…”

“‘Course…” You smirked, moving into her apartment as you swung the door shut behind you, “You better not’ve been watching 30 Rock without me.”

“Now why would I do something like that?” She joked back, rolling her eyes when you tsk’d at the emptiness of her fridge as you put the food away. You fell into an easy string of conversation, falling back into the routines you’d kept up during your stay at Olivia’s apartment. 

You gratefully accepted the glass of wine from her as you popped a tray of lasagna into the oven, setting the timer on your phone. You caught her up on the failed date, explaining that you’d met through an app, had been talking all week but he bailed once he found out you were a cop. Olivia had moved around the island with the intention of topping up the glasses of wine, reaching the bottle of wine right as you swung around to grab a spatula, not so conveniently located directly behind her. You spun on your toes, leaning a little too far to the right, teetering over as you lost your balance, grasping at whatever was nearest to straighten up. Your hand ended up on Liv’s bicep, her other hand instinctively wrapped around the small of your back to steady you. You felt your breath hitch at the closeness to her body, eyes darting up to hers, in any other situation she would’ve made the move, especially after your admission earlier, but she held back. You stood, frozen in time for a moment, the oven timer causing you to both jump. You muttered a quick thanks, grabbing the spatula before quickly shutting off the timer and pulling the lasagna from the oven.

That tiny moment was really all it took for it to click with Olivia, the way you flushed, the fact that you didn’t immediately pull away, the fact that she definitely didn’t want to pull away… She’d fallen for you. It had been completely unintentional, but over the past few months she’d truly gotten to know you, the real you, the outside of work you. The you that was an incredible cook, the woman who loved t.v. marathons, who loved Sunday walks through the park, collecting the leaves as they changed colour, practically squealing at every dog you came across. 

There were only a few minutes of awkwardness as you plated up the food, when you settled into the island and slid a plate across to her it broke her out of her trance. She gave a quiet thanks and a soft smile that you returned, once you began to dig into dinner the coziness returned to the room as she joked that you could give Carisi a run for his money with your Italian cooking. You assured her it was the mix of goat and ricotta cheeses, but not to tell Sonny that you’d used canned sauce. The rest of the night proceeded with ease, the tension of the earlier moment only lingering in the back of your brains as dishes were dropped in the sink and you settled into the couch to continue your marathon. It was around eleven when you finally checked your watch, 

“I should probably head out…don’t wanna be out there too late.” You began to gather your coat, double checking you had your phone and keys as Olivia walked you to the door. “I’ll see ya Monday?”

“‘Course. Text me if you need anything.”

“Always.” You gave her a soft smile before leaving the apartment, waiting until the elevator doors closed to let out a heavy sigh, head dropping back against the wall. Fuck. You weren’t entirely sure when over the past few months it had happened, but you’d managed to develop feelings for your Captain, how fucking inconvenient was that? She’d been such a rock for you when you were trapped in what felt like absolute hell, you’d always gotten along but now you knew the Olivia side of her, the side that didn’t always shine through at work. She’d welcomed you into her life and home with such grace and ease you hadn’t even realized you were slipping until you were so far deep you weren’t sure what the hell you were going to do next.

[djarinsbeskar]

Feint - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - to make a deceptive or distracting movement, especially during a fight.

A/N: A highly un-edited, stream of thought fic I'm definitely embracing the "relaxed fit" for. I was simply too lazy and too impatient to play with the boxer again so we have this as a result (forgive the run on sentences and glaring typo’s). No plot, absolutely shameless as is everything with the boxer so enjoy! Also shout out to @ronnieiswriting for this unbelievable piece of art. Here’s their ko-fi if you want to support their amazing work!  

Word Count: 4k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! Mutual masturbation, phone sex.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

“When do you fly back?”

“Why? Miss me already, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes – cocky son of a bitch – phone held between your shoulder and ear as you set your wine glass down on the coffee table, scrolling through Netflix mindlessly—thumb attuned to the repetitive motion even as your eyes registered nothing. It had been a long week, your own muscles aching from a full schedule of clients ranging from athletes to patients to those who just had a few knots in need of loosening.

The rich, mellow tang of wine on your tongue and the deep rasp on the other end of the phone that melted into a husky chuckle distracted you from the television when you snorted a derisive, “you wish.”

He had only been gone a week.

You hardly saw Din from one end of the week to the other anyway, but the knowledge that he was so far away – tournament training followed by a week of fights – and couldn’t see him made you restless for his touch. Sensitive to his voice now as he spoke—that distinct growl you remembered being muffled by the soft flesh of your thighs, face messy from your slick coating it.

The mere fact that he called you was surprising. Din didn’t call and neither did you, both of you maintaining the illusion of chance since you first met him. He only had your number in the first place so he could drop your dress off after cleaning it, the dress he was supposed to have washed while you waited at his apartment several weeks ago. It remained soaked and stained at the end of his gym bag for the entire weekend, you—confined to his bed he hardly let you leave apart from the scarce few times you remembered to eat and shower, all of which usually ended with his cock inside you regardless. On the breakfast bar, in the shower—the sofa, the damned floor.

Sunday night came, and you were still without your own clean clothes – and more than a few hours of sleep – for work the next morning. So, you gave him your number – your personal number – and the fantasy was shattered. The façade of serendipity and illusion of chance encounters that kept Din Djarin’s presence in your life abstract.

A gorgeous, filthy dream.

His gym and your massage room became the stage for those dreams to be enacted, a hypothetical limbo where the sensations of the real world melded sinfully with the lack of consequences – the freedom – of a dream. Seeing him outside those locations made him more… real, a living fantasy that now existed in the real world, your world.

You tried not to think about him outside the confines of those encounters.

Tried.

It wasn’t difficult for your mind to stray to dark, alluring eyes shadowed by thick lashes and a perpetual scowl that enhanced that unapproachable – unattainable ­– charisma he exuded. Didn’t take long for your fantasies to stray to a thick, corded neck thrown back with throaty moans—sweat trickling down along the sculptured cut of muscles as he lifted your hips, dragging you onto his cock as you touched yourself on the days you didn’t cross his path.

He was the best fuck of your life; you could admit that. And given the way his eyes stormed with clouds of unbridled lust whenever he saw you, you were confident enough to say you were probably the best fuck of his life too. The taste of power over such a man was intoxicating.

“Such a sharp tongue when I’m not there to put it to better use,”

The purr down the other end of the line sent a tremor of arousal down your spine. The deliberate lowering of his tone, like aged whiskey in its bite—smooth in its delivery as it coated your skin, filled your belly with warmth. You shifted on the sofa, unable to get comfortable on the plush cushions and quickly turned on the next episode of a show you gave up on weeks ago that was still on your ‘continue watching’ list to distract yourself.

“I’m sure I can find some way to use it while you’re gone,” you sighed dismissively, an unwitting grin playing at your lips at the snarl that drew from the boxer. Yeah, he wanted you too.

“That better be to tell me what you’re wearing and not fucking some other asshole,” he growled, the depth resonating in his chest evident even over the phone and a thrill of possessive desire flooded you. But Din was all about that chase, the hunt—you weren’t easy prey no matter how often he had you sobbing in ecstasy. And that was what drove a man like him half wild.

“I’ve only been fucking one asshole lately, and if he wants to know what I’m wearing, he can damn well ask nicely.”

The retort fell evenly from your lips—fluidly, unaffected. Sparring with him was significantly easier when he wasn’t there in person to overwhelm you with the intimidating presence of his body. He couldn’t see the flush that rose to your cheeks, you couldn’t see the knowing smirk that would inevitably pass over his lips.

“Mm… definitely cheekier when I’m away,”

“I’m hanging up,”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

Silence.

You heard him exhale sharply, picturing a hand that was no doubt running through those messy wave—a subtle tell of his unarticulated frustration. You softened a little. He did pick up the phone and call. After a day of training as well, days you knew left him exhausted and sore if the litany of knots and tension you worked out of his muscles every week was anything to go by. You caved and threw him a bone,

“That shirt… the one you let me borrow that weekend—” you admitted quietly, fingering the neckline that hung loose on your smaller frame, your skin sensitive even to your own touch when it was his voice that groaned so deliciously and inspired such awareness of how long it had been since you heard him in person.

The shaky exhale of a breath bolstered your confidence enough to put him on loud-speaker before you could talk yourself out of it. Flicking open your camera, and a nimble snap captured you from the neck down curled up to one end of the sofa, bare legs tucked under you and the length of his white shirt pooling on you. You chewed your lip at the obvious darkened peaks of your nipples caught by the flash, pressing send before you could think about it any further.

You heard the ping of the message being received and your gut clenched in nervous anticipation.

“Fuck, baby—”

You shivered, the blatant heat that rippled through the phone in waves made you feel divine. The boxer didn’t string together sonnets of compliments or wax poetry of flowery language, he didn’t need to. His admiration was raw, and candid—shameless in its indulgence and it never failed to make you feel beautiful.

“I knew you missed me,”

“It’s comfier than pyjamas,” you refuted, heat creeping up your neck. Caught.

“Mhm, sure it is—” Din purred, he didn’t believe you—not for a second. A sharp exhale of laughter left him then, a curse muttered under his breath quietly, “damn but… I’m fucking hard as a rock just looking at you. Maybe I do miss you.”

“Really?”

This was a dangerous game to play because Din didn’t lose. Din never lost, that drive he possessed was laced with a primal instinct that blended survival with victory—dominance with success. He saw life like a fight, just another match he needed to win—roaring back at whatever shit it had dealt him with vicious intent.

He grunted, unwilling to voice the affirmative.

There was little room for softness in a life like that. Din admitting to anything that could remotely be considered vulnerable therefore, was shocking. It threw you.

“Show me?” you posed when he remained silent, the awkwardness of simply existing in each other’s company without having a physical relationship to fall back on was starting to make itself known—what did people even talk about on the phone anyway?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your question released the tension, you could feel it dissipate in place of another, headier kind—the type that had his shirt feeling too hot and your skin too tight over nerves that strained and prickled at any contact. You waited impatiently, wine forgotten, and show ignored the moment the red bubble of a new message appeared to alert you of a new message.

Wine was the only thing you remembered when you took a large swing of it once you opened the image to full screen.

“See what you do to me, woman?” he growled.

The image itself was a tempting angle taken from his hip as he lay on the bed of whatever hotel he was staying at—the hint of abs noticeable before they were cut off by the camera. He had his free hand cupped over the base of a bulge that made your throat dry, boxer briefs doing nothing to hide the defined outline of a cock that stretched you so perfectly every time it sank into your cunt. Fuck… you could practically make out the head with how hard he was straining against the fabric, balls heavy as he held them.

“Y-you should take care of that,” you wavered, voice affected and obvious—thighs clenching instinctively at the short gasp from his end—unable to stop himself from a single stroke along the bulge that usually twitched and pulsed, hot and heavy as it sat on your tongue before you closed your lips around it.

“Help me then,”

“How?”

“Push my shirt up, so I can see that beautiful body too,”

A flutter of irrational nervousness bloomed in your chest, unwanted yet impossible to ignore—you trusted him, God—the things you let him do to you, of course you did. But common sense won out, if only to ask,

“Promise you won’t—” you trailed off quietly, a rumble of understanding sounding in place of his usual arrogance.

“I told you, sweetheart. I don’t share, no one will see them.”

You believed him. For all his aggression and arrogance both in the ring and out of it—he was bizarrely loyal, uniquely protective in exchange for nothing more than you were willing to give. He wanted you – physically at least – and that was enough to inspire such actions.

“Just… wait a minute—”

You rearranged yourself on the sofa, your head on the cushioned arm so you could easily drag the material of his shirt up your body—the cool air kissing feverish skin, nipples tightening further under its caress. It felt almost… dirtier to do this alone, thrilling to be so exposed and the only people who knew of it was thousands of miles away.

The photo you took made your heart hammer. Did you look like that? The low lighting of the nearby lamp captured the planes of your stomach and the swell of your breasts – shadows thrown far and exaggerated over supple skin and peaked nipples. It highlighted the curve of your hips and the sinful v between your thighs, temptingly closed to his gaze—he already knew that part of you intimately. You sent it without another thought.

“Fuck.”

The vicious snarl of the curse he bit sent heat spiralling, a single destination between your legs.

“I want to kiss that body, baby—fuck—your nipples look pretty enough to bite,”

You sucked in a breath, a coiled tension low in your stomach forcing a trickle of wetness from you—making slick folds soaked as you rubbed your thighs together uselessly. You put the phone on the arm by your head, still on loud-speaker as you whined softly when you remembered he was nowhere near you,

“Would you like that, beautiful? Like me to suck on those tits until they’re sore?”

Squirming, mind foggy—you nodded, the husky chuckle that followed making half-mast eyes flutter closed as dexterous fingers grazed beneath the swell of your breast.

“Use your words, sweetheart… I can’t see you—”

“Yes—”

You might have winced at how you stumbled to get the word out, the dark promise of his own making your mind fog with a pleasurable haze of desire.

“Touch them for me, go on baby—”

“I—” your sentence caught, lip caught between your teeth as your hands lifted to cup the weight of your breasts as he bade, eager, puppeted—completely enraptured, “I want you to touch yourself too, Din.”

“Fucking Christ—”

Relief was evident in his tone, as though he had been waiting—keeping himself on the precipice of pleasure until you had indulged in your own. Your hands worked lazily over soft flesh, one hand dropping to trace over your stomach—the muscles tensing under feather light fingers.

“Not as good as your hand… not nearly as good as your cunt—” he groaned, his breathing wavering slightly.

His words – heady and filthy – prompted your fingers to trail down to the apex of your thighs—the throb of arousal, ignored and untouched, begged for your touch, for his touch. You flicked a nipple, taut and sensitive—before pinching it between your fingers, a gasp lifting from your lips as your back arched.

“Din—” you whimpered, repeating the action, rolling a nipple in time to the tentative spread of your legs, your fingers spreading drenched lips and coating themselves in slick his voice alone caused.

“God you’re so sensitive, always so sensitive for me—”

“Not the same, Din,” you complained, your hands neither as big nor as rough as you explored your body, trying to convince it your hands belonged to another, one leg draped open over the edge of the seat to let cool air nuzzle your wet folds in place of his nose and tongue, “I want you…”

“You’ve no idea how badly I wanna fuck you right now,” he strained, voice thickened and low—dripping with dark intent, the sound like rich treacle—coating you, dragging sticky and sweet along the burning tail of your fingers across your skin.

“T-tell me,” you begged him.

“Wanna bury my face in your cunt—fuck, always so loud when I slap it—anyone would know what we’re doing… gets you fucking soaked—”

You keened, your hips arching up off the sofa as your fingers circled your clit, avoiding it—spreading your slick over puffy lips, small pants of yes… falling from your lips immediately.

“Smack that clit for me, baby—I wanna hear how drenched you are—”

Filthy. He was absolutely filthy.

But then again, you were the one gushing at the command.

The sounds were obscene when you struck your pussy lightly—gasping at the shock of sensation but he growled for you to do it hard – like I’m fucking there – and the next slap ripped a moan from you at both the intoxicating cocktail of pleasure and pain it gave you and the noise it resulted it, wet and lewd and completely damning in revealing how soaked you were for him.

“Fuck, that’s it—again,”

You whimpered his name as you did so, several quick smacks to your cunt that had arousal pooling down onto the sofa beneath you, thighs trembling with a desire to close at the sudden pleasure – too much – but you persevered, kept them open—knew his shoulders, his hips—his own thighs would prevent them closing if he was there with you.

His breathing was laboured, only interrupted when he obviously spit on his palm and by a drawn out groan from the quieter sound of skin on skin as he stroked his cock. Warmth flooded your stomach, frissons of pleasure flitting up your torso in a cacophony of firecrackers when he swore, their smoke escaping in mewls of his name,

“Want—want your cock, Din—” you whined, the rough knead you tried to emulate of his hand on your breast lacking in the restrained power you could always feel coiled under his skin—your own too soft, too gentle as you plucked at your nipples, pinched your clit between your fingers before smacking it harshly. The sparks of pleasure that rippled down to your cunt lacklustre in comparison to what he could pull form you.

“Soon… God, I’m gonna fuck you so hard when I get back—”

The thought alone seemed to make the boxer unhinged, half his sentence spoken in moans,

“You want that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, yes—been too long,” you admitted, fingers returning to circle your clit absently—occasionally brushing over the tight little bundle of nerves or dipping down into your slick, the tips of your fingers dancing between the tight walls to breach your entrance—waiting, anticipating, “I’m so wet, Din—”

“That’s it…” he moaned, harsh and virile—his breathing laboured for reasons entirely unrelated to the workouts that usually left him this affected. His voice more distant than before—he must have put you on loud-speaker too, and the image of that man jerking off in the middle of a hotel room to a girl so very far away made your stomach clench primally, yes—he was getting off to you.

“Two, baby—you’re wet enough to take two fingers. Imagine they’re mind and fuck yourself. Hard.”

You could have sobbed in relief when you sank two digits into your sopping entrance, the instant bliss offset by the stunted need for more. His fingers were so thick and long and just two could make you feel so full. Yours weren’t the same, slender, smaller—leaving you aching as you began pumping them through your wet channel.

A curl of your fingers brushed that one spongy spot, not long enough to press on directly but enough to make you keen—fill that void of mind-numbing ecstasy he always left you in as your free hand fell to rub frantically over your clit. The rub rub rub through your slick was caught in a melody of wet slaps through the phone, the fast strokes of his hand over that perfect cock you wished was filling you right now.

“M-more Din, need—” you trailed off on a whine of impatience, back arching in an attempt to press yourself down harder onto your pistoning fingers.

“Gonna split you open on my cock, baby—leave you bruised from how hard I fuck you. Love—love how that greedy little pussy sucks me in,”

He was babbling now, a constant stream of words from a usually reticent man—making you drench your fingers as he spoke, the rapid pace of his hand patched by yours as you added a third—desperately trying to replicate that elusive full feeling.

“Can’t hardly leave before you’re dragging me back in—fuck you’re so wet, I wonder how I don’t slip out every single fucking thrust with you soaking me like that.”

“Din—keep, keep talking—please,” you gasped, feeling that delicate whisper of release skip just out of reach, pinching your clit, and rolling it between your thumb and forefinger to try coax your orgasm back as you twisted your fingers against sensitive walls.

“F-fuck just the thought of you on that sofa now—laid out for me like a fucking trophy, aren’t you? Think we could break it, baby? If I fucked you into it hard enough?”

