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felibrary · 2 months

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╭──╯PAIRING: aventurine x fem!reader

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: Out of everyone this could’ve happened to, of course, it struck you. As a barista, you meet new customers every day but a fateful encounter with a stupid(ly handsome) stranger, turns into two and three and to the point of no return, and somewhere along the way catching yourself faltering for his persistent charms annoyance.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

CONTENT & GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, barista!reader, cursing, light angst if you squint, fluff, march is the n1 shipper, vague mentions of ratio, banter and bickering (more from readers side), no beta-read we die like baiheng

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the last chapter was posted like 2 weeks ago? i think not sure. sorry guys i just had no motivation in the previous few weeks at all 😭😭 but here it is, enjoy! also just cause this took super long to write doesn't equal it being super good 😓

ART CREDITS: none of the characters or art belong to me all art credits go to @/kkuekkue on x!

TAGLIST: @azullumi,@sunananaa, @milksnake-tea, @iceunhie, @nayukiyukihira, @jjzlisu, @raideneiari (if you want to be added to the tag list write a comment or send me an off anon ask! ^^)

PREVIOUS || MASTERLIST || NEXT

“Order for uh.” you abruptly stop your sentence. Furrowing your brow in confusion you look at the questionable name that is written on the paper cup that you’re currently holding in your hand. Your gaze drifts over to the barista behind you. “March..” you whisper through gritted teeth, trying to maintain a smile while pausing for a brief moment to study the face of the girl with the cotton candy-like hair.

The short girl hums quietly, “What is it?” she tilts her head to the side, a milk-frothing pitcher in her right hand, almost empty. “And why are we whispering?” admittedly you’re not even sure yourself, after all, people come up with silly names all the time, so why are you refraining from saying this name out loud?

“Well, I'm whispering because I don't want the other customers to listen into our conversation, but, are you sure that you wrote the right name here?” you ask the girl behind you doubtfully before directing your view towards the letters that were written in cursive and were adorned by little stars and flowers drawn by none other than March.

The '*•.¸♡𝓐𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓮 ♡¸.•*' which she wrote in cursive (and if you may add, kind of crooked) made you raise your eyebrows as you held the cup in front of her face for her to see.

She always had a habit of drawing cute smiley faces or hearts onto the cups, reasoning it by saying that it’d sweeten the customers' day. Although you’re not sure if that’s really necessary, their day probably already gets sweetened enough from the amount of sugar and sweetener March puts into the drinks.

She huffs, feigning hurt and acting offended by your question “If you want to suspect someone, blame her!” March’s eyes drift over to the silver-haired girl who is currently sitting next to the trash can near the staff rooms, playing video games and thus blocking the way: Stelle.

The girl in question quickly lifts her head and just smiles sheepishly as if not knowing what’s going on right now. “She’s the one who gave me the receipts and told me the names before you took over, I just added the condiments and started creating cute latte art!.” you sigh at that. Well, whoever gave Stelle their name will probably be able to recognize it sooner or later anyway.

The worst case scenario that could probably happen is the customer putting their hands on the counter and starting to scream and yell at you to the point where their spit lands in your eyes. Urging to talk to your manager: Pompom. If the customer would see them the customer would probably start scolding you for bringing out the mascot instead of the manager, leaving the shop and giving you zero stars on Maps. (definitely not talking from any former experiences.) Yeah, hopefully, that won’t happen.

You let out a throaty cough before loudly shouting once again “Order for Aventurine!” you really wonder whose mom named their kid after a quartzite stone now — hell, if you let your guard down, the next person who you’d have to call up is someone named Ashleigh or Jonaslian.

What’s up with women who are only maybe one or two decades older than, and their obsession with horrible baby names?

“Hellooo” the o of the greeting gets dragged out by the owner of the sing-song voice. “Earth to the cashier.” The next thing you know is a hand that is covered in a black leather glove, waving at your face, moving in a repetitive up-and-down motion. The gesture makes you snap out of the haze which you were in, and slightly shake your head, before looking up at the customer and getting a good glance at them.

In front of you stood possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen. Blond silky hair and was dressed in a crisp black waistcoat that was draped around his slim torso, wearing a turquoise button-up underneath it that was adorned with gold decorations around his collar. His tie that matched his waistcoat was adjusted perfectly so that it sat in the right place. Black leather gloves envelop his slender fingers.

The last time you were enamored by someone was when you were 9 reaching 10, and seeing Asami Sato bumping into Mako with her motorcycle on TV for the first time made you fall head over heels in love with her. That woman had younger you in a chokehold.

You feel your body tensing and heating up slightly. Fuck, has it always been this warm here? Your eyes sway over to the air conditioner behind you. No, that can't possibly be it, you made sure that the A/C was on the highest level before opening the cafe.

The blond in front of you raises his eyebrow and looks at you expectantly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his eyes shift over your face as if studying your expression. There’s amusement that settles onto his face — smugness would be the best word to describe it.

Shit, there was no way he found out that you were fawning over him.

“Take a picture. It lasts longer sweetheart.” he shoots you a small wink and you’re not sure whether to feel impressed or horrified at the fact that he was able to read you as easily as an open book where the most important words are already highlighted in a bold colour.

So you remain silent — speechless, to be precise. There’s a familiar feeling bubbling up in your chest, one that makes you all giddy and nervous. How can someone whom you never met enarmour you so much? It’s weird, but it’s weirder that it feels all too familiar. Suspicion arises within you.

“Hmm?” Aventurine — or whatever his name may be, tilts his head to the side, a questioning and innocent expression manifesting on his face that it almost makes him look like a young boy who still has to grasp the concepts of the many fundamentals of the world.

“Spacing out already? Am I that handsome?” Yeah, keyword: almost.

It takes a second to compose yourself again before speaking up again. “Yeah.” Your eyes form into crescent moons as you give him a small faux smile (how March likes to call it: your customer service smile) before your face contorts into an expression of unpleasantness “No, in your dreams Mister. Also please hurry up, you’re holding up the line.” You point behind him and he angles his head backwards to see..no one?

“There’s no one there.” This time it’s him who looks unimpressed, a deadpan expression gracing over his features and you do have to admit that he looks kind of cute with that expression. Oh god, what were you thinking? “You know you’ll have to do better than try to tri-”

Before he can even finish his sentence you quickly cut him off. “With cash or with card?” Your customer service smile from before finds its way onto your face once more. “Miss, you’re so cruel! You didn’t even let me fini-” “I repeat. With cash or with card?”

Your patience was running thin. Lucky for him he’s somewhat respectful and cute while bothering you and not going on your nerves. If he were some weirdo, you would’ve scurried away already. People like him (unfortunately) remind you that pretty privilege does exist.

His gloved hand dives into the depths of the pockets of his slacks before pulling out a leather wallet and revealing a black card. Oh great, a rich guy. “With card.” he sighs dramatically. Do all rich people behave like this? “Sir, this is a café not an acting audition for some teenage romance drama.” You’re not sure what to think of this guy, on one hand, his attempts are cute on the other it’s kind of weird that he’s flirting with a cashier whom he met 5 minutes ago. “Just.” You hesitate before speaking up again. “Just type your PIN in here and you’re done.” He nods and continues to do so which the small sound the machine makes confirms.

At that, you give him a small nod as a gesture of thankfulness, before attempting to kick him out again. “Great, thank you. Now please go and I wish you a good day.”

“But how am I supposed to have a good day without yo-”

“You’ll live.” you wave him goodbye and that leaves him with no other choice but to step back and leave.

Maybe you’re hallucinating and maybe you’re just imagining it but before he leaves he gives you a small smile. The soft and charming glow that emanates from his eyes resonates well with the dusking sun as if they were reflecting the last golden rays of sunshine before they were to be engulfed by the warm hues of the sky and later on painted black like the night. An inexplicable feeling rises in your chest as he bids you goodbye, wishing you a nice day.

“Oh he so has a massive crush on you.” you shudder upon hearing March’s voice. Her words ring in your ears like Christmas bells chiming during the holiday season. Loud and obnoxious. You try to drain the thoughts away but how can you when the source who started it all is right behind you? Continuously gushing about how that handsome stranger must have an enormous crush on you.

“The group chat has to know about this!” March enthusiastically squeals and quickly fishes her phone out of her pockets. Before you’re even able to realize what is bound to happen let alone prevent her from aggressively typing on her phone, she’s already sent the first message.

At that you can only bury your face into the palms of your hand, face sinking into your hands in embarrassment. As much as you love March, it sometimes feels like she’s the oldest of the group and not Mr. Yang. Not in terms of matureness and wiseness, no more like in the sense of the kind of mom who has to share each and every one of her baby’s accomplishments online, but not as bad though, of course. Still.

“I hate you,” you complain, words muffled by the palms of your hands.

“I love you too.” she quips cheerfully, a smirk on her lips.

Safe to say March was in charge of cleaning and tidying up the café for the whole shift.

“Aww the handsome guy from yesterday isn’t here today.” March coos into your ear, a frown is displayed on her lips. She frowns, but you can see the hints of playfulness that linger in her expression. “Put on such a nice show yesterday only to chicken out. Booo, lameeee.” March rolls her eyes in amusement, giggling while doing so.

Although you didn’t want to agree with what March had to say, she’s somewhat right. You full-heartedly believed that he’d visit again today after the move he pulled off yesterday or perhaps you wanted him to visit him again.

You quickly shook your head at that thought, brushing the idea of someone paying you a visit at work off to humor you a bit. There was absolutely no way you wanted to see him again.

“It’s early in the morning and you’re trying to shake the dandruff out of your hair already?” “Not funny Mar-” There was no fucking way.

If this wasn’t a deja vu, you don’t know either. It’s almost as if the interaction of yesterday was replaying right in front of your eyes and once again catching you off guard.

“You know it’s not polite to blatantly stare at people right?” he spoke with a chuckle as he observed your irritated face. “Frowning like that will make you gain wrinkles.” The twitching on your right eye doesn’t go unnoticed by him and he can only chuckle at that, seemingly amused by your morning misery.

“What are you doing here.” you can only mutter a single question out, dumbfounded by him appearing in front of you once again. “Hm, am I not allowed to come by? I mean, everything’s quite affordable in here and this place isn’t far away from my workplace either sooo.”

Well, you can’t judge him for that. “Then, what do you want?” with a sigh you pluck one of the sticky notes of the block of colorful sticky notes, ready to write his order and name down. “Someone’s in a bad mood.” he chirps. A blank stare is the only thing you provide him as an answer and at that, he can only chuckle, it’s obvious that he’s enjoying this. “An Iced Americano would be nice. Thanks.”

“Mhmm, noted.” you quickly scribbled his order down onto the quadratic paper before shouting March’s name over your shoulder. “Can you come here to keep our dear customer company? I’ll prepare his drink in the meantime.” you shoot Aventurine a heavy side-eye before darting your gaze back to March. The girl only giggles in response before happily skipping over to the counter.

“Aww, do you want to extra prepare my drink?” upon hearing his remark you turn around. Meeting a pair of pink eyes which were covered behind long blond lashes, scanning your figure from a close distance.

Nervosity crawls at your skin as you feel yourself getting watched by him. It’s weird — screw that, he’s weird.

“Close!” a giggle accompanies your words. “Actually, I just really wanna get away from you. Have fun with him March.” scoffing, you turn around again.

It didn’t take you long to prepare his order, filling a cup with ice cubes and pouring some shots of espresso over them was a piece of cake. “Here” You hand him his drink and he nods in contentment before handing you a few coins, a cheeky grin appears on his face and you can see the amusement glimmering in his pink eyes. “See you tomorrow” he chuckles and upon that March nudges your side, which in response you can only give her an exasperated groan.

“Yep. Head over heels in love.” she quips as soon as Aventurine is out of sight, and you have to fight the urge to slam your forehead against the counter.

Your third encounter with Aventurine occurred on a fairly rainy day. With sluggish movements and wet clothes, soaked from head to toe he slumped over to the counter and grinning as soon as he saw you.

“Hey.” it takes you a moment to process the situation and reluctantly you reply. “Hey.” Your eyes scan over his figure, his white dress shirt is completely translucent now and you can’t help but let your eyes drift to the tattoo on his neck, down to his collarbone which is visibly poking out, and his slim waist, ribs only covered by a thin layer of pale skin.

Aventurine seems to catch on pretty quickly and wraps himself into his blazer, seemingly uncomfortable by the way you’re looking at him.

You quickly gather your words, and voice an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shamelessly stare, that was rude again, I’m so sor-” “It’s fine.” Aventurine interrupts, cutting your apology curt while huffing out a tired sigh. The exasperation that resides in his voice implies that he obviously doesn’t want to dwell on this topic any further.

A meek nod is the only response you’re able to give. “Can I just get the same thing I’ve had last time? Thanks.” he pulls out his card, ready to pay for his order.

“Really? An Iced Americano during this weather?” you let out a small chuckle with which you’re trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere that built up between the two of you.

At the sound of your light laughter, Aventurine’s eyes flicker over your face. “You remember my order?” he asks dumbfounded.

“Well yeah, no one besides teenage girls order an Iced Americano.” you joke, the usual sarcasm back in your voice. It quenches his former uneasiness, your light-hearted words soothing him like a cool steam dripping into his parched heart.

The corners of his lips twitch and he can’t help but smile. “Oh, shut up.” His signature smirk graces his lips and upon catching sight of it you can’t help but also let out a fond smile.

“Will.. a freshly black brewed coffee do?” you’re careful when asking him. Nervousness crawls at your skin in anticipation.

“Black coffee?” he hums. “Yeah, that should work. Thanks.” the reassuring smile he gives you makes your tense shoulder drop in relief, easing the worry that previously swam in your stomach.

You disappear into the kitchen, searching for the container that stores the coffee beans to prepare his drink, in the meantime, Aventurine quickly types into his phone before erasing the words as fast as he wrote them.

The fresh scent of coffee beans engulfs your nose and you can’t help but smile. Freshly brewed coffee always reminds you of home; someone in whose arms you can bury yourself in, nudging your nose into their chest as they cage you with their arms, softly embracing you. The rattling of a coffee machine in the background rings in your ears, but the only thing you can focus on is a voice that softly caresses the shell of your ear.

Domesticity washes over you — it’s all too familiar.

Aventurine’s drink is prepared in no time and you set it on the counter which makes him look up from his phone, giving you a weak smile before wrapping his hand around the drink. It’s still hot to touch, the warmth spreading over his hand in an instant like wildfire, it’s nice — the feeling of warmth enveloping his cold hand is nice.

“Well, I’ll get going now.” his announcement catches you off guard, and impulsively you reach out to tug on his sleeve to prevent him from leaving. The action leaves both you and Aventurine surprised. Curious, the blond raises an eyebrow and grins (oh how much you want to wipe that stupid grin off his face), expectantly awaiting your next move.

“Sorry.” you cough apologetically before quickly letting go of his semi-dried sleeve. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out again when it’s still raining. If I were you I’d just wait until the rain stops.” Upon hearing your sincere suggestion, Aventurine’s grin falters and instead slowly molds into a fond smile that makes you inexplicably warm.

“Aww, don’t tell me you're worried that I might catch a cold?” You counter his playful remark with one of your own. “Well, yeah. Who else is supposed to give me a generous tip?” At that Aventurine can only laugh and the smile you’ve been trying to hold back escapes.

“Touché.”

From there on visits from Aventurine became frequent, always coming during your shift or during your break to chatter with you about mindless topics. You got used to his visits, and even when you gave off the impression of showing no interest in his ramblings, you always lent him an ear, carefully listening to what he had to say about his pets or his grumpy friend.

(He told you that the both of you resemble each other in some way, aloof on the outside but caring on the inside. In response, you shot him a big side eye, cause what does he mean by aloof?)

The small conversations exchanged between the two of you, ranged between topics of the latest spots that have just opened, to operas and musicals and eventually work.

His work to be specific.

Curiosity got the better of you and you couldn’t help but ask: “Aventurine.” upon hearing his name sliding off your tongue, he hums in acknowledgment. “What is it?” you scan his attire, the material of his black blazer is slightly crumpled and the turquoise button-up he’s wearing underneath seems to be the same one as the one when you first met him.

“What the hell do you even work as? I mean what kind of job requires you to wear a new suit every day?” befuddlement manifests on your face. “Ah, well.” Aventurine hesitates for a moment, mouth slightly agape before closing it once again as if searching for the right words to say. “I’ve told you that I work here right down the street right? I’m a teaching assistant at St. Freya University for my friend.” he gives you a small and coy smile.

“Oh, that prestigious university for rich kids?” at that Aventurine slightly raises his eyebrows as if surprised by your remark before quietly laughing. “Mhm, I suppose you could say so.” “I should’ve known that you taught there, I bet you also went there for university.” It’s only a joking remark you made upon impulse but the amusement on Aventurine’s face slightly dissipates, replaced with a sheepish expression.

“I didn’t go to university.”

“What?”

“What do you mean you didn’t go to university? I mean as teaching a-” “I-i started working from a very early age on and not as a teaching assistant it’s only a job for me to help my friend with.” he quickly corrects himself. “Oh.” “Yeah.” he hums, looking away.

The silence is unbearable. It’s weird and unusual for you to not hear Aventurine chatter into your ear. “So uhm.. what do you teach or help with?” the embarrassment quickly rises to your cheeks and you turn your head downwards to avoid any eye contact. God, why’s initiating a conversation so hard and always fucking awkward.

“Interested in joining? Want me to sign you up?” you’re relieved upon hearing Aventurine immediately responding, lifting your head only to be met with soft pink eyes that are already earnestly admiring you.

Your deadpan expression tells him more than enough and he chuckles more to himself than to you. “Well, my friend, he has high expectations for his students. To some people, he might appear strict, but really, it’s for their own well-being — not his. He cares about his students a lot. Sharing his knowledge about certain topics and seeing the potential in all of them, for them to pick the information up and be able to use it. So the things he does in his classes differ, from practical to theoretical classes and I’m just there to assist with my knowledge.” the small smile that quirks at his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Okay, okay, well enough about me, what about you? Any plans for the weekend?” Aventurine smoothly changes the topic.

Upon being asked what your plans are your eyes immediately light up with excitement. “I’ve been meaning to visit the fair for a while now. Trying out the new rides and stuff you know?” Aventurine momentarily pauses. “Ah, I’ve actually never been to a fair.” his admission comes over as surprising to you.

“Wait what? You’ve never been to a fair? You’re lying!”

“I’m not! Or maybe I am.” he laughs. “Well, I might have gone to some but I can’t recall anything like that. Perhaps I was too short, too young, or too much of a pussy to try out one of the rides.”

Before you can even think of how to respond to that, you blurt out a: “Go with me then!” You’re not even sure how you had the courage to ask that, especially to someone whom you’ve only met a month or hell a few weeks ago, you’re even less sure where that question even came from.

From what you can read off Aventurine’s face, he seems to be as equally surprised as you, mouth slightly agape and lips forming a smile as he stares at you with expectant eyes.

“Really?” Disbelief settles onto his face.

“Thinking about it now, nope.” The light in Aventurine’s eyes immediately dies down, suddenly looking like a kicked puppy who didn’t get any belly rubs. It somehow makes you feel bad — somehow you sympathize with him. “..Fine.” you mumble. You can’t believe yourself. “Though there’s one condition: You’ll have to pay for everything.”

“Sure, no problem.” Aventurine agrees without any hesitation and that makes you skittish. “I was joking!” He gives you a boyish grin “Well, I know but it’s not like it’s a big deal either. Also, can this be considered a date?” he props his elbow up and places his cheek onto his balled fist, smirking while doing so.

“Aventurine,” you say in a stern voice. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Your irritated eyes meet his fond ones. “I’m glad.” he expresses and you’re caught off guard by his sincere tone. There’s no teasing or playfulness behind it, just pure gratefulness.

“Is it alright if I have your number? It’s easier to reach you then.” the smirk plastered on his face is enough to tell you what the actual intention behind his words is.

“Admit it. You just want my number, don’t you?” you deadpan him.

“Hmm, who knows?” the grin on his face only grew wider, amused by the fact that you caught on so quickly.

Swiftly you fish out your phone from your pockets, unlocking it before showing him your phone number, and before you can even ask how he’s saved your number; which contact name he typed in for you, he pulls his phone away. Smiling in triumph upon seeing your irritated face.

He gets up from the chair he’s been sitting on for the past few minutes. “Well, your break is about to end soon, so I’ll take my leave.” your eyes follow him as he checks if he’s got everything. “See you tomorrow then:” he says in a playful tone before leaving.

Yeah, you’re going to meet your demise, you just know it.

END NOTE: this is just idk man we're gonna progress more in the future chaps okay 😔

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sidekick-hero · 8 months

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"I don't know, Robbie. I mean, it's been years! Even if there ever was a 'spark' between us, it's probably long gone."

He doesn't look over at Robin as he says this, pretending to be engrossed in grading papers. They both know that he hasn't made a single mark on the paper in front of him since Robin burst into his house with her spare key and announced, "Eddie's coming to the wedding."

"Inside voice," he had chided her, even though April was at her friend's house doing a school project. Old habits die hard.

Plopping down next to him at the kitchen table, Robin had happily ignored him as she continued, "Lucas just called me, it's going to be a surprise for Dustin. Eddie's finishing the tour two days early, so he's coming straight from the airport. But he will be there, Steve!"