“Welcome to try—,” you panted through an exhale of laughter, though there was some truth to his words—the man fucked like he hated you sometimes. Like you were an opponent and it was only his words, those heated kisses to your mouth and neck that reminded you he didn’t. It was one hell of a drug, that sort of animalistic rut, that carnal desire – unbridled and embraced – as you fucked each other into exhaustion, “b-but you’re paying for a new—new one if you do,”

“Sounds like a challenge to me,”

The feral snap of aggression overshadowed his amusement as he groaned your name, his release hurtling towards him like a freighter, your hips bucking into your hand as you turned your face into the cushion, biting down on the pillowy softness,

“Let me—let me hear you, sweetheart, oh fuck—”

“So close, Din—fuck, I swear if you don’t—don’t come straight here when you land and fuck me…”

You cut off, your head bowed back—offering your neck and heaving breasts to an empty sky that swallowed your cries and threw them right back in place of a phantom lover who existed only through the connection on your phone, your body shaking as your walls convulsed with rapturous bliss—legs folding closed around your hands as you came around them.

“Shit—Christ baby, you’re killing me—”

Something, not quite a whimper—but a low, guttural noise of frustration rose through the speaker as you came, his own release quieter as he panted through it, deep moans falling from his lips with every streak of cum that left his cock, painting his skin the way your name painted his lips.

You returned to your body gently, settling back from where you floated away for a few moments—the sound of your breathing and his through the phone the only thing that filled the silence, loud and intrusive after the sudden halt of cries and moans. You felt his absence more then, whimpering when you withdrew wet fingers from inside your quivering core, the muscles flexing instinctively, your body missing the ache from his girth—

“Din…fuck—” you sighed, picking your forgotten phone back up—your sleepy, post-orgasmic haze removing any qualms you had of sending him a few seconds on video, eyes heavy with satisfaction and tongue lapping slowly over glistening fingers, your lips plump from being bitten and cheeks flushed.

“You made me make a mess,” he chuckled breathlessly, groaning in sensitivity as you heard him shuffle around on the bed, “pity you’re not here to clean me up.”

“Got my own mess to deal with, sorry—” you sighed, stretching your arms over your head feline, and satisfied as you your lips twitched playfully in amusement when the audible choke on the other end was caught by the speaker.

“How the fuck am I supposed to fight tomorrow when all I’ll be thinking about is this?”

“Mm win and I’ll do whatever you want as a reward, baby,” you promised, the anxious excitement of seeing him in person again bubbling over to mix with that lazy confidence that always followed an orgasm.

“Fuck, guess I’m winning a tournament then,” he snorted.

“Guess you are.”

“Thursday, 10pm I land. I’ll be at yours by eleven. Take Friday off.”

“Promises, promises Djarin—” you purred, the temperature of the air reminding you to pull his shirt back down over your naked body and turn your eyes back to the show playing in the background, “better rest up.”

He was quiet, apart from the low laughter – rich and restrained – the sound one of the only things you ever experienced him truly restrict himself in. A guarded noise, but one that made a tired smile ghost across your lips as he rasped his agreement—his first few days of fighting the biggest strain, preliminary rounds more frequent and oftentimes more vicious, with green boxers thinking they have a shot with brute strength alone.

Perhaps it was simply because you had never spoken to him on the phone before, or his abrupt nature didn’t warrant any possibility of niceties and indulgent words in your mind. But you were surprised, pleasantly so—when he paused before hanging up, a quiet rumble of words that seemed so uncharacteristic and yet—lovely in their simplicity, complex in their meaning for a man like Din,

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

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[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

        ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[fandom-imagines]

Sweet little darling~

Fandom: House of Wax (2005)

Pairing: Bo Sinclair X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, domestic abuse (abusive relationship; not Bo) Kind of out-of-character Bo, depends on how you headcanon him for liking someone! Also not proofread yet.

Words: 2.55k 

Summary: Kindness can get you killed, but it can also get you out of a sticky situation.

Part Two!

To anybody that saw their relationship, it was evident that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Perhaps it once had been, but it no longer was, and for good reason.

“You fucking bitch!” The scream echoed throughout the building, one body looming over a small, cowering young woman.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, doing her best to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.  “Please don’t hurt m-“ her pleas were cut short as a tight hand grasped her arm and tugged her onto her feet, a harsh slap hitting her cheek shortly afterwards.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he cruelly laughed, mimicking her frightened and desperate tone. “How pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,”

With one final laugh, her boyfriend tossed her to the ground.

*

Laughter filled the truck the group of friends were currently seated in, music blaring through the speakers of a radio one of them had brought but their drunk selves were unable to remember who.

Four of the friends engaged in conversation about anything their clouded minds could think of, whilst the final friend lay against the side of the car, desperately avoiding the demanding gaze her boyfriend was giving her and had been giving her the entire night.

It was clear what he wanted.

Eyes fixated on the green of the grass beneath her, Y/N noticed an approaching truck. Choosing not to say anything, she silently waited for somebody else to notice the vehicle.

“Guys,” Lucy, a close friend of Y/N’s boyfriends, called. “Who is that?”

By now the headlights of the truck were focused on the gang who were circled around the campfire, narrowly avoiding Y/N’s figure.

“James, do something?” Y/N winced as she watched another of the girls grasp onto her boyfriends muscular arm, her blonde hair rubbing against his bare chest.

“Can we help you?” He yelled over the sound of the roaring engine, their music having been paused the second they had notice the driver. “Look dude, this isn’t funny. Just fuck off!”

James’s final sentence was one that made his girlfriend cringe, body remembering the way he had hurt her the night before using that exact same tone; it almost made her cry.

Deciding to stop him before this escalated any further, Y/N made her way towards James before placing a hand on his chest to signal him to back down. This seemed to only anger him further, something that was clear by the way his hands balled into fists. Nobody noticed, except one other person.

“Leave it,” she whispered into his ear, hand dropping from his body to hopefully ease his anger.

James’s hand reach out to her, grabbing his own with a bruising force and tugging her into him as he leaned down to her ear, ignoring the whistles from his friends who assumed he was saying something sexual.

“Just you wait till I get you alone,” James snarled in her ear, unaware of the way an unknown man glared at him before driving away.

*

“Are you fucking kidding me?” James spat, smashing his hand against the cars hood. “It’s busted, the fan belt is fucked.”

His anger seemed to put everybody on edge as they all fell into an uncomfortable silence, something that was uncommon for them.

“You needed a new one anyway,” Y/N mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Don’t you fucking start,” while his words were directed towards his girlfriend, the others assumed it was aimed at the car in sarcasm; ignorance is bliss after all.

“I can help y’all.” A seemingly kind voice yelled from behind them, having heard the entire conversation. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear ya. There’s a town not to far from here. A guy, Bo, runs a gas stop, I’m sure he’d have some.”

Before James could rudely decline this man, Y/N decided to respond. “Do you know how to get there?”

“I’ll drive ya! Truck can only fit two of you though,”

“That’d be great!” She gave the unnamed man a gentle smile, one which he gladly returned. “When are you ready?”

“Now is good,”

She simply nodded, rushing towards the car without giving James a chance to say anything, only leaving him time to follow her, but not before a “fuck sake,” left his lips.

*

“Thank you so much, Lester!” She grinned once again as she hopped from his truck.

“It was no bother, pleasure to meet you Y/N,” he smiled back at her, ruffling her hair slightly before realising the angered look on James’s face. “And you of course,” he nodded awkwardly whilst his hand dropped back to his side. “You two take care now,” and with those words, he drove away.

“Fucking slutting yourself out to weird men, typical,” James spat as he tugged Y/N’s hand so that she was following him into the town, ignoring how she almost tripped in the process.

“I’m sorry, I was just being nice. He was helping us!” She all but yelled, silently praying for him to loosen his grip so that she doesn’t have to use all of her concealer hiding, yet another, mark from him.

“Sure he was. He didn’t just want to get into your pants or anything, huh?”

Ignoring his hurtful words, Y/N began to look around the town.

It was quiet, too quiet. But when she began to think, it was Sunday and there was a Church up ahead at the end of the road which would make more sense, especially considering how early in the morning it was.

“There’s the garage,” James said, dropping her hand to instead point at the small garage not far from them. “Let’s go,”

Y/N followed him, quickly striding to keep up with his large legs.

“There’s nobody here,” she sighed, watching as James just barged his way into the unoccupied garage. “You can’t just go in there! That’s rude.”

“Do I give a fuck? Wait out there for all I care,”

So she chose to do just that.

*

“Oh, hi!” A tall man in a suit gave Y/N a bright grin, accidentally startling her slightly. “You need something?”

“O-oh, hi! Uhm, my boyfriend is in there, I’m sorry I told him not too, he needs a fan belt? I have no idea what one of them is but I-“

The man chuckled, smiling once again as he put his arm around her waist to guide her inside. “Don’t worry, darling. I got ya,” his words were somewhat calming, as though he was offering to protect her from James, despite not knowing what was going on, or perhaps he did.

“You finally grew a p-“James’s words fell short as he turned to see a man, who was significantly taller than him, stood beside his girlfriend. “Hello?”

“Hi, names Bo,” Bo’s tone was a lot blunter than the charming one he had been using previously. “You need something?” He repeated his previous words, instead this time to James and less kind. “You are in my garage after all.”

Despite knowing that Bo could easily subdue him, James chose to get angry anyway. “You got a problem with me? Don’t leave it unlocked if you don’t want people coming in,”

“James leave it,” Y/N gently pushed herself between Bo and James as James began to try get into his face. “Just ask him for what you need and let’s go.”

“Fine, we need a fan belt. Fifteen inch.”

“I might be able to do that, but you’ve already had a look so let me know what I’ve got,” Bo smirked at the angered expression on the mans face at his words.

So maybe he did have a problem with James, a problem neither of the couple knew of.

“Not a fifteen,”

“Then they’re back at the house,”

“The house? Why would they be there?”

“Deliveries are delivered there, easier for everyone really.”

Y/N watched as the two men interacted, Bo incredibly calm whilst James was boiling with anger. Part of her was scared of how he would react, his threat about ‘waiting till they’re alone’ floating around in her mind, yet some strange part of her felt safe knowing that Bo was there. Perhaps it was the fact that he could fight him with ease, or maybe that James would, most likely, never harm her in front of another person.

“Let’s just go,” She pleaded, desperation swimming in her Y/E/C orbs.

“No, I’ll stay, you go.” James seemed pleased with this idea, smirking at the way his girlfriends body tensed; he enjoyed the fear he caused her.

“That’s fine with me,” Bo chimed in, offering Y/N a smile. “That fine with you?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

“Let me just lock up,” Bo said, leading the visitors out into the street, much to James’s dismay, before locking up. “Let’s go then.” He gave James one last sarcastic smile before leading Y/N away from him.

*

“Do you live with anyone here?”

Y/N and Bo had been talking for a while now, having chosen to take a slow walk instead. He was nice, to her anyway. She felt as though he understood her, despite not knowing a thing about her.

“Nah, I live with my brother,” Came his response, winking at the girl as he ran a hand through his dark hair, enjoying the way she blushed under his gaze.

She knew it was wrong, finding him both attractive and sweet. But he was both of those, and James was neither, not to her at least. Maybe it was because he was the first person to be this kind to her in a long time, or maybe it was the feeling of safety she felt around him, but she was enjoying his company more than anyone else’s.

“Oh, that must be fun!”

Bo chuckled at her enthusiasm, “I suppose so,”

The pair walked up to Bo’s home, guilt filling the girl’s chest each time she let Bo’s hand brush against her own. She simply enjoyed the sparks flying throughout her body, forgetting about the pain she would receive later as a punishment.

“We’re here,” Bo’s words pulled Y/N from her thoughts, almost tripping over a rock as she came back to reality. “Easy there,” Bo shook his head whilst smiling as he caught her, sneakily pulling her body into his own without her realising it was not an accident.

“Thank you,” she blushed, unknowingly allowing herself to melt into his touch, feeling the need to savour every kind and gentle touch she was getting from a stranger.

“No problem, darling,” he smirked, once again enjoying the way she blushed at the nickname he had given her.

Hand still around her waist, Bo guided her into his home.

“Take a seat, I need to get out of this horrible suit.” His words caused a giggle to leave Y/N’s lips, her head nodding as she took a seat on the faded leather couch, watching Bo leave the room to go change.

*

“Sorry to keep ya waiting, Darl.” Bo’s voice startled Y/N, her body jolting in a way that made Bo feel slightly guilty, something that he rarely felt. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay. It was my fault,” she offered him a weak smile, twiddling with the hem of her short-sleeved t-shirt when he seated himself beside her.

“That looks painful,” his hands cautiously reached out to gently take her hand, fingers lightly running across a hand-shaped bruise that had began to form. “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that,” Bo’s spare hand reached up to her face, hand cupping one cheek which made her flinch, Bo frowning at the action.

“S-sorry,”  

Bo had no idea why she was apolgoising to him. It had been him that touched her, but it all made sense in his head.

“Does he hit you?”

Her lack of response was enough for him to understand to full situation.

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be, darling.” He sighed, hand moving from her cheek to her neck to pull her head towards his lips, planting a soft kiss on it, something that made her almost cry along with his sweet words.

“Thank you,” her own arms wrapped around his torso, grateful to be given affection without it feeling forced.

*

“You took your time,” James spat as Y/N walked towards him, Bo having quickly headed to the gas station for something that she couldn’t remember the name of. “Were you shagging him or something?”

“N-no,” the nervousness in her voice was something that caused Y/N to cringe, knowing that he wouldn’t believe her.

“Oh, you were.” James’s hands balled into fists as he stalked towards her, ready to attack.

“No, I had to get changed,” Bo’s deep voice startled both of them, James’s fists unclenching immediately.

“Sorry, man. Can’t be too careful with girls like these, can you?” He laughed, trying to play off his previous words as a joke.

“Can’t be too careful with men like yourself either, can you?” Bo’s words seemed innocent, despite having a deeper meaning.

“What?” James snapped. “You told him about us?” He yelled as he turned to face Y/N whose breathing was becoming laboured in fear. “You little bitch!”

As James began to march towards his girlfriend, a tight hand grabbed his fist, spinning him to face the holder only to not be able to see because of a hard punch hitting him in the jaw. The only thing he could hear was a gasp from Y/N and the ringing in his ears as he dropped to the ground.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Bo sniggered. “You can hit a woman but the second a man touches you, you’re out cold. Pathetic,”

Y/N stood frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react.

She hadn’t expected Bo to attack him. In fact, she hadn’t expected him to do anything at all to him or about her situation. Those who knew didn’t care, so why would a stranger?

“You fucking dick!” James screamed, climbing back onto his feet to throw a punch at Bo, one that he barely reacted to.

“Leave him alone!” Y/N yelled, darting between James and Bo, shoving James away from him to the best of her ability.

“You fucking whore. I should’ve known this is what would’ve happened. Actually, I guess I already did.” His words were fast, but his fist moved towards her faster.

Bo was quicker however, grabbing the man’s fist and twisting it behind his back before kicking his legs from beneath him, effectively knocking him to the ground again.

“Vincent!” Bo yelled. “Got one for ya,” both Y/N and James were confused at his words, fear filling them both as a masked man came running out into the street, knife in hand.

Bo took Y/N’s hand, pushing her behind his hand so that she couldn’t see the horror that Vincent was committing to her boyfriend in full glory.

“Y-you killed him…” Her words were quiet, watching from one eye as the man, who she assumed to be Vincent, tugged away the lifeless body. “Are you going to kill me too?”

“You’re safe here, Y/N.” Bo’s words were quiet, praying nobody else heard his true self speaking. “I’ll take care of you. Nobody will ever hurt you again, my sweet little darling.”  

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

Ding dong fannibals I’m back on my bullshit :) 

I discovered that I cannot for the life of me be concise so this one might come in a couple parts. I don't anticipate it's gonna go as long as Cult Girl but we'll see. Y/n is an introverted waitress at a fancy restaurant with a crush on a mysterious regular. An encounter with a dangerous criminal pulls her into his world.

Trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of violence; implied drug use; religiously-motivated violence.

In some ways, waitressing was the perfect job for an introvert. Customers didn’t see you as a person, they saw you as an NPC. As long as that was the case, you weren’t expected to engage with them beyond the script: you take their order, bring them the food and they, hopefully, leave a tip. To ensure that, you perfected the art of fake happiness. You were there to make money, not friends. 

Well, there was an exception to every rule. Yours was the sommelier. 

The sommelier was a regular at the restaurant, but never ordered a meal. He mostly just sat at the bar, drank expensive wine, and watched the people come and go for hours at a time. Among the waitstaff, he was a bit of a local cryptid. Waitresses whispered about the handsome gentleman with an unidentifiable accent and deep pockets. About how lucky you had to be to score a bartending shift on one of the nights he showed up. It got to the point where bartending shifts were swapped like currency, because every woman on staff wanted the chance to meet the sommelier. 

One of the more religious line chefs liked to remind you all that the devil would come as everything you could ever desire. He was fully convinced that the sommelier was Satan incarnate, and he wasn’t completely off the mark. Standing at six feet tall with features sharp enough to cut diamonds, the sommelier wouldn’t look out of place in a vampire thriller. He always dressed in dark suits. Your coworkers hypothesized this was so the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Despite the chef’s well-intended (if not condescending) warnings, even the threat of eternal damnation couldn’t scare you off. 

As much as you liked to believe you were above stupid workplace gossip, you knew you weren’t. You were never the most socially adept person, but this gave you something to connect over. It’s how you discovered that you and the other waitresses were all in the same boat; broke, lonely and in desperate need of some excitement. And if that came in the form of a wine-loving vampire taking a liking to your restaurant, there were certainly worse ways to go. 

Unfortunately, not even the chance at encountering the sommelier could make you look forward to working Easter Sunday. Your manager had you working from noon to midnight that day. As employers went, he wasn’t much of a tyrant. He offered you time and a half and even let you switch from waiting tables to bartending halfway through the shift. He, too, knew how coveted the bartending shifts were. And you weren’t in any position to refuse, either. You quite enjoyed having a roof over your head and food in your stomach. 

That didn’t make up for the fact that most of the other twenty-something employees had left for the holiday, and you were one of the few stragglers left available. Easter was the most dreaded workday of the year, because the infamous after-church crowd quadrupled in size and lasted all day. They came in double-digit parties, had no concept of birth control and tipped in prayer. Too many times had you reached for what looked like a generous cash tip, only to find that it was a church pamphlet disguised as a fifty.

You clocked in at noon exactly, after waiting for the second hand to pass the twelve just to be sure. 

“[F/N]!” Your coworker, Charissa, grabbed your attention before you could walk away. “I heard you’re at the bar this evening. Congratulations.” 

“He’s not going to show up, Charissa.” You rolled your eyes. You decided to go into this shift expecting the absolute worst, that way you wouldn’t be setting yourself up for disappointment. “It’s Easter.” 

“You don’t know that.” Charissa nudged you in the side. 

You grinned. “Why would a vampire come to dinner on the one day everyone is gonna be wearing a cross?” 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think of that.” Charissa gasped. “Well, good luck anyway.”

The first wave of customers filing through the door and filling the restaurant with noise pushed all optimism out of your head. Sighing, you approached a person that Charissa had already seated. 

“Hi, my name is [F/N], I’ll be your server today.” You greeted the first customer in your block. “Can I get you something to drink today?” 

The man couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five, if that. He was still lively in a way that meant he hadn’t experienced the drain that was a minimum wage job. He was wearing a shirt that said ‘on fire for Christ’ under a flannel with no buttons. One look and you knew he wasn’t going to tip. 

The man flashed a row of eerily white teeth. “I thought you said you would bring the wine?” 

You momentarily thought you’d already taken his drink order and shook your head. “I’m sorry, did I--”

“Ah, I see your confusion.” The man shrugged and forced a laugh. “You’re waitressing this week, you and I are going on a date next week. My mistake.” 

Great. You thought. It hasn't even been five minutes and I'm already being gaslit.

Any interaction that forced you to go off-script was bad, but this was a particularly irritating diversion. “Would you like to see a wine list?”

“I’m Chase.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you, [F/N].” 

“Have you decided on a drink?” You repeated, trying not to grit your teeth too obviously. 

"I'll have a glass of your finest coke, please." He faked an English accent, poorly.

"We only carry Pepsi products." You said, dreading how this joker would react to such a minor inconvenience.

He threw his head back and made a face like he had just taken a bullet to the chest. "No, it's gotta be coke! It's coke or nothing!"

"Did you want something else, then?" You tried to hurry him along. "The bartender makes a very nice mimosa-"

He smacked the table as if he had some urgent question. "McDonald's or Chick-Fil-A? There is a right answer, so choose wisely."

"...uh," You mumbled, just praying that he would order a drink already. There wasn't even a Chick-fil-A in the area. "I like McDonald's."

Again, he acted like he was shot in the chest. "Oh, you're down zero to two!"

"If you need a few minutes to select a drink," You said. "I can come back-"

He grabbed your arm and forced a laugh. "I'm just kidding around with you, [F/N]. Pepsi is fine."

You scribbled the order down on your notepad, mostly just to pry your wrist from his grip. You wanted to go into the bathroom and scrub yourself down, but perhaps it was just easier to chop the whole arm off. That way you could get worker's compensation, too.

The tables were filling up and you had spent far too long coaxing a drink order out of this youth pastor creep. You had actual families to wait on. The shift was off to a horrible start.

You made him wait for as long as you could get away with. You took drink orders from three full booths before returning to the youth pastor. Because you knew he was raring to corner you again.

You planted the pop in front of him, the glass already wet with condensation. "Have you decided on a meal?"

"I was just looking over this menu and something caught my eye." He began, looking at the holiday menu your manager had printed off. "This rack of lamb, it's a special, right?"

"Right." You nodded. "It's a pretty large meal, though, so I'd recommend sharing it-"

"No, y'see.." he cut you off. "Jesus was the lamb of god. He died on the cross for your sins. And, look!"

He pointed to the menu. "It says it's a 'praying hands' lamb!"

"Oh!" You forced yet another smile. "I can see the confusion. That just refers to how the rack is arranged."

"I think it's a sign from god." He said.

You demonstrated the shape of the dish with your fingers. "See, the rib bones are long and the racks are Frenched, so the dish takes the shape of a pair of, well, praying hands."

"I'll take it." He nodded furiously.

He took a sharp breath in through his nose and you started to seriously wonder if his definition of "coke or nothing" had a double meaning. It formulated in your head as a joke, but it became more and more of a serious inquiry by the minute.

You leaned in just slightly to get a closer look at his face. Some details you hadn't noticed before were beginning to come into focus. His eyes were vacant and glassy. A small but noticeable stream of blood trickled from his nostril.

"Sir?" You said in a clear, projected voice. "Is there someone I could call for you?"

He turned his head. "Jesus died for your sins."

You looked around the room for any sign of your manager, a supervisor or anyone with a shred of authority. "This man needs help!"

In your haste to call attention to the situation, you didn't see him pick up his steak knife.

"You want to know what Jesus felt when you pierced him?" He muttered, just loud enough for your ears alone.

You felt the serrated knife puncture your skin before you had time to process his words. The pain shot through your body, making you freeze in place.

A chorus of screams filled the restaurant. Blood was pouring from the open wound in a quantity you didn't think possible. Underneath, the knife went straight through your hand and into the table.

The man gripped the handle and gave it a twist, a look of horrifying pleasure on his face. At this point, several people had stepped in to restrain him. He was tall and athletic and could easily overpower many of the other customers, which he did. He found another steak knife and began to cut throats while chanting an incomprehensible prayer.

An older woman claiming to be a doctor rushed to your side. She made a makeshift tourniquet from a napkin and a butter knife. Everything after that was a blur. You struggled to stay conscious as the woman tried to guide the knife from the table while keeping it embedded in your hand.

Soon enough, police and ambulances arrived on the scene. The woman placed you in the care of one of the many EMTs, then rushed away to assist the others.

"I'm just doing what Jesus says!" The youth pastor shouted, before gouging his knife into another man's throat. "Spreading his love!"

The officers notably didn't open fire and made an attempt to de-escalate. Maybe that was how the youth pastor was able to escape. 

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

i can hate you sometimes || h. styles

warnings: pre-covid, mentions of sex, swearing, kissing

word count: 2.2k

summary: you and harry have mutual friends, but that doesn’t mean you two are friends. but when harry gets caught in the rain and you’re the closest person he can turn to, it makes for a much more awkward night...

Though you could respect Harry’s artistic abilities when it came to creating music, you could barely tolerate him as a person. Likewise, he wasn’t at all too fond of you. You shared friends in common, which often unfortunately resulted in many a night out with him and your mutual friends.

Yes, Harry was a respectful man. That was perhaps the one thing you could say didn’t irritate you about him. Everything else, the subtle cockiness he played off as jokes; the incessant need to be centre of attention; the bloated ego, which left him thinking he was above everyone else, all of that stuff, you couldn’t stand. But he wasn’t going to stop you from enjoying time with your friends, so you continued to go out drinking with them or go out for big meals with them or on lavish holidays with them. Unfortunately, he had the same mindset. You were both very stubborn.

Going out with your friends when Harry was there seemed like a difficult task at first. But if you sat at the opposite end of the table or stayed fairly distant in a club, the night tended to run smoothly. The one time you’d been left alone was around a year ago when you and Harry had gone out for dinner with Sarah and Mitch. Sarah had gone to the toilet and Mitch had gone to pay the bill. It had been two or three minutes maybe, but it felt like long, excruciating hours. Days, even. You’d distracted yourself by finishing off your wine and trying hard to look anywhere but in Harry’s direction. He’d busied himself with his phone and trying hard to look anywhere but your direction. But, either way, it had been perhaps the most awkward experience of your life.

And now, on a quiet Sunday evening, you found yourself preparing some pasta. Your dog, albeit too big for his own good, was curled up in front of the fireplace. You had your laptop set up on your coffee table, your classical music playlist floating through your house.

It had begun raining heavily about five minutes ago. The droplets were pelting down on your large windows. You had some candles set up and a glass of wine waiting for you on the coffee table in your living room. It was the perfect romantic evening for one.

A knock on your front door took your attention from the boiling water before you. You quickly jogged through to your hallway, opening the door. And, much to your surprise and perhaps disappointment, you were met with the face of Harry Styles. “Can I help you?” you asked, staring at him expectantly.

He sighed, almost embarrassed to ask, but said, “Can I stop at yours until the rain passes?”

You looked him up and down. Stop at yours? Why did that send your stomach into a state of flutters? “Just get an uber,” you said firmly.

He winced, “My phone’s dead. Can you at least let me charge it so I can get an uber?”

You weren’t a fan of Harry (biggest understatement of the year), but that didn’t mean you were an utter asshole. Of course you would let him stop at yours for a little while. Anyone would, right? You sighed, making sure he knew this was a reluctant decision of yours, “Sure.”

He thanked you as he shuffled into your house. He removed his coat and hung it up on your coat rack. Quietly, he followed you into your living room. “Here,” you said curtly, passing him one of your spare chargers.

The entire exchange was even more awkward than last year’s meal with Sarah and Mitch. Benny, your dog, was quite clearly enthralled about the arrival of Harry. He jumped up at the brunette man, his tongue hanging loose. As you tended to your exuberant pasta meal, you could hear Harry petting Benny.

On the few occasions Harry had met Benny, he loved the dog. But, Benny was a dog after all and it was hard to hate a dog. Especially one as lovable and as cuddly as Benny. Harry’s footsteps became louder as he entered the kitchen, Benny, tail wagging, not far behind. It was only when you looked up did you notice Harry carrying your laptop with him. Your first instinct was to tell him to put it the fuck down; it was your laptop - you paid good money for it. But something seemed to stop you from snapping at the man, who was soaked from the rain, in front of you. Usually, you struggled with biting your tongue around Harry. He was just infuriating. “Can I please put something else on?” he asked, gesturing to the screen, which had Spotify open.

You shrugged. You weren’t that bothered if he wasn’t in the mood to listen to your collection of great classical records. It was his loss. Besides, your pasta was nearly finished and then  you’d dish it up and settle down in front of the tv. “Sure.”

There was a moment of silence after he’d paused to whatever piece was playing. “What’s this?” his voice came suddenly.

You knew exactly what he’d found. And you practically kicked yourself for forgetting you had it. It was your playlist, simply titled ‘sex’. A sex playlist. A playlist for sex. “I didn’t take you as the type to have a designated sex playlist,” he said, smirking.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you grumbled, your cheeks heating up.

“Clearly. Some interesting choices on here, Y/N. Not as many of mine as I thought there’d be,” he said.

There was none. None of Harry’s songs on your sex playlist and, if he was being honest, it kind of irritated him slightly. The thought of you having sex to his voice was an enriching one. But what most definitely pissed him off, was the sight of a couple Liam Payne songs and a few of Zayn’s. “I didn’t think Sign of the Times was right for the occasion,” you shrugged. “Do you want some pasta?”

“If there’s some going,” he said quickly. “I do have other songs you know. Besides, Sign of the Times is a great sex song. Starts off slow, builds to a climax...”

You turned to look at him. Only then did you realise you were actually having this conversation with him. Still, you pressed on. “All songs build to a climax one way or another. It’s called a crescendo.”

“Yeah, I know what it’s fucking called,” he sighed. “I’m the musician here.”

“And yet you can’t appreciate classical music. Anyway, if you’re so convinced you have good sex songs, name a few,” you challenged.

He spoke as he followed you through to the living room. You set his bowl of pasta (you always had a habit of making your portions way too large) down on the coffee table beside the candles and wine. “Okay, Kiwi.”

You hummed in thought, “What if I want something a little slower? Like, Kiwi could totally ruin the mood.”

He shifted in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up, signalling it had at least a little bit of power. But now he was eating your fresh pasta and discussing sex songs with you, and frankly, he didn’t want to leave. “Woman? You can’t tell me you’ve never had sex with Woman playing,” he said.

“Well, I can. So I will: I’ve never had sex with Woman playing,” you replied; you liked this game.

“Okay, come on. She is the perfect sex song,” he said smugly.

Now this one tripped you up. Because you’d had sex to She before. It had come on when the guy you were sleeping with asked if he could shuffle his playlist. She had come on second, maybe. And those six minutes had been the best of your life. You told yourself it was just the guy you were seeing at the time, and he certainly didn’t mind the compliment. But, in hindsight, you realised it was probably the fact that Harry was singing about living in daydreams in the background. In that moment, the sex hadn’t even been at the forefront of your mind. It was his fucking velvet voice. “I wouldn’t know.”

He smirked, “You’ve had sex to She, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“You have! I knew it.”

“Piss off, Harry.”

You hoped your nonchalant replies would be enough to deter his attention from the subject at hand. But alas, he didn’t seem to pick up on it. That, or he was deliberately ignoring your tone. You were beginning to regret letting Harry into your house. And you weren’t afraid to tell him so. “I wish I’d just left you in the rain.”

He scoffed, “That’s not very nice, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes at him, making sure he saw. God, you could really hate him sometimes. “Harry, we’re literally discussing my sex life. It’s none of your business. And a bit personal, don’t you think? You don’t even know my surname.”

You got to your feet and made your way through to the kitchen, placing your empty bowl in the sink. You could hear him behind you, you just wanted to turn around and tell him to give you a moment to yourself. He was like a puppy. Before you had the chance to do so, you felt him lean over, placing his bowl beside yours. He was so close. 

Turning around slowly, you were met with him. He was there, right there. You looked up at him. He wasn’t moving. You were torn between pushing past him, making sure he knew you were angry and staying for a while, basking in the sexual tension that was buzzing around in the air. “I do know your surname,” was all he said.

He was so close, his eyes exploring your face as if he’d never seen it before. Trapped between Harry and the kitchen counter, you’d fantasised about this moment for ages. Harry’s face a mere few centimetres away from your own. You could feel his breath on your face. It was warm, welcoming. “Do you?” you choked out. 

He nodded slightly. The revelation of Harry knowing your surname was almost surprising to you. You didn’t think he paid that much attention to anything that had something to do with you. Up until this point, standing in your kitchen, neither of you daring to make the first move, you’d thought he only knew your first name because he was obliged to. 

You both yearned the simple delight of the other’s touch. All the pent up sexual tension from the last years, longing looks disguised as glares of disgust and the little snarky remarks used as an excuse to talk to each other, all of that began unravelling at the seams. He looked at you and you looked at him, both of you daring the other to make the first point of euphoric contact. “Harry,” you forced out quietly, hoping he’d take that as a sign that he could touch you, kiss you, anything.

“What do you want?” he hummed gently. “What can I give you?”

“Just kiss me.”

You were also embarrassed that, after years of suppressing your enrapturing feelings, you were asking him to kiss you. And still, he didn’t touch you. It was like he was playing some sick game with you. And then the dreadful thought that he might just be doing all of this to give him a means to mock you in the future. If that was the case, he’d have the perfect upper hand over you. “Do you still wish you’d left me in the rain?” he asked, almost taunting you as he left you practically begging for his touch. 

You shook your head, “No, no. God, no. Harry, please.”

“Anything you want, darling.”

“Kiss me.”

“Only if you’re sure you want me to.”

“I do, Harry. Please.”

And when he was sure he had your definite consent, he didn’t waste another moment. He placed his large hand on your cheek, the tips of his fingers buried in your hair. His lips on yours was perhaps the most perfect form of ecstasy. As you wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting your head up to meet his, you were sure you’d travelled to some distant infatuating dreamland you only ever hear about. 

Reluctantly, you pulled away, panting slightly, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t get an uber. Stay with me tonight.”

A smile crept its way up into Harry’s features. He tried to hide how elated he was that you’d proposed he spend the night with you. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, which were parted slightly. All he wanted to do was indulge his need for your perfect taste all night. From the moment the sky went from the most divine lavender colour to the most starry black, to the moment it turned back to the most marvellous oranges and reds in the waking of the sun. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that to me.”

part two.

[specialagentsergio]

baby kiss it better

summary: When D.C. implements a lockdown order, you and Spencer decide to quarantine together. There’s just one problem—he’s working from home, and his coworkers don’t know about you.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: a few swear words, but otherwise it’s just fluff

a/n: ahh, the secret partner trope. how i love it. this is set in 2020, but with the season 5 cast! i was feeling particularly self-indulgent, so i made reader a night shift worker. this is for you, fellow night owls. stay safe out there everyone, and wear a mask!

a/n 2: i don’t actually know what a doctor or physical therapist would recommend for spencer’s knee injury. this is just going on my basic understanding of anatomy (i took a class in it this fall!) and what i've seen on grey’s anatomy lol.

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Spencer tries not to grimace as he shifts in his chair. Working from home during the lockdown had initially seemed like it came at a great time, starting just a month after his knee injury. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about having to do almost everything digitally, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being mobile.

Unfortunately, that had turned out to be a downside. Tethered to his seat by headphones, he hasn’t been able to get up and stretch his leg properly, and as a result, is experiencing more pain.

It’s only 8:30, but he can already feel it flaring up. It’s been happening earlier every day, likely due to the existing irritation from the day before. Today is Thursday, and he’s miserable—he dreads to think of what tomorrow will be like.

He’s wondering if there’s some way he could get out of work tomorrow when he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked. He looks up to see you pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying far too many grocery bags than is reasonable.

“Be careful!” he exclaims, watching as you teeter to the side a little. You just wave him off and close the door with your heel.

Working from home may not have been the positive he was expecting it to be, but you’ve more than made up for it. The two of you had decided to quarantine together, and he’s really loved having you around. Granted, you’ve only been here since Sunday, but he’s starting to think that this is going to end with him asking you to move in with him for good.

He hears a thunk as you dump all the groceries on the kitchen table. Then you’re back in the living room, taking off your mask as you walk by so you can blow him a kiss. He presses his knuckles to his mouth to hide his smile.

Usually you give him a proper cheek or forehead kiss when you get home, but the team doesn’t know about you yet. It’s not that he’s necessarily keeping you a secret, he just... likes having you to himself, and he doesn’t really want it to change just yet.

He’s also not looking forward to the pitch Garcia’s voice is going to hit when she finds out he’s been dating someone for over a year without telling her.

“Are you listening, Reid?” Hotch’s voice makes Spencer focus back in on the screen.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, of course. Um, I was just thinking that this choice of rope to bind the victims is interesting.” He doles out a few facts about it, which seems to do an adequate job of convincing everyone that he’s paying attention.

They take a break when the main briefing is over—Jack needs something from Hotch and Sergio has apparently knocked something breakable off of Emily’s kitchen counter. He slides his headphones off and mutes his mic. Apparently that’s a cue you’ve been waiting for, because only a few moments later you’re placing a mug of tea on his desk.

“Green tea,” you say. “Might help reduce the inflammation in your knee.” Then you’re lifting his foot off the small stool it’s resting on and sliding another pillow under it so his leg is more elevated.

“Wh—“ he starts, but you’re already hurrying back into the kitchen. You come back with a baggie of ice wrapped in a dishtowel in your hands, which you place it gently on top of his knee.

“Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” you say. “Then repeat with heat instead, like your physical therapist said. I’ll get the heating pad from the bedroom.”

“Hey, wait.” Spencer snags your wrists before you can walk away again. “How’d you know it was hurting?”

“Oh, I always know,” you reply. “You should have realized that by now.”

He thinks on that as you leave to get the heating pad, sipping his tea. You do always seem to just know, whether he’s in physical pain, a bad case is bothering him, or even if he’s just in a bad mood and doesn’t know why himself.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t feel incredibly lucky to have you in his life.

“I’m leaving it by this outlet behind you. Have you been doing your stretches?”

He bites his lip, hesitating because he knows you won’t like the answer. But he doesn’t have to say it; you can tell from his expression.