Trying his best not to show how his heart had started beating faster as soon as Robin had mentioned Eddie's name, Steve had shrugged nonchalantly. "That's nice, Robbie. Dustin will be over the moon."

"That's nice, Robbie." She repeated in a surprisingly good imitation of his tone. They definitely spent too much time together. "You can act indifferent all you want, Steve. I was there when you refused to leave the house for a whole week when Eddie went to LA, remember? I held your hair when you puked your guts out after drowning your sorrows when Eddie brought what's-his-face to Max and Lucas' wedding. You two belong together, Steve! You just had bad timing. You've never both been single at the same time - until now. That must mean something. Maybe he's not just coming for Dustin, that's all I'm saying."

Which had actually led them to discuss whether Steve should put them all out of their misery by finally growing a pair (Robin's words) or decide that whatever had been between them that summer, when Eddie had recovered from almost being eaten alive by demobats, was long gone (Steve's words).

"I beg to differ, Dingus. I saw the way he looked at you at our little 'Fuck Off Upside Down' anniversary party. He spilled his beer when you walked in the room, Steve. No one else did."

"He's clumsy. You know that. I'm surprised he never fell off the stage," Steve jokes. He's not sure who he's trying to convince, Robin or himself.

Robin's expression changes to something more serious as she puts her hand on top of his, still holding his red grading pen in a white-knuckled grip. "Steve, listen. I'm not saying you have to do anything. You and Eddie have been friends for almost twenty years. We've all been. You're not going to lose him no matter what you decide. But," and here she takes a deep breath, "I just want you to be happy, Steve. You deserve to be happy. And I know that you're not unhappy, I know that. You've got April and you've got me and you've got the kids, even though they're scattered all over the country. But I also know that you've never stopped imagining a future with him, have you?"

"He kissed me," Steve blurts out, and to Robin's credit, she doesn't react except for her hand on his to twitch in surprise. She makes a questioning sound in her throat, clearly waiting for more.

"The night before he left. We had this big going-away bash, remember?" She nods. "We all got pretty drunk after the kids left and you and Vicky had gone to sleep in the guest room and I had offered to sleep on the couch so Eddie could have my bed. His back was still bothering him and he had a long drive ahead of him the next day. But he insisted on sharing and I was too drunk and tired to argue. The next morning he got up very early, probably thinking I was still asleep when he got dressed and left. Only he didn't leave. At least not right away. He came over to the bed and kissed me. On the mouth. And he said, 'You'll always be my almost, Stevie.'"

Robin looks at him with wide eyes, and Steve thinks that maybe he should have told her sooner, that maybe he violated some code between them because they tell each other everything. But something about this morning had felt, well, almost sacred in a way. As if putting it into words would make it less so.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Robbie. I just..."

"You had to keep it to yourself so it would always be the one dream you could turn to?" Robin suggests in a soft voice, and Steve wouldn't have said it like that, but she's right. Every date that didn't feel right, every relationship that went down the drain, hell, even when his marriage imploded on him, he thought of that one kiss and dreamed of a life where Eddie would have stayed. Or where Steve had followed him.

"Oh Dingus." Suddenly, Robin's arms wrapped around him in a hug, and it wasn't until he saw the wetness on her shirt that he realized he was crying. "I can't promise you it'll work, but I really think you should talk to him. Your life doesn't end at 40, Steve. You can still have the future you've always dreamed of."

Steve nods against her shoulder, tightening his grip on the best thing that has ever happened to him besides April.

Dustin and El's wedding is a small affair, just family and close friends, which is basically the same in their group.

Steve tries his best not to show his inner turmoil and mostly succeeds. There are handshakes that turn into tight hugs, hellos that turn into stories about kids and grandkids, neighbors, vacations, jobs, life. It's great to see everyone. It also helps distract him from the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in his stomach for over a week now.

It works until everyone is about to take their seats and Eddie still hasn't shown up. He's supposed to be one of Dustin's groomsmen, along with Lucas and Mike and Will, while Steve is actually Dustin's best man. He only cried a little when Dustin asked him to.

Just as the officiant is ready to start without him, the heavy double doors open and Eddie walks in like Aragorn into Helm's Deep (Dustin insisted that Steve watch the movies if he didn't want to read the books, and Steve may have thought of Eddie more than once while watching Aragorn, sue him).

He rushes to his spot next to the other groomsmen, ruffles Dustin's hair as he passes him, and mumbles, "Sorry, shrimp, the airport lost my luggage." Then his eyes fall on Steve and he freezes for a moment before giving him a bright, dimpled smile. "Hey, Stevie," he whispers before stepping to the end of the line of groomsmen.

Steve is glad that Hopper is recording the whole ceremony, because he doesn't hear a thing that's being said.

Later, everyone gathers in the dining room and Hopper and Claudia each give a heartfelt speech before it's Steve's turn. He has everyone toast to Dustin and El's future, because while the past may have brought them together, it's the future that belongs to them and their love. He forces himself not to look at Eddie as he says this, knowing that his face would give away his thoughts.

And then Eddie stands up to say a few words as well, something no one expected him to do.

"I've known Dustin for 20 years now, and the only time I ever doubted that he was a genius was when he let El go without a fight. But you know what? I was wrong. Dustin and El may have taken the scenic route to get here," Eddie tells the guests, "but sometimes that's the best way to get somewhere. If you're willing to take the long and winding road, the road less traveled, as Frost would say, you know that whatever's at the other end is worth it."

Steve desperately wants to believe that Eddie is not just talking about Dustin and El, but he doesn't even look at Steve when he says that. He just sits down again next to Robin at the table right next to the one where Steve is sitting with Dustin and El and their parents, because Steve is part of the family, too, as Claudia had pointed out.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur until everyone gets up to go to the ballroom where the dance floor has been set up. Dustin and El open with their first dance, "You and Me" by Lifehouse, and Steve has never been prouder of his little brother as he watches him lead El across the dance floor with the biggest, toothiest smile on his face.

"They've come a long way, huh?" says a voice next to him and Steve doesn't have to turn around to know it's Eddie.

"Yeah. I'm glad they made it." Steve agrees, his eyes never leaving the dancing couple. More and more people are joining them now, and Steve can feel the fond smile on his face grow.

Eddie's hand rests on his arm as he steps around Steve to face him. He extends his other hand to Steve, palm up, and asks, "May I have the pleasure of this dance with you?"

As if Steve could ever say no to Eddie.

Just as they step onto the dance floor, "You and Me" fades out and the next song begins. It's "Unchained Melody" and Steve suspects that Robin had a hand in it. It's the song Steve listened to a lot after Eddie left and she once complained that he ruined the song for her. Apparently not enough to put it on the playlist when he and Eddie hit the dance floor.

"I always kind of liked that song," Eddie tells him, and Steve snorts. "No, really! It's not really metal, but I don't know. I just feel it, you know? It's real." Eddie explains, veering close to rambling territory.

"Is that so?" Steve has to ask as he slowly sways, his hand in Eddie's and his arm wrapped around Eddie's waist.

Eddie hums quietly in agreement. "Back in '86, when I was trying to settle down in LA, I used to listen to it for hours." Eddie admits quietly and Steve's heart is suddenly in his throat. "I felt every single word and every single word made me think about what I was leaving behind."

"Eddie," Steve begins, only to be gently silenced by Eddie's finger against his lips.

"Please, Stevie, I have to say this now or I never will. So please, just listen, yeah?"

Steve crosses his eyes to look pointedly at Eddie's finger against his lips before looking back up at Eddie, who snorts at the gesture. "Brat," he teases, taking his finger away.

"Okay, I'm listening," Steve tells him, and mimics zipping his lips.

Eddie's eyes sparkle with amusement and affection, and something deeper. Something that makes the seeds of hope in Steve's chest tentatively open and reach for their sun.

"Stevie, sweetheart, you certainly know... I mean, you must know that I..." Eddie rambles and Steve has never seen him so lost for words. He doesn't say anything, but he brings their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Eddie's in silent reassurance.

Eddie's eyes find his and the expression in them is so unbearably soft that Steve almost has to look away. No one has ever looked at him like that before. "You were always the one who got away, Steve. My almost. Even when I was with other people, you were there. On every stage, in every hotel room, on every stretch of highway, you were there. And I almost told myself it just wasn't meant to be. I had you as a friend and that was a gift I never thought I would have, I shouldn't be greedy and ask for more."

He takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself, gathering every ounce of that incredible courage Steve has seen time and time again, even as Eddie keeps insisting he's a coward. Steve knows better, and Eddie's next words prove him right once again.

"But the funny thing is, it never stopped me from hoping for a future with you."

They stop dancing, if you can call what they were doing dancing, and look at each other, eyes searching for answers. For reasons to hope.

Steve is the first to break the silence, a soft grin on his face. "May I speak now?"

That makes Eddie laugh softly and he nods.

"Is this what you want? A future with me? Because that means a future with a middle school teacher with a little pet tornado who's currently staying with her mom. You have to mean it for her as much as you mean it for me. This means being all in, Eddie."

Steve hates that he has to say this, that he can't just fall into Eddie's arms and kiss him senseless. But Eddie needs to know what a future with Steve means. If he wasn't sure he wanted that kind of future, then they couldn't have one together. At least not the way they both wanted it.

Eddie cupped Steve's cheek in his hand, his smile growing with every blink of his chocolate eyes. "Steve, I know who you are. I know what it would mean to be with you, and I want it so much that I can barely stand another day without it. I love your little pet Tornado, she's adorable and funny and she has great taste in music. No idea where she got that from, though," Eddie teases before sobering up. "I want to be a family. This tour was our last for at least two years. The guys need a break and so do I. And after that, we don't know yet, but whatever it is, it will be something we agree on together. You and me and April."

Maybe Steve should ask more questions, be more cautious. But he's waited twenty years for this, and he can't wait another second to finally kiss the man he's always been in love with.

He's ready for his future to begin.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddielovemonth #day 12 #love is the hope for a future together #my writing

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dancinglikebutterflywings · 7 months

Text

Say You Love Me Too | Jung Wooyoung

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Manager!Reader

Request: No

Synopsis: Reader has broken a rule that could get her fired. She's fallen in love.

Warnings: forbidden romance (?). Okay, here me out, this was supposed to be a cute platonic imagine about Wooyoung having a favourite manager but it didn't turn out that way. Probably kinda sucks.

Word Count: 1,267

ATEEZ Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up | Requesting Guidelines

By the time it’s time to film the dance practice video for ATEEZ’s latest title track, it has been so engrained in Wooyoung that it’s muscle memory at this point. So, when something off to the side behind the camera’s catches his attention, his dancing isn’t affected as he looks over at the woman sitting crossed legged on the floor in the corner of the dance practice room. Wooyoung’s only issue was keeping himself from grinning ear to ear as he took the chance to look over at her when he could.

Y/N’s going through the file of papers that contained ATEEZ’s up and coming schedules and what needed to be done and who was assigned to which task and all the other joys that came along with being one of the managers. She’s mouthing along with the words of the song and occasionally dancing along to it. She’d been there for every practice and got to sit on some of the studio sessions. The song was just as engrained into her as it was the men who sang and preformed it.

“Let’s take a break and go over it again one more time,” the PD-nim's voice cuts through the room, ending filming for now.

With that, she closes the file and stands up, holding the file to her chest so she doesn’t drop it. She stretches her legs, making her way over to her bag and places the file back inside it. As she stands back up straight, a familiar pair of arms wraps themselves around her as the person they belong to hugs her from behind.

“Wooyoung!” she raises her voice, knowing who it is right away. She manages to get out of his hold as she turns around to face him. “Yah! I told you not to hug me when you’re all sweaty,” she continues, scolding him playfully and hitting his shoulder.

“Are you leaving already?” he asks, ignoring your scolding, watching you hang your bag over your shoulder.

“I have a meeting with the stylists to go over the concept looks and outfits for your comeback stage,” she answers and looks at her phone to see she has seven minutes to get to the conference room she was meeting the stylists in.

“Are you coming back after the meeting?” he asks, his voice lowering, wanting to keep their conversation between just the two of them. She shakes her head, no. “Will I get to see you before you leave tonight?”

“Maybe if you catch me on my way out,” she tells him. “If not, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before Wooyoung could say anything more, she leaves the practice room.

But Wooyoung doesn’t give up that easy. He makes up some excuse about needing the bathroom and darts out of the room after her. The PD-nim and Hongjoong both shout at him to not be too long.

“Y/N-ah!” he calls after her, only for her to ignore him as she waits for the elevator to reach her floor.

When the elevator’s doors open, she steps inside just as Wooyoung reaches her. Before the doors can close, he slides into the elevator. When the doors close, she turns to him, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Why do I get the feeling your avoiding me?” he comments, brushing off her question and the disapproving look on her face.

"I'm not avoiding you. I’m busy making sure everything goes smoothly for your comeback,” she she retorts, refuting any claims of avoidance he was accusing her of. "I've been practically juggling two jobs ever since the manager who used to handle this with me switched groups. KQ needs-”

"Is it because of the kiss?" he interjects, cutting off her rambling.

Her body tenses up, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red at the mention of the kiss they shared the night before.

Wooyoung has always made it obvious that he cares deeply for her. From the way his gaze always found her in a crowded room, the way he would look at her with adoration in his eyes, and the way he always made an effort to be with her or beside her. Wooyoung's affection for her was undeniable. And it wasn’t something happened over night. It had built up gradually of the two years she’s been working for them.

Y/N would be lying to herself and everyone around her if she said she didn’t feel the same. But her job was at risk if she ever gave into those feelings. She made it as clear as possible that her and Wooyoung would never go past just being friends.

Until last night happened. He’d kissed her in a moment of weakness on both their parts. She wanted to regret it so bad, but she couldn’t bring herself to. The more she thought about it the more she wanted it to happen again and the more she was willing to look for another job so it could happen again.

She was truly at a crossroads.

“Can we not talk about that?” she asks, even though she wants to. Using her phone as a distraction from looking at him, she sees she has a minute left to get to the conference room.

“I think we should,” he says disagreeing with her choice not to talk about it.

“Not here, not now,” she sighs as the elevator reaches the floor she needs to be on. He follows her out and gently takes her arm stopping her from walking away and turning her back to face him.

“Can I stop by your apartment later?” he asks, his voice once again only quiet enough for her to hear as someone walks by them on to the elevator.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, without saying no. “You have late nights and early mornings. You need all the rest you can get. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow when I arrive.”

“But we can’t talk then,” he frowns with a slight pout.

“Maybe it’s best if we didn’t,” she sighs sadly, as she thinks with her brain and not her heart. She leaves him standing in the middle of the corridor, both their hearts breaking for something they want but can never happen.

He’s about to turn around and head back to the practice room when Y/N walks out of the room she just walked into a moment ago. He looks at her confused.

“I need to know,” she speaks before he could ask her what’s going on. “I need to know if your serious about us.”

“The last time I was this serious about someone was when I told Yeosang him and I were going to succeed or fail together,” he admits. “Look how that turned out.”

“Do you think we can make this work?” she asks, a hopeful and anxious look swirling in her eyes.

“I don’t know but I hope we can,” he says, also hopeful as he takes her hand and pulls her into an empty room, just as the elevator doors open alerting them that someone is about to enter the corridor. After the door closes behind them, he takes her face in his hands, tilting her head so he can look into her eyes. “What I do know is that I can’t ignore that I’ve fallen in love you. I never expected to but here we are. Say you love me too.”

“I love you, too,” falls from her lips before she has time to think about it.

Wooyoung smiles and kisses her deeply, trying to convey all the love he has for her.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcomed and appreciated.

©️ 2024 CRAZYFORMFICS. NO ONE HAS PERMISSION TO COPY, TRANSLATE AND/OR REPOST MY WORKS ON HERE OR ANY OTHER SITE.

TAGGED: @staytiny2000 - @dancelikebutterflywings - @treehouse-mouse - @kpopmenace143 - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups - @green-agent - @tinyelfperson

#jung wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #jung wooyoung imagines #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung fics #wooyoung x y/n #jung wooyoung x y/n #ateez fics #ateez x y/n #atz x reader #atz

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ppushable · 2 months

Text

two ibuprofen

jean kirschtein x gn!reader / oneshot / wc: 7.3k

part 1 of rose tinted hours

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Sunday morning. What's the best way to spend a Sunday morning?

Craned over the plaguefest of the guy I'm dating-not-dating, trying to shove two ibuprofen down his throat?

(It works the second time.)

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

ao3 tags:

ok here we go / Alternate Universe - College/University / Sickfic / Sick Character / Fluff / Kissing / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting / Texting / Vomiting / Not at the same time / Winter / gender neutral reader / i dont know how to make tea / mentions of sanrio / mentions of bagged milk / slight angst? i guess? if you squint? / reiner texts like a boomer and im sorry / POV First Person / Present Tense

i live in a special part of canada so excuse the bagged milk. (just kidding bagged is better)

reader is gn! if anything seems off please lmk. (do that if the text names are confusing too!)

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Bzzz.

The darkness and warm comfort of sleep cracks as my eyes peel open to the vibration of my phone. My blurry wall is bathed in orange light and the cold draft coming in from the open window carries the swoons and trills of birdsong. Pretty…

Holy shit I have class I’ll be late—

With effort, I blink until the shapes around me become clean and defined. Am I late? Sunlight on the ruffles of my quilt like a Renaissance painting. Coats and bags hanging from the hooks on the back of my bedroom door. Clothes from the night before, still on the ground from when I dropped them there, dead-tired. My phone buzzes again, causing an internal jolt that spurs me to snatch it off the nightstand and expel the charger in one swift movement.

mr. handsome: emergency alert! 🚨 alert! god-level threat!

mr. handsome: One image attachment

Oh, it’s a message from Connie.

Oh, it’s 8:19 AM.

Oh, it’s a Sunday.

The glowing numbers on the screen indicate the next minute and I toss the phone somewhere on the bed before re-curling myself into my nice warm quilt in this nice cool morning. Sorry, Connie, the grocery run to 7-11 for more sushi will have to be done by someone else. This is probably the happiest I’ll be all day, provided I stay sleepy enough not to feel guilty for doing nothing. The world goes black.

Bzzz.

This time, my eyes peel open on their own.

Fine, Connie, you win.

Trying to ignore the bitter taste of morning in my mouth, I grope for my phone and lift it above my head.

sashacado: BAHAHAH GOOD LUCK WITH THAT ONE BALDY

Another message pops up.

mr. handsome (replying to @/sashacado): 🖕

mikachu: you need to get out of there, connie. like rn.

lainah: Run while you still can! LOL! 🤣

Although the last text pains me on a metaphysical scale, I open up the groupchat. It’s getting fishy now: first of all, Connie’s never up this early, least of all on a weekend; secondly, he said ‘god level threat’ (which is apparently the worst level of threat), and third, Mikasa rarely speaks in the groupchat. Sure, she lurks, but she only ever emerges when something big is happening.

Some more people are active now and I have to scroll up to find Connie’s image.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Blurry and off-centre as the picture might be, it clearly depicts the ugliest green-and-white striped couch I ever laid my eyes on (“It’s an antique!” Connie had argued) that belongs to Connie and Jean’s shared dorm in which the latter of the two is curled up in (yet he still scrapes the armrests with the top of his head and toes). Littering the stained carpet around him — they prefer eating on the couch than on an actual table, so spills are inevitable — are wads of crumpled-up tissues. To really top it off is the Cars blanket that Jean won at a festival that’s seemingly in the process of being violently torn from his form, clinging to the armrest closest to the camera and pulling beyond. A message banner pops down from the top of the screen.

jean: i’m fine. and give me my fucking blanket back. i can hear you giggling from your bedroom. connie.

grammar police: connie give his blanket back

lainah: Haha!

grammar police: i swear things like this only happen when I’m gone

Right, Marco usually goes home for the weekends.

ymi: Lmfao that thing prolly gave you a disease in the first place

ymi: Have u even washed it once

mr. handsome: cut the ccrap Ymir we wash it more than you wash ur hair

sashacado: LMAOOO

ymi: At least I have hair

sashacado: AGAHAHH CONNIE

grammar police: you guys

grammar police: missing the point here

mr. handsome (replying to @/ymi): and its sad cuz mine is still better than youres

mr. handsome: like girl tf is up with the shaved sides

mr handsome: jojo siwa looking ass

sashacado: LMAOOOOO CONNIE EAT HER UP

Smiling, I return to the main chat screen.

ymi: Count your fucking days springer

ymi: At least I still have a girl

grammar police (replying to @/mr. handsome): ^yours

mr. handsome: ok nerd

grammar police: I’m taking away your Netflix

mr. handsome: I sincerely apoligize for my words.

grammar police: it’s the effort I guess

grammar police: back to Jean though

jean: i told u im prrfectly fine. just give ne back my blanket i’ll sleep it off

grammar police: do I need to come back to campus for the weekend?

mikachu: im stopping by the store. can grab some medicine

jean: ffs IM FINE GIVE ME MY BLANKET CONNIE OR IM TELLING THEM ABOUT THE GRATER THING

grammar police: Jean you need some medicine at least. I heard there’s a nasty flu going around and you’d be the type of person to catch it

grammar police: did you call your mom? I can call her if you want

jean: IM

jean: FINE

jean (replying to @/grammar police): DO NOT DO THAT

Poor Jean. He doesn’t have anyone to take care of him. Connie’s a mild germaphobe, believe it or not, at least when it comes to sickness (he nearly went crazy during Covid) and is probably keeping a safe distance from his roommate. And it’s not like any of his other friends are willing (or able) to help out, with Marco out of town. He doesn’t have any siblings here; the closest relative he has might be his mother all the way back in Trost. Not even a significant other.