“Spencer. You know you need to be doing them.”

“I know, I do,” he insists. “I just... can’t really get up and do them with these headphones.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, so take them off. Your laptop has speakers.”

“But I don’t want to disturb you,” he protests. Since you work the night shift, you sleep during the day, usually heading to bed around 11 AM. He doesn’t want the noise from the Zoom calls to keep you up. Much like the bullpen in the FBI building, the calls can get rowdy.

“You won’t,” you assure. “I’ll just shut the bedroom door.”

“I guess that works,” he relents. “But I feel weird getting up and stretching in front of everyone. Like, wouldn’t that be disruptive?”

You sigh. “Spencer, I understand it’ll make you self-conscious, but you want full mobility in your knee again, right?”

“Yeah, I do, I get it,” he says sullenly, looking down into his mug. “I need to do the stretches if I want it to heal well.”

“Hey.” You take one of his hands and squeeze it. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just want you to get better and be in less pain. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“You’re not annoying me. I guess I’m just... not really used to being taken care of,” he admits quietly.

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.”

The confidence in your voice makes him unable to hold back a smile. “Alright.”

You smile back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Spencer’s about to tell you that you’ve done plenty when an idea strikes him. He tilts his head to the side. “Well, there is something.”

“Yes?”

“There’s some research—nothing too substantial, but still some—that says kisses can help relieve pain,” he says.

You laugh, but it’s not unkind. “Oh, so you want me to kiss it better?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing away shyly.

“Okay, then.” You tuck his hair behind his ear and press a kiss to his forehead. “Better?” you ask softly.

He hums. “Better.”

“Good.” You stand back up and stretch. “Well, I’ll be awake for a few more hours, so let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Spencer puts his headphones back on—he wants to wait to unplug them until you go to bed to spare you from hearing anything gruesome—and looks back at the screen to find Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Garcia staring him down. Rather hesitantly, he unmutes his mic and asks, “What?”

Emily is grinning—she looks the more awake than she has all morning. “Is there anything you wanna tell us?” she asks.

“Yeah, Spence,” JJ chimes in, “any new developments in your life?”

“I don’t—” he starts, then it hits him like a truck. He remembered to mute his mic, but the camera was still on. Clearly, they all saw you kiss his forehead. He barely stops himself from hitting his head against the table; he covers his face with his hands instead and groans.

“Isn’t the whole point of all this that we stay away from other people?” Morgan asks, and Spencer doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“People outside of your household,” he corrects without thinking.

“Oh my god!” Garcia shrieks and he winces, pulling the headphones off out of instinct. He’s not the only one—JJ jumps and yanks her earbuds out, and Derek lifts one side of his headphones away from his ear. Spencer hesitantly copies him, putting one half of his headphones back on.

“Jesus, Pen, you scared the shit out of Sergio,” Emily’s saying.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she says, then turns her attention completely to Spencer. “Boy wonder. You’re living with someone and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“I mean, you never asked,” he points out.

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to!” she huffs. “You usually tell your friends if you’re seeing someone new, let alone living with them!”

“You do, maybe. Emily and I don’t,” he says.

Emily herself shrugs. “Good point. Fair enough, Reid.”

“Besides, we’re not living together,” he continues, “We’re quarantining together.”

“Right, because that’s such a big difference,” JJ teases. He glares at her in return.

Rossi returns to his desk before Penelope can start bombarding Spencer with questions. But there’s no reprieve for him—the man takes one look around and knows something’s up. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We just found out pretty boy has a partner,” Morgan sing-songs before Spencer can say anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn’t tell any of us!” Garcia adds.

Spencer groans again and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything,” he mutters.

A knocking sound draws his attention away from the call. You’re standing in the bedroom doorway, your hand resting on the doorframe. “You okay?” you ask. “I just heard you groan.”

Spencer mutes his mic again and then leans over so he’s out of the camera’s frame. “They found out,” he sighs.

“Found out what?”

“Found out about... you.”

Realization crosses your face. “They saw me kissing you better?”

“Yeah. I forgot the camera was still on,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” You make your way over to him and take the ice off his knee. “It’s been twenty minutes, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, um...” He picks up the fidget toy you bought him when he was going stir-crazy in the hospital and starts messing with it. “What do you wanna do about this?”

“Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” you reply immediately.

“Okay, good answer,” he says. “But I actually want to know how you feel about this.”

“Well, I’m fine with meeting them, even if it’s just over Zoom. But if you’d rather wait, I’m fine with that, too. Really,” you add when he raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, well.” Spencer looks back at the screen. Hotch has returned now, and even though he can’t hear anything, it’s clear they’re all waiting on him. Best to just do this now, he thinks, otherwise I’ll be hearing about it all day. “How would you feel about meeting them right now?”

You blink. “Um, okay. So long as you don’t mind me looking like I was up all night, because, you know... I was.”

“You look fine,” he reassures. “Uh, just stay put for a second. Let me ask if this is okay.”

He readjusts to sit in his chair properly. He starts to put his headphones back on, but you unplug them so you can hear what’s happening.

“You ready to continue, Reid?” Hotch asks. It’s business as usual with him—if he was told what happened earlier, Spencer can’t tell.

“Well, actually,” he starts, and nervousness bubbles up in his chest. He glances up and you give him a reassuring smile. “Actually, I was wondering if I could introduce you guys to someone first?”

Garcia squeals. “Ooh, sir, please say yes!”

“Just keep it quick,” Hotch says. He didn’t even hesitate—they totally told him.

Spencer takes a deep breath, then gestures for you to come over. You seem a little nervous as well, but you handle it well, walking around the desk and into the frame. “Oh, we should have gotten you something to sit on,” he laments when you lean over the back of his chair.

“It’s fine.” You drape your arms around his shoulders and adjust so your head is on the same level as his. It’s silent for a moment, then you say, “Well, introduce me, silly.”

“Oh!” He clears his throat, trying to ignore the heat he feels in his cheeks. “Um, this is (Y/N). My... my partner.”

The call explodes with greetings, everyone talking over each other. “Slow down, slow down,” Spencer pleads. This is all overwhelming enough—he doesn’t need any excess stimuli.

Once it settles, everyone takes their turn introducing themselves (you already know who they all are, though, as he’s told you so much about them). Then you field a few questions—what you do for work, how you met, what your favorite food is (that was Rossi—Spencer suspects that he wants to know for the first dinner party he can hold after quarantine is over).

It’s going well. Everyone seems to like you, and you’re getting by just fine. Until Garcia asks her question, that is.

“So, (Y/N), how long has boy wonder been keeping you a secret from us?”

Both of you tense. “Uh, you know what, I’ll let him answer that,” you say quickly. “It’s just about time for me to go to bed.”

“Wha—no. No, it’s not. It’s just barley past nine,” Spencer protests.

“Yeah, I’m really tired. I’m gonna try and get some extra sleep today.” You give a little wave. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers desperately. “Not with that question.”

You feign a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just too tired.”

He watches you go back to the bedroom with a pout.

“Well?” Garcia insists when he looks back at her.

Spencer cringes and preemptively lowers his computer volume.

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

tell me what you thought here!

[butgilinsky]

'cause maybe then you'd want me just as much // np

warning; heavy language, toxy relationships, love triangle to an extent, throwing up, mentions alcohol a lot, mentions of smut but nothing explicit, there's one make out scene in it, angst angst angst this is straight angst, i think that's it?

summary; after your split from Nolan, you can't seem to find a way for both of you to be happy. when you meet his girlfriend for the first time, everyone seems to think you've developed a crush on her. based on the song girl crush by little big town.

word count; 15.6k+

a/n; he baddies, so this is a lot. one thing i wanted to say quickly is that this is mainly a nolan fic, but there are heavy joel x reader themes throughout. a bit of a love triangle but that's not entirely the focus of it. so if you're here for a nolan fic, here ya go. if you're here for a beezer fic, strap in it just takes a bit of time to develop to that point(: enjoy!

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

“You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too.” your eyes instinctively rolled back, the anger burning in your chest only growing at his attempt to confront this situation head on. He had a tendency of doing that, going at something full force with little to no thought of how it’ll actually end up.

“That’s a stupid saying! Why would I want the cake in the first place if I can’t eat it?”

“Can you dissect the english language another time and just listen to me for once?” the scoff that tumbled past your lips was subconscious, something you couldn’t stop yourself from. “All i’m saying is-”

“I get it, Nolan. I won’t give you the satisfaction of claiming me in front of the entire world, and now you’re walking away from me. If you can’t tell everyone that I’m yours then it means I'm not, right?” his shoulders slumped, his chest deflating as your words resonated in his mind.

Truth be told, Nolan didn’t give a shit what other people thought. He didn’t care about other people’s view of him, nor did he care about their validation. All he wanted was to be able to tell his friends where he went after each of his games, who he spent his nights and mornings with. He didn’t want to keep lying about why he bought enough groceries to feed more than one person, or who called him when he was on the road.

He understood at first, why you wanted to keep things to yourself. For a while, he agreed with you. He didn’t want your friends to get in the way either, though the group the two of you were in made that slightly difficult. They thrived off of teasing each other, and the two of you did your fair share of teasing as well. One thing Nolan didn’t want was for his friends to make the two of you feel as if this was all a mistake. He didn’t want you to have to face any scrutiny from the team or anyone else, so the two of you agreed to keep things just between the two of you.

That all turned to shit around six months in, when Nolan stopped getting excited about slipping out of his apartment unseen or arriving at the rink just in time for him to duck underneath Claude’s radar. The secrecy wasn’t fun anymore. He didn’t need a label, didn’t need you to commit to an entire life with him, but he wanted to be able to show up to functions with you under his arm. He wanted to see you wearing your Patrick jersey outside of your apartment.

He wanted you to be his girlfriend, and he wanted everyone to know about it.

Nolan knew there were things that had happened to you in the past that made you hesitant to climb aboard. He tried to be patient, tried to give you the time and space you needed to get you to where he stood. But months passed and you never got there, and he was starting to lose faith that you’d ever get there. He was starting to think he was waiting for something that was never going to come.

“I’m not sneaking around anymore. You can decide what that means, but I refuse to have these secret rendezvous where I can’t even tell people where I’m going. We don’t have to put a label on it, I’ll wait an entire lifetime if I have to for that, but I’m sick of the lying and scheming and secrecy.” he didn’t know what was more important to you at this point; being with him or making sure you kept all of your walls up. He did know what his priorities were, where he stood on the subject matter, but that wasn’t enough anymore. Now it was up to you to decide where the two of you lie.

“So what’s it going to be y/n?”

The last time you had gone through a break up, it had hurt a lot less than this. The weeks following the split between you and Nolan had been harder than any breakup in the past. Maybe the thing that was making all of it worse was the fact that you were suffering in silence. Nobody knew about you and Nolan in the first place, so nobody knew about the breakup that wasn’t actually a breakup.

You didn’t see him for two weeks after he’d walked out of your apartment. You couldn’t bring yourself to go to his games, and you denied all of the team’s invitations to go out with them. Even when Joel and Travis showed up to your apartment with several bags of take out food and tried their best to pick your brain about what had been going on with you, you fabricated a story about how school and work were mixing together in an unappetizing way.

It was easy for the most part, to blame your mood on schoolwork. Most of the flyers had no idea how stressful college could be, given that even the ones that were in your age range had never gone to college. Apart from a few of them like Joel, who had spent a year in college before being drafted, they assumed that school was everything you said it was. So any time they invited you out and tried to tell you that you couldn’t come up with any more excuses, a simple lie about a project being due soon would fend them off for a few days before repeating the process.

You finally agreed to go to a game when Joel needed a last minute ride to the rink, which ended in him convincing you that since you were already there, you could stick around for the game. You were sure that he had planned it all out, no doubt with the help of a few of the guys in order to be convincing enough, but it worked. It got you in the seats where most of them stopped by to wave at you during warm ups.

The smile that crept onto your lips when Nolan scored was subconscious. You couldn’t help but smile and clap for him, a warm familiarity swimming in your chest. Normally you’d meet him at your apartment afterwards, sharing toothy smiles and sensual kisses that never failed to turn into more. Your bed was familiar with Nolan, claiming half of itself to be side and clearing out a space on your nightstand for his phone and water bottle.

But you couldn’t do that anymore, Nolan wasn’t yours to take home anymore. While the realization was tough to bear, you simply wiped the smile off of your face and barred a neutral expression for the remainder of the game. You clamped your lips shut in a tight line and kept your deafening thoughts to yourself.

Your life had made room for him, a space for him to slide in without much effort at all. Your routine molded itself around Nolan being there in the mornings and nights. It started as little things like buying a second phone charger to plug in on his side of the bed. Then it turned to buying double the amount of groceries and recording his favorite shows on tv. Then he had a toothbrush next to yours on the bathroom counter and a bottle of body wash next to your shampoo in the shower. They were little changes here and there that somehow made it feel like Nolan practically lived there.

Even if the words were never said out loud, you and Nolan had broken up. It was hard to wrap your head around, how you could break up with someone without even realizing that you were dating in the first place. It shouldn’t have been so detrimental to lose him, to not have his hips snapping into yours or wake up to him brewing coffee in your kitchen. It was never supposed to get this far, was never supposed to be a tale of two friends that pined for each other enough to cause these waves. It was what you had done your best to avoid over its entirety, but you failed.

And now you had to pretend as if none of it had ever happened.

“Get out of the car, y/n.” you rolled your eyes at Joel’s attempt to sound stern with you, given the look he was sending you through the door frame. His eyebrows were raised and his hands sat on his hips, as if he was your angry mother that was dragging you to soccer practice on a sunday morning. “You have five seconds or I'm carrying you inside.”

“Jesus, Joel I just dropped my chapstick, chill the fuck out.” he rolled his eyes but smiled when you began climbing out of the car.

It was almost painful to convince you to come to Claude and Ryanne’s cookout, an event you normally wouldn’t miss for the world. If this were three months ago, you would’ve been happy to oblige. You’d steal glances across the yard at the boy who was more often than not already looking at you. Maybe you’d meet up in one of the empty rooms far enough from everyone else that they wouldn’t hear you sharing affirmations or other things not appropriate for a family friendly cookout with practically everyone you knew in Philly.

But you knew when you woke up this morning that that wouldn’t happen. You don’t live in the past and you’re no longer able to share stolen glances and smiles with the blue eyed boy who had stolen your heart without you realizing it. Instead you’d be forced to act as if nothing had happened between the two of you. It was easy at games, given that you never truly had to talk to Nolan, but today wouldn’t be that easy. You were certain that at some point you’d have to talk to Nolan in order to eliminate any suspicion about the two of you giving each other the cold shoulder.

You had mentally prepared yourself for the disaster you may or may not encounter, the feelings that were bound to throb in the back of your mind upon seeing the boy with shoulder length hair and a voice that never failed to send a chill down your spine. What you hadn’t been expecting was the petite blonde girl tucked into his side, the one with bright blue eyes and a smile that surely had the entire room smiling right back at her.

The weight of the situation hit you at full force, almost knocking you off of your feet before you even stepped onto the grass in the backyard. You asked yourself if there was any way you could escape, any way you could find a last minute excuse and run out the door before he even saw you but then you remembered that Joel drove you, and there was no way he’d take you back now.

That, and Nolan locked eyes with you before you could form a coherent thought that might have gotten you out of this situation. He looked thrown off, like he hadn’t been expecting you to be here. He looked down at the girl beside him, painfull aware of how this all looked to you and finding a million and one things that he assumed were running through your mind.

“You alright?” your eyes flicked up to meet Joel’s that were flooded with confusion and worry at the sight of you clearly thrown off by something. But then you coughed and shook your head, forced a smile to the surface and told Joel that you were perfectly fine.

You were fine for a while, assuming you could just stay away from them and everything would be okay. If you didn’t have to talk to her, didn’t have to hear about her or anything that had anything to do with her, you’d be fine. You could handle the avoidance of eye contact with Nolan and you could push your feelings below the surface for the time being.

Unfortunately for you, she seemed to be just about the nicest person on the planet and felt the need to introduce herself to everyone in her general vicinity. You were walking back out of the house, your fingers wrapped around the neck of four different bottles before she popped up out of nowhere and offered you a bright smile.

“Hi! You’re y/n right?” you nodded gently, pushing a soft smile to the surface to humor her. “Thought so. Nolan’s told me a lot about you. I’m Mackayla.”

Aside from the fact that she was definitely the last person you wanted to be talking to right now, she was dangerously nice. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t see the appeal. Her long blonde hair was beautiful, and you were sure by the way she was gently gripping onto her cup that she was gentle in all walks of life.

She was nicer than you’d wished she’d be. It’s as if you couldn’t find a flaw about her, other than the boy she chose to latch onto. It’d be easier if he was smiling all the same, if he was looking at her the way he used to look at you, even if nobody noticed. You’d be able to live with it if Nolan looked just as happy with her as he did with you, but he didn’t.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his hands were always shoved into his pockets or running through his hair. His knuckles went white from his tight grip on his better bottle, and you just knew. You knew that the way he looked at her held little to no weight, not when compared to the way he’d look at you with your head on his chest or his in your lap. If you didn’t know what he looked like at 2 in the morning over a plate of waffles the two of you were sharing. If you hadn’t heard the laugh that bellowed out when you stared at him in disbelief for eating the last bite.

You wondered if she knew that he’d rather waste money on overpriced sushi than order a pizza, if she knew that rubbing his temples and scratching his scalp helped soothe his migraines. Did she know that he’d talk about the things bugging him if you just gave him space for a minute or so and let him collect his thoughts? Did she know that he kept a bottle of ibuprofen in his nightstand and one in the center console of his car?

You doubted she knew these things, because you knew Nolan was oblivious to you knowing these little things. He didn’t know you’d picked up on these small details about him because you didn’t voice them, you didn’t need to. You got his favorite coffee creamer without asking him what flavor he wanted, keeping it in your fridge at all times just in case. You made sure not to steal the black hoodie that always laid over the back of his couch, because you knew it was his favorite and if you had ever taken it he’d lose his mind.

You made sure that Nolan was taken care of, that you never acted out in a way that would negatively affect him. And as much as it hurt to stand in front of his new girl and act as if you didn’t know all of these things about him, you’d do it for him. You swallowed your pride and forced a smile so that nobody picked up on anything for Nolan’s sake.

You were doing an okay job with faking a smile and listening to Mackayla talk about the things she’d done with Nolan over the weekend. You’d learned she was from Georgia, though that much had been obvious from the southern drawl in her voice, and it only led you to wonder how she even met Nolan in the first place. Was she staying at his apartment while she was here? Did she sleep on your side of the bed and eat the granola bars that he always bought for you without a second of hesitation?