Well. I mean.

There’s me.

But we’re technically not dating. Not yet. We’re still trying to figure things out — hell, I don’t even know if he likes me back.

Well, okay, there was that time we kissed. But it’s just a kiss. And it was an end-of the year party, and everyone was feeling it. And it’s January now and we haven’t done it again so it’s nothing. It’s nothing!

But that doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at my foundations like a tiny, evil beaver.

Wow. So you’re willing to let a guy suffer just because you’re unsure? Now that’s selfish. While you’re sitting here muttering to yourself he’s probably burning with fever and wishing he were dead. Real classy.

Shut the fuck up, beaver. It’s weird to just barge into someone’s house like that. And we don’t know each other that well.

You’ve known each other for a long time. He’s sick. At least take care of him. You don’t need to be his lover or whatever. Just be a good friend, huh?

I guess…

And you know Connie, too, don’t you? You’ll be doing him a big favour by getting this plaguefest out of his living room. He needs to finish off Breaking Bad so he can look at the memes without being spoiled. You’re not helping dear old Connie out, either.

Fuck, you do have a point.

Besides, everyone knows what happened between you and Jean at the Christmas party. They’re probably waiting on you to—

With great effort I manage to unfocus my eyes to see if anyone mentioned me but Connie and Jean have devolved into another stupid somewhat one-sided argument. So they aren’t saying anything outright. But they’re probably thinking it.

They’re definitely thinking it.

Okay, that’s enough from you.

I swipe off the groupchat to see all of my chats and open up my DM with Jean — right near the top — and start typing.

me: hey. sorry if this is weird, but i wanted to check on you bc ur really sick apparently

No, that won’t do. I purge the message.

me: hey fuckass. did you go out without a coat again? do i need to come and take care of

No, not that, either. Hopefully he isn’t looking at our messages or else he’d see me typing like an idiot. I tap the side of my phone as I think, stringing together ideas and words and different ways he could perceive me based on how I put them together.

I go back to the main groupchat.

me: @/jean @/mr. handsome im coming over. be there in 15

me: also @/mikachu could you pick up some lozenges and cough syrup? ty i’ll pay u back <3

I zone out at the screen until someone starts typing and throw the phone down on the bed again before scanning the ground for something wearable. Goodbye, sweet air and Renaissance scene and birdsong. After assembling myself and brushing my teeth, I check the mirror attached to the back of the shared bathroom door that Sasha decorated with some Sanrio stickers from Amazon. She had a phase.

Matching socks, jeans, campus sweatshirt, T-shirt underneath big enough to splay out underneath like a fan. Hair a mess. Face a mess. Good enough. It’s not like Jean will look much better. It’s not like I care that much about how I look around him.

I pull the door aside and collect my belongings — phone, bag, coat — before whisking through the door, full sail for Connie’s res building. I hit the stairwell running.

Do I know how to take care of sick people? I mean, more or less. It’ll be fine. All you have to do is feed them and make sure they don’t puke all over themselves. Right?

On the way I stop by one of the cafeteria atriums, one of the smaller ones I frequent for its souped-up coffee counter with every additive known to man. I scan the containers on the counter — milk, cream, nutmeg — until I find the packets of honey and shove one into my bag while trying not to look guilty to the few people that dot the room. I more than paid for it just by attending.

Now on the main floor by the parking lot, I struggle to untangle my keys from the mess in my bag and, without looking, push the unlock for my car. It beeps faithfully in the same place I left it and I hurry to the sound like a moth to flame.

It’s a smallish car that’s starting to rust near the top. I open the drivers’ door and toss my bag in the passenger seat before throwing myself in and shutting the door, shutting out the world, disturbing the rubber Kuromi keychain hanging from the rearview mirror. My breath comes out steamy. The car comes to life on the third try — best to let it warm up a bit before I go.

Inhale, exhale. I open up the groupchat.

jean: you will do no such thing

jean: @/me

mr. handsome: so THATS what it takes for u to finally visit

mr. handsome: ive been keeping it nice and clean just for u 😙

mr. handsome: until mr covid came and ruined it

mikachu (replying to @/me): dw about it babes xx

sashacado: mika get me chocolate

mikachu: maybe. driving

Mikasa and I, weirdly enough, were the first to get our full licenses. A smile pulls at my face and I duck down to look at my lap. Jean had nearly begged us to give him driving lessons, and of course, I agreed. Days of close calls, driving under the speed limit, getting honked at, constantly checking the mirrors, nearly rear-ending people at stop signs, elbows touching on the armrest…

Of course, now Jean can drive without a hitch. Maybe not good enough yet that I’d sleep while he does it, but that’s a personal thing.

I almost put my phone down before noticing I have a few more private messages.

jean: seriously you dont have to come. im fine

jean: its acc not a big deal

jean: i had colds like this before. im not ur responsibility

Something about that last line stings. I guess he’s right, technically. We’re not that close. Who am I kidding?

But I already announced to the world what I’m going to do. And I already decided on it.

me: im coming whether you like it or not. watch connie for me

When I can’t see my breath anymore I start driving.

Stohess is a big campus. And while I’m not a huge fan of carbon emissions, I’m also not a fan of 20-minute walks in blistering, dry cold (or wet cold, for that matter). Also, I don’t want to keep Jean waiting. The eco society is going to kill me.

I pull in to the all-too-familiar parking spot, the one Jean pulled into a hundred times in preparation for his driving test in his new, expensive car his parents bought him because “he was doing so good with his driving!”

He’d thanked me profusely for helping him out, which, in hindsight, was mildly out of character for a broody, arrogant guy like him.

But then again, so was kissing me at that party. Not so much the kissing part. Just the me part. And the gentle-tight way he held me, the way he looked into my eyes…

I suck in a sharp breath. But I’m doing this as a friend. Not because of whatever we might be. If Connie was the one who got sick, I’d be here, too.

Steeling my nerves, I take my bag with an iron grip and make for the dorm.

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The door is already open when I arrive, propped open by a deflated volleyball. Weird. Some music that sounds like it was taken straight from Fast and Furious plays from inside. Knowing Connie, it probably is.

Nothing stirs when I open the door, but it is a pretty quiet door. The living room is right in front of me, ugly antique couch and all, but it’s completely empty. I didn’t walk into the wrong room, did I?

“Connie? Jean?” I slip off my shoes — Connie is insistent (I think shoes in the house is a crime anyway) — and creep through the dorm. “You guys?“

My voice rings through. Nothing. Peals of dread condense in my stomach and I pick up the pace, nearly barreling to a stop in front of the bathroom. I knock; first on the bathroom, then Jean’s bedroom. Connie left his door open.

“Jean? You in there?”

No response.

“I’m gonna— I’m opening the door, okay?”

And without time to think about what might be on the other side, I twist the knob and push.

Nothing. I even look behind the shower curtains.

Who even closes an empty bathroom?

Next is Jean’s room, but it’s also empty.

Where the hell are they?

I check my phone again and text the group chat.

me: @/mr. handsome @/jean where are you guys?

Waiting…

lainah: Gym

What.

me: are you sure.

lainah: One image attachment

Sure enough.

I should have noticed when his parking spot was empty.

me: dont let them leave. omw now

Sasha starts typing something but I throw my phone in the bag. I should have known they’d pull some bullshit like this. Well, not they. He. Something blistering and boiling threatens to spill over within me, but I take a deep breath. I’ll deal with him when I get there.

Jean’s a smart man, but not when he’s being stubborn.

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The car ride, despite being short, gave me a chance to cool my nerves.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. I grip the steering wheel in front of the gym. It’s fine. And step out.

Anytime Fitness is a strange and marvellous place full of people you might not see anywhere else. I don’t care about them. I scan the machines and see Reiner on the treadmill, and he meets my eyes a moment after. He nods in a different direction and I follow his gaze until I see the unmistakable bronze and shaved hair combination. I mouth a thank you and he smiles.

I must look completely out of place here, weaving between sweaty and half-naked bodies in my coat and jeans like I have a demon on my tail until I’m standing behind the chest press.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Connie’s saying and by the way Jean grunts it’s definitely not the first time.

“Let it go. I’m fine, and I’m going to the gym like I always do.” Jean’s voice is thick and nasal. “Buzz off.”

“Look, I already left the house with you. I can’t let you die here.”

“I said I’m fine—”

At the end of Jean’s rep, I slip the pin out of the weights. Jean nearly lunges over as the heaviness suddenly decreases.

Both look at me.

Connie looks normal. Jean is already slick with sweat, hair askew, red-nosed, with a slight wheeze lining his breath as he sits on the edge of the seat. Not normal. Not fine.

“Jean. My car. Now.” I point at Connie. “You take his back.”

A slight smile cracks his visage and that’s all I see before whipping around like an army man and making my way out.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

There’s a lot of things I could be saying, but I don’t, because there’s too much. So we drive home in silence.

Now that we’re closer, I can really hear the struggle with Jean’s every breath, the occasional cough, the mucous-laced sniffs, as much as he might try to hide it. He just sits there, going on his phone, staring out the window, until:

“Pull over.”

And his eyes are closed, head tilted up, pained look on his sweat drenched-face. I move to the side of the door without question and he scrabbles for the handle — I unlock it for him — before opening the door and half-falling over as he pukes.

I pinch my lip between my teeth and look the other way as the smell hits right after. Fine my ass.

Ever since I was young, the sound of heaving has always unsettled me. Even fake gags. Like it flips a switch in my heart to induce a sudden thrill of terror as if someone horror-movie screamed. And yeah, it’s just throwing up, but I hate it.

My heart races as he unloads again and I just want to plug my ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t sit here.

When the coast is clear I hop out and walk around the back. Jean is squatting on the pavement right before it hits the grass where his vomit lays, poking up through the stiff shoots. Though we’re outside, the smell is even worse. I try not to look at it as I hand Jean a bottle of water and set a stack of napkins I filched from Wendy’s on the passenger seat beside him.

“Thank—” he manages to croak out before pitching over again.

He’s been growing out his hair. I guess I didn’t notice it before, but now it’s long enough to get in his face in this position.

I gather the strands in my hands — soft as that day before the turn of the year — and hold them on the crown of his head as he retches.

When he’s done, I consider rolling down the windows, but decide against it.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Jean hardly notices when I pull in (again). Weirdly enough, his car still isn’t here — either Connie drives like a grandpa or he’s gone off somewhere.

“Jean.”

He inhales through his mouth, sucking up the new, pukey scent of my car, and opens his door with half-lidded eyes, leaning hard. It bumps against the campus van I’m parked beside and I cringe. Parked too close. He’s in no state to stand up on his own, let alone walk.

“Let me help you.”

He grunts in something like disagreement and I shut my door on him, going around the back again. Soiled napkins are shoved into the door storage and the water bottle is half-empty and crushed on the floor. Well. I offer a hand and after some hesitation he takes it, clasping my shoulder, and when I help him stand the added weight nearly crushes me. Jean is big, maybe not muscular like Reiner, but tall. Even through my coat and his too-thin sweater he radiates heat and he grunts a sickly air into my ear as he finds his footing. There’s barely enough room for the both of us between the car and the van so I shuffle us sideways, around the other side of the car and to the front. I gently lower Jean so he leans against the hood.

“Wait here.”

He doesn’t object as I shut the passenger door and lock the car before going back and offering my shoulder once again and I nearly fall over once again and we huddle together into the building. He’s never this quiet. Never so agreeable. Never so willing to take the help that’s offered to him.

This is a side of Jean I’ve never seen before. A side that I surely was never meant to see.

I swallow thickly and shuffle our bodies forward so I can push the button for the elevator. His head bumps against mine as it droops but he quickly straightens. “Sorry. Sorry.” His voice is gravelly and small, so small, as if it came from another person entirely.

I stare at the side of his face, but he’s focussed on something far away. “You’re okay, Jean.”

The elevator dings open and we go in. Seventh floor button. The door rolls shut.

Beep. Our knees buckle as the elevator accelerates and the screen above the button panel indicates that it’s going up. It usually smells of antiseptic unless it’s been raining.

Beep. The elevator’s always been slow which is why most people take the stairs instead. Connie calls it the ‘hellevator’ because he swears it almost dropped him once.

Beep. Jean’s trying to steady himself; hold himself up.

Beep. We haven’t been this close together since the party.

Beep. Jean takes an unusually large, wheezy breath and holds it. “Sorry.” His voice is hardly a rumble against my side.

“Why are you sorry?” I ask, quietly.

Beep. “For making you do this.”

Beep. The door retracts and muffled hip-hop fills the air. We walk off the hellevator and stand in front of the dorm. 704. An opaque plastic bag hangs off the handle and I take it in the same hand I hold my bag — thanks, Mikasa.

“You have your key?”

Jean grumbles and taps his pockets, pulling out a key ring. A rubber charm — Badtz-Maru, the little angry penguin — hangs from the ring. Sasha gave all of us one in her Sanrio phase. Keroppi for Connie, Charmy for Mikasa, Pompompurin for Marco, Cinamaroll for Eren, Kuromi for me. I (was forced to) help her choose.

The key retracts and Jean uses his free arm to turn the handle and shoulder the door open. He clears — tries to clear — the phlegm in his throat. “Alexa,” he gurgles. “Alexa, stop.”

The music immediately ceases and we stumble to the couch where Jean unceremoniously drops and tucks his head between the armrest and cushioned back, looking utterly uncomfortable.

“Get up, Jean.”

He sniffs.

“Come on. Bed.” I drop my bags on the coffee table. “Not couch.”

“No.”

“Connie will throw a fit. And so will I.”

“Just—” he tries clearing his throat again— “go.”

“I’m not leaving until you get better.” I blink. No, I’m not leaving him here alone. Why does that surprise me?

“I’m fine. I told you. Done it before. I’ll get better.”

“Done it before?” I giggle falsely. “What, you used to rawdogging colds all by yourself?”

A car passes outside, a familiar rising and falling sound against the unfamiliar silence of the dorm.

“Jean?”

“Go…”

And I swear he’s never sounded so… vulnerable before. Like he’s laid out all his organs on a big table and I’m holding the scalpel. Just waiting for the incision.

A little softer, I tell him, “I’m not going anywhere, Jean.”

And I take the goodie bag and head for the simple kitchen — that is, an inlaid fridge, stove, and pantry cramped behind an island counter with a sink. I hold the electric kettle Reiner got for Jean’s and Connie’s fifth anniversary (he thought they were together at first) under the sink and let it fill to two cups just in case before setting it back and switching it on.

Then I rummage through the drawers and cupboards until I find an old, strangely moist box of tea packets. Yuzu mist or Cheerful Citrus? I opt for the latter.

Tearing open the package, I glance at Jean who still hasn’t moved. The teabag I dump into a printed mug that Jean likes to use.

NUMBER 1 COUGAR

I wonder where he got that.

The kettle clicks off when the water boils and I fill the mug. Oh. Honey would be good. I return to the couch and sift through my bag, shifting my keys in the process. Now Jean stirs.

“Are you leaving?”

“No, Jean.”

I keep rummaging. I know it’s in there. Might be in deep, but—

“Please don’t.”

I pause, emotions — affection? concern? — swirling like particles of tea in water. “Okay, Jean.”

I finish making the tea in silence with an almost-empty bag of milk left in the fridge. How do these boys even survive? All that’s in there are cold cuts and a bag of only bread butts, among some other, strange things. Including a pair of boxers.

“Can you sit up?”

Jean sighs into the cushion and braces against the armrest to push himself into somewhat of a sitting position.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

His eyes cast down. I swallow the silence that suddenly envelops us. Nothing weird. Just a room. I’m just a caretaker. “Come on, Jean.”

“Can— can you help me?”

I fall into the little divot in the couch where Jean sits and let him wrap an arm around my shoulder. “Ready?” I say. “One, two…”

We stumble up and pass through the already-ajar door to Jean’s bedroom and I nearly stop to take a better look. He has blackout curtains, currently drawn, painting the room in a dark blue light except for a thin bar of sunlight from between the curtains that propagates as a glowing line on the carpet. The walls are plastered in posters, sketches, paintings, sketches. Half-finished drawings on his desk and swivel chair and a few on the ground. A small compartment shoved into one corner with every art supply imaginable.

Still taking in the view, I (we) back into the bed, butt-first, and Jean unwraps himself from me.

“You won’t… do anything weird… to me?”

I smile. Conversational, that’s good. “Not unless you want me to.” And I wish I had shut up before the first word even came out of my stupid mouth. Standing, I look over my shoulder. “I’m getting the medicine.”

“Wait. Don’t.”

Under the doorframe now, I pause. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right back.” And I go to the goodie bag.

I should just work on keeping my mouth shut. Mikasa had picked out some ibuprofen, NyQuil, and lozenges. Pills should be good. I take the mug and the box and head back.

When I get back Jean’s sitting against the headboard, trying to uncrumple his blanket to get underneath.

“Let me help.”

He watches me then, helpless — Jean fucking Kirschtein, helpless! — as I set down the pills and mug on his glass nightstand and unfold the mess he’s got on the mattress. “Pull your legs up.”

He obeys. I pull the quilt over him.

I try not to stare. “You can put your legs down now.”

He obeys.

“Sit up, Jean. You need more pillows.”

Eyes glued to me, he leans forward so I can take his other pillow to prop him up more comfortably, leaning back when I touch his warm shoulder. Then I take the mug and offer it to him. “Drink some of this.”

Painfully quiet, he takes the mug with both hands and takes a tentative sip, lips curling around the brim of the ceramic to slurp up the soothing drink. He’s doing good. Until he hits a bump and starts sputtering.

Immediately I take the drink as he coughs up whatever went down the wrong way. When he’s done I realize I’ve been rubbing circles into his back so I take my hand off.

My phone buzzes in the living room. Shit.

“I’ll be back.”

Jean stares at his knees under the blanket and doesn’t move when I come back.

sashacado: omg yall

sashacado: theyre gonma be killed💯

armong us: What’s going on?

sashacado: @/lainah what did u do

lainah: One video attachment

sashacado: ONG LMFAOOO

sashacado pinned a message

mr. handsome: @/me im headed to urs with sash for a while. hope thats cool w you and all lmk if u need anything

jägermeister: are u fr leaving those two alone

mr. handsome: well good morning to u too pricness

Deleted message

jägermeister: oh right

sashacado: connor springer delete that message rn @/mr. handsome

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

mr. handsome: ok ok jfc im sorry

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

sashacado: ok good

Whatever the hell they’re up to now.

Jean thrashes slowly and I feel a little guilty for staring down at my phone the whole time. “Are you okay?” I breathe, sticking to his beside like a magnet. “Are you in pain?”

“Hot,” is all he says.

I peel the blanket off. He is hot. Really hot.

Not like that. He’s feverish.

“Can you… help me?”

“Yeah?” I stare at him — help with what? — until he raises his arms over his head.

Oh. A few circuits in my head switch off. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m can help.” Idiot.

Like touching something radioactive I grasp the edge of his sweater and slowly raise it, catching the shirt underneath for a fleeting second before it falls back down. Deep breath. Yes, I am helping out a guy I’m dating-not-dating who I’m definitely not attracted to to take off his clothes in his bedroom in his empty dorm. Because he’s sick. No problem. Because I’m a good friend.

The neckline catches on his jaw and I unhook it, delicately trailing the scruff on his jaw in the process.

And it’s off and on the ground. Holy shit. Jean’s been sweating. And I know all that dampness on his shirt, clinging feebly to his attractive sick form, didn’t come from his 10 minutes at the gym.

He doesn’t lower his arms. Oh, so we’re doing it like this.

Okay.

I come forward again, within earshot to the rattling in Jean’s chest with his every breath, and quite literally peel the thin white shirt off. This time it’s impossible not to touch his incredibly warm and damp body, not to scrape my nails against the softness of his skin, from his waist to his broad shoulders all the way down his arms. Now he puts them down.

I almost forget he still smells like puke.

“My pants…”

Ohoho. No way, buster. You’re on your own. I’m calling Connie. Nooo way.

“Okay, but unbuckle yourself.”

He does without question, fumbling first with his belt, which I help slide off, and then his jeans.

What in the ever-loving fuck am I doing? This sounds like a smut setup. No. I’m just a friend helping out a sick friend, two friends who have never done anything even slightly romantic together.

“Sit up on the edge, okay?”

He heaves his sweaty self to the edge of the bed, palms leaving wet marks on the sheets, and, staring at the ceiling, I grasp at the hem of his pants (skirting his boxers or whatever he’s wearing because I’m not looking) and pull them (he lifts himself at first to help) all the way down. In one smooth movement I turn back around.

“Put your shirt over your… yourself.”

I wait a good few heartbeats before turning back around and lo and behold, he’s done as told. Frankly, it looks even worse now, like he’s lying in bed completely naked with just a shirt covering him. (But that’s only true if I think it’s true!) The jeans I’m still clutching for some reason I deposit on a chair.

“Jean, I’ll be right back, okay?” I wait for a response I should know isn’t coming before going out again, this time in search for a facecloth. Which I do find, shoved in the corner of the linen cabinet. I should be grateful they even have some, but then again, it might’ve been another gift from Reiner they didn’t have the heart to throw away. I rinse it under some cool water and announce my re-entry.

“I’m back. Sit still.” Folding some of the damp cloth over two fingers, I carefully dab at the sweat on his forehead. No, I need to… I pick off some strands of his sandy hair from his face, holding his hair back against his scalp, and try again. Better. “Jean?”

He opens his eyes halfway, and they raise lazily to meet mine. He’s sweaty everywhere and too late I catch myself stroking his head. I wipe his cheek next.

“Drink some tea, okay? I need you to take a pill.”

“Pillk?”

“Yes,” I say encouragingly, like training a puppy. Neck next. “Just a pill.”

He takes in a deep mouth breath. There’s a portrait stuck to the ground on the other side of his bed.

Is that…

“I can’t.”

My eyes snap back and I pause, dabbing at his collarbone. “What’s that?”

He shakes his head, furrowing his brows as if the action took too much effort. “Can’t… swallow. Can’t swallow pills.”

I blink. “You can’t take pills?”

A fleeting smile meets his lips. “Vitamin gummies. Not. Vitamin pills. Might get stuck in m’throat.”

I fold up the cloth into a rectangle and smooth it out onto his forehead. “Just take some tea with it.”

“Tried. No.”

Who knew? For a guy with such a big mouth, he sure has a small esophagus.

“Jean, it’ll make you feel better.”

“No.”

I pop open the box and break open the tinfoil seal to take out a single pill.

“Noo…”

“Jean, you’ll be fine. You’re a big boy now.” And I vow never to speak again.

When I push the little oval against his mouth, I find it won’t open. Jean is breathing laboriously through his 90 percent clogged nostrils.

“Open up.”

He purses his lips, further preventing entry, and I swear he’s smiling a little.

“Very funny. Take your pill. You’re gonna suffocate yourself.”

Still nothing. I pinch his nose. He makes a muffled noise but otherwise doesn’t react.

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. At thirty-three I let go. “Are you really willing to kill yourself over a pill?”

“Don’t want. Don’t need.”

“Yeah, and I ‘don’t need’ you choking over your own puke in your sleep.”

“No…”

“Jean.” I feel terrible already for doing it like this. “Try. If you don’t at least try, I’ll leave.”

I bite my lip, awaiting his response. I really shouldn’t have said that. I’m such an asshole. Fuck.

“Okay.”

Deep breath. I push the pill against his bottom lip and the soft tissue yields against my fingers for a moment before he opens. The mug is to his lips not a moment after; he gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing, and the tea in his mouth suddenly explodes out and sprays warmly all over my face.

All. Over.

I peel my eyes open after impact. Jean looks more awake than he did before, and with a discernible expression, too: terror.

Okay. Good!

Slowly, he reaches for the sweat-soaked cloth on his head and offers it to me. I shake my head.

“Be right back.”

Bathroom. Cold water. Cold water against my face. There’s two razors on the sink and the edges of the white surface have some hairs on them. Face hairs, I’m sure. I pray.

If whatever Jean has is contagious, I sure as hell have it now.

I turn the tap off and swipe the water from my face. Great. Okay. I bunch up my now-wet sweater. I can do this.

I re-enter the bedroom. Jean sits up a little straighter now, sipping in small increments. “Sorry.”

I put my sweater on the chair. “It’s okay.”

“I— really—”

“Jean, it’s okay.”

“I’m fine. I’ll get better.” Which is about the most complete sentence he’s said in a while.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t say anything. Almost unconsciously, I gravitate to his bed.

“You already did too much for me.”

“Nonsense.”

“Why do… you do this?”

Now that gets me thinking. Because you’re sick. Because I’m a good friend. Because you’re my guinea pig for Hospitality 101. Maybe all three.

My eyes trace back to the scribbled portrait on the other side of Jean’s bed and I take the cloth from his forehead.

Thousands upon thousands of excuses, and a singular truth.

“Because I like you.”

And I take my time going back to the bathroom.

Cold water. Cold water against my hands.

“Coming in.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” Jean clears his throat, almost inaudible against my beating heart. “Back at the party. Wasn’t… nothing.”

“Wasn’t all that much, either,” I say dryly. Hopefully he doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. How shaky against his pallid skin.

Jean inhales and I can see the movement through his chest. “No. Wasn’t a lot.” He tilts his head up at a minuscule angle to scan my face, and maybe it’s the perspective, or the weird lighting, but I could swear he’s never looked at me like this before.

Except for that time.

“So I’d…” he swallows. “Like— like to have more.”

For a few seconds, it’s silent. For a few seconds, all that there is are his dim eyes and mine. For a few seconds, we fall into each other and tread water, sinking, fading…

I break our gaze and tremblingly pluck a tissue from a box on the ground; hold it to his nose. “Blow.”

He takes a shaky breath and obeys.

Fold. “Again.”

He shuts his eyes and blows.

“Again.”

He blows until his air gives out. I drop the spent tissue.

“Again?”

He shakes his head.

“Let’s try the pill.”

He nods and stares as I open the foil for a second time and pop the new one in my mouth.

He watches, confused, until a wave of realization seems to hit him.

He stays statue-still as I lean in, put a hand on the headboard on either side of his head.

His heat, like a barrier, raises the hairs on my skin. He cups my jaw. I cradle the side of his neck, and his pulse beats at a million miles a minute. The pill begins to dissolve.

Our mouths barely touch, and I make the final connection.

Jean is tall. Jean is arrogant. Jean will laugh at you when you fall.

But Jean has the softest lips, the sweetest mouth (even when he puked out a buffet no more than half an hour ago). Jean will melt like soft butter under your touch. Jean will accept your tongue, no questions asked, and retaliate with twice the vengeance.

Like I’ve been dreaming of since that brief moment at the party, I let my hand run insouciant through his hair. No eyes watching. No social boundary.

He gasps softly for air and I do the same, pulling his scalp so he tilts to meet me better with a small grunt. God, I fucking love his hair.

Now both of his iron-hot hands are on me, hooking under my shirt, running up and down, claiming every square inch, and I let mine fall from his neck down to his slick chest down to his stomach down to his abs. Other still planted firmly in his hair, pulling, twirling, pulling, and when I tug again Jean squeezes so hard, doubling down, suddenly hungry, suddenly a starving man. Wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me closer, I oblige, hooking a leg onto his bed, between his knees, and my thigh brushes against his still-damp T-shirt, and he groans softly into my mouth—

and swallows with an ulp!

and it’s over.

I stroke his throat as the pill goes down and he stares hollowly at me until it’s gone. I recline and smile.

“Is that enough for you?”

Unblinking, he pulls me down again.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Connie kicks the asphalt with his definitely real Gucci slides. “Are you done?”

“Shh!”

He shoots his friend a withering look — that is, as withering of a look that he can muster.

“This is creepy. And I’m cold. Can we at least—”

Sasha puts down her binoculars and shows him what a real killer glare is. He rolls his eyes and scans his phone. Eren’s sent a message to the matchmaker groupchat.

emo king🖤⛓️: are u sure this plan of urs worked out

emo king🖤⛓️: excuse me if this is harsh, but it’s probably the dumbest shit of ur dumbshit ideas

me: yeah try telling Sash that

sharmin ultra soft: Eren’s right. Chances are Jean puked and turned everyone off

intimidating woman: i think there’s a chance

emo king🖤⛓️: are u fr in on this mikasa

sashami: you guys shh the star coming

Sasha shoots him another look before putting her non-stalker scope away in preparation for the star of the day’s arrival.

“Whad’d I do?”

As far as he knows, Connie is doing everything right. He’d told everyone that he was sleeping over at Sasha’s. (Her idea.) And now it’s Monday, and it’s time for the star’s (code name) first class (and also Sasha’s), and now they’re sitting out in the cold like a couple of dumbasses watching the stairwell windows. (Also her idea.) What the heck?

“I’m going in the car,” Connie grumbles. He doesn’t wait for the inevitable retort and climbs in to the drivers’ seat.

The car. The one silver lining to this whole ordeal. He’d eaten, put his feet up in, and used up every last drop of gas on this baby and Jean couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

But the person coming through the door isn’t their star. It’s Jean. Huh?

Connie pops out of the vehicle and joins up with Sasha.

“Oh— you’re here, too?” Jean’s brow furrows deeper. “What’s going on?”

“Well, hello to you, too,” Connie grins. “Looks like you‘re doing a lot better.”

“No thanks to you lot.”

“Where are you going?” Sasha pipes in, and he knows what’s coming next. She’s using her interviewer voice.

“Just… going to class.” Jean smacks Connie’s shoulder. “Keys?”

He produces them with a flourish and a jangle and the taller takes them, unlocking the car.

Beep beep!

Sasha casually tails him, twisting around to block the driver’s side door.

“Sash.”

“Were you a good host?”

“I mean, I was really sick.”

“You have actual, proper food, right? Did you feed your dear caretaker?”

“Uh…” he smirks. “Yeah.”

“Is your room clean?”

“It’s fine!”

“Did you sleep together?”

He rolls his eyes and wedges a hand between his car and the girl. “Okay, get out.”

“Answer my question!” Sasha cries as she stumbles back and Jean hops in. Without another word, the car backs out. Jean turns and comes forward so he’s perpendicular to the parking spot before lowering his window.

“Connie! You owe me 20!” And then he’s gone.

Dumbfounded, the boy looks to Sasha, finding her staring at her phone. “What’s wrong? You on your period?”

“Oh, fuck off. Look.”

star: sorry sash,, not coming to hospitality. i got sick :(

star: jeans staying home for me tho. dont wait up <3

And the mastermind screenshots the fruits of her labour.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

would you look at that. more kissing. *throws tomato* i did 80% of this in one day. no regrets!! (said eren.) (ill shut the fuck up now) i hope you enjoyed! it actually turned out a lot less gross than i originally planned (they were gonna do it with the nyquil ewwwww) but this is fine. right? i never actually kept a pill on my tongue like that for so long so for my sanity's sake let's pretend this is how it all works.

this started out as a oneshot. however,,, i decided to add more parts to it because i'm a sucker. check it out if you like! <3

byebye

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

masterlist part 2 - low tide

#jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein fanfiction #jean kirstein x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #pushable #pushs oneshots

83 notes · View notes

littlexscarletxwitch · 1 year

Note

Hi, I saw that you request is open, so is it okay if I request a Natasha x fem!R in a secret relationship and Nat always leave a hickey in R's neck and the team kept on asking R where did it come from and R will answer "just a spider bite" and the team thought it came from Peter, but Peter denies it, until Nat calls R a pet name and they kissed in front of the team. Thank you!

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗲

paring: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, the team being the team, i love clint and nat so much, also civil war never happened in this timeline (lol)

warning(s): grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 0.8k

note: OMG MY FIRST NAT FIC!. I had so much fun writing this, thank you for letting me write out your idea, nonnie. I kinda changed it a little bit, I hope that's okay. Sorry it's kinda short. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you guys enjoy! <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

Your breath hitched as you felt her soft wet lips on your neck.

“Natty, stop. You are going to leave a hickey,” you tried to sound annoyed but clearly you were enjoying the situation.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do,” you heard her mumble against your skin.

“Nat, they are going to find out if you keep on marking me,” you chuckled.

“I don’t care, detka. Let them know who you belong to,” you could hear the grin on her face.

“You are the worst,” you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

[...]

“Again. This time punch harder, Y/n. Imagine you're fighting for your life,” Steve said, trying to help you out.

Your head fell back in annoyance, you had been throwing punches at the punching bag for the last hour. Your arms were sore, your feet hurt from standing and you felt like you could just die any second now.

“Hey, what’s that on your neck?” you heard Bucky said next to Steve.

Your hand immediately went up to cover the hickey. You had tried your best to put some makeup on it, but clearly you hadn’t done a good job.

“What is it?” you tried to play dumb, which was no use. The boys standing in front of you knew better than that, they could see right through you.

“Looks like a bruise,” Steve raised his brow at you.

“Spider bite,” you mumbled.

“What was that?” Steve asked, not having heard anything you had just said. But Bucky had heard perfectly.

“Oh, nothing. It’s probably a mosquito bite,” you shrugged it off.

Steve and Bucky looked at each other. Sure, Steve may seem innocent and cute but he knew better, and that was no mosquito bite. Bucky could tell that it was a hickey even from a mile away. Still, they played along.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve shrugged it off.

“Come on, again,” Bucky said, nodding to the punching bag. Smile creeping on his face as knew he would use this new information later on.

[...]

“So, you two have been spending a lot of time together recently…” Tony said, entering the kitchen. There was something about his tone that sent a shiver up your spine. He was up to something.

Tony walked in while you and Peter were having an afternoon snack, you were helping him out with his homework. Well, you weren’t actually helping him, you were telling him everything about your relationship with Natasha while he was trying to do his homework. He was the only one who knew that the two of you were dating and was the only person who didn’t mind hearing you rambling nonstop about your badass girlfriend.

“Yeah, we have been training together, what about it?”

“Nothing at all, Barnes said something and I was just curious,” he said nonchalantly.

“What did he say?” Peter chimed in, finally looking away from his books.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation, “Well, he said that the thing on your neck isn’t a mosquito bite, more like a spider bite,” he winked at the two of you.

You and Peter shared a look and a second later the two of you were laughing.

“You think he gave me the ‘spider bite’,” you said in between laughs.

“Y/n, they think we are dating,” Peter put a hand over his belly trying to hold back his laughter.

“Wait, you didn’t give her that hickey?” Tony asked seriously.

“No, Mr. Stak, what makes you think that?” the boy next to you said once he was done laughing.

“I just thought… Barnes said… But Steve thought,” Tony couldn’t say a word, confusion was written all over his face.

Just when he was about to say a coherent sentence another person walked in the kitchen.

“Hey, detka,” Natasha said and pecked your lips.

“Wait what?!” Tony screamed.

Soon enough more people found their way into the kitchen because of Tony.

“What’s going on?” you heard Bucky said.

“Is everyone okay?” Steve stepped in, always the gentleman.

“Nat’s the spider,” Tony simply answered.

“What?” the two of them asked in unisom.

“Y/n’s spider?” Clint chimed in.

“Yes. All this time I thought it was Parker,” Tony said in annoyance.

“I don’t understand why this is a big deal…” you tried to say but someone cut you off.

“Pay up, losers,” Clint cheered.

“What?” you and Nat complained at the same time.

“They had a bet. This is actually really funny,” Peter said, trying to hold back from laughing so hard.

“Goddamin it, Y/n,” Tony protested.

You watched as the three men gave each a fifty-dollar bill to Clint. You couldn’t help to playfully roll your eyes at them, they were like children.

“It’s okay, malyshka. Let them be,” Nat said before softly kissing your lips.

“Okay, yeah, that’s our cue,” you heard Clint say.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff fluff #requests by lovely anons ‘๑’

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loomisadvocate · 6 months

Text

the inevitable 𖤐 part five

woodsboro would soon be a distant memory - but some things would make it hard to forget.

pairing: billy loomis x fem!reader

word count: 7.4k (holy shit i am so sorry)

tags/warnings: strangers to enemies, enemies to lovers, smut (eventually), angst, slow burn (heavy on this), cursing, alcohol and marijuana, make out scene who cheered!, probably others i'm forgetting.

a/n: clearly i got a little carried away with this part... it's the longest one to date. i hope that's not a bad thing. not 100% edited bc i promised i would post today. enjoy!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

masterlist

“I’m sorry, he actually said enchanting?”

Tatum stifles her laughter to avoid any of her soda passing through her nose. That, and to avoid any more stares from the old woman who’d been glaring at Tatum over her less-than-modest plaid skirt. You nod, scrunching your nose up at the memory.

Your outing with Tatum has, so far, been spent filling her in on your entire Billy situation. It was prompted by her asking why, and you quote, “rat-boy,” was so hellbent on the group knowing in the first place, seeing as you’d only formally known each other for a few weeks. In the spirit of having no more secrets, you gladly answered her question.

You started from the very beginning: how a seemingly innocent conversation about red wine versus white turned into a quick trip to the garage that ended in telling him your plans to move. If Tatum thought the garage incident was hilarious, she was sure to piss herself when you told her about him coming to your window.

“Wait for it; it gets much worse.” You laugh along with her and take another bite of the pretzel you were sharing, wiping cinnamon sugar dust off on a useless paper napkin. “So then a week later, I’m writing my paper and hear something outside. I’m thinking it’s a small animal or something, but no. Guess what?” You pause for dramatic effect, Tatum raising an eyebrow and waiting expectantly. A few seconds go by before her hand smacks on the table and she gasps.

“Shut up!” The old woman next to you grunts and picks up her belongings, clearly fed up with your friend’s dramatic reactions. Tatum doesn’t care, and neither do you. If people looked at you and saw two high school seniors behaving like they were spilling middle school gossip, you couldn’t care less. You’d been waiting for more moments like these with her, and you’d be damned if you let a stranger spoil it with just a dirty look.

Tatum lowers her voice and leans in closer to you. “Shut up. He came to your house. Through your window?”She confirms with you, and you nod with your nose scrunched up.

“And I actually let him in, which is the even crazier part. But I talked to him—like, actually talked to him, Tatum. And he wasn’t that unbearable. Then, for whatever reason, he just flipped a switch.” You run a hand through your hair and push the pretzel towards her. Thinking about it all was taking away your sweet tooth.

What confused you the most about Billy Loomis is why, all of a sudden, he made fucking with your circle a personal mission. You racked your brain, thinking perhaps you had offended him by accident and didn’t realize it. You’d been doing that over and over again, coming up empty each time. Tatum knew him much better than you did and had a different angle, seeing as her boyfriend was the boy’s best friend.

“I think Billy is just a shithead and likes to get under people’s skin. He’s really good at it,” she offers. You already had the opportunity to learn that the hard way. “So what happened after you guys talked? Did you throw him out on his ass?” She asks with a giggle, getting a kick out of the mental image of you grabbing him by his hair and tossing him out of the window. A bit morbid, but a girl could dream.

You hesitate to answer. It’s not that you wanted to lie again; god no, that was the last thing you wanted to do. But something about telling another soul about the tension and the bubbling desire you’d been feeling in your gut since meeting him? It felt eerily similar to the reason you took so long to tell Tatum about leaving; it would make it real. You were perfectly content living in denial for as long as it took, even if that was up until the moment the moving van drove away.

You don’t answer, and Tatum kicks your leg lightly under the table. “Hello?’ She draws it out, waving her hand in the air. “What, did you guys make out or something?”

“No!” You shout immediately—defensively and hopefully convincingly. A few more people turn to look due to your quick outburst. “He got all... angry? Called me ungrateful and said I needed to wrap up my pity party. So I called him an asshole, and then..." You trail off at the memory. He taunts you, his lips now ghosting over your temple and his slim fingers resting on your hip. Through the thin, unreliable material of your t-shirt, you could feel him tracing circles.

“And then what?! You’re killing me here.” Tatum is growing more impatient by the second, like she’s heard the juiciest rumor about her favorite celebrity on TV, and suddenly the signal goes out. You look at her with uncertainty. Truthfully, you weren’t even entirely sure what had happened yourself. “I swear to god if you don’t spill.”

“And then it got weird,” you continue. Tatum doesn’t speak for you to know she’s asking how it got weird. “He got really close to me, like he was going to kiss me. And then he just didn’t? He said I should finish my paper and said my secret wouldn’t last much longer. Then the party happened, and he tried to give me a ride to school this morning. Well, I accepted the ride only ‘cause I would’ve been late and—“

“Whoa, we aren’t going to just skip that part. You guys almost kissed?!” Your best friend was crazed by all of this. Finding out you were moving, that Billy had it out for you, and that he had made a half-move on you all in one day was a bit much, even for her. She had absolutely zero interest in your ride to school this morning. Besides, she would be reinstating herself as your chaffeur starting tomorrow anyway.

"It was just weird and tense; nothing crazy happened. But it was definitely something. I just don’t know what his angle is.” You shrugged the entire thought away, entertaining it felt distasteful.

Admittedly, you hadn’t reached the point of being repulsed by him. The Billy you’d met a month ago was lingering in every crevice of your brain. Even the Billy that appeared in your bedroom seemed more kind, more palatable in some sense. Billy had proven thus far to be, if nothing else, a complete wildcard. You weren’t sure which Billy you would get on any given day. One day he is mocking you in your bedroom; the next he’s embarrassing you; and after that, he’s offering to bring you to school.

It was all too confusing, and your mind being seemingly detached from your body was not helping. The manner in which he could keep you frozen in place with a single look, your eyes the only part of your body able to move. Tracing over his stature, his lips, and his hands. It was positively disturbing. Now it had happened not once but twice, and everyone knows what they say about the third time.

"It sounds like he wants to see if he can get the library girl to open up more than her books." Tatum giggles and finishes off the sugary snack, crumpling up the paper to toss into the trash later. You don't respond; you're still fantasizing about the night in your room. Even when he wasn't in proximity he was able to throw your focus. What you fail to notice is Tatum's dawn of realization—the revelation that occurs while you're daydreaming.