You were doing fine, until you noticed Nolan’s eyes glued to you. He was watching you, whether it was out of fear of you falling apart or stepping out of line in front of her, you weren't sure. Maybe he didn’t trust you with the girl he was trying to use to get over you, and maybe he was concerned for your well being, but you had a fairly good guess as to which one it would’ve ended up being.

So with the best excuse you could muster, you politely told Mackayla that you had to deliver the beers slotted between your fingers and ushered her back in Nolan’s direction. He tucked her under his arm just like he had when you first arrived and sent you one last careful glance before turning away from you both figurative and literally.

When you got back to Joel and dished out the beers you promised everyone, you pressed your own against your lips and downed half of the beer in one go before Joel forced you to stop.

“Woah! Try not to drink your weight tonight, yeah?” you rolled your eyes and fought back the groan that threatened to slip when Joel pulled your bottle away from you. “Breathe for a second.”

You tried to ignore Travis and Karly’s concerned looks, confusion setting in for both of them when you offered a smile in place of an explanation. They didn’t question it, knowing better than to dig too far into the reason for your actions. In an attempt to take the focus off of your odd behavior, Travis offered a change of conversation. Though it would’ve been better if he had chosen a topic that didn’t directly relate to your sour mood.

“So Mackayla’s pretty nice.” Karly hummed, eyes locking with yours for just a second. Her motive was innocent, simply offering a skepticism about a new girl being introduced into the mix, something the two of you usually had when any of the guys started dating someone new.

“She’s pretty.” you shrugged gently, attempting to offer an innocent enough addition to the conversation that wouldn’t force you to endure too much more of this conversation.

Joel gasped gently, eyes panning down to you while a smirk creeped up his lips and firmly planted itself on his face. “Do you have the hots for Patty’s girl?”

Your eyes blew wide and while the only thing running through your mind was how wrong Joel is, he mistook your shock for fear of being sniffed out so easily. It didn’t help that Joel had been your wingman on more than one occasion, always doing everything he could to snag you someone worthy of time.

“Bee-”

“You’re so into her!” you groaned at Travis bouncing in excitement, only calming down when his girlfriend dug her elbow into his ribs.

“I do not have a crush on Mackayla.”

“Who said anything about a crush?” Joel’s smile ignited a fire inside of your chest, an aggravation that had you clenching your jaw and rolling your eyes. He sucked his teeth and pressed a hand to his chest, a far off look settling in his expression. “My baby’s growing up.”

“Shut the fuck up, Farabee.”

Unfortunately, you were unable to convince Travis and Joel about your feelings towards the girl, or lack thereof. You couldn’t exactly tell them that you weren’t anything less than envious of her, that you kept looking in her direction because she seemed physically incapable of leaving Nolan’s side. You couldn’t tell them that you were truly looking at Nolan, that all you wanted to do was tell him that everything that’s happened was severely miscalculated on your part.

While Joel and Travis were painful at times, they were your best friends. They were attentive to your feelings more often than not, even if they miscalculated them here and there. Joel slipped you a few more drinks throughout the night and Travis made sure you never had an empty cup in your hand. Karly kept a close eye on you, worried about you quickly tipping over the edge if no one paid attention. She wasn’t convinced by the story of your crush on Mackayla, but she wasn’t sure what was truly bothering you so she did her best to make sure you stayed away from the ledge.

After two cups of the punch that Jake brought you were taking deep breaths in the bathroom, mustering up the courage to go back out and face the music. With every twinge of alcohol that infiltrated your system your shoulders slumped and you forgot about the pain that resonated in the back of your mind. It was easier to not look at Nolan every few seconds when you partially forgot that he was even there.

However, just as you opened the door to step back out into the house, the door was pushed wide open and Nolan stepped into the small space with you before shutting the door behind him. You were caught off guard, not having been this close to him since he walked out three months ago. It was almost nice, you almost let yourself slip a smile but then you were painfully aware of the way his forehead creased in frustration.

He saw your mind go over ninety different thoughts, your face showing off just about every emotion you were feeling when you felt it. It was hard for him to stand his ground, to not reach out to you and press a soft kiss against your forehead at the sight of you stressed out about something. But then he remembered why you were stressed, why he came up here in the first place. He remembered how you told him you couldn’t be with him, how you broke his heart.

“Why are you in here, Pat?” he flinched at the name, having not heard you call him that since before everything had unfolded between the two of you. You never called him by his last name, nor his hockey nicknames. Not after you’d been trapped between him and his mattress far more times than you could count.

“You talked to Mackayla earlier.” you hummed, rolling your eyes when you realized what was coming.

“So you saw me talking to your girlfriend earlier and now you’re wondering if I told her something she’s not supposed to know. If you’re wondering what we talked about then you can ask her, because I honestly couldn’t remember if my life depended on it. I stopped listening to her after she told me that you’ve told her a lot about me.” despite the way his eyes changed, darkening ever so slightly and pupils dilating, Nolan looked unphased by your confession.

“She’s not my girlfriend-”

“Then what is she? She’s clearly something since she’s here at your captain’s house. She’s visiting from Georgia for fuck’s sake, Pat-”

“So you did pay attention to her.” as fucked as it was, Nolan smirked at the realization that you still cared. Despite everything you told him, every time you said that you needed things to be a secret and that you couldn’t open up that part of you, he was elated to find out that you had a soft spot for him.

“Do you think it’s funny? You think it’s funny to watch me fall apart right in front of you? I’m trying so hard to keep myself together, and then you bring her here and wave her around in my face like you deserve an award for moving on.”

“I had no idea you were coming.” you wanted to laugh, wanted to scream at the top of your lungs that he had to be joking right now. But you didn’t, you held the laugh in the back of your throat and you opted for a vocal level that wouldn’t travel downstairs for everyone else to hear.

“That’s bullshit! I know you’re lying to me because Joel showed me a string of texts from your group chat of everyone saying that they were excited to see me. You know why he showed me that, Pat? Because I needed the motivation to peel myself off of my couch and start hanging out with my friends again. You know, i’m doing everything I can to hold it together but it’s really fucking hard when i can’t even be vocal about the fact that I don’t want to be around you right now.”

“Oh, don’t put that shit on me. You wanted to keep us a secret, so that means your heartbreak is a secret too. What do you want me to do about it? Help you through it? You want me to help you get over me? This is me trying to do that. I’m trying to move on, and you should be trying just as hard.” that almost hurt more than figuring out that he had deep rooted feelings for her. To know that she was your replacement, the one that was meant to help him get over you, that was much worse.

“But that’s the thing, Nolan! I don't want to get over you!”

“Well you have to! It’s too late to make up for all of the shit we’ve already been through. The damage is done, so you need to let me be happy without you.” your heart sank at the revelation, the look of defeat that sat on his face and told you that there was no going back. There was nothing you could do that was going to backtrack from this.

So you reached around him and grabbed the doorknob, twisting it as quickly as you could and slipping out of the bathroom just as quickly as Nolan had slipped in. You ran down the stairs fast enough to miss the sound of him slamming his fist into the countertop, the guttural groan that left him as he broke down in the room you left him in.

The good thing about the alcohol induced daze you were in was that your tears could’ve been due to anything. They could’ve been from someone taking your white claw away, and while you were sure you could find an excuse for crying, you knew that you wouldn’t need to when you saw Joel’s face.

“Can we go?” he nodded without a single question, promising you that it had been well over two hours since he had had a single sip of beer. He turned to Phil and told him to tell everyone they left but to leave out the part about you standing in front of them with wet cheeks and red eyes.

He didn’t ask you what was wrong, didn’t ask you to fess up to your crying fest in the car. He simply drove around the city until you had let out every tear and choked sob you could manage. He knew that part of it was spurred on by your blood alcohol level, surel exceeding the limit to drive, but he knew there was something you weren’t saying.

While not many people other than the people in Joel’s close vicinity had seen you crying just before your disappearance, a few did. And while nobody knew what it could have possibly been caused by, Karly watched Nolan descend down the stairs a few minutes after you had with an expression much different than the one he wore when he went upstairs. His cheeks were red and blown out, a dead give away for him being angry. It didn’t take her long to put the pieces together, to realize that you weren’t looking at Mackayla all night but rather the boy who had an arm draped around her shoulder.

You hoped that maybe you’d never have to see Mackayla after that, that she’d return to whatever town in Georgia she came from and stay there. Maybe even if she was around, you wouldn’t have to be around her. If Joel and Travis wanted to believe that it was from your attraction to her then so be it, just as long as you didn’t have to witness Nolan giving someone else the affection you craved from him.

But time passed and Mackayla stuck around. She stuck around for a few more months, visiting Nolan far more often than you would have cared for. She was around more than you wished she’d be. She was nice enough for everyone to like her, though it was kept at a surface level. Joel still picked your brain about your supposed crush on her, dropping hints in various conversations about it.

“So I was talking to Mack the other day-”

“Who the fuck is Mack?” it was a reflex, popping your head around the corner and shooting Joel a confused look across the room. He was leaning back on your couch, waiting for you to come back with the popcorn that was currently popping in the microwave.

“Mackayla…” Joel’s voice trailed off as he turned over his shoulder, his smirk all too irritating for you to not roll your eyes.

“What, the two of you are best friends now?” if Joel didn’t know you so well, he’d think you were jealous. He did, to an extent, think that you were jealous of him for being close to Mackayla, which was somewhat amusing for you.

“Chill, y/n/n. I’m not going to steal her away from you. She’s all yours, after she’s Patty’s.” it was meant to be playful, meant to bring a soft laugh out of you. Joel had no idea that he was just digging the dagger further into your heart, twisting it violently at the mention of Nolan and his girlfriend that seemed to be here to stay for much longer than you originally expected.

She showed up at games that you quickly regretted attending, wearing a jersey that you recognized all too well, having a few matching ones lining the back of your closet. You played nice though, letting her ask questions about you and answering them with the best answer you could offer at the time. You even went to grab drinks with her during the second intermission.

It was almost laughable, how oblivious she was. She was nice and in any other scenario where she wasn’t dating the boy you were hopelessly in love with, you probably would have liked her. There was nothing wrong with her other than her love interest, and the fact that she was oblivious to everything around her. You thought it was innocent at first, maybe even cute, but then she offered you a bright smile after you had calmed down from celebrating Joel’s second goal of the night and told you that the two of you would be a cute couple. Not only did it make you laugh, but the way she wiggled her eyebrows and told you that she could help you make that happen made you sigh in realization that she truly had no idea what mess she had walked into.

You hadn’t realized that Karly had caught onto your distaste for her until you announced that you had to run to the bathroom and Karly jumped up before Mackayla could even think about it and hooked her arms in yours. You sent her a puzzled look laced with a soft smile until she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in a way that told you exactly why she volunteered to go with you.

She let you break down in the bathroom, confessing that the mere sight of her made you nauseous. You told her about the history between you and Nolan, the way that you fell in love with him without even knowing it. You told her how you messed it up, how you did something that he couldn’t forgive you for and before you were able to tell her that you didn’t know how you would fix any of it, she told you that there was no way in hell that this was irreversible.

She’d seen the way you looked at him, the way he looked at you and the way he looked at her. In her mind, the choice was clear. Mackayla was no match for you, not even close. She didn’t bring any of the things to the table that you could, despite her being a good person. She wasn’t a bad person, but you were made for Nolan. Even Karly could figure that one out.

So you let her drag you to a bar with the team afterwards. You let her ring up a tab for the two of you and slip you drinks throughout the night without thinking much of it. Sure, Mackayla and Nolan weren’t very far away, but you knew you wouldn’t have to watch them do much more than things you’d already seen. You knew they wouldn’t dance, since Nolan would’ve preferred to drink everything behind the bar than dance in public.

It made you think about the times he danced with you in the kitchen at 3 am when soft music was pouring out of his phone and encapsulating the two of you in your own bubble. Neither of you were ever fully dressed, wearing things that you picked up off of the floor before cooking an entire meal in the middle of the night. Those nights were your favorite, when he did things that only you had the pleasure of experiencing.

It made a familiar feeling stir in your stomach, one that had you pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you rushed towards the bathroom, passing the line that formed against one of the walls. Karly apologized to everyone who you had unintentionally skipped, though they all waved her off and claimed that you clearly needed it more than they did.

You were relieved when you got inside, able to breathe while also getting the nausea out of your system. Karly stood guard, only opening the door to yell at someone that had been knocking for the past three minutes.

“It’s fucking occupied- Patty?”

“Move.” you coughed at the sound of his voice, your throat constricting in a way that was involuntary. “Karly, seriously-”

“Nolan that’s not a good idea-”

“I can get her to stop.” Karly’s words paused in her throat, uncertainty flowing through her but when she heard you dry heave for the third time, she stepped aside and let Nolan come inside.

He gently pulled your hair out of your hands and grabbed the hair tie around your wrist, throwing your hair into the quickest ponytail he could in order to get it out of your face. His hands fell to your sides, slipping under your shirt without much effort at all and providing your skin with a newfound warmth.

He’d done this before, that much was obvious to Karly with the way you easily melted into his touch. He wasn’t doing much more than Karly could do but she knew that it was the feeling of his hands that grounded you, rather than physical touch in the general sense. If it wasn’t Nolan it wouldn’t have worked, and that gave Karly everything she needed to know about how you felt about her boyfriend’s best friend.

“You’re okay.” he whispered softly, letting you fall back against his chest and curl up into a ball on the floor of a dirty bar bathroom. He rocked you gently, almost unintentionally, while he kissed the back of your head gently. “You’re okay.” he repeated, feeling you relax into his hold afterwards.

Karly was stunned to say the least. She had never seen you react like that to anybody, let alone when they were that close to you. She was used to seeing you shove Joel or Travis away from you when they tried to baby you, claiming that you could hold your own and didn’t need them to help you through things. But here you were, melting into Nolan’s hold without a second thought.

“Thank you.” you whispered gently, despite the fact that Nolan was inherently the reason you were in this position. He didn’t know that, assuming your physical reaction to be from the alcohol you had consumed.

“I’m going to go get you some water.” Karly whispered softly before slipping out of the room, but not leaving until she threatened anyone else that tried to usher you out of the bathroom.

“You didn’t have to do that you know?” it was soft and broke through a thick silence after Karly had left, but it was enough for Nolan.

“I know I didn’t, but I care about you and I know that Karly’s clueless when it comes to things like that.” you laughed, one that came out more bitter than you had originally intended it to. Nolan’s ears perked up, his face twisting in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just holding me in a bathroom right now while your girlfriend is waiting for you to return.” Nolan groaned, annoyed that you had to ruin a good moment by mentioning Mackayla. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he wished that just once he could have a conversation without you mentioning her.

“Alright well if you want me to leave, I can.” he stood up, brushing off his jeans and turning towards the door before you were on your feet and pulling away from it.

“Do you love her?” his brow furrowed, confusion written into his features as he tried to figure out why you would ask him such a thing. His silence gave you hope, made you believe that there was a possibility that maybe he didn’t love her.

“Why would you-”

“Do you still love me?” it hit him like a thousand bricks, like he had walked straight into a wall and knocked himself out. He’d never told you that he loved you, despite the fact that he definitely did. You had never told each other that you felt that way, though now you think maybe that would have changed things between the two of you. “I only ask because-”

“Just, don’t. Don’t this to me, y/n. I can’t handle this again.” you wondered if the sound you heard was his heart cracking, breaking in his chest at a simple question. You wondered if you had messed things up by being too scared, by living in fear rather than taking things that you wanted.

“I love you.” you felt your shoulders fall, shedding themselves of the weight they held onto for so long. “I love you so much it hurts, and everyone thinks it’s just because I’m in love with your girlfriend. They think that when i’m looking at you, i’m looking at her and while it’s a great coverup for the real issue at hand, it’s almost worse. Because in a way, I guess I am. I want to be her, I want to be in her place. I want to kiss her because at least I'll get to taste your lips again. At least if I listen to her go on and on about her weekend plans then I can keep up with your life from someone other than Tk.”

It was a lot, a lot of things you’d wanted to say for longer than you could recount, but now it was too much. It was too much to dump on Nolan in a bar bathroom where you had just previously been throwing up. It wasn’t ideal, and it was probably disgusting, but you need to get it out now. Now or never, right here in the bathroom where Nolan’s girlfriend stood not too far outside of it.

“Y/n-”

“Just tell me you love me. Tell me i’m not crazy because I think you look at me the way you should be looking at her. I think that whatever you have with her is probably great, but it’s nothing like what we had. She’s not me, Nolan. I know she’s not.”

“That’s the problem! She’s not you, and that’s good for me. She’s good for me. She doesn’t hide me, doesn’t shove me into her room when her best friend comes knocking on the door. She doesn’t hide my jerseys in the back of her closet or stay ten feet away from me in public. She’s not you, but that’s not an accident.” your heart sank, not only at the words ringing in your ears but the steam pouring out of his ears. The way that he was looking at you, like you’d ruined him, made your stomach twist. It was awful, to have him stand in front of you and not understand that all you wanted was him.

“Nolan please-”

“Please what, y/n? Haven’t we already had this conversation? You want me to help you but I'm telling you I can’t do that. I can’t keep running into bathrooms when you’re throwing up and I can’t hold your hand when your anxiety bubbles up and you can’t be around people anymore. I can’t do this for you anymore y/n. Yes, I love you. I love you but it hurts in a way that love should not hurt. I shouldn’t wake up every morning feeling like i’ve lost a part of me that i’ll never get back. I should be able to have a girlfriend without worrying about what my ex thinks, how she feels about me. I shouldn’t have to worry about your feelings anymore because you didn’t worry about mine when I was begging you to stop making me sneak around with you.”

“I didn’t mean for-”

“I don’t care anymore, honestly. I don’t care what you meant to do. All I'm asking you to do is to leave me alone and let me move on with my life. You had your chance, you had me right in front of you, telling you that you were the one for me, you were it, and you threw it away. You broke my heart and kicked me to the curb because you didn’t care what I wanted. So now i’m telling you that I don’t care what you want. I want you to stay away from me.”

The image of him walking out of the bathroom felt a lot like the night he walked out of your apartment. The way he slammed the door in your face, leaving you behind with wet cheeks and an ache in your chest that made it hard to breathe. It wasn’t any different from last time, but you were determined to change it from here on out.

You walked out of the bathroom after splashing water on your face, walking straight up to the bar and ordering three shots of tequila. Three shots that Karly watched him place in front of you from her place across the room as panic coursed through her. She shoved Travis to the side and did her best to reach you in time, dragging Joel along with her but it was too late. You had already tipped back two of the shots by the time they got there, and just as they slammed into the side of the bar, you lifted your third in a mock cheer before downing it.

“Let’s go have some fun, yeah?” you grabbed Karly’s hands and pulled her to the middle of the room to dance with you.

Karly wasn’t sure if she should be careful around you, if you had things that you wanted to air out or if you wanted to bury everything. She wasn’t sure exactly what happened with you and Nolan, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to help you. So she let you drink. She made sure that Joel would be ready to take you home when you needed to go, and she let you do almost anything in between.