"Oh my fucking god, you want to screw him!" She says it accusingly, pointing a finger at you. This is definitely enough to catch your attention. Your mouth is agape, but nothing comes out in your defense. After stuttering a few times, you manage to say something; however, it doesn't remedy much.

"Tatum, I don't want to screw him! He's horrible. Abhorrent, even." You throw in a big word in an attempt to throw her off your scent. Tatum knows you. She's known every guy you've thought to be remotely cute based on how you look at them. You never made a move on anyone the entire time you'd been in town. Partly because you preferred to avoid any serious attachments and strife when you eventually moved, but also because boys just weren't something you prioritized.

"You're basically drooling just thinking about it. God, no wonder there's so much tension." Tatum is enjoying every second of this. Maybe a small part of her is doing it on purpose, just as a little payback for what happened. Your willingness to talk to her about it, despite how humiliating it was for you, didn't go unnoticed. What killed you was how on the nose she was. It felt good to have your best friend in the loop on what would likely be your first and last real boy problem until the end of the school year.

"Ugh, you're right." You confess, unable to even laugh. Instead, you grab the hair at the top of your head and rest your face on your palms. "What do I do, Tatum?" You ask for guidance; your voice muffled. First you hear the slurping of the rest of her soda; she'd run through hers in record time.

"Just mess around; you're leaving soon anyway. He’s clearly into you, in his own bizarre, freakish way. What's the worst that could happen?" Tatum answers nonchalantly, and it earns an incredulous look from you. Tatum had personally ensured Billy was nowhere within five feet of you up until last month, and now she was encouraging you to sleep with the enemy?

"You're insane. I'm not going to mess around with him. He's an asshole; he has no respect, and he's made it clear he likes seeing me miserable.” You shake your head and lean back in your chair; one of the legs must be shorter than the rest because it's been rickety since you sat in it.

“True, but maybe he could like you? The only person who knows what Billy is thinking is Billy. Stu probably doesn't even know what happens in his bird brain." She offers an explanation, and you can't exactly disagree. You never knew what his motive was, and clearly, he kept his cards close to his chest.

"I know he's a dick; trust me," she continues. "And I'm definitely not a fan of him after what he pulled. But it's almost summer, and you've never even gone on a date with someone. Obviously, it's not a necessity, but you could probably benefit from a little something to take the edge off. You are a little bit uptight." Tatum's hands are clasped on the table as she tries to reason with you. Not only are you still in shock that she's suggesting this, but now you're surprised to find yourself agreeing.

Even so, there was still the matter of addressing his little stunt. Now that you and Tatum were fine, the next two things to take care of were, first, Randy, and secondly, the fucker that caused all of this in the first place.

"I can't believe you're telling me to screw around with Billy Loomis." You state, frankly, with a twinge of amusement donning your features.

"I can't believe you were already thinking about screwing around with Billy Loomis. You wear your thoughts on your face, by the way." Tatum smiles at you patronizingly, but you know it's with a light heart. You definitely had a lot to think about, but most of it needed to wait until after you tracked down Randy.

The squirrely one of the group was hardly ever taken seriously, but you knew that in this situation he needed to feel heard. He truly did see you as a sister. Whenever Stu would shoot down his ideas, you were always one step behind him, coming to his defense. You always said yes when he asked to hang out after school, mainly because he would go into a dramatic monologue about how much you hated him if you said otherwise.

Even though Tatum was your best friend, it was an unspoken feeling among all of you that Randy had somehow gotten the shittiest end of the stick. Randy was chaotic and, at times, unpredictable, but in a lot of ways, he was the one who bridged everyone together. You were positive that if Randy wasn't part of the group and hadn't pulled you from the library so many times, you wouldn't have gotten as close to Tatum. In the same beat, Randy was a simply guy. You knew an apology and a promise of grabbing food (on you, of course) would likely be enough. You still wanted to make it up to him.

With a clap, you stand up, ready to get out of the food court that was quickly starting to fill up with more people. The mall on a Monday afternoon was, believe it or not, one of the more entertaining places to go around town.

"No more Billy-talk; let's go. I need to find Randy." Tatum agrees quickly, standing up and tossing all of your trash in the bin before looking around in her bag for her car keys. Tatum agreed to stop by the video store on the way back and wait for you to talk to Randy. She assured you that he wasn’t angry, and noted that it wasn’t really in his nature to get angry anyways. That brought you much more comfort.

"For the record, fooling around when you're mad at someone is so much more fun. Why do you think I start fights with Stu so often?" Tatum twirls her car keys around her pointer finger and catches them in her palm. "Let's roll, Arizona," she says in a deep voice, earning a light smack on the arm from you.

You push Billy to the back of your mind for now, where he sits at any given moment lately. Perhaps Tatum was right, but if you were going to fool around with Billy Loomis, you were going to need to get your nerves in check.

Your talk with Randy was equal parts amusing and proactive. As Tatum informed you, Randy was nowhere near angry. Hurt, yes. Shocked, absolutely. But Randy, like your best friend, also knew that you couldn’t be an awful person if you tried. All of your self-hatred over the situation now felt slightly hilarious. You’d caught Randy at the beginning of his shift, luckily for you. That meant he wasn’t annoyed by people making, in his opinion, subpar movie choices just yet.

You’d given him a very similar spiel to the one you gave Tatum, filled with an obscene amount of “I’m sorry’s” and a very long hug. You had to remind him you weren’t leaving that night to get him to pull away. Nonetheless, it appeared that a lot of your worst fears were no cause for concern. Nobody (that you knew) hated you or would be cursing your name for the foreseeable future.

Randy did make it a point to really hammer that Windsor College was still taking applications despite the priority period ending already. He and Tatum had applied as soon as they opened, wishing to get as far away from Woodsboro as possible. Why it ended up being Ohio of all places you had no idea. Still, you rattled the idea around in your head. You figured it couldn’t hurt, but that was something you had to speak to your parents about.

The last you’d heard, your father was planning on taking a book deal that required him to live in New York in order to be close to the publishing company. Out-of-state tuition was likely going to be way too expensive, even with grants and scholarships. If you were able to convince him to agree on Ohio, you wouldn’t have to completely start over in the friend department.

Tuesday morning arrives, and for the first time since last Friday, you wake up without a weight on your chest. Your usual morning routine ensues, and it’s music to your ears when you hear the familiar horn of Tatum’s car outside your window. The ride to school felt even better today; after all, you didn’t have an impudent troll following you until you got into the car. Stu is taking up his usual spot in the passenger seat, his seatbelt evidently not on. Midway to school, he turns around, practically on his knees in the seat, which earns a reprimand from Tatum.

“So how are things with you and Randy? All better now?” He asks enthusiastically, a twinkle in his eye telling you he was probably asking because he wanted some juicy drama to laugh at.

“Yep, we’re all good. All is right in the world again, or whatever.” You nod once and keep your answer brief, refusing to give in to his wish. Your relationship with Stu was interesting, to say the least. You didn’t quite know him well, but his personality made it easy for you to take his banter in stride instead of taking it offensively.

“And what about things with Billy?” He asked immediately after, and Tatum slapped his shoulder quite harshly. You can see in the rear view that she is glaring at him. You scoff and direct your attention to her.

“You told him? Him of all people?! Tatum!” You lean forward and push Stu away by putting your hand over his face, staring at your best friend with a look of betrayal.

“He was gonna hear about it eventually; besides, he technically brought it up first!” She defends herself, pointing the finger at her boyfriend. You look between the two of them beyond confusion; what reason could Stu possibly have to bring up you and Billy? You raise both of your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to speak.

“You guys were like, eye-fucking each other on Friday. I didn’t know if I should feel awkward or kind of turned on,” he starts cackling as you start hitting him repeatedly.

“Don’t. Even. Go there!” You pause between each word, giving him a final slap on the top of his head. Stu was probably the least observant of everyone. If he and Billy were Dumb and Dumber, he was definitely the latter (which wasn’t saying much, really).

"Hey, fucking chill! I'm all for you getting some. A little weird it's from him, but maybe it'll fix that uptight attitude you've got going on," his words echo the ones his girlfriend had uttered to you less than twenty-four hours prior.

"Why do you guys think I'm uptight?!" You immediately shift into an even stronger defense mode, pleading frantically to the couple in the front seat for some kind of answer. You were no idiot; you had enough self-awareness to know that perhaps you could take your unyielding need for structure and order down a couple of notches.

Stu catches that you don't comment on 'getting some' from his best friend, and sticks his tongue out at you. "Arizona's fucking Billy!" He yells it as Tatum parks in her usual space, loud enough that if the windows were down people would have definitely heard it.

"Leave her alone! They haven't screwed yet." Tatum speaks up finally; although not to as much of your benefit as you would've appreciated. She puts the car in park and you jump at the opportunity to get out before you strangle Stu for his teasing. You scowl at the 6'4 child next to you and he, as usual, ignores your silent protest.

"Don't worry, Stu has to be on your side because I'm on your side. That means no Billy tomorrow night, right babe?" She looks up at him to confirm, but you can tell she's shooting daggers at him; compelling him to provide the answer she was looking at again.

"What's going on tomorrow night?" You ask. Hopefully it was nothing involving as much alcohol as the last time you spent time with them.

"Movie night, Randy insists there's a movie we need to watch that can't wait until the weekend. Billy will not be there." Tatum's chin turns up and she smacks Stu's chest. He feigns discomfort but she quickly provides him with a swift kiss.

"No Billy," you repeat. Relief washes over you. The unavoidable confrontation with him that had been plaguing you could be put off for one more day. The three of you split up to go to your respective classes, and you can only hope that Stu makes good on his word and keeps Billy as far away from you as possible.

———

Stu, surprisingly, keeps his promise. In fact, Billy was nowhere to be seen all day at school yesterday. Today he'd passed by you in the hallway, but he was too invested in whatever conversation he was having to notice you, or he chose to ignore you. Either way, you were content. Stu welcomes you inside, clearly prepared to drink the night away in his signature red 'party robe.' You didn't plan on drinking copiously; after all, it was still a weekday. However, the memories of the last time you were in Stu's living room began creeping up on you as soon as you walked inside.

Nobody brought up last Friday, which you were grateful for. But if you were going to relax enough to enjoy your night, at least one drink was necessary. To avoid falling into the cycle of running through beers all night, you instead asked Stu for a shot of tequila from his parents' liquor cabinet. It was hot and stung your throat as you forced it down, but the warmth that filled your chest afterwards was well worth it. That, and the soda you'd downed immediately after, helped with the foul taste. Everyone else indulged in a shot of well, most of them chasing it with their first beer of the night.

You were comfortable in the same place you were the first time you'd come to Stu's house. It seemed like so long ago. The season had already changed to summer since you'd made small talk about wine with the boy, who would soon become something close to your only adversary. Tatum and Stu were already settled in their places while Randy fiddled with the VHS player, a sight you'd become used to.

The tape's sleeve tossed haphazardly on the small table read Hellraiser IV: Bloodline, and you kept your complaints to yourself. You didn't plan on spoiling Randy's enthusiasm for the remainder of your time in town. You just really did not like horror movies, good or bad. Randy performs his regular pre-movie sermon, this time complete with a full run-down of how the original director had bowed out due to "artistic differences" and that a lot of the characters' fates had been rewritten. You couldn't help but inaudibly laugh at the irony. Oh, how you wish for your fate to be rewritten.

You actually try to focus on the movie, despite the faint buzz you can feel between your ears from the tequila. A group of guards are attempting to break down the door in order to take Dr. Paul Merchant when loud knocks at the front door scare all of you.

"Jesus, fuck!" Stu yells and groans loudly, hopping up over the back of the couch. Your attention briefly wanders to the entrance, but the front door is out of sight from where you're sitting. You don't hear much and assume Stu is coming back any second.

A few minutes go by without Stu's return, but Randy and Tatum are too captivated by the movie to notice. You get up quietly to avoid any other unexpected scares, going through the open archway until you can see the front door. Stu's towering height is hiding whatever he was looking at.

"You can't be serious, Stu," you hear a voice whisper. Whoever he was looking at. Stu senses you behind him and quickly turns to look over his shoulder, revealing none other than Billy fucking Loomis. Of course, he would be here right now.

Upon seeing you, Billy attempts to step inside through the small gap. "Just - there you are. Arizona, can I please talk to you?"

Stu puts his leg out to block his path, his hands clasped together, while his eyes flash between the two of you. It would be a lie to say Stu wasn't finding this a thousand times more entertaining than the movie.

"What could you possibly have to say to me that I would care about?" You respond boldly, crossing your arms and tilting your head at him, like you were suggesting a challenge. You should drink tequila more often. Billy's lips stay pressed together, and you can tell by the slight twitch of the corner that your reply was both unexpected and unappreciated.

Stu knows his friend far too well and quickly interjects. "How about you guys go talk in my room?" He suggests it, more-so an attempt to beg Billy not to make a scene. Stu is smiling, but it’s strained. Billy was not used to hearing any form of 'no,' and the last thing Stu needed was Tatum yelling at him for Billy showing up unannounced. You glance over at the living room, both of them completely unaware of what was happening in the foyer.

“I’d rather rot than listen to anything that comes out of your mouth.”

With that, you turn on your heels and walk straight back to the kitchen. Luckily, your arms were crossed to hide your shaking hands from his view. They are just still enough to pour yourself another shot of tequila, and you drink it without a chaser this time. You shake your head first, then your shoulders, and end with your arms in an attempt to get your body to relax. You desperately need to calm down and carry on with the rest of the evening as you intended—Billy free.

You return to your spot just as Stu reenters the living room, and trailing not too far behind him is Billy. So much for him not being here tonight. Tatum finally looks over when Stu sits down next to her, and her jaw drops while she follows Billy with her eyes.

“Really?! I told you not to invite him!” She whispers harshly, making no effort to keep it a secret that he wasn’t exactly wanted. Billy doesn’t bat an eye; he just sits on the floor furthest away from you, right by the arm of the sofa Tatum and Stu were occupying.

“He just showed up. What was I supposed to do?” Stu whispers back, throwing his hands up defensively. “Just watch the movie; who cares?” He mutters, avoiding looking in your direction. You and Tatum both roll your eyes, settling more into your respective places as you attempt to focus on the movie again.

It’s not much longer before Duc de L’Isle is summoning the demon princess, Angelique, into a woman’s body. Even with the movie accelerating, you’re processing none of it. The small television doesn’t give off enough light for you to see everyone, but it does cast the perfect amount of illumination on Billy. The movie progresses without your attention, and even with Randy’s animated reactions, Tatum’s commentary, and Stu’s childish (and inappropriate) jokes, you have no reaction. You feel as though you’re watching yourself from the other side of the room, desperately trying to look uninterested enough to avoid any attention coming your way.

You and Billy are playing the same game. From his spot on his floor, you are just in his peripheral vision. He can make out that you're sitting with your knees to your chest, but he can't see your face clearly without making it obvious he was looking. He is actively fighting every urge to steal a quick glance at you, truly hoping to find you looking right back. Every so often, he adjusts, the hard floor starting to be a literal pain in his ass. Each time, he manages to look at you for what feels like half a second.

Thirty minutes later, your couple of shots of tequila are starting to wear off, making you painfully paranoid about a certain someone. Just as you'd done before, you get up quietly and pad over to the kitchen. The tequila bottle is sitting in the same place you'd left it, your empty shot glass by its side. You sigh softly, taking the top off and pouring another to the brim this time. You quickly scan the counter for something to chase it with, but all the sodas are empty. You take a few steps to the fridge and pull it open, bending over to look for something. You spot a lone can of root beer in the back and grab it.

When you turn back around, another lanky figure is waiting for you. You gasp instantly, and the root beer falls from your hand. Nobody in the living room stirs at the disruption; the movie is too loud.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you begin, your mouth immediately snapping shut as your brain catches up to your body.

"No, just me." Billy gives you a placid smile. You don't say anything in response, stepping around him. You make it a point to hit his shoulder.

"Fair, I deserve that." He nods in understanding, hands clasped behind his back. You deserve a hell of a lot more than a shoulder-check, you think to yourself.

The can opening fills the space Billy expects you to take up with a response. He watches you intently, chin turned down, while you chuck back the shot and follow it up with root beer. You do your best not to show it on your face.

"Arizona, I'm just trying to apologize," he begins, taking a step towards you. Immediately, you fall back and hold your hand up between the two of you.

"Like last time? I'm not interested in hearing it." You snip back at him. "Why can't you get the hint that I don't want to listen to your fake sympathy? And I sure as hell don't need to be reprimanded by someone like you." You keep your voice low enough to keep this conversation as private as possible. The last thing you want is another confrontation like last time.

He stays silent and stares at you, his face falling just enough for you to notice. It's clear he fully expected his ambush to work, but there was no way you would go through this again. Not if you could help it. His nostrils flare so fast you almost miss it, but what you do miss is how fast his hand is wrapped around your elbow. You begin to protest and try to yank it out of his grasp, but Billy is intent on getting you upstairs. You both struggle up the stairs, and you are nudged into a bedroom with gaudy blue and red plaid sheets. The door is almost slammed behind you as Billy stands in front of it.

"What the hell is your problem?!" He demands an answer, and you laugh incredulously.

"Are you serious? What part of I don't want to talk to you do you not understand?" You attempt to leave the room, but he intervenes by stepping over to the left. You huff and try the other side, but he mimics you.

“I rarely apologize, you should feel grateful. Are you that goddamn stubborn?" His height is an advantage in this situation, and he uses it to make you step backwards towards the bed.

"Do I need to remind you that this entire thing is your fault?You are always so out of line; you just can't help yourself, can you?" Days of pent-up anger at the boy in front of you bubbled up to the surface. Your fists are clenched by your side, something Billy finds quite endearing. You were right; he couldn't help himself. It was too easy to get you this way: defensive, riled up, with a spunk nobody else in the group had seen except for him. He knew it was in there somewhere; he just didn't expect to find your buttons so quickly.

"What did you say earlier?" He cocks his head to the side, and his forehead creases. A beat passes, and he snaps his fingers. "That's right, you'd rather rot than talk to me. Rot, Arizona. Bit harsh, isn't it?" He speaks evenly, his words laced with condescension.

"I meant it, and I still mean it," you confirm. "You had no right to do what you did."

"Oh, I know that. For the record, I am very sorry about how it all happened," he says, rocking back on his heels a couple times. You allow his words to go in one ear and out of the other.

"But if I hadn't, you wouldn't have told them. You and Tatum seem like two peas in a pod again, so was it that horrible?" His hands are held out, palms facing up as if to say, see? It all worked out.

It takes a moment for you to decide if you want to even entertain this.

"That's... Billy, that's not the point. It turned out okay, but it's the principle of the situation." You are too exhausted by the subject to continue holding your ground.

"Girls and their principles," he chuckles. You raise your eyebrows and shake your head once, about to really force your way out, but Billy tries to dial it back.

"It's a joke, Arizona. Relax. I really am sorry. I was a dick that night, and I would probably be one again. But everything is fine now." This boy needs an extensive course on the art of a meaningful apology.

You sigh, almost in defeat. Billy was so caught up in the specific situation that he was neglecting everything that occurred before it. You'd opened up to him; you'd trusted him with your feelings. You told him something you hadn't even told your best friend, and he used it against you.

"That night in my room?" You start, jogging his memory for him since he had clearly forgotten. "I thought you were actually hearing me. I thought I was gaining another friend before I left, and you didn't care. You embarrassed me in front of everyone, yeah. But you also just..." You trail off, and this is why you didn't drink tequila. You can feel your eyes heating up, and you have to catch your lip between your teeth to keep it from trembling.

"I what?" He asks. He's speaking softly now, inching closer to you.

You don't want to say it. You'd come to terms with the fact that Billy was not your friend, but it was unusual how simply unkind he could be. You had only been crying because of hurting Tatum, but you hadn't fully processed your feelings about what Billy had done. You were so intent on soaking up more good with your best friends that you ignored the other side of the coin. Now it was just the two of you a third time, and even after your bold display downstairs, you are still scared to tell him how you feel.

"You really hurt me, Billy." You finally breathe, and Billy is right in front of you. As quickly as the air comes in, it leaves again. You blink profusely, trying your best to keep any rebellious tears at bay. For the first time, Billy feels. a pang of guilt. He wasn't the most emotionally intelligent guy on the planet, but he thought he had enough awareness to remember that this was a layered betrayal for you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." It's the first offering of regret that you believe, albeit not completely. Each shot of tequila has relaxed you up to this point, but you feel that familiar air coming around you again, of your defenses being broken down with hardly any effort. You don't respond, and Billy takes it as an opportunity to move closer. Now you are almost nose to nose, Billy shrinking down to meet your height.

His eyes have that same look that you'd seen the night in your bedroom. His hair is falling in the exact same place. Deja-vu strikes you in the gut when you realize that once again, you haven't moved an inch. Billy's hand comes up to cup your cheek, head tilted slightly so he can get a good look at you.

"You are so confusing," you confess, mustering up enough nerve to make eye contact. The corner of his lip comes up in a half-smile; he knows he's confusing. It's not an accident.

"I know; it's what makes me interesting." He remarks, and your head shakes in disagreement. His hand is cupping your chin now. You're talking in order to keep yourself from passing out from the overwhelming heat beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.

"You don't have to be an asshole to be interesting, Billy." Your head is spinning from the proximity of your bodies. You begin to think back to your first encounter in Stu's garage—how charming he appeared to be and how easily his compliments rolled off his tongue. Even in your bedroom, he seemed endearing before it went downhill. In a different circumstance, you actually might've liked him.

"Then what else should I be, hm? Any suggestions?" Before you can answer, his thumb swipes languidly over your bottom lip. It seems to draw a deep breath out of you, much to Billy's satisfaction. He has you exactly where he wants you, where he's so easily been able to get you.

"You could try being decent for once," you retort, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as you stay firm in your conviction, his touch is getting more distracting as the seconds pass.

Billy's smile widens. "Decent, huh? I can be decent," he replies as his thumb continues its slow descent along your jawline. You almost laugh. He can be decent despite proving otherwise at every turn.

"Everything is okay with your friends. And we're finally alone. Do you want to keep talking about that, or do you want to talk about us?" He challenges. You want to push him away to reclaim some control over the situation. But there's a part of you that's satisfied the longer you stay this close to him. After all, he was right; everything was better now. He was the only loose end that hadn't been tied up. Tatum's advice is echoing in your head; it couldn't possibly be that bad. Could it?

"I don't want to talk." Your voice is low but no longer hesitant. Your eyes trail from his lips up to his eyes, and without needing to say a single word, Billy understands.

His other hand cups just under your ear, and he pulls you the few centimeters of space to close the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours gently. The first thing you notice about his lips is the lingering taste of alcohol. You wonder for only a second if he did the same as you, downing a few shots in preparation for some kind of confrontation. Billy takes his time, his grip on you loose enough that you could pull away at any moment if you wanted to. After weeks of dancing around each other and playing tug of war, every logical part of you wanted to stop this. But the other part of you that never gave in to anything but always wanted to try—that part was much stronger right now.

Your hands come up to wrap around Billy's wrists, and slowly but surely you stop fighting all of your urges to stay away from him. Billy takes this as a signal that you want this just as much as he did, likely for very different reasons. You feel his hands trail down to your lower back, resting right on the dip before the top of your jeans. Your hands find their way to his shoulders instead, and Billy begins stepping back towards the bed.

You follow his every move, completely enthralled by the warmth pooling between your legs to take notice, or really to even care. Billy's tongue swipes along your lower lip just as he sits on the edge of the bed, using his hands to guide you onto his lap. You welcome his tongue into your mouth and greet it with your own, your fingers moving to clasp around the back of his neck.

The excitement was starting to kick in, and kissing Billy turned out to be the most incredible thing you'd done in a while. Your best friend's words come back again, and this time you have every intention of listening to them.

Your lips are still moving with his near-perfectly. It is a shock after telling yourself how incompatible you were and putting so much of your energy into making sure he knew just how much you couldn't stand him. A wave of urgency passes over you, and you're pressing yourself against him without a second thought. Billy groans when you brush against the steadily growing bulge in his pants, so you do it again.

Billy pulls away just enough so he can speak, his lips even pinker than usual. "Slow down, Arizona. We have plenty of time," he teases you, and this time you don't take it personally. Your heart is racing, and you don't know what's making you feel more drunk: Billy or the tequila.

"Sorry, sorry." You shake your head, attempting to get yourself to think clearly. Billy's hands are comfortable on your hips, his fingers dipping just below your waistband to rub small circles.

"It's okay. Just come here," he says softly, easing you forward, his lips touching your throat instead this time. He places a few kisses, and a shiver runs down your spine that makes your back arch. He catches your lips again, but it's even slower this time. He's torturing you. You whine, beginning to get a little greedy when you hear someone who is definitely not Billy.

"Well, well, well," Stu leans against the doorframe, shaking his head in amusement. You've never moved so fast before in your life, hopping off of Billy's lap and scrambling to try and look like you weren't just devouring him.

"I fucking knew it; I told you!" He pumps both fists into the air triumphantly. Tatum and Randy soon pop up right behind him, and you begin to swear under your breath, hiding your face in your hands. Billy is sitting next to you, leaning back on his hands as if nothing was happening.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Randy is beside himself, pointing between you two with a look of horror. Stu nearly collapses in a fit of laughter, and Tatum stands with her arms crossed, trying to hide her smile.

"Movie's over, freaks. Let's go home." She cocks her head to the side, signaling for you to get up so you can catch your ride back. Thank god for Tatum, whether it’s intentional or not she is helping you avoid further humiliation.

Billy remains quiet, and you almost look to him for some kind of help. What were either of you supposed to say?

You clear your throat and adjust your shirt, avoiding giving him a second glance, and do the short walk of shame out of the bedroom. Randy is speaking nonsensically—a string of questions and words that don't make any sense. What you don't see is Billy hiding a smile of his own, even coughing to try and remain as stoic as possible. You hustle down the stairs, flushed with embarrassment, and follow Tatum outside to her car.

Your seatbelts are on, and the radio is off. Now that you're out of that room, the reality of what just happened settles on you. Tatum is looking at you from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge if she should say anything or wait until tomorrow. You look at her, and a few more seconds of silence pass between both of you, and you burst into laughter.

The third time was most definitely a charm.

#billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #scream #scream 1996 #billy loomis fanfiction #billy loomis smut #ghostface x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x fem!reader #stu macher #stu macher x reader #stu macher x fem!reader #skeet ulrich #skeet ulrich x reader #skeet ulrich x you #scream movie

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zaahvi · 13 days

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some more interesting stuff that stood out to me from the IGN video!

(previous post)

this set of dialogue options makes me think "spite" is the demon that is possessing lucanis! that's definitely not one we've seen before yet!

this looks like a red lyrium ogre, but it's also possible it could be a qunari based on the qamekmaster we see later and the fact that this is in treviso (based on the surroundings and the crow's road rooftops location tag). i'm sticking to ogre though as it just looks more like one! it's interesting that it has a name though...

the qamekmaster in question ^^ qamek is a qunari poison used on mages. this qamekmaster must've been a qunari 👀 i talked about this more in detail here if anyone is interested.

sticking to treviso for a bit, these symbols - which i assume belong to the antaam? not even sure what they're supposed to be honestly. but the top really looks like ghil's head shape.

there's also one in the crows hideout here. maybe taken as a trophy? and hey that statue looks so cool??? i wonder who it is...

viagooooo!! and "the butcher" was mentioned before in the short story as we fly!

it seems that the antaam managed to invade so quickly because a traitor let them in 👀

beloveds mentioned <3

moving on from antiva, the way i audibly gasped when i saw this 😭 i've seen theories about it being the regret demon and i agree!! i think the boss itself is a revenant (as mentioned in the video), which are corpses possessed by demons - in this case the regret demon probably, but who was the corpse?

at a different point in the video you can see this, it looks like a tear in the veil like in the prologue but red? and it looks like there's tentacles on the other side

this statue in the hossberg wetlands is elven, and judging by the map marker i'm guessing it's either a fast travel point or party select point. it's blurry so hard to make out, but the crown looks like it could either be mythal's or the "nib" evanuris head shape (which i think is dirthamen). also is that a hand in the top left wtf

had to include this because 💀💀 lmao yikes

this line from harding was used in promo for her vows & vengeance episode last week!!

who or what is a rathera 👀

this seems like it could be a personal quest for neve!! or maybe a sidequest you can help her with

elgar'nan symbol above the bookshelf in the lighthouse library :) it's right in front of the elgarmythal mural in fact.

pics aren't very good, but you can see two more of what i assume are the "regrets" murals. the second one looks particularly interesting, though i can't make anything specific out

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv spoilers #datv speculation #long post #good gods this video was PACKED #begging someone with good eyes (not me) to see if they can make out anything from the other murals #okay i am going to make one more post about the elgarmythal mural and that's it for me 😭 i've yapped enough #probably tomorrow though #i'm sorry i cannot shut up guys. i need friends who aren't avoiding spoilers 😭

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hopeinreverie · 2 months

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This is a little silly, but Taiga HC where he thinks he has a harem of people he likes... (+ what others think of it, below the cut)

Reminder that this is mostly just a headcanon with some character analysis and contains minor spoilers.

Taiga HCs

So this HC stems from how Taiga is most likely emotionally constipated (potentially because he had a rough childhood, but this is a topic for another day) and just doesn't know how to express his fondness to someone. In a nutshell, I will divide this into 3 parts:

People he finds fun to mess around with (Haru)

People he finds cute and is genuinely fond of (Romeo)

A mix of both (this is MC lol)

I think Ritsu will eventually find his place in there, likely in number 1 (there's a deciding factor for this, which i will get into), but to make it simple I'll only take one example for each. People that don't make it in that list are at risk of taking a bullet in the head- (he may not look it, but he's quite distrustful)

So, what's the deciding factor? Taiga only likes people that he thinks important enough to remember and will assign them nicknames. I am aware that he calls others (such as Rui, Ed) by nicknames but he doesn't care about them lol... It probably had something to do with whatever happened in The Clash that he's not fond of them.

The longer he knew someone, and if that person can put up with him, they will be assigned into one of those 3 points. He has a hard time remembering people's names, so those that can stand him is rewarded with their own nickname HAHAH. Congratulations for putting up with the devil!!

Let's get into each points one by one.

1. People he finds fun to mess around with (Haru)

I can see why people theorize how Haru used to be in Sinostra. Pre-clash HC that Taiga used to borrow money from Haru, and that's the start of their relationship. Taiga borrows them to gamble and Haru just keeps giving him money because he's THAT nice. Can't forget how poor boy is always broke as the captain of Jabberwock :")

Eventually Taiga gives calls him Harry (because it sounds cooler, idk ask him-) and he thinks Haru's reactions are entertaining.

Haru being in Jabberwock doesn't bother him, if anything it makes it more fun to 'get food' whenever he feels like it... Unfortunately for him, Jabberwock Haru isn't as nice as Sinostra Haru, and he doesn't give up 'his children' as easily as he'd give up his money.

Which brings us to their current relationship, a tag game of cat and mouse. I think Taiga is still somewhat fond of Haru, but he finds his persistance annoying. Surely he can spare an anomaly or two?

So Taiga still bothers him from time to time until he gives in, and until that time comes, he relishes in Haru's funny reactions.

Honorable mention: Ritsu

With enough time, I believe Ritsu belongs in this category as well. His interactions with Taiga is so funny, I love it... Taiga is just tired of dealing with this overachiever kid that only speaks law language. We will see how their relationship developin Episode 8 and beyond!

Taiga: See twerp, this is why you don't have a nickname yet. Ritsu: ???

2. People he finds cute and is genuinely fond of (Romeo)

Let's start this off with (one of) the infamous Taiga homescreen line-

To be honest, this is where the HC idea starts from LMAOO i think he's half joking here. Emphasizing on half, because the other half of him is dead serious. He thinks they're married. Because being business partners means you're partners for life I guess (why is he so silly...)

We don't know how they got to this point, so small theory time! Taiga probably helped Romeo at his lowest by proposing (heh) to make a gambling business together in Darkwick. Because when you're stuck in there, might as well make cash, no? We know Romeo hates gambling, but he's willing to take the chance with Taiga. This is likely why Taiga is the captain despite being irresponsible.

I'm just guessing now... But Romeo's persistence to make cash, despite abhoring gamble itself, is likely what solidifed his presence in Taiga's mind. Romeo rose to the challenge and Taiga finds it admirable.

Because Romeo has been with him for the longest, Taiga calls him Lulu (affectionate) and thinks he's funny. And cute. He's also very dependable. Above all, Taiga trusts him and this is personally a big deal for Taiga. So of course they're married, Taiga logic!

Taiga: Lulu's cheating on me. Ritsu: Understood, I shall get the divorce papers ready. Romeo: What the FUCK did you just say?

Ritsu is too serious to get the hint and he'll constantly bring it up like "Are you sure you don't want me to help with your divorce?" But Romeo shuts him down everytime while yelling "WHO is divorcing?? The only person fit to marry me is myself!!" While Taiga is laughing in the distance, like the menace he is....

Taiga is the tired dad (with dad jokes) and Romeo is the loud, nagging mom-

3. A mix of both (MC)

(I will refer to MC in 3rd person)

MC is in a tough situation here lol (as if she's not in enough danger already), because as the inspector she has to work with Taiga whether she likes it or not. On the other hand, Taiga hasn't known the MC for long enough to be attached. Yet. not until we get him to higher affinity levels or maybe in later episodes

But if you realized something, MC starts with a similar situation as Haru. As we can tell from area convos, Taiga occasionally borrows (read: robs) MC of her money to gamble. She's under the circumstances of having to deal with Taiga, but she doesn't have the backbone to challenge him in the ways Romeo could (which is understandable IMO)

So why does she have her own point? Well... (we're about to enter self-indulgent territory here)

We know from Taiga's high affection lines that he eventually becomes fond enough to MC to give her a nickname, which is kitty cat. He calls her little lost kitten in their (official) first meeting. It's cute nickname, I must say... But, why a cat?

An explanation I can think of is how Darkwick operates with cats most of the time. We're not sure what they are, but I'm sure Taiga has seen enough to know they exist. He doesn't care about them, well, at least until he meets MC.

In their first meeting, Taiga thinks she looks funny. A scared little kitten, like the ones of Darkwick that always ran away from him whenever he gets too close. People usually steer clear from him, so MC is an odd case for him. She's clearly scared, so why stick around? (he forgot that she's obligated to...)

This is where another one of my HC comes in: Taiga becomes fond of cats!! He thinks they're funny and cute. Sadly, cats are too scared to get near him lmao he doesn't understand why though. Good thing he got the MC :)

Because he eventually find cats funny and cute, this extends to MC too. Therefore, Taiga likes to mess with MC and is somewhat fond of her in strange ways. (Maybe bullying is his love language idk)

Conclusion?

Taiga is silly, I want to munch him. Also I gave up trying to fix him (HELP), so I decided to dissect his character interactions instead... there's probably more to come in the future, hopefully I can articulate them well enough to share.

#this turned out longer than i anticipated #i love sinostra #they're such a fun house #thanks for reading #tokyo debunker #tkdb #tdb #tokyo debunker headcanons #taiga hoshibami #sinostra #character study

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bonny-kookoo · 2 years

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Jungkook: By chance(short 1)

In which Jungkook gets to know his soulmate and can't help but fall deeper and deeper in love.

Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU, Idol!Jungkook, slight angst, major fluff, no one asked but I still deliver, Jungkook having impure thoughts oops

Length: short/mid

Belongs to: By Chance

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"Did you order this much?" He laughs to himself as he brings in all the takeout boxes. You jump up to help, nodding eagerly, your phone now discarded on his couch. You've visited him after he'd asked if you wanted to spend some time with him- get to know him, seeing as you're soulmates.

"I haven't eaten all day - and honestly, I paid for it, so who cares! Those cinnamon bites will still taste good tomorrow morning for breakfast. And before you ask, I do plan on taking this stuff home with me if we don't finish it." You shrug, bringing the other boxes Jungkook couldn't hold into the living room.

"How much do I owe you?" He asks, already taking his phone out, and you just lick your finger after having opened some boxes to look what's what, shaking your head.

"Your honest opinion on the chicken, really. I've never ordered those, but they do look very hot right now, not gonna lie." You say, sitting down before stretching your legs. Your shorts reveal a tattoo on your leg that seems to travel high up- he's spotted a glimpse of something up to your rib when your stretched earlier, rising fabric of your shirt having also revealed a sparkling butterfly hanging from a silver piercing decorating your belly button. It makes him wonder how much more you hide away from his eyes, what might be there to discover for him.

You seem to be such a free spirit- an uncaged bird, open, colorful, exciting. You're infectious too, your bubbly nature easily making him feel all happy and relaxed. And he swears that's not just his soulmate bond speaking. He truly believes he would've at least developed a crush on you no matter the circumstances, really. You're cute, a little wild, testing him as if to see if he's able to tame you. You're exactly his type, not just physically.

Your beauty is simply a bonus- a pretty soul safely tucked into an equally pretty body.

"I love them, even if they're a little greasy. I've got a horrible love for fried foods." He laughs, sitting down to eat across from you.

"Would've never guessed." You smile. "Not to insult you, really. But I always thought every Idol, you know, is obsessed with dieting and staying away from anything that could have more calories than a carrot." You say, before holding a hand towards your mouth, eyes wide. "Oh my God, that sounded so rude, fuck!" You shake your head. "Now I cursed, I'm sorry, fuck- I mean not fuck, shit- I mean-" you whine to yourself putting your face in your hands while Jungkook laughs across from you.

"You're fine, really, it's okay." He reassures. "I'm not that sensitive, and honestly, a lot of idols do be like that." He shrugs.

"Maybe? I mean, I probably shouldn't even bring that topic up. I don't wanna be nosy." You say quietly, stealing a piece of chicken from him before you freeze in your motions. "Oh God I should've asked- why am I like this?!" You scold yourself, and he smiles brightly towards you.

"You're cute, nothing wrong with it." He flirts.

You look at him a little playfully suspicious before you continue eating. "If you're aiming at getting into my pants, I might have to disappoint you, mister." You say, and his eyes widen while he stops chewing for a second. "In front of you sits a very awkward virgin that's not even sure if she even likes sex, or kissing, or anything of that nature really. I'm just putting it out there, lay my cards on the table, I guess." You shrug before taking a sip of your soda.

"May I ask why?" He wonders respectfully, wiping his fingers on a napkin close by. "I'll respect your decision, obviously. I'm just curious, I guess." He clarifies, and you shrug.

"You've got every right to be." You nod, licking your lips. "I guess every guy has always been so.. pushy with it to the point where I didn't want to do it simply just to spite them." You explain, not looking at him. "Wanted to see how they'd react if I said that I didn't want to. You know, neither kiss nor have sex. Like a test, to see if they're any good." You tell him, and he nods.

"And none ever passed the test?" He asks, making you shrug as you look at him now.

"I mean, there's one who's on a pretty good road of maybe being the first to do just that." You say, and he smiles charmingly, fingers playing with his lip ring for a second before he turns serious again.

"All jokes aside, I really am okay with that." He says. "I didn't invite you here to fuck you, nor do I ever plan on doing that. Putting up a facade to tangle you into something, I mean. I'd fuck you if you'd want me to, just to be clear here." He tells you, reaching over to steal a few sips of your drink.

"Well, you stole an indirect kiss now, so that gonna be some points added to your fuckboy-ness." You say, crossing your arms- unaware probably that he now gets a very attractive sight of your cleavage now.

"We can easily make it a direct one too, if you want." He flirts again, and you stay quiet for a second, almost making him apologize- until you actually speak again, softly.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind.." you mumble.

"You don't have to push yourself." He tells you calmly. "I'm sorry if it felt like I was trying to convince you. I'm only joking around."

"No-" you start, looking everywhere but him. "-I, don't know, I actually do wanna try it with you. See if I like it." You say. "But, you know, only if you're up for it too."

"I'd be dumb to say no to kissing a pretty girl like you." He shrugs with a boyish smile before he gets up from the floor and squats down in front of you, his hands on your knees as you're still sitting on his couch. He chuckles at your shyness a bit before he slowly leans upwards, making sure to check until the very last second for any signs of you becoming uncomfortable. But that moment never comes, and when his lips make contact with yours for a short peck, your hands find his to hold onto, making him smile into the kiss before he parts from you. "Good? You're free to say if it wasn't, I'm really cool with that." He says, and you nod.

"Never really knew what to expect from a kiss, really." You shrug. "But it's nice. I liked it." You nod.

"Wait that was your first kiss?!" He now asks, and you nod.

"Wasn't that obvious? I thought I made it obvious." You laugh, and he laughs as well.

"I mean, I understood the virgin part, but I thought, you know, a pretty girl like you would've at least been kissed before." He says, and you playfully hit his chest, making him fall dramatically on his butt.

"Oh come on now prince charming, go eat your greasy chicken." You tease, making him grin.

Yeah- he really believes he's gonna fall for you. Maybe he already has.

Either way- he doesn't mind one bit.

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader

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sidekick-hero · 7 months

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"He probably thinks I don't love him, Robin. Which is... ridiculous. I do! I really, really do. I just can't say it." Steve is pacing around the blissfully empty Family Video Store, his hands making a mess of his hair as they run through it in frustration.

"This is so stupid. I* am* so stupid, it's just four stupid letters, even a preschooler can say it," he rambles, his eyes wild as they look at Robin. "Why am I like this, Robbie?" His voice breaks, along with his heart, at the thought of Eddie doubting Steve's feelings for him for even a second.

Robin walks over to him and grips his shoulders tightly, her blue eyes boring into his as she says in her firmest you-listen-to-me-now voice. "You're not stupid. This is my best friend you're talking about, so watch it." That earns her at least a half-smile, which counts as a victory considering Steve was already pinching his nose to hold back tears.

"I know you love him, Steve. Everyone knows it. One look at you when he's in the room, or even when you're just talking about him, is enough to know you love him. And I'm sure Eddie knows it too. He has to."

Robin's words soothe some of the fear in Steve's heart, knowing that she would tell him if she really thought he had messed up. But even though it's okay now, Eddie won't wait forever for Steve to say those three little words. No one would. Steve knows that his heart couldn't take being with Eddie, loving Eddie and telling him that, only to never hear it back from him.