Joel was the one that cut you off, paying for your tab and pulling you away from a guy you were trying to hustle drinks from in favor of taking you home. He labeled you as gone enough to go home and when he was met with a drunken smile, he knew he made the right decision.

He kept an arm around you when you said goodbye to everyone, and pretended not to notice the way you skipped right over Nolan on your way out. Karly made him promise to call her as soon as he had gotten you home. He let you lean against him on the walk to his car and made sure all of your limbs were safely placed inside before shutting the door.

“You have a good night?” Joel asked about a minute or so into the drive, watching you gaze longingly out of your window. You nodded gently, which was slightly off putting but somehow enough for Joel to stop pushing it.

“She’s so pretty.” Joel’s ears perked up, attention shifting over to you at the sound of your voice. “Great smile, big blue eyes that you can’t help but stare out. Her accent can get annoying but it’s cute in a weird way.”

Joel laughed gently, thinking that your rambling was a drunk confession that his skepticism had been correct, that he had sniffed you out easier than you had expected him to. But then you spoke again, and it took everything in him not to slam on the brakes in the middle of the street.

“Maybe if I had her long blonde hair or her magic touch, he’d want me just as much.” he felt his heart sink into his stomach, realization dawned on him more and more as time progressed.

All this time, he’d been teasing you about the stupid crush he thought you had on Nolan’s girlfriend. He thought the glances and the heavy sighs were directed towards the blonde girl when in all reality, they were directed at his teammate. It made sense, how you and Nolan seemed to start acting strange around the same time. He wouldn’t hear from either of you for hours at a time, when nobody knew where either of you were.

It made sense why you stopped coming to games, why you stopped accepting invitations to go out with everyone. He realized now, that he’d made a big mistake. By thinking that you had a thing for Mackayla, every mere mention of the girl must have brought a sick feeling to your stomach. He mentioned her and Nolan all the time, and had unintentionally hurt you in the process.

“Do you think he would?” you turned toward Joel, hand falling onto his arm while your eyes blurred with a thin layer of tears. He looked down at you, so fragile and small in his passenger seat, and softened. He couldn’t help but think he helped put you in this position, but he could make sure he never did it again.

“I think he’d be an idiot not to love you just the way you are.” you rolled your eyes but the smile that stretched across your lips was enough for him. You shoved him playfully, letting a laugh pass your lips afterwards.

Something twisted in his stomach, seeing you laugh beside him in his passenger seat. You looked beautiful despite the drunken haze and the way your eyes could hardly stay open. It wasn’t the first time Joel had seen you like this but he hoped it wouldn’t be his last either.

“Careful, Beezer. You’re going to get my hopes up.” his heart sank again, the smile slowly fading from your lips before you slipped into a light sleep. He was furious that anybody would hurt you like this, let alone someone that he was so close to. He didn’t know how he didn’t sniff this out sooner, but he was determined to never let it go unnoticed again.

Joel kept a close eye on you then. He made sure not to invite you to things when Mackayla was already set to attend. He kept conversation topics about Nolan in the ‘do not mention’ box, only mentioning him if he was a vital part to the story he was telling. Joel went through your closet and replaced every single Patrick jersey with a Farabee one, claiming that you can’t keep showing up to the games with a simple flyers hoodie that was practically on its last leg.

You noticed the small changes, noticed that Joel was doing his best to keep you out of harm's way. You assumed he must have told Travis enough for him to stop mentioning your alleged crush on Mackayla. One thing you were sure of was the fact that you wouldn’t have made it this far without Joel. He showed up with takeout when he knew you’d gone all day without eating, and put on your favorite movie without asking.

Essentially, he was himself, dialed up to eleven. He made sure you never had to go anywhere by yourself if you didn’t want to. It was clear that Mackayla wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and you were far too close with the rest of the team to let Nolan indirectly stop you from having fun with your friends.

You went into the night thinking that it would be a good stepping stone for you to accept the fact that Mackayla would be around more often whether you liked it or not. You got ready with Karly, pulling on the tight leotard and the bunny ears that matched. It was a ridiculous outfit, but it was worth it when Joel walked into your apartment with his arms outstretched beside him and a pipe hanging from his lips loosely.

“Where’s my bunny?” you wiped a stray tear from your waterline, your laughter tumbling further into an uncontrollable fit. You knew these costumes would be ridiculous but seeing Joel in a velvet robe and a sailor’s hat was far more comical than you originally expected.

“Hi Hughie.” you kissed his cheek gently, heating up the patch of skin unintentionally. You didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on the skin of your exposed thighs, nor did you see the way his eyes followed you when you turned around, back facing him.

“You ready?” you nodded gently and told Travis he did a good job, despite the fact that his and Karly’s prisoner costumes were just orange jumpsuits.

Karly brought her lips close to your ear when Nolan and Mackayla arrived, making a passive comment about how you and Joel looked ten times better than that. It made you think about last halloween, where you ended up leaving Claude’s with Nolan, only to wake up the next morning with a trail of marks down your neck and a mess of makeup you had forgotten to take off before falling asleep.

You shook the thought out of your head, deciding that it wasn’t worth it. You were thankful that Joel stayed close to you all night, eliminating the possibility of you ever being locked in a room with just Nolan and/or Mackayla. He didn’t stop you from tossing back one too many white claws and kept guard in front of the door when you used the bathroom.

He didn’t stop you from standing on a table beside Tk, elbows hooked together while you raced to down your can faster than him. He hip checked Karly when she tried to distract you to give her boyfriend the win, and he grabbed onto both of your thighs when you wobbled on the slightly unsteady surface.

Your hands fell to grab onto his shoulders in an attempt to steady yourself, thankful for the way he had no intention to let you fall. He smiled up at you with a smile that said he knew you were just past the point of being able to keep your balance. You’d lost count of how many white claws you’d been handed throughout the night, but the close eye he kept on you told him how much more you’d be able to handle before the night was over.

Joel wrapped his arms around your legs and lifted you off of the tabletop, only loosening them enough for you to slide down to stand on your feet. When your feet hit the floor, you were painfully aware of how close you were to Joel, feeling his breath fan over your face and struggling to keep your eyes locked on his.

In all the time you’ve known Joel, you’ve never felt the fuzzy feeling that was currently residing in your chest. You’d never thought about your relationship all that much. The two of you spent time together because it felt natural, it was easy to fall into a routine with him without even realizing it. In another world, you’d let Joel break down your walls. You’d probably help him, hammering them down all on your own if it meant that he looked at you like that for the rest of your life.

But this wasn’t a perfect world, and you couldn’t do that. No matter how much you tried to soak in the way that Joel was looking at you, the way he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off of you or pry his hands off of your sides, you were reminded of the fact that he wasn’t Nolan.

You cleared your throat, eyebrows furrowing for just a second before you started tripping over your words. “I, uh-”

“Beezer!” Joel’s hands fell back to his side, eyes snapping up to follow the sound of his name only to find Morgan and Phil beckoning him over in their direction.

“I should uh-”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, go. Don't fall off any tables.” he laughed gently and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before walking past you, leaving you with a burning feeling in both of your hips and now the spot of your temple that was still warm from his lips.

You quickly shook it off by the time that Karly popped up beside you with an unopened white claw, swinging it in front of your face and smiling brightly when you snatched it out of her hold. Unbeknownst to you but not flying under Karly’s radar, was the boy with bright blue eyes and shoulder length hair that had been watching you longer than he should have been.

Karly sent him a firm glare while your back was to him, silently testing him while also warning him. He rolled his eyes, unsure of when she had figured things out or what she had heard. He was sure you told a skewed version of the truth, surely roping Karly into believing Nolan was the spawn of satan. In all actuality, Karly didn’t think that. She thought that the things you told her about Nolan were great, and she knew you deserve someone like that. She did, however, know that you were also hurt by the things that Nolan had been doing and saying recently, and she’ll be damned if she lets him hurt you again.

So she kept an eye on Nolan all night, she made sure that he kept his distance from you while also trying to figure out what was going on between you and Joel. You leaned just a little further into him than you normally would and he seemed to always have a hold on you, whether it be his hands on your hips or an arm thrown over your shoulders.

The first time she could ask about it was when the two of you were dancing, not the only ones in the room but you were surely the only one that could hear her over the music. She wrapped her arms around your neck and brought her lips close to your ear to help drown out the sound to everyone else while also trying to eliminate the possibility of raising suspicion.

“So you and Beezer?” you smiled fondly, not even realizing that a toothy grin spread across your lips at the sound of Joel’s name.

“He’s just my best friend, K.” she rolled her eyes, unconvinced that’s all it was. She casted her eyes over your shoulder, catching the eyes of none other than the boy dressed as Hugh Hefner.

“I’d say the way he’s looking at you right now is not how I look at my friends. It is, however, the way I look at my boyfriend after being teased all night long.” you turned over your shoulder, catching Joel’s eyes with your own. He pushed a smile forward, one that eventually turned into a short laugh before he looked back at Morgan who was talking about something he had lost track of a while ago.

“We’re just friends.” Karly hummed, unconvinced but dropping the subject nonetheless.

If you weren’t thinking about it beforehand, now it would have been impossible to stop thinking about Joel. maybe it was the fact that you could still feel his hands on your hips, or the fact that almost every time you looked at him he was already looking at you. It felt impossible to stop thinking about him, to turn your mind off and stop thinking. It sucked, the dull ache finding its way back to your chest because no matter how much you were thinking of Joel, you couldn’t stop subconsciously looking for Nolan.

The way he didn’t have his arm slung around Mackayla’s shoulders like always brought a whisper of a smile to your face. She was talking to Jake about something that he looked amused over, whether it was the topic of their conversation or her hand gestures that amused him you weren’t sure of. He was hardly looking at her, opting to stare into his cup or up at Travis when he nudged him hard enough to grab his attention.

But then he looked up at you, holding eye contact with you for longer than either of you should have. His knuckles were white, his cheeks tinted red in a way that made you dizzy. You remembered a time when you’d smile at the sight of them, run your fingers over them and probably kiss them softly. Nolan would tell you to leave them alone, to ignore that they were even there but he didn’t mind when they made you smile like that.

It took you back to a time where you could cock your head to the side and ask him to meet you in the bathroom. There’d be rushed kisses and whispered affirmations, words that nobody outside of the two of you were ever going to hear but it didn’t matter because Nolan was the one saying it all to you.

But you couldn’t do that now. You couldn’t meet him upstairs or back at your apartment afterwards. He’d be going home with his girlfriend and you’d be going home alone. It was the harsh fact that you had been trying to accept for months at this point, but it didn’t hurt any less than it did the first time you saw Mackayla and realized that no matter how much you wanted to hate her, you couldn’t.

You took a deep breath and broke eye contact, opting to turn your focus to downing the rest of your drink before walking into the kitchen to grab another. You’d love to say that you were surprised when you heard the door open after you had shut it, but you weren’t. In fact, you’d be surprised if it hadn’t opened.

“Is there something going on with you and Beezer?” you fought back a laugh that sat in the back of your throat. Of course that’s what he cared about. Of course, even after all this time, he was still worried about what you were doing and who you were doing it with.

“Would there be a problem if there was?” you turned over your shoulder, not missing the way he had to peel his eyes off of your backside. Though, you couldn’t blame him for it. You look good in the black leotard and you were sure it wasn’t the first time tonight that he looked at you like that.

“So there is?” you rolled your eyes and turned back to your drink that was practically finished. You took a deep breath and exhaled through your nose, bringing the cup to your lips to take a large gulp of it before you turned back around and made a break for the exit.

“No, Nolan. There’s nothing going on between Joel and I but it’s not exactly your place to grill me if there was.” you went to give him a firm pat on the shoulder but he gripped your wrist lightly, turning you just enough so he could look at you properly.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” the look of confusion mixed with hurt that took over your face filled him with regret. You had never done anything that should have given him the notion that you’d ever lie to him, but he felt the need to ask regardless. Now that he had, he had his answer and he wished he had just kept it to himself.

“Things would be a lot easier between us if I was able to lie to you.” despite the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, there wasn’t enough time for you to explain your words to him before you were walking past him and out of the kitchen.

The alcohol swimming through your system had your eyes burning before the door had even shut behind you and while Nolan didn’t follow you out right after, that didn’t stop Joel from grabbing your hand and tugging you away from the room.

“I was just about to go in. I saw him follow you in there, are you okay?” he could tell you were in a bit of a daze. It was evident in the way your eyes didn’t meet his right away, the way that your breathing was slightly irregular and the way that when you looked up at him, he could tell you were still out of it.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah i’m okay.” he nodded slowly despite the fact that he wasn’t entirely convinced and agreed to dance with you when one of your favorite songs came on.

It felt like the night was never ending at this point. You’re not sure what time it was or how many white claws you had downed, but that was obvious by the way you were stumbling around the Giroux house. Joel hardly trusted you to go to the bathroom by yourself with the way you were stumbling everywhere.

He was persistent in walking behind you up the stairs, holding out his hands to stop you from falling backwards. He wasn’t much more sober than you were, but he was clearly handling it a lot better than you were. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest when he said he was going to wait outside for you, but then he offered to sit on the edge of the tub and while it was far from the thing you should have done, you were certain that you would mess up somewhere if you did it all on your own.

One thing you had forgotten about was the outfit you were wearing, and the fact that you practically had to strip in order to use the bathroom. So, with a low groan and a drunken laugh, you told Joel he had to stand in the shower while you peed, curtain closed and all. He did though, stand in the shower and stare at the tiled walls while he asked you if you were having a good night, all things considered.

When he heard the sink turn on and your voice telling him he could come back out, the shower curtain slid to the side and he stepped back out, a smile gracing his lips when he locked eyes with you in the mirror. He bumped your hip with his gently and gasped when you splashed water at him from the faucet, splashing you back without any hesitation.

“Oh that was a grave mistake, Farabee.” his eyebrows shot up, a silent questioning sitting on the tip of his tongue before he repeated his actions.

Somewhere along teasing comments and a few more splashes, the laughter dulled down and the faucet was turned off. Joel’s eyes were trained on you though, the alcohol in his system lowering his subtlety in the way he raked your body up and down. It wasn’t subtle and it sent a chill down your spine, the fact that he was openly checking you out unapologetically.

He leaned closer, or maybe you leaned closer, it was unclear who made which move first and who was just simply following suit but within mere seconds, your lips were pressed against Joel’s. His hands found the back of your thighs with ease and lifted you up onto the countertop, giving him the ability to press his lips further into yours.

You got caught up in the heat of the moment. The way his lips felt against yours felt so familiar, like you had kissed him in another life. It felt easy and natural, and right. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced, even holding his head in yours while you kissed him back just as feverishly.

You were in a daze until he pulled his lips back from yours and pressed them against the skin of your neck, making a path of his own on the way down to the spot of your neck that met your shoulder. Maybe it was the fact that he settled in an all too familiar spot of your neck, or the way that his hands couldn’t seem to hold enough of you, but you ripped out of the moment. Everything around you started coming back, reminding you of what you were doing in the bathroom of a Halloween party where all of your friends were just downstairs.

“Joel.” you whispered softly, trying to get a firm grip on reality rather than allowing yourself to get lost in the boy that was still nipping and sucking at your skin.

“Yeah baby?” the rasp in his voice sent a shockwave through your body, making your head fall back ever so slightly at the same time a low whine passed your lips.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why’s that?” he switched sides, grabbing the underside of your jaw and turning your head enough to give him access to the other side of your neck.

“Because we can’t Joel. you’re my best friend-”

“Oh bullshit.” he pulled back then, pupils blown out and lips slightly swollen. Red tinted his cheeks and the soft pants rolling past his lips mimicked the way his mind was racing. “Haven’t you heard anyone say that falling in love with your best friend is the best decision you can make?” your heart fell into your stomach, your shoulders slumping at the sound of his question.

Falling in love? You didn’t think Joel was anywhere near in love with you. You’d guess maybe a crush or some surface level feelings but full blown love? There was something holding you back, not allowing you to get to that point with anyone after what you’d been through. You couldn’t just forget about all of it as if it hadn’t happened, as if it didn’t still affect you.

“Say something.” the desperation in his voice killed you, somehow breaking your heart even further. The way his lust clouded vision turned to one of pleading tugged at your heartstrings in a way that had you speaking before you could even think about it.

“I still love him, Bee.” Joel’s head fell then, his hands moving to grip the edge of the counter on either side of you as he tried to catch his breath. “Joel-”

“Don’t bother. I get it. It’s always going to be Patty, right?” he looked up at you, hoping that you’d rush to tell him that’s not what you meant, but that never came.

Instead you bit your lower lip, chewing the anxiety away as you tried to find the words to describe the situation. By the time you could think of anything worth saying, Joel was already turning the knob and slamming the door shut behind him. The sound made you jump just before you leaned back against the mirror, trying to rid yourself of the mess you just made for yourself.

Joel rushed down the stairs in search of something to drink, anything that would save him from his mind. He couldn’t stop replaying it over in his head, the way your hands felt on the sides of his face or locked in his hair. The way your lips felt against his or the way you reacted to his touch. He couldn’t get the sight of your blown out pupils and swollen lips, two things he had caused, out of his head. He couldn’t get you out of his head.

When he found Phil and Morgan passing a flask back and forth, he held his out for it and downed about half of it before Phil tried to swat it away from his lips, noticing something severely wrong with Joel. None of them noticed you jog down the stairs and bolt out back, in search of fresh air and a space where there weren’t many people around.

“You alright Beezer?” Phil asked just before tipping the flask enough to take a swig from it.

“Other than the fact that I may have just fucked everything up, I’m fine.” Morgan realized what he meant first, given that he’d heard Joel talk about you more often than anyone else on the team. Morgan was the one he went to when he couldn’t go to you, this being one of their main conversation topics.

“What did you do?” Joel’s eyes lingered on Morgan for a bit and when he pushed out a heavy sigh to procrastinate the words he was about to say, he only allowed the time for Nolan to walk past him just in time to hear everything he was going to say.

“I think I almost slept with y/n.” Nolan came to a screeching halt behind him, eyes snapping to meet Phil’s who was completely clueless to the tension currently building up.

“You what?” Joel’s neck practically snapped with how quickly he turned over his shoulder, coming face to face with the broody boy who was seething right in front of him.

“Nothing. I uh, that came out wrong.” Nolan didn’t believe him though. With the way Joel was stumbling over his words and avoiding eye contact, Nolan knew there was something worth digging into.

Nolan walked away from the three of them, eyes scanning the room, no doubt in search of you. His fists were clenched and his focus was completely thrown off. He had forgotten about everything else going on around him, everyone else that stood inside of the house.