"I don't know. Even if you're right, I feel like I'm losing him. That something in me is broken, and one day he'll realize that too, and then he'll leave." With an even smaller voice Steve adds: "I can't lose him, Robbie".

They don't hug very often. Robin shows her affection in many ways, but most of them aren't overly physical. That's Eddie's job, clinging to Steve like a koala most days, always touching Steve in some way, even if it's just his shoulder nudging Steve's. Robin pulling him into a tight hug now means a lot to him, but it's also a testament to the gravity of the situation.

With their arms around each other between the horror and action movie sections, Steve takes a moment to just soak in the comfort she offers. What happened at Starcourt messed them both up, caused them both more trauma than any teenager should have to deal with, but on a very selfish level, Steve can't help but be grateful that it happened. A life without Robin Buckley sounds like the greater horror to him.

After a few minutes, Robin gently pulls away from Steve to look at him. He's reluctant to let her go, even though he knows this is an even longer hug than the one she gave him when Nancy told him they weren't getting back together after defeating Vecna. She wanted to go to Boston, make a career, see the world. And Steve? Steve wanted a home, a place to belong, and someone to share that home with. They wanted different things, he realizes now.

That doesn't mean it didn't open old wounds, memories of how it felt to be rejected by her, his love for her thrown in his face like it was worthless. Bullshit.

As attuned to him and his thoughts as ever, a true testament to the fact that they share a brain cell, Robin says, "I think it's understandable that you can't say it. The last time you told someone you loved them, you were hurt, badly. Your heart is probably just trying to protect itself. Like a kid who touched a hot stove and got burned wouldn't touch another stove, you know?"

Steve nods, because in a way it makes sense. It just doesn't help him to know.

"But what am I supposed to do, Robin? It's not Eddie's fault that I'm broken."

"You, Steve Harrington, are not broken. Just a little bruised. There is nothing wrong with you just because you got hurt and have the scars to show for it. Like Max, because of the injuries to her leg, she cannot walk like she used to before Vecna, so she uses her crutch. She's not broken. Is she?"

"No, of course not. If anything, she's even stronger now, I saw her hit Lucas with the crutch and tell him to hurry up on the way to the movies," Steve says, smiling at the memory.

"See!" Robin waves her hand at him in excitement, almost bouncing with it. "All you need is a crutch!"

They look at each other wide-eyed before matching smiles break out on their faces, Robin's giddy at having found a solution, Steve's reflecting the tentative hope blossoming in his chest.

His talk with Robin certainly helped, but as Valentine's Day approaches, the fears and insecurities start to creep back in. It's not even like Eddie is giving him any indication that he's not happy with Steve or their relationship. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Eddie tells him he loves him almost every time they see each other, at the most random moments. Some days he whispers it in Steve's ear to wake him up, other days it's his way of saying good night to him with his arm around Steve's waist and his hand over Steve's heart in a protective grip. He says it casually when Steve brings him breakfast in bed or lunch to the record store where he now works. Just yesterday he said it while Steve was buried deep inside him, their hands intertwined beside Eddie's head and brown eyes looking softly up at Steve.

It's not meant to make him feel bad about himself, he knows that.

He still does.

So when he opens his front door to the sight of Eddie standing on his doorstep in his nicest jeans and a forest green button-down Steve has never seen before, clearly having put some real effort into his appearance, Steve almost crumbles.

He's a shitty boyfriend, isn't he? There's this amazing guy who goes out of his way to look nice for Steve, even though he doesn't even like Valentine's Day, just because he knows it's important to Steve. And he can't even tell him he loves him.

Some of what he's feeling must be showing on his face, because Eddie's cheerful smile falls and he hurries into the house to pull Steve into his arms, slamming the door shut with his foot.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I told Dustin green wasn't my color, but he insisted. I look hideous, don't I?"

That makes Steve snort wetly into Eddie's neck before muttering a fond "Idiot" into it.

Eddie just hums, obviously pleased with himself for making Steve laugh. "You can tell me. You know I don't mind getting naked for you."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

Eddie grinned wolfishly at him. "I don't know, the tear in my Hellfire shirt from when you ripped it off me begs to differ."

Steve blushes at the memory, even as he laughs at Eddie's words. Instead of saying anything else, Steve pulls him back into his arms and Eddie goes willingly.

"Hi, baby," he says, his nose brushing behind Steve's ear.

"Hi." Steve breathes him in, the smell of cigarette smoke and his shampoo strong where his nose is buried in Eddie's hair.

They don't let go for a long time.

It's Eddie who pulls back first, and Steve does his best not to read into it. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

The Steve from before the Upside Down would have just shaken his head and told Eddie that everything was fine before pulling him into the bedroom to reassure them both that it was. Not talking about his feelings, fears, and needs might have worked for hookups, but he learned the hard way that it doesn't work when you want to be in a relationship.

So Steve takes Eddie's hand and leads him over to the couch where they both sit facing each other. They don't let go of each other's hands.

"I know you're probably wondering why I haven't told you... why I haven't said it yet."

Eddie's eyebrows disappear behind his fringe. "It?"

Sighing, Steve watches his fingers run over Eddie's knuckles. "You know. That I love you."

"Oh."

It's hard to place Eddie's tone, and even harder to place the silence that follows, but it makes his knee jiggle with nerves and his stomach churn. Usually it's Eddie who tends to fill the silence between them when it feels too big, too heavy, but today it's Steve.

"It's not because I don't want to, I swear. It's just," another frustrated sigh, the hand currently not held by Eddie's rubbing over his face, "I just can't say it. And I am so, so sorry, because you deserve to hear it. Every day. But I can't... I can't. So I understand if you don't want to do this anymore. You deserve better, Eddie. You really, really do."

Eddie lets Steve's words settle between them, aching and raw, but he never lets go of Steve's hand.

"You're right," he finally says, and the sound of Steve's heart breaking is deafening to his own ears. Pinching his nose, he tries to take his hand back from Eddie, but his boyfriend (if he can still call him that) won't budge. "You're right about me wondering, Steve. But that was before."

Looking up, a frown forming between his eyebrows, Steve asks, "Before?"

"Before I realized that you do tell me that you love me, every day. You say it when you tiptoe around the trailer in the morning to make breakfast without waking me. You tell me every time you pack an extra blanket or sweater when we go to the quarry because you know I always get cold. I hear it loud and clear every time you bring me lunch, even though it means you waste most of your own lunch break driving around town. It's in the way you try so hard to make Wayne like you because you know how much that means to me, and in the way you hold me after another nightmare, and in the way you kiss me sometimes like there's nothing in the world you'd rather be doing, without it having to lead anywhere, just because you like kissing me."

Eddie scooted forward and bridged the gap between them by taking Steve's face in his hands.

"Steve, you've been telling me you love me for months with everything except words. I don't really need them. It's just a four-letter word."

And, fuck, now Steve is crying. Eddie wipes away his tears with his thumbs, and when that's not enough, he kisses them away with his lips.

Steve is so in love with him that he has no idea how the feeling even fits in his body.

"Damn," he chuckles wetly, "that means I didn't even have to find a crutch?"

Now it's Eddie's turn to look at Steve in confusion, clearly worried that his boyfriend might have lost his mind. "What crutch? Is this a sex thing?"

Laughing and shaking his head fondly, Steve raises his free hand to his head, palm facing Eddie. Then he brings his thumb, index finger, and little finger up, keeping his ring and middle fingers down, before moving his hand back and forth slightly.

"Robin came up with this. She said if I couldn't say the words with my mouth, maybe I could say them in a different way. I thought of trying sign language," Steve adds sheepishly.

Before he knows what's happening, Eddie is on top of him, pressing him into the couch with his body weight and showering his face with kisses.

"You're so smart," kiss, "and beautiful," kiss, "and wonderful," kiss, "and I love you so much." The last part is accompanied by a lingering kiss on his lips and Steve melts under it.

Even though he obviously didn't have to tell Eddie this way, Steve is glad that he did.

He also thinks it won't be long before he can say those words, too. If anyone can help him walk without a crutch, it's Eddie.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 27 #love is just a 4 letter word #my writing

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imeanyourmomsprettyhot · 1 year

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You Have No Right || Aemond Targaryen

prologue

story masterlist / masterlist

summary: Driven by sheer desire, the One-Eyed Prince tries to find the woman that caused his sleepless nights full of lust and frustration.

warnings: female!reader, dark and possessive Aemond, sexual scenes, violent scenes

comment if you want to be on the tag list!

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King's Landing at night was always a spectacle. The streets were filled with light, laughter, and sex. People were shouting, some fought, others stole. The town was never quiet and empty, but it was the brightest at night, that was for sure.

A young girl walked through the crowded town. In her pocket, a silver coin she got from her mother. She's supposed to buy something for her—a special tea.

She rushed between the people, trying her best to not be seen. It was a talent of her's to stay hidden and easy to oversight, tiptoeing around like a ghost—like she was never there.

She made it out of the thick and hot air of the loaded streets, to a much darker and gloomier side of the city. It was the part of humanity no one wanted to talk about. The place where inappropriate deals were made, ineffable topics discussed, and awful jobs done—and it was exactly this place that she had to go.

She was not a bad girl—she tried to be as virtuous as the daughter of a whore could be. She did not belong in the dark alleys of King's Landing, but she had to get Moon Tea for her mother. Otherwise she was forced to get another child she could not care for.

So the girl sneaked around the cold stones, the gaze of the walls following her around.

It took not long until she found the woman she was supposed to go to—people said she was a witch.

The girl knocked on the door of the witch to soon be greeted by an old pair of eyes. A wrinkly woman opened the door, a few strands of hair were laying over her face.

Before the girl could open her mouth, the witch has already pulled her into her home. She looked around the streets, if anyone was following her, before she closed the small door.

"What are you looking for?" She asked.

The girl was looking around the dark room which was only lit up by a few candles. Bundles of herbs were hanging on the walls and a lot of bottles, filled with all different types of liquids, were laying around.

"I need moon tea..." The girl whispered, ashamed of asking for such a thing.

Wordlessly, the witch went over to one of the cabinets, rummaging in the drawers.

"Are you a whore?" She suddenly asked.

"No, I'm not!" The girl quickly denied.

The witch didn't say anything more about it, as she was probably just asking out of curiosity. She came back to the girl. In her hand, a small bottle.

"Let it simmer on a low flame, and don't let it come to boil," the witch instructed.

A long silence followed, until the girl realized it came to the point of paying. She pulled the silver coin out of her pocket and gave it to the woman in exchange for the bottle.

The witch led the girl to the door, closing it behind her, before exchanging any more words with her. The young girl turned around, the tea secured in her bag.

She made her way through the murky streets, keeping her view down. She was as inconspicuous as she could, as she walked through the part of the town no one should go to.

A sudden noise made her jump up, turning her head. A shiver creeped up her spine, as she suddenly felt more uncomfortable than she already did. She noticed footsteps coming closer to her, as her feet stroke deeper and deeper roots down in the ground.

A shadow crawled out of the darkness of the alley, but the girl still couldn't move a muscle.

"Empty your pockets!" A deep voice commanded.

Before she could comprehend what was happening, the figure of a man was already standing right in front of her, pulling her on her arm and pushing her on the wall.

As the cold stone hit her back, her mind came back to her body. She finally realized what was happening and anxiously looked the man in the face.

"EMPTY YOUR POCKETS!" He barked.

The frightened girl slid her shaking hands in her bag and took all the coins she had left, out of it.

"I want all you have, girl!" His breath smelled like rum.

The weak-spirited girl fully emptied her pockets, giving the man anything she had. But he kept looking at her, observing her face.

"I gave you all I had," she quietly cried out.

She was scared for her life—scared that he might kill her. But he had completely different things in mind. He looked down on the girl, examining her body. At that moment, she knew what was going to happen.

She opened her mouth to scream for help—though she didn't believe anyone in those dark streets would want to help her. But only a short bawl came out of her mouth, before the man pressed his hand over it.

He forcefully turned her around, pressing her head on the ice cold bricks of the wall they were standing on. His hand was still tightly wrapped around her jar, making her unable to let any sound leave her lips.

She breathed heavily, while the man pulled up her dress. She tried her best to fight back, but he was stronger than her—drunk but still too strong. She closed her eyes, trying to leave her body again.

But before the man could do any more, he suddenly let go of her. She turned around, to find the man laying on the ground. Her body was still trembling from the rush of adrenaline.

She was so fixated on the man, who was soon standing on his feet again, that she almost didn't notice the figure standing beside her.

The cloaked shadow rushed over to the man, punching him in the face. He fell on the ground again, a loud hiss came from him. The other person sat on the man, continuing to punch him over and over again.

The man growled in pain, until the other one finally stopped. He pulled anything the man had, out of his pockets, before getting up from him. The man quickly got up too, running away, back into darkness.

The cloaked silhouette came over to the girl, while her heart leaped into her throat. She gripped onto the stone behind her, as the shadow approached her. But to her surprise, he handed her the things from the man's pockets over.

"Th-thank you," she silently stuttered.

"A young lady should stay away from this part of the city." The voice of a young man came from the silhouette.

The closer he got, the more she could make out what the man looked like. He had the hood of his cloak pulled over his face, yet she was able to see parts of his face. Like the piece of leather over one of his eyes, as well as a few white strands that fell over the other—he was her savior.

"I-I-I know, sir." She kept her view down, while he was carefully looking at her face.

"I'll bring you out of her, come."

She couldn't say anything more, before he already started walking down the street. She stuffed the things in her bag, and quickly followed behind.

"What is your name, young lady?" He suddenly asked.

'Why did he want to know that?' She asked herself. But he saved her from shame and violence, so she decided to not discuss his intentions any longer and told him her name.

He hummed in response.

"A beautiful name, if you ask me."

"Thank you, sir." She looked up to his face, but he was just blankly staring to the front, "And what's your name?"

"Not important." He replied.

The girl wondered what that was supposed to mean. Why didn't he want to tell her his name?

Meanwhile, the man debated in his head why he helped the girl. It was none of his business and he didn't care for anything happening to the lowborn. He didn't need to help anyone, he didn't want to—yet he did. And he had troubles understanding why. Why caring about a girl being raped? It was not his problem she got herself into this situation.

The dim streets came to an end, as laughter and music was heard in the distance. The sound approximated and the light started beaming through the windows of the houses, and they soon were standing in the crowded alleys again.

She turned around, wanting to thank her savior one last time, but he was already gone. She just saw his cloak disappear in the crowd, and it was the last time that she saw him.

<< next chapter >>

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #aemond x reader #smut #hotd imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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macabr3-barbi3 · 1 month

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God, That's Good!

Chapter 3: My Friends

Alastor has something that belonged to the barber in a past life- and Lucifer makes a deal.

Act 1: Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧 Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6 🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8

Tags: uhhh revenge? brooding? Everything is going so slowly right now, I promise it will pick up after we do our shows this weekend! (Thank you to @fraugwinska for her Show Week knowledge and making me wait and not post everything written as soon it's done- I'm probably not going to be getting much writing done this week because of rehearsals and shows so she is keeping me on track! I LOVE YOU FRAU)

The decor in the apartment in the back is more subdued than the front- still a lot of red, but the things that hang on the walls are more tasteful- paintings and newspaper clippings line the walls of the hallway, more soft jazz emanating from somewhere deeper into the apartment. “I found them upstairs when I purchased the building and shop from my mentor,” Alastor says as he leads Lucifer back. “He did a better job than I have of keeping people out of the place, so they were undisturbed when I went up to rummage around. I could have sold them, you know,” he adds, casting an eye back to Lucifer. “But they were such high quality, I wasn’t sure I would even be able to get what they were worth. Any profit is a profit, I suppose, but I wanted to make sure they were done justice- and I’m glad I had an inkling to hang onto them!”

He leans down into a chest at the foot of his bed, and Lucifer realizes that he’s been led into the man’s bedroom- he hardly has time to blush at the sudden intimacy before Alastor is standing again, looming over Lucifer when he turns with a decorative box in his hands, held gently between their bodies. His voice catches in his throat when he recognizes the walnut, the delicate wood burning that adorns the lid, the lovingly engraved ‘DD’ in the bottom corner.

He was a fresh twenty-one years old when he decided that he wanted to be a barber, to Judge Cain and Adam’s disappointment; they wanted him to join them. But they had supported him in his decision regardless, presenting him with these razors at his and Lilith’s wedding as a gift, a way to start his business on the right foot with the finest tools that money could buy. Lucifer had cried receiving them, the Judge had cried at his emotion, and Adam had been quiet and pensive- which, he now recognized, was likely due to the legalized relationship between himself and Lilith than any familial emotions at the gift.

He was near obsessive in his care of them as his business started and took off- he would allow no one to touch them or clean them, taking a soft rag to them after close each night and storing them adoringly back in their box. They stayed in the barbershop, away from where a curious Charlie could accidentally grab them and hurt herself or anyone else. Lilith teased him about it constantly, claiming that he loved them more than he loved her, and he would smile and pull her into his arms and mutter about how the razors were less likely to talk back to him. And she would smile and laugh and pull him into the sweetest kiss right there on the couch, and in that little bubble everything was perfect.

They’re heavy in his hands now as he opens the lid and extracts one from the box, Alastor silent and observant when Lucifer inspects it, noticing a spot of blood on one of the handles. Not from himself- he made sure they were clean before he put them away every night, which meant that sometime in the last fifteen years they had been in use. He makes an inquisitive noise in his throat, something not quite anger- it feels suspiciously like jealousy- bubbling in his chest, and Alastor makes his soft humming noise. “My apologies- it seemed a shame to let them sit in disuse! I admit I’ll occasionally pull them out when my own blades will not suffice.”

Lucifer doesn’t answer- he doesn’t mind, truthfully. The thought of them having just sat in their box for fifteen years- unused, uncared for, alone- made him far sadder than the vague dismay at someone else having used them. That they hadn’t been stolen, reclaimed by the Cain family when he was sent off and Lilith passed, was a miracle. They were still here waiting for him after all this time- the only thing that was still here upon his return, even if his family wasn’t.

He opens the blade, the sharp edge catching the light and glinting in a familiar way. They were beautiful instruments, and had been such a thoughtful gift from Adam and his father. To think they would give him something like this and then still do what they had done to him… an unforgivable betrayal. “This is… all I have left,” Lucifer says, his voice thick in the space between himself and Alastor. “Of my life before.”

“Well, you have it back now,” Alastor says, and when Lucifer makes eye contact with the baker his expression is almost tender, a soft smile on his face while he’s watched Lucifer sift through his wild thoughts. “What will you do with it?”

“I will have my revenge.” The last word is nearly hissed, and when he looks up he half expects to see Alastor watching him with horror. But his expression hasn’t changed, the air between them charged with adrenaline and Lucifer’s wrath. He’s shaking, he realizes, the hand holding his open razor trembling mere inches away from Alastor’s abdomen. The baker’s face holds no fear though, calm and relaxed despite the sharp object in Lucifer’s hands. “I apologize,” he mutters, taking a step back and closing the razor, placing it carefully back in the box. “You have nothing to fear; I would never-”

“What, hurt me?” Alastor’s smile grows, a mischievous smirk as he looks Lucifer up and down. “No, I wouldn’t think so. Who else would allow you to stay rent free in the lodging above their shop?”

Lucifer’s hope rekindles. “You mean it? I’ll pay rent eventually, I can start shaving again perhaps- but knowing my plans as they are, I wouldn’t want to bring any trouble to your doorstep. Is there anything I can do to repay the favor?”

Alastor waves him down cheerfully. “Nothing at the moment, good fellow! We’ll call it a gesture in good faith for now- perhaps down the line I may have a favor to ask of you and you can square up then. How does that sound?”

“Deal!” He steals one of Alastor’s hands from under the box to shake it, his grip firm in his enthusiasm. His mind races- there was one less problem to worry about with Alastor’s generosity. Now he had to figure how he was actually going to access Adam and this Beadle character; perhaps if he could get his business running again the pair of them might come in for a shave. He could prove himself an accomplished barber somehow, gain a bit of a reputation and lure them to the shop above the bakery with tales of a free shave…

And then he would have them.

From there he would find Charlie. It didn't sound like they kept her locked in the house all of the time- perhaps when she was out on the town he could approach her, explain who he was and what had happened to him, try to build the father and daughter relationship he had wanted for them when she was a girl. He had been so excited to watch her grow into her own person, the perfect accumulation of the best parts of Lucifer and Lilith. He would never get that now, the progression of her growth, but she was still his Charlie- he would love her to the day he died, even if she turned him away when she found out who he was.

A throat clears, and Lucifer realizes that he’s still clutching Alastor’s hand. He lets go, a blush flaming his cheeks as he coughs awkwardly and steps away. “Do you have the key?” He asks, just to say something, and Alastor chuckles before he reaches into his pocket for a keyring that he holds out. “Lead the way!” Lucifer steps aside and allows Alastor to lead him back down the hallway, through the connecting door to the pie shop.

Husker has returned, polishing glasses behind the counter. He nods to Alastor and casts a suspicious eye at Lucifer as they approach the door. “As you know, there’s two entry points- the door off the back that leads directly to the apartment, and the one off the front here that leads to your shop.” He disconnects two keys from the keyring and slips them into Lucifer’s hand. “I had the keys replaced when I took over- who knows what kinds of people my prior mentor allowed to have access?”