He saw you through the sliding glass door, a smile sitting on your face that he knew held no weight to it. He knew that whatever Jake was telling you was probably funny, but he knew there were other things on your mind. Both because he knew you well enough to know when something was on your mind but also because he had just heard Joel say that there was something for you to be thinking about.

He yanked the back door open, not caring for a single second if it slammed open or shut, or if it even shut at all behind him. He didn’t care if he was attracting attention to himself or if he was about to accidentally air out a bunch of dirty laundry for not only himself, but you and Joel as well.

“So you’re a liar now?” your head turned at the loud voice calling out to you from the opposite side of the yard, worry and fear intertwining in the back of your mind.

“What are you talking about?” Jake and Claude had forgotten what their conversation was even about by the time Nolan was halfway across the yard, anger clearly written into his expression.

“You fucked Beezer?” your eyes blew wide open, along with the two men at your side that were rudely interrupted by a false accusation.

“No! What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about whatever happened between you and Beezer that you told me was surely not happening.” you rolled your eyes now, more annoyed with the fact that he was digging this deep into something he had no business knowing about rather than the fact that he was yelling at you in front of your families.

“Why do you even care, Nolan?”

“He’s my teammate! How am i supposed to play on a line with him when i know he’s-”

“He’s what?” you stood up now, standing face to face with the boy who was clearly causing a scene. Even the people still standing inside were watching through the door that still hadn’t shut from Nolan’s dramatic exit/entrance.

“He’s touched you!”

“It was just a kiss for fuck’s sake!” Joel wouldn’t admit that his heart sank at the comment. What was ‘just a kiss’ to you was much more to him. It was everything he’d wanted to for as long as he could remember, but he’d keep that to himself too.

“It’s the principle!” his words irritated you. He was irritating you. You’re not sure how it was his business to know, let alone who gave him the right to be mad about it.

“You’re not my boyfriend, Nolan!” he clenched his fists at the fact. He knew that, he was painfully aware of that. All it did was remind him that the girl he wanted more than anything wouldn’t meet him halfway.

“Well that doesn’t mean he can be!”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because i’m still in love with you!” it was bad timing, truly. In theory, someone probably should have stopped her from stepping outside while the two of you were fighting, but nobody did. Nobody stopped Mackayla from hearing everything that Nolan said, everything that he had denied to her for as long as they’d been together, and they didn’t stop her from walking out into the backyard just as her boyfriend was confessing his love for another girl.

You deflated at the sight of her, shoulders slumping when you realized that you were responsible for two people’s heart breaks tonight. Three if you counted Nolan, but you didn’t. He’d been like this for a long time it seemed and while you wanted to fix that, one thing Nolan was right about was the fact that there was too much damage between the two of you to backtrack now.

“You’re in love with her?” Nolan’s eyes fluttered shut at the sound of her voice, mind racing over all the ways he messed up in the past that led to this moment. His girlfriend of x amount of months was now standing behind him, her heart in her stomach and her cheeks wet as she witnessed her boyfriend confess that he was in love with the girl she’d been worried about for the entirety of their relationship.

“Mack.” he whispered gently, turning around to face the girl who had already given up on him. There was no way he could fix this. He had told her too many times to count that nothing had ever happened between you and him. He promised her that you weren’t somebody she needed to worry about, but he told everyone that it seemed. “Mack I didn’t mean to-”

She turned and ran back into the house before Nolan could even finish his thought. While he wanted to turn around and drill into you for fucking up another thing for him, he knew it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything you weren’t allowed to do and he made a mess for himself. He didn’t walk into a mess you built, didn’t try to fix someone who didn’t need fixing, but he did break two girls who deserved the world.

“Good job.” you mumbled to yourself, bumping his arm with your shoulder when you walked past him and tried to follow Mackayla when he made no effort to.

“Y/n-” you spun at the sound of your name, angry tears building up in your eyes at the look on his face, a look that made you feel guilty for something you were more than allowed to do.

“No! You don’t get to berate me. You don’t get to belittle me or tell me that I made a mistake. I’m allowed to do whatever the fuck I want to. You left me, remember? You left me and you told me that I needed to let you be happy. I tried, Nolan. I tried so hard to let you be happy and now you’re screaming at me in front of everybody because of what? Because I might be starting to be happy without you? You don’t get to be angry at me for finding a way to fix myself. Just leave me alone.” by the time you passed by everyone who was looking at the floor rather than up at you, you knew that you should leave anyways.

With your phone in one hand and your shoes in the other, you ran outside and sighed at the relief you felt when you found Mackayla sitting on the curb.

“Mackayla!” you ran down the driveway towards her, wincing at the sight of her glaring harshly at you. “Mackayla I’m so sorry.”

She wiped her cheeks and nose and let out a heavy sigh. In reality, she couldn’t be mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong in her mind and you surely weren’t the one that lied to her. Sure, it wasn’t her first choice to hang out with the girl that inherently stole her boyfriend from her, but she also figured that she had stolen your boyfriend in a way so she guessed that made the two of you even.

“He sucks.” you laughed gently and sat beside her, opening your phone while you plopped down on the curb beside her.

“He does.” you paused for a moment before smiling over at her. “You’re staying with him, aren’t you?” she nodded slowly, realizing that she didn’t have anywhere to go or any of her things. “Well I'm about to order an uber if you want to crash at my place for the night. I’ll answer any questions you want and I’ll help you get your shit from his place in the morning.”

She hesitated, clearly not ready to accept your offer with a wide smile and an open mind. She hardly knew you, and she wasn’t ready to forget about all of the things she was beginning to realize about you and Nolan’s relationship.

But she agreed, because she truly had nowhere else to go. She sat at your dining room table with you in a pair of your sweatpants and a shirt you had promised her was not Nolan’s. She drank your coffee out of one of your mugs and asked you every question that had plagued her over the course of her relationship with Nolan. Not all of them were about you, not even all of them were about Nolan, but you answered them all regardless.

You helped her get her things in the morning from Nolan’s and drove her to the airport when she was able to rebook her flight back home. You apologized ten more times and she waved off every one of them by telling you that you didn’t do anything wrong other than be the love of Nolan’s life, which wasn’t your fault entirely.

Karly was there to help pick up the pieces the best that she could, though it was hard with her not always being in Philly. She tried to fill the space in your life that Joel left when he stopped coming around for movie nights and take out dinners. You fully stopped going to Flyers games, finding no use in showing up to them anymore.

Every call you made was sent to voicemail, every text left unread. You were being shut out, and you couldn’t do anything about it. Travis tried to assure you it wasn’t your fault, you just didn’t notice your best friend falling in love with you because you were trying to fall out of love with his teammate. He told you to just give Joel time, but you were stuck believing that ‘time’ may never have an ending.

So you threw yourself into your work. You submitted projects before their due dates and received positive feedback on just about every portion of them. It was a healthy coping mechanism, a way to shift your focus onto something productive. You did such a good job, in fact, that your boss called you into his office after a few months.

It was nerve wracking, to be called into your boss’s office with no clues as to why. It was even more nerve wracking after you had left and your hands were slightly shaking. The weight put onto your shoulders was unlike any you’d ever experienced, plagues with a decision to make all on your own. It wasn’t a decision you wanted, not one you had even been close to looking for, but it’s one that you got.

It’s one that lingered in the back of your mind for weeks afterwards, still never reaching a decision. The flexible timeline gave you all the time in the world to decide, and your boss wasn’t pushing you in either direction, though you slightly wished he would have.

But then you told Karly about said decision, and the way you watched her face fall told you that she knew what your decision would be. In all actuality, you knew what your decision was. If you were going to say no, you would have by now. You would have denied the offer and stuck with your current life, boring or not.

You were practically tackled the second you stepped foot in Travis’s apartment, his arms thrown around you as he leaned into you just enough to throw off your balance. Phil followed close behind, wrapping you up in his arms and telling you that you weren’t allowed to disappear for that long ever again. Karly’s sideways glance in your direction went unseen to everyone but you, mostly because you silently told her to drop it, given that now was not the time to be talking about this.

But then you felt your heart sink further into your chest with every passing second. It was nice to be around all the people that made Philly feel like home to you, but it made your decision harder. Not because you had to choose which side you were on anymore, but because it made your choice that much harder to accept.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so hard if Joel wasn’t going out of his way to ignore you. The way he ducked out of your way any time he got close to you, or the way he purposefully stood on the opposite side of the room when the only open seat was beside you. You noticed the way he steered clear of you and while you wanted to be upset that you didn’t have your best friend to make these things easier for you, you knew that Joel was doing this for his own good, not to hurt you.

So you found yourself on Travis’s balcony with Karly, your head leaning on her shoulder while you swung a bottle back and forth between your fingers. The sound of the door opening behind you made you turn over your shoulder, eyes locking with the same pair of blue eyes that you knew you’d have to face at some point.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Karly whispered gently before standing up and ducking back inside.

Nolan closed the door this time, making it a habit in everything he did nowadays. He sat beside you, his knee knocking into yours gently. He didn’t know what to say to you, didn’t know how to apologize for all of the things he had put you through. The two of you had something beautiful once, you’re not sure when it turned itself upside down but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when things were about to change so drastically. Maybe not for him, but definitely for you.

“I’m shocked your lap dog’s not out here.” you rolled your eyes, finding it ridiculous that you thought he would start this conversation on a positive note.

“Why don’t you sit there and i’ll sit here and we can keep to ourselves until one of us wants to go back inside.” he sighed, like he regretted starting off on the wrong foot.

“We can’t even try to be nice to each other?” you turned to him then, giving him a look he hadn’t seen in a long time. It reminded him of times where you’d let the stress from school and work pile up, when you looked at him with an exhaustion that he couldn’t help. It was how you looked right before you stress cried, right before you’d normally turn into his chest and unload everything you’d been holding on to for far too long.

“I’ve tried being nice to you. I’ve tried letting you live your life but the second I started doing that, you stopped letting me live mine. I think you only want me to be happy if you’re the one that’s making me happy and that’s fucked. I lost my best friend over it. I lost the love of my life. It feels like I'm losing everything and I'm starting to think this isn’t the place I need to be anymore.” the latter part of your rant slipped without you even realizing it.

“What are you saying?” you shook your head, chewing on the side of your cheek and deciding not to dive into. Nolan didn’t care, and he was not the person you needed to be talking to about these things.

“Nothing. Forget about it.”

“Y/n. You’ve never been good at opening up but you’re clearly struggling. I know I'm not your first choice right now but I'm the only one that’s here. There was a time when I was your go to person for this sort of thing. So just tell me, what are you talking about?” you stared at him, hesitation evident in the way you were chewing on your tongue.

He was right, though. At one point, he was the person you called when things went wrong. He was the one you unloaded things onto at the end of the day when he asked what was worrying you. You told him your problems, shared your demons with him. If there was anybody who knew how you got when things were ruining you from the inside out, it was Nolan.

“I got a promotion.” a small smile spread across his lips, excitement and pride filling his chest. He always supported your work ventures, and he knew that they were crazy to ever think that you wouldn’t be their top employee sooner or later.

“Y/n that’s great.” you shook your head slowly, heart deflating in your chest before you pushed out the vital information that he hadn’t been looking for.

“It’s in Vancouver.”

He didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he wanted to say no. no, you can’t go to Vancouver. No, you can’t leave Philly behind. No, they don’t need you up there, they need you down here. He wanted to grovel, to fall to his knees and to beg you to stay. Stay in an apartment that he knew like the back of his hand, stay in a city where he knows you’re never too far. He wanted to say that moving to Vancouver was crazy and you’d regret it before you even had time to settle in.

But he couldn’t do that, because the other half of him was louder and logical. You deserved the promotion, deserved the raise that came with it despite where the job was. Nolan knew that Philly held things that you wanted to forget about, reminded you of times in your life that were only painful to think about at this point. You didn’t want to be here anymore, that much Nolan could tell. If you didn’t want to be here, you shouldn’t have to be.

“I think that would be good for you.” it was hard for him to say, tasting just as vile as it was to think about you going to another city.

Would you go to Canucks games? Would he have to see you dressed in blue and green rather than orange and black? Would you start hanging out with the Canucks roster like you did with the Flyers or would you avoid hockey completely? Maybe you’d date one of their players or maybe you’d make sure that anybody even remotely affiliated with hockey stayed far away from you. He didn’t know what the future held for you, but he hoped it was filled with joy and relief from the things you’d endured in Philly.

It hurt you to hear him say it just as much as it hurt him to say it. You could see that there were more thoughts swimming through his mind, that he wasn’t telling you everything he was thinking. Part of you wanted him to beg you to stay, to say that he was single now and everyone knew about the two of you anyway. You wanted him to say that maybe one more shot would finally do the trick, but you knew he wouldn’t and you knew that jumping back into anything with Nolan was far from a good idea.

Then there was Joel. Joel who had feelings for you that you never got the chance to hear about. There was a place for you and Joel, you knew that, but you thought it was unattainable. To be with Joel after everything between you and Nolan, it’d be a catastrophe. There wasn’t a possibility of you going back to being best friends, not when he had feelings for you that weren’t unrequited. You could pour your heart out to Joel, could tell him that you could see yourself falling in love with him if he was willing to be patient with you. But you couldn’t do that either. Not when you had finally come to the conclusion that you needed to move to Vancouver in order to put yourself back together.

That didn’t stop you from looking over your shoulder though, gazing at the boy who was impossible to rid your mind of. His smile made your heart clench, the way his head tilted back and his eyes screwed shut behind his glasses. He was beautiful in every sense of the word and while you loved the sound of a world where the two of you fell in love with zero complications, you knew that you were holding onto false hope.

“You should tell him. I don’t doubt he’ll show up on your doorstep in Vancouver if you don’t.” you laughed gently and turned back to face Nolan, hardly aware of when you had turned away from him. He wore a gentle smile, one that told you that even if you took this step, he would still be here for you. Maybe not in the ways that you previously needed him to be, but there was always room for building a new foundation.

“I will in a bit.” you whispered gently, sinking into your seat and lying your head on Nolan’s shoulder.

You’d miss this; he noisy bunch inside right behind you, the skyline you could see from Tk’s balcony. You’d miss the feeling of being close to Nolan, if only having your head on his shoulder while you sat in silence. You’d miss excitedly running into his apartment with new song recommendations, or him sending you a short playlist he made on the road for you. You’d miss waking up in the middle of the night to him tossing and turning until you brought him painkillers and a tall glass of water.

You’d miss Joel slamming his way into your apartment with a bright smile that meant he was having a dangerous thought. You’d miss the times you’d bring his back to the rink when he forgot it at home, or the way that he brought you lunch on days when you were too busy to send him a simple text that told him you were okay. You’d miss lying your head in his lap and looking up at him with nothing but love in your chest.

You’d miss going to Flyers games and watching your friends do the thing they loved most. You’d miss watching Joel score insane goals that you were always unsure of how he made them. You’d miss wearing Nolan’s Flyers paraphernalia and splitting snacks with Karly.

You’d miss it all, but you had to go. You had to go for you, because Philly isn't home anymore. It would always hold a special place in your heart, but so would all of the people in it. And you knew you needed to lead all of them behind as well.

Even the ones with bright blue eyes that would be burned into your memory for the rest of your life.

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Welcome To The Family (6/???)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / here

Yandere EraserMic household x reader

Fun fact- Tadao was a sudden decision I made up on the spot after chapter 3 and wasn’t expecting to really make him a character other than a mentioned person with a mold/fungus quirk. I did though, and already love him as an OC more than I should. Oops. 

It might be a long while before the next chapter. I think I may have drained myself a bit from focusing on this story so much. 

Warnings- swearing, slight coercion I think? Not really sure but better safe than sorry. 

I promise the darker stuff is coming soon. 

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

I wake up to someone calling me. Hitoshi? Why is he calling me at… 9 in the morning? Come on dude, I want to sleep more for dinner tonight. My fault for hanging out with Tadao a bit later last night than usual. He’s started walking with me to our apartment for the past few days. I wonder why we haven’t hung out until now. Meanwhile, Ryo and I seemed to drift apart. They refuse to even look at me now when I saw them last night. 

Ugh, might as well answer it. “Hey, Hitoshi. You need something?” I tiredly slur from just waking up. 

“Sorry for waking you…” Apologized the familiar voice of Eri. Wait, Eri? Why does she have Hitoshi’s phone? The wonder why she has his phone wakes me up a bit more. 

“Oh, hey, Eri. Is something wrong?” A slight panic enters me in the possibility something bad could have happened to one of the guys. “Wait, is everyone okay?” 

“We’re good. Just wanted to talk a bit with you before tonight.” Pipes up the familiar voice of Hitoshi in the background. 

Relief floods me. “That’s good. What about?” 

“Our dads!” Eri cheerfully informs. 

My eyes narrow in confusion. “What about them?” 

“What do you think of them?” Hitoshi asks. Huh? Why does this need to be talked about now? Maybe because more likely than not the two adults are asleep, and won’t hear the conversation? 

I’m too tired to be filtered right now, so whatever comes to mind is whatever is going to be said. “They’re… An interesting two, to say the least. Hizashi seems like someone I can rely on to cheer me up pretty easily if I’m ever down, and after that day Shouta was sick, I realize Shouta’s secretly a lot more caring than he lets on. Still wouldn’t want to pi- anger him.” Ugh, it’s too early. I nearly just swore with Eri there! Well, saying “piss him off” wouldn’t have been that bad, but she needs to keep that innocence at least for a while yet. 

Hitoshi laughs, probably catching on with what I almost said. “Seen it first-hand with his class. Can’t say I recommend it either.”

“What about looks?” Eri suddenly asks, catching me off-guard. What do their looks have to do with anything? They’re also a married couple, so whatever I think is invalid anyways. 

“Well, had this weird thought of wondering what Hizashi would look like with his hair fully down when we went to the festival, but that’s really not something that I need to tell him. It’s something I probably shouldn’t be wondering in the first place.”

“What’s the problem in wondering that? It’s just hair.” 

“Says the one who always looks like he stuck his head out a car window and hair decided to stay that way.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” 

I go back onto the topic. “Otherwise, I’m not really sure what to talk about with them. It’s their choices of what they wear. Though it IS pretty funny imagining Hizashi forcing Shouta to wear something he normally wouldn’t.”

“It’s happened more than once before.” 

I tiredly let out a laugh. “I believe it.”  

“Daddy made him wear a dress!” 

An almost inhuman sound comes out of me at the thought of Shouta deeply frowning with a strapless hot pink dress forced onto him, and the only reason he does it is Hizashi would probably keep pestering him otherwise. 

“Maybe sometime we could get him to do it again with you here. It’s quite a thing to see.” 

“Oh, really? How did he not kill you for laughing?”

“He almost did,” he replies jokingly. 

“If he tries to attack me when I’m there, you’re taking the blow.” I joke back. 

He goes silent for a moment. “He wouldn’t dare. If he did, he’d have an angry little girl scolding him.”

“Toooshiiii!”

“What? You know I’m right.” 

“Hmph.” 

“Anyway, want to tell them what you’ll wear?”

“No! It’s a surprise!”

“Right back at you two,” I inform the slightly bickering duo.

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

We both hung up after a bit more of talking about tonight. I could swear there was someone talking in the background for a second, but I brushed it off as the T.V. Eri was probably watching something earlier and forgot to lower the volume. 

After playing on my computer for a while since it’s close to my bed, I decided to just get up and get ready. There are not many fancy things I have, so it’s quite limited on what to wear. Hopefully, they don’t mind if it’s a bit more casual than fancy. There’s plenty of time to shop for something, but I’m honestly too lazy to go anywhere. Just something of my favorite color and slightly more fancy than my daily clothes should work. 

I have to dig much deeper into my closet to find said clothing from not wearing it too often. 

One of my favorite color is grabbed. Nope, that’s not it. 

I move a few more. Wait, there it is! I move a few more pieces of clothing and grab it, pulling it out. Hopefully, it still fits. Welp, time to try. I take off my pajamas. 

.

.

.

.

Like a glove. Perfect! 

Just to make sure there are no new forgotten holes or something, I look at myself in my body mirror. Huh, I actually look pretty good in this! I might have to wear it more often. Something feels like it’s missing though. Maybe a ring or something would help? 

I look over to the select few rings I have, including the forgotten one Ryo gave me. My heart slightly twinges at remembering they gave it as a best friends type of ring years ago. A ring with real blue topaz fitting my middle finger. 

Might as well wear it. I slip it on and decide to leave my room, though they won’t be here for a while yet. Maybe Tadao will be around. 

My body instinctively starts looking around for the familiar- oh, not again. Does he LIKE sleeping on the floor in the hall or something? I walk up to his sleeping form. I gently nudge him to move with my foot. 

He groans, and curls his head deeper onto his arm, also bringing his legs up so he’s a ball. “Come on dude, I know your quirk is related to mold and all, but you’re not supposed to BECOME it.” 

“I am one with the floor… I shall be the floor…” He mumbles, probably sleep talking.  

I nudge him harder, making him open his eyes to look up at me. “Heyyy Y/N. What time is it?” He sluggishly asks. 

I check my phone. “Already half-past noon.” 

That got his attention. Both of his eyes snapped open as he shot to sit up. He grabs his rather cracked phone and looks at it. There are a few messages on the screen without him unlocking it. They’re impossible to read as he seems frantic after looking at them. “Already!? Man, I gotta get ready! I’ll be late for work!” 

I don’t even get the chance to ask him anything since he gets to his feet and sprints off past my door, probably to his. 

Glancing at Ryo’s door, the thought of checking on them arises. No, they’re deciding on acting out like this. Crawling to them could only continue this childish way again at some point. Ugh, what to do now though? It will be boring to just sit around for the next few hours. The park could be good for a few hours. 

The villains around though? Nah. Welp, more computer time.

Familiar brown hair in the corner of my eye catches my attention before returning to my door. It’s the woman that glared at me with Hizashi at the studio. What’s she doing around here? Never saw her around before, and she doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to like parties. Funny if she’s attracted to Hizashi like he told me. 

She keeps her glare on me as she… Knocks on Ryo’s door? Oh hell no. There’s no way Ryo is hanging out with someone like that. I’m proven wrong though as Ryo opens the door and pulls them in without looking at me. 

I- What? What’s going on lately?

Also, okay, what the ever-loving fuck Ryo!? 

Calm down, give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the woman hasn’t told Ryo anything about my work, and maybe it can just be a sudden meeting they did at one point, and it’s an opposites attract type of friendship. After all, I haven’t really been around. They were bound to try to find someone else to hang out with I suppose. Should this be a concern to bring up with Hizashi and Shouta though? 

I stand there still staring at Ryo’s door and blink confusedly. They couldn’t have found anyone better to hang out with? Even a villain would have been better than her in my opinion. Sure, more trouble from me being around two- basically three- heroes could arise, but I’d be willing to keep that kind of secret for them. But this? This gives me a bad feeling.

What if she’s the reason Ryo is acting so odd? 

Next Sunday will be the day to get some answers from them. If they will talk to me, that is. 

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

Time seems to slip by while being on my computer. My phone notifies me of a text message. I look at it to see it’s from Hizashi. 

“Hitoshi’s coming in to get ya! We’re waiting!” My eyes widen noticing it’s already past six at night. 

I try to text him ASAP to not let Hitoshi come in. They won’t be happy with my living place. “That will be fine, call him off. I’ll be out shortly.” 

“Too late! Sorry!” 

I sigh. He doesn’t even know which one mine is! I put my computer away and quickly left. Looking left and right, there’s familiar purple hair far down on the right. Obviously, it’s Hitoshi. He is staring with great disgust at the peeling walls and ripped-up flooring.  Oh boy, it’s probably a disaster with what is about to happen in the vehicle now. 

The hallway is rather dimly lit now, making it slightly hard to see, but it’s easy to tell he’s wearing a suit matching his eye color. I’m feeling pretty underdressed now. 

“Hey, Hitoshi. You could have waited outside. Uh… You probably should have no offense.” 

He glares at a piece of wall that falls off onto the floor. “How do you live in this?” 

I shrug. “Eh, you get used to it,” I noticed his frustrated expression. He’s about to ask me why I don’t move or something since I clearly could with my pay. “And before you say anything, I rather like it here. It’s where a lot of my closest friends are.”   

His eyes narrow at me. “You could still visit instead of living here.” 

Someone jumps upstairs, making the place shake, and a piece of the ceiling on this level chips off and falls next to the wall piece on the floor. 

“That’s new,” I comment. It’s true, the ceiling has never fallen before. Makes me wonder when this whole building is going to collapse. Bit worried for my friends here now.

Hitoshi looks at me like I just told him the world is going to end tomorrow. 

I start walking to the exit, having Hitoshi follow behind me too closely for my taste. Makes sense if he’s doing it for my protection, but he obviously doesn’t know these people as I do. He almost could be felt against my back. “You mind standing back a bit? You’re rather close.”

He does, but just barely. 

It doesn't take long for us to get to the vehicle. Just like before, I get in the center and hug Eri. The slight light in the car makes it hard to see her dress, but I'm pretty sure it's a bright silverish blue. The light wasn't on long enough to notice the two up front. 

They do seem to notice Hitoshi in a slightly on edge type of way. For the moment the light was on. 

"What's wrong, little hypno-man?" 

"Their apartment is not fitting to live in."

"What?" Hizashi's tone almost drastically changes. I'm glad I can't see them right now. I focus on the scenery past Hitoshi to try ignoring the growing unease of him whistleblowing to them. 

"It's falling apart. A part of the wall fell to the floor. The inside is much worse than the outside." 

"Why are you still living there? You can easily move with the money we give you." Shouta pipes up. 

"Because I like living there. It's a walking distance from your place, and all my friends are there."

"You could visit them some other time if you moved. We'd pay a bus for you if needed." 

"Exactly! Or I could drive ya to our place! It wouldn't be a problem, and it would give me a little somethin' to do while the grump wakes up in the morning!" 

I don't feel comfortable at the thought of having to rely on them like that. They're already so busy themselves, it really wouldn't be fair to them despite what they say. 

“Uh… no. Thanks for the offer, but my place is good for now.”

The air is rather tense, telling me that they want to push more on the subject, but decide not to for now. 

I decided to bring up what happened earlier.  “Remember that bad woman from before?”

“You mean Chiyo?” Shouta spits her name with such hate, someone would think he’d murder her if he could. Hizashi must have told him about our meeting in his studio. Wait, Isn’t that a first name?

As if reading my mind, Hizashi answers for Shouta. “She doesn’t deserve the respect of last name. What about her?” 

“I discovered today she might be hanging out with one of my closest friends that doesn’t seem to be too happy with me lately. Isn’t it a bit of a concern she might tell them that I babysit for you guys?” 

“That’s confidential information. Like it was said to you before you started, you can’t tell anyone our identities. They can get into serious trouble if they do, and they signed a contract accepting they wouldn’t.” Shouta replies. 

“That’s good to know.” I say, sounding relieved. They could be told how Ryo thinks they’re bad parents for me babysitting so often, but that’s something that probably doesn’t need to be brought up. Especially if she can’t tell Ryo about it. 

Hizashi pulls up and parks in front of the restaurant we must be dining in. wait- fuck, I’ve heard of this place. It’s one of the most expensive restaurants around here! We exit and enter the restaurant. The first thing I noticed was how well-dressed the two men were. Shouta was wearing a navy blue suit, white undershirt, and a light brown tie. Oddly, he’s also wearing glasses. When did he need glasses? 

Hizashi was wearing a cream-colored suit with a dark grey undershirt and a tie matching his eye color. Looking at the four of them and the others around, I am… severely underdressed. Doesn’t feel much better with everyone that stares at me from their tables for a moment. 

Wait- Hizashi’s. Hair. Is. Fully. Down. I whip my head towards Hitoshi and glare in betrayal. 

He notices with a smirk, and puts his hands in front of himself in mock-defense. “Don’t look at me. He was there then, just didn’t speak.” 

My eyes narrow. “So it really WASN’T the T.V.” Seriously though!? That’s so embarrassing! He must have heard everything! 

Him and Hizashi chuckle at me, making me feel worse.

A woman comes up from the counter. “Please tell me the name of your reservation.” 

“The Aizawa’s.” Um… I’m not exactly a part of this family? Well, it does make sense though I guess just to do a last name. Hizashi smirks at Shouta while he glares in return. 

“Right this way please.” She starts to lead the five of us to a table farther in the back. The enormous chandeliers overhead from the really tall ceiling are slightly intimidating if I’m to be honest. Each crystal is taller than Hizashi from the top of his hair in his hero costume to his feet. 

The white and gold walls of the place give a surprisingly calming type of effect. It’s rather cool in here as well. Probably to help combat the ones who wear layers of clothes to be more fancy or something.  

“You couldn’t have chosen anything else?” Shouta hisses quietly enough for the woman not to hear, but I’m close enough that I can. I’m right between them from behind while Hitoshi and Eri are behind me. I can swear Hitoshi keeps trying to nudge me forward closer to them. 

“Aw, don’t worry ‘bout it babe! Besides, you and I both know you’re known much less than me! This way they won’t know us!” He leans even closer to Shouta. “And don’t deny it, you know you like the thought of me bein’ called an Aizawa~” 

I can see red start to cover the side of Shouta’s face even though he tries his best to hide and prevent it. Ha! Now he’s the one to be embarrassed! 

I let out a chuckle, making Hizashi turn and give me a toothy grin. 

We get to a table with booth seats. The color of them is surprisingly similar to Eri’s dress. 

I go to sit with Hitoshi and Eri, but like before, Hizashi grabs my wrist and has me sit between him and Shouta. Why do you keep doing this to me dude!? Shouta is on my right by the wall with Hizashi on my left by the opening. 

Eri is sitting by the wall with Hitoshi by the opening in front of us. I didn’t notice before, but her dress has some candy apple red jewels the shape of diamonds, adorning the dress even more than it already was. Must be new since it’s never been seen by me before.  

… I don’t like the closeness of the two men beside me again. Saying it is uncomfortable is an understatement. A difference than before is the heat of their thighs radiating through their pants onto mine. 

The woman hands us menus. “Someone will be here to take your orders shortly.” 

I try to brush them off while looking at the menu. 

“Hey Y/N, are ya datin’ anyone?” 

“Maybe.” They don’t need to know I’m not. 

“That’s a yes or no question.” Shouta states with slight annoyance. He must have forgotten I told him I’m not the day he was sick.  

“They better not be a villain. We’d hate to have to do something to you and them. Better be honest, you’re not looking the best right now.” Hitoshi accuses. 

What the heck Hitoshi!? You’re just going to turn on me like this!? Why I ought to come over there and smack the back of your head myself! 

My saving grace as the waiter comes- Tadao!? This is where he works!? He comes up to our table with a notepad in front of him. "Hello, I’m Ito, and I’ll be your waiter for tonight. What can I get you started with?” 

“Tadao, you work here?” 

His head snaps up from the notepad, and looks at me. “Oh hey, Y/N!” His face becomes a smirk. “What happened to calling me glowstick?” 

“Well, you’re not really glowing right now in this light, are you?”

“Ha, you got me there.” 

The three men look between us with some look I don’t really understand. 

“Ya know each other?” 

“You could say we’re close.” Tadao informs. They grow rather deep frowns at the news.

He clears his throat and brings his notepad up. “What drinks could I start you guys with?” We each tell him our drinks and he writes them down. “All right, drinks coming right up!” He leaves to go get them. 

“He’s one of the reasons I don’t move out of my apartment. Especially now. We’ve become really close recently.” 

“You should stay away from him. He seems like bad news.” Hitoshi informs. 

??? huh? “Why, do you know he has a villain record or something?” 

“He could be using you. Stay away from him or we might have to make sure he doesn’t do anything.” 

Okay, THAT pisses me off. “First of all, you guys can’t tell me who I can and can’t hang out with outside of babysitting hours. Second of all, I’d really appreciate it if you guys could be less judging of him, because he has never done anything even slightly villainous whenever we met.” My slightly edged tone makes them back off the topic. I wanted to add third of all being he walks with me at night to our apartment place, but that seems like a bad idea if their reaction is this so far. 

It grows awkwardly silent between us all for a moment. Maybe I should have kept the others to myself too, but damn it, they need to have more respect for my decisions they were never a part of, and have no need to be a part of. 

Tadao comes with our drinks. He places them down, and Hizashi immediately takes a big drink of his.

“Here you guys go, and one drink for one special person.” He jokingly winks at me. 

I roll my eyes in response. “Sometimes I truly wonder if I hate you.” I tease.

He rolls his eyes in return. “Admit it, you know you love me.”

Hizashi chokes on his drink. I don’t help him from still being a bit upset. He should be fine anyways after a bit. 

He does, and is able to manage keeping his quirk down as well. 

“Do I?” I question teasingly. 

The three men glare at him. Sheesh, what’s their problem? 

He seems rather uncomfortable by it and leaves in a rush immediately after taking our orders. After I almost had a heart attack from the beyond insane prices, of course. Even the cheapest thing is over half the money I’m given a day for babysitting. 

I’m getting pretty upset with these guys right now. Starting to wonder if they got hit with some odd quirk again or something. 

That calms me down a bit since it would kind of make sense that’s why they’re acting odd. How long will it last though? Better not be long. I don’t know if I can handle them like this without losing my mind. 

“Hey, Y/N. We have something for you,” Hitoshi pipes up, and nods towards Hizashi. 

“Right!” He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a… necklace? It has my favorite type of jewel in it, encased behind and around the edges with what looks like real gold. A different shine is on it, like something is covering the gold to prevent it from easily being destroyed by weather or wear. The shape is in a rather large teardrop. It looks custom-made as well. Never seen anything even close to what this looks like before. 

“It’s a gift!” Eri cheerfully chimes in.

“That she helped us pick for you.” Shouta informs. 

Please don’t tell me it’s authentic. It looks real though. I can’t even begin to imagine the price of what it must have cost to create it if it is real. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this! It feels too much like I’m just using you guys if I do!” 

The three of them frown. Even Eri seems a bit disappointed. 

Eri asking me my favorite jewel kind of makes sense now, but why would they want to give this to me? 

“C’mon, let’s put it on ya!” He hands it over to Hitoshi and stands up, pulling me to stand up with him. Hitoshi stands as well. 

“Did you guys not hear me? I- I can’t accept it!” 

Hizashi shakes his head. “Don’t be so worried, dear little lovesong! We want you to have it! Ya can’t just say no, we spent too much for it to go to waste now!” 

Hitoshi goes behind me with the necklace and is able to put it on while I’m still rather reluctant to accept such a gift.

Eri’s eyes almost seem to sparkle when the clasp gets shut on it. “You look amazing!”  

I freeze in my tracks to notice everyone is staring at us yet again. This time with slightly different reactions. A couple of them seem to be with envy, making me want to shrivel up and hide in a hole, and others seem to be appreciative I have something more expensive than my clothes now or something.  

At least Shouta seems to give me mercy by pulling me back down in the booth and glaring at them all in such a way that they all stop staring. I’m feeling a bit like a ragdoll at this point. 

Hitoshi joins him, making sure they truly stop. The glare combined of those two could probably curdle the blood of All Might himself. 

The restaurant seems to grow quiet between all of us. 

I decide to escape by using the bathroom. Hizashi didn’t have time to sit back down before it was necessary. “Stay here, it won’t take me long.” They still seem reluctant to let me go alone. 

Getting to the bathrooms, I didn’t have to go, just wanted to get out of the stares and whispers for a little bit. Despite the men’s glares, of course there was still going to be gossip of someone in here who looks so out of place. 

“Hey, Y/N, be careful around them, alright? They’re pretty strange.” Pipes up the familiar voice of Tadao behind me. 

I play dumb. He probably shouldn’t know I know they must have been hit with some kind of quirk. “How do you know? They could just be being cautious since their children are with.”

“I admit, I did watch you a bit at the festival. More so the men you were with when they came. Something about them isn’t... “ He seems to be struggling with figuring out how to explain it. “It’s wrong. I just can’t quite put my finger on what it is. Again, just be careful, alright?” 

I just nod and enter the bathroom. 

A bit after cooling off, I go back to the dinner table, them all still waiting and chatting about school. Well, Shouta being nearly silent as usual. Hizashi quickly stands up to let me sit between them again. Ugh, I really don’t want to. 

Yet I do, just to be kind. The least I can do is sit through this since they went through the effort of such a gift, even though to me it seems highly unnecessary. 

Tadao comes with our food not much later with a secret frown on his face. He’s smiling, but I’ve learned him well enough by now it’s worry he has instead of a cheerful personality. It slightly drops to reveal his true emotions when he notices the guys glaring at him yet again. He doesn’t say a word, just drops all of the food off and leaves. 

This feels like a really ruined dinner, even though this food is incredibly good. The atmosphere has definitely become shit. I seem to be the only one to notice. Hizashi looks over towards me and gives me another grin, not giving much comfort. What’s worse is every time I stop for a moment and rest my hand on my lap, Shouta seems to try to grab it. It led me to just keeping the utensil for my dinner in my hand. 

I’ll have to apologize to Tadao for their behavior tomorrow. Easier said than done since I still can’t exactly tell him who they are. Cursed contract. 

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taglist-

@dabi-s-whore, @angelicblackwolf, @fuegy-fuegy   

Double fun fact- Did you know slapping someone’s back if they’re choking is actually worse than letting them try to get it out themselves, especially if it’s food? The food can actually get lodged deeper in their throat at the impact. Huh, First Aid is quite interesting.