He looks down at the keys in his hand- not the familiar gunmetal gray that he and Lili had obtained from the owner, but a rich black that was smooth to the touch. “Right. I’ll… I’ll be right back, if you don’t mind waiting down here?”

“By all means!” He steps aside to let Lucifer pass, and he feels eyes on him all the way up the stairs, until he’s turned the key in the lock and entered what used to be his barbershop.

Carnage. From the years of vandals breaking in, as well as the shattered mirror on the floor from where Lucifer had fought off the police when Adam had them sent after him so long ago. Broken glass littered the floor, his combs and towels scattered around the room, the door between the shop and their home cracked down the middle and hanging off its hinges. Tears blur his vision as he steps through the doorway, most of their furniture and decorations left undisturbed. Charlie’s drawings have fallen from the wall and the refrigerator, family ‘portraits’ of the three of them holding hands, various animals and bugs and buildings that she came up with in her imaginative mind. He and Lilith had always made such a show of praising her for them, their sweet girl with her art and the little songs she made up and-

He turns away from the living room, heading back to the bedroom they had all shared, Charlie’s bed separated from theirs by a simple room divider- her walls are also covered in her drawings and scribbled song lyrics that she had come up with. His and Lilith’s bed is against the far wall, as far as they could get from Charlie so their more amorous activities didn’t disturb or wake her. Lilith had always wanted more than this place for them- that was part of why she wanted to move North, where property was cheaper and the spaces larger. She wanted Charlie to grow up in a proper house, not a one bedroom apartment off the side of his barbershop; she wanted to be a proper homemaker, a housewife, something she claimed couldn’t be done in such cramped quarters.

But they had all been together, the two of them in such deep, desperate love, unaware of the tragedy that was coming for them when Adam decided that he had had enough of his unreciprocated longing.

It’s too much. Lucifer stumbles back out of the apartment, through the barbershop, nearly falling down them in his haste. “Ah! What do you think of the place?” Alastor asks from his position at the bottom of the stairs, and Lucifer collapses onto the last step with his face in his hands.

“I can’t do it,” he says. “I can’t be there, in the apartment- there’s too many memories, too much sadness and nostalgia and… I just can’t.” He meets Alastor’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “I appreciate the generous offer but I’ll have to find something else.”

A smile. “Nonsense, my dear! If you’re amenable to the arrangement, I do have a spare bedroom in my living quarters that you’re welcome to move into. I do occasionally have other matters to attend to so I won’t be home all the time, but you’re welcome to use the space as your own.” He doesn’t take the keys back from Lucifer, holding his hand out and pulling the shorter man to his feet.

“That’s… too kind,” Lucifer says, and again something scratches at the back of his mind telling him that the situation was too good to be true. But he has few other options if he wants to be close to the barbershop, and no chance of any place else allowing him to stay without money. “Your mother clearly raised you well, to be such a giving soul.”

Alastor laughs. “Perhaps I just really want to cash in on that favor you now owe me,” he says slyly, eyes narrowed like they’re co-conspirators in on a secret plot. “Come now- I’ll give you a proper tour!”

They go back inside, and Alastor mentions to Husker behind the bar that Lucifer would be his personal guest in his apartment out back- “what the fuck do I care about that?” The man had grumbled, and as they passed him Lucifer saw him take a full swig out of one of the bottles behind him. Alastor shows him to the spare room and the bathroom, leaving him with his razor box and a spare shaving soap.

He takes one of the blades out again, setting it behind the faucet while he lathers the soap with scalding water and spreads it across his cheeks and chin with his fingers. Opening the razor, he’s careful as he brings it to his skin- he already feels more normal than he has all day, and the first swipe across his stubble leaving smooth flesh behind is a blessing, a token of grace in a day of hardships and strife. He shaves his own face the way he did others; quickly, smoothly, efficiently. A few strokes and he’s finished, completely bare faced once again and looking nothing like the man he had been before.

Which felt… fitting. Because he wasn’t Damien Diggory anymore; father to a daughter that wouldn’t recognize him from a stranger on the street; husband to a woman rotting in the ground; friend to a man that had betrayed him and ruined the life he had once known.

There was only Lucifer Morningstar now- and there was work to be done.

Act 1: Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧 Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6 🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #lucifer hazbin #radioapple #human lucifer morningstar #human vaggie #human alastor #sweeney todd #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #ily frau <3 #God That's Good #GTG #my stuff <3

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jessicafangirl · 1 month

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The First Chapter of My Ghost Fic is here!

Please be kind. I've not written anything for this group before but god damn do I love Copia and this idea hit me and I decided to do it.

I'm a wordy bitch. You've been warned. You can also read this on Archive Of Our Own here

@nequissimus-canis asked to be tagged which was very kind. This is also dedicated to @foxybouquet who I blame for so many amazing things that I've learned and who enables me beautifully. You are my fave Ghestie.

Music Eternal, Fire Infernal.

Jennifer Travers is at the tail end of 40 and decides to do something spontaneous. Unfortunately things REALLY don't go as planned. Her life is in now in danger and the only place of refuge is a satanic church. She knew the band Ghost already, but she didn't know until that day that all of it was real and it would lead to something that would change her life forever, in more ways than one. And it would lead to some revelations for Copia Emeritus too.

Chapter 1

“The cemetery here is close to 300 years old. It contains some interesting residence that have a history that will send a shiver down your spine.” The tour guide’s Maglite flashed along the path and caught one or two of the “residence” headstones as he droned on in a bored monotone. As the group walked through the dark, Jennifer realized this was not one of her best ideas. Her breath was visible as she huddled in her hoodie. Let’s go on the spooky ooky tour, she thought to herself. Let’s troll through an old graveyard at night. Hey there’s a satanic church nearby…what could go wrong? All of that sounded great on paper but the reality was really kind of fucking miserable. This guy knew literally nothing about what he was talking about. Jen could have done a better job…not that that would have been hard.

She sighed and tightened the straps on her backpack. At 47 walking while carrying a backpack weighted down by her Switch, iPad, and clothes was not as easy as it used to be. But she wanted to travel light. This trip was something she’d promised herself for a while. After the year she’d had, a spur of the moment trip to the east coast to visit some of the older and creepier parts of the country was something she decided to do. She shoved some things into her bag and hopped on a plane. And now here she was probably going to break her leg because she decided to take a night tour like a moron.

It was pretty though, she had to admit as she and the four other suckers crunched through dead leaves. Very Universal Horror. She could almost see Dwight Frye and Colin Clive digging up one of those old graves if she squinted right. In the distance she could see the large, sprawling church that looked like it belonged in Romania and not in New York State. The guide had said that the Ghost project was in residence. When he’d said that it had cemented her decision to go on this insane tour just in case she could catch a glimpse of the band. She’d loved their music and the whole mystique but hadn’t realized it was a REAL church of Satan until…well…there was the church. She’d never seen a concert in person either, but the videos she’d caught online were interesting. The current lead singer was apparently a sweetheart for a satanic pope. She could hear her elderly, right wing mother screeching about how just having that thought was going to send her to hell. God knew the list her family had was already long enough for what was wrong with her, what was one more thing.

Jen realized she’d lagged behind as she’d kept looking up at the church and hurried to catch up. Even though the guide wasn’t the best he had a flashlight, and she had no freaking idea where anything was around there. That extra 20 pounds she wanted to always lose was felt hard as she rejoined the group. “The church you see is of course part of the Satanic Church of Emeritus. I’m sure some of you are fans of the band Ghost and if you aren’t you can find out information about the church and the band through this website…” The tour guide literally rambled off a web address and Jen raised an eyebrow. Were they supposed to write that down in the dead of night?

They kept walking and the guide led them into another area of the cemetery, this one with large tombs and statues spread out along the grounds. This was obviously the more well to do section and Jennifer was awestruck by how beautiful it was, even if it was slightly crumbling. The moon was shining down brightly now, full and clear, so she could walk without too much risk of falling on her ass as she was want to do. Her Converse sneakers weren’t really made for uneven ground, but so far, she was doing okay. As the tour guide rambled on Jen pulled out her iPhone and started taking some pictures of the statues. The one of the grim reaper was wonderfully gothic and even had a skull carved inside the stone robes that made it up. She headed over to another area where the largest crypt sat with a giant letter E carved over an archway entrance that had rose bushes on either side. They were old bushes that had grown nearly as tall as the entrance. The flowers were large, red, and smelled amazing. She loved roses but even she was surprised at how big the thorns were on those plants. It was almost like they were there not for the flowers but for some sort of deterrent to keep people from trying to get in or maybe even vandalize the tomb. When she leaned over to take a whiff of one blood red bud, she noticed the sharp little daggers were half an inch long and nearly that thick.

Jen took a picture of the entrance, her eyes taking in more of the designs that could be seen in the stonework not covered by the plants. Sigils…inverted crosses…pentagrams and peeking down from the roof were even a couple of gargoyles. Ah…yeah…satanic church. She slipped her phone into her back pocked of her jeans and ran her fingers through her short red hair, cracking her stiffening neck and realized she should get back to the group. According to her phone and watch it was nearly midnight.

But when she turned around, she realized the boring tour guide and the tiny group were gone. “Did that dip wad just leave me?” She said aloud. God, he really did suck. She headed back the way she came and sure enough the cemetery was empty save for the graves and her. “Well…this is the start of every god damn horror movie I’ve ever seen.” She mumbled to herself. Jen realized she’d been doing that a lot more over the last year or so. But now it was getting to be a habit. Being alone so much you just sort of did it, maybe to remind yourself you had a voice.

With a heavy sigh she took out her phone and checked the battery. She was still at a good 80 percent, but the bad news was her cell service was nowhere to be found. “And now, your life as directed by Wes Craven.” She spoke. “Fuckery doo…okay…” She looked up and was thankful that the moon was still pretty bright. With a heavy sigh she headed out of the graveyard. Jennifer headed towards the direction she was fairly certain they had come from. There was…sort of a path through the trees. The starting point was down towards the bottom of the heavily treed hill where a parking lot sat, not really used. She’d been brought there by a van for the tour. If that ass left in the van before she got down, there she was going to set fire to something. Probably the van if she found it again with the idiot inside.

About twenty mins of walking later she crossed her arms in front of herself realizing her KISS Destroyer hoodie wasn’t near enough of a layer over her thin t-shirt. She was also realizing she was well and truly lost. “If I hear Ki ki ki ma ma ma at any moment I will crap myself.” She said through slightly chattering teeth. The moon decided it had done enough work for her and was now covered in black, oppressive clouds. Jen pulled her phone out and turned on the flashlight. Still no signal. She pondered what she’d done to piss off the universe. She came to a steep downgrade and carefully picked her way down. Luckily it wasn’t too bad for too long and evened out. Unfortunately it led to a thick patch of trees. Jen started praying to whoever was listening that there were no ticks or spiders around. Then she wanted to punch her own face for even thinking about ticks and spiders.

The phones light was barely helping due to the canopy of leaves and how close together everything was. After another few minutes though she heard something. It sounded like talking, movement. This didn’t look like it was near the parking lot though. Did lumberjacks work this late? Was this even a place lumberjacks would be? That made her remember how Dexter wound up ending and she got momentarily depressed. Then she heard the voices again. Well, people was a good thing, right? In the middle of the night in the woods. Jen realized caution might be a good idea.

She headed towards the voices, keeping her camera pointed to the ground and discovered the woods thinned out a bit here. There, in a tiny patch of cleared ground three men stood and one man was on his knees, hands tied behind his back. Jen’s eyes got wide as she saw the large gun in one of the men’s hands. The man on his knees was crying. “I swear to god Donnie…I didn’t want to do it. But they had pictures. I couldn’t…” The man on his knees sobbed. He was balding and looked like he was in his 60s. His face even from this distance was bruised and bloody.

“Shut the fuck up.” The one who was Donnie she assumed spoke harshly, kicking the man in the stomach and making him double over. “I don’t give a god damn about pictures. You sold us out. We’ve got a fuck ton of problems now. But we’re about to have less of one.” He spit on the man’s face and nodded to the other man with the gun. He was tall, unemotional, with a face as blank as a robot. His eyes were so dark they could have been black. He calmly raised the gun and shot the man in the head once and then in the back for good measure. The man fell to the ground in a heap.

Jen hadn’t even had time to react it had all happened so fast but in that moment when it hit her she stepped away in shock and horror, her foot cracking a twig and flashing her phone up towards them, the fucking light like a beacon. The murderers turned and looked straight at her. The one with the gun raised it and fired, but it missed her. And that’s all Jen needed to find the inner strength to sprint back the way she’d come.

“Get that bitch.” Donnie told Blake, the man with the gun and his partner Gary. “I’ll take care of this trash. Hurry the fuck up.”

Gary nodded, straightening the glasses on his head. He and Blake quickly moved towards where the witness had been. There was no way there was anyone else around. This spot was used specifically because no one ever came down there. They weren’t quiet running through the brush and trees. There was no need to be.

Jennifer was running like she never had before. Small branches slapped at her face and arms, and she nearly tripped three times. In her head from far away she thought about every idiot teenage girl who had tripped and died she’d made fun of in a slasher movie. “Sorry…” she thought as she cried. The crying was a problem and something she couldn’t stop or had control of. It was making it harder to breathe and she needed to breathe to run. Running was important as she scrambled up the now incline, her fingers digging into the dirt to make sure she didn’t slide back down. Where the fuck could she go? What the shit was she supposed to do?

She’d shoved her phone back into her pocket, not wanting the light to attract the two killers on her tail. She didn’t have service anyway even if she had a second to call the cops. She didn’t know anyone here. She was alone and it was dark, and she was going to die.

She broke through another barrier of trees, and she knew she had gone a different way than she’d come at that point in her scramble to get away. Jen tried to breathe, to calm her heart, but she felt like she was going to have a stroke. She glanced to her right and then her left, and that’s when she saw it. There was a gate, black wrought iron and it was open. She ran to it and glanced beyond it and realized the path led into part of the Emeritus church. The sprawling building loomed large above her suddenly. Well…the devil or death? Which did she want? Right then the devil was looking good. Jennifer quickly made her way down the pathway. There were little black iron solar lights that lit the stone walkway which was thankfully flat. Her legs were burning as bad as her lungs at this point.

The path led to two metal doors and Jen realized she may still be screwed if they were locked. She skidded to a halt and took a chance to look behind her. There was no one yet…but that didn’t mean anything. She took another breath and said a little prayer…not sure who might be answering them where she was trying to get into and grabbed the door handle. That’s when she heard the sounds of footsteps from far away, voices murmuring low. “Please please please…” she begged and pulled on the door handle. It swung open. She didn’t hesitate, she went in and pulled the door closed behind her.

Jen’s wide blue eyes glanced around the dimly lit hallway she found herself in. The air smelled of incense. It was cool inside the building and the sweat that had broken out during her run immediately started to get chilled and she shivered from a combination of that and pure fear. Her adrenaline was pumping. The men would figure out there was only one place she could have gone. She needed to hide. She turned right and moved quickly hoping not to run into anyone. Jen entered through another set of double doors, these not metal but stained dark wood. So far, she’d not seen anyone else and for that she was grateful. She just needed to hide away somewhere and think, just calm down and think. Maybe the church was empty…maybe they were on tour or something…

The double doors led to a short hallway that opened into what could only be called a small chapel. Though instead of a cross or a Jesus crucifixion scene in front of the pews there was a large statue of a very beautiful devil. His wings looked like they were carved out of black stone, maybe ebony or onyx though that would be a lot of onyx. The rest of him was marble. His horns wrapped backwards on a head covered in carved ringlets of hair like a really majestic goat. There was real red velvet draped over the statue whose right arm was raised, two fingers extended. His other hand was outstretched as if beckoning you. Jen was unnerved as she looked at it, the chill on her skin seemingly growing. Then she heard a door slam, and it pulled her out of wherever her mind was going.

The room smelled even stronger of incense and was lit with black candles and a low light from a red and clear crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling. There were pews, the pulpit area and over on the far right what looked like a small, dark wood confessional. That was the only place she could really try to hide in she saw. She glanced back once hoping it was just some friendly neighborhood satanist that had closed a door and then moved quickly to the confessional. She opened the door and closed it quickly, ignoring the seat and sitting on the floor. She drew her knees up to her chin and felt the tears on her cheeks again, not able to stop them. Jen tried to breathe quietly, tried to calm down. They’d hear her sounding like a dying elephant if she didn’t get this under control. And that’s when the divider slid open making her jerk.

A softly accented voice spoke through the partition “Hello…hi?”

Jen realized there was a priest or someone on the other side…oh shit she’d dragged someone into this. She whispered as low as she could, realizing that the man couldn’t see her where she was hunkered on the floor. “I’m..down here…please…I just need to hide.”

“Sorella…” The man’s voice took on a note of concern. She glanced up and saw an eye looking through the partition. It was white as the ivory of the statue. It widened in surprise. “What is the matter dolce signora?” He asked her.

Jen swallowed thickly; how much should she say? She needed to hide. This guy could just as easily say “Here she is boys. Hail Satan.” But for some reason his voice made her think he wouldn’t. “There are….men…they’re after me. Please I just need to hide until they leave…they’ve got a gun…maybe more than one.” She had to warn him.

She saw a bit more of his face then as he leaned closer to the divider. It was dark but she could see him more clearly as he appeared to be studying her. Jen recognized him as the paints on his face came into view, the green eye and the white. Holy crap this was the guy. This was the lead of the band. And he was taking confessions? What the hell would satanic confessions deal with? And good god this was all really happening to her. A wave of nausea came over her and she had to fight the bile coming up her throat.

“Signora, are you hurt? Have they harmed you?” He asked her gently.

Jennifer shook her head. “No…no…I just need to hide.”

She rested her forehead on her knees. Italian…he was speaking Italian mixed with English. That’s what the accent was. It just kept becoming more surreal. She remembered the accent from the concert videos. He didn’t have it when he sang. But he had it when he was talking to the audience.

She heard it then, the door opening to the chapel. Footsteps. Two sets of them. It was them. It had to be them. She saw the dual-colored eyes glance up at the sound and she started shaking. Well, this was it…spur of the moment decisions have led you to a satanic church and dying horribly. Great job girl. Here lies Jennifer Travers…she fucked up a lot. Only she wouldn’t have a tombstone, it would be a shallow grave in the woods where she’d end up feeding a group of feral badgers with her rotting corpse. Maybe they would be cute badgers. Fuck.

He looked back down at her. “Signora,” he whispered softly, “Stay here, do not make a noise, si?”

Jen nodded, realizing she was trusting a complete stranger with her life at this point. What else could she do?

Blake and Gary glanced around the chapel, starting to move through the pews, looking for where the woman could have gone. Blake glanced at the statue of Lucifer and paused, feeling like the thing was watching them. He knew what the place was, but he’d not been inside. Gary touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped. He pointed towards the confessional booth and nodded. They started heading that way when the door to the priests side opened.

Out stepped a man in black robes with gold and blue satin accents. Golden upside-down crosses where stitched into the fabric. He wasn’t tall, but he had a presence that was only made more intense by the fact his face was painted like a stylized skull. His brown hair was brushed back from his face, greying at the temples with thin lines on his face showing he wasn’t exactly a young man anymore. Blake was weirded out though by the eyes when he saw them. Ringed in the black makeup they were different colors. One green, one white, both of them staring at him and Gary in a way that made him as unnerved as the devil statue.

“Benvenuti Fratelli,” the man said, his black gloved hands raised, pressed together and giving a little bow. “I am Papa Emeritus the 4th…are you here for confession?” He asked them, one brow raised. “I was just getting ready to lock up for the night.”

Blake looked at Gary. Gary was the talker. He glanced at the strange man shaking his head. “No we’re not here to confess. We’re looking for someone. Anyone else come through this way? Anyone try to break in?”

Copia Emeritus lowered his hands while studying the two men in front of him. Something in them reeked of malice and he could sense it. It was part and parcel of being a Papa. You knew who to protect your flock from when you were in a church like theirs. He wouldn’t have needed to hear the terrified sorella in the confessional’s words to know these two were dangerous. He saw the bulky outline of the gun in a holster beneath the tall ones jacket. He’d seen enough crime films and series to know what to look for when it came to that too.

He pursed his lips. “It’s not really possible to break in here. All are welcome at our church.” Copia walked closer to the men, away from the hiding place of the woman and making sure their eyes followed him. “Even you signories if you wish to join us.”

Gary gave a cold smile. “We’re not really the church going type.” He replied.

Copia nodded, returning the smile with as much of a chilly demeanor as the man in front of him. “Well, that is too bad, si? Perhaps someday.” He gave a slight shrug. “But as I said, I am getting ready to lock up for the night.”

The double doors opened then, as if on cue and in walked three figures in all black, silver matching masks on their faces, each a devil with no eyes. One was bigger than the others but all three looked as though they could bench press a truck. Copia glanced over “Ah, tempismo perfetto.” He turned to the new arrivals. “These gentlemen were just leaving, would you be so kind as to as to show them out? Grazie.” With a graceful wave of his hand he motioned for the two men to head towards the doors.

Blake looked at Gary and Gary gave a subtle shake of his head. He knew she was here somewhere. There was nowhere else she could have gone. But they couldn’t do anything right now…there were too many people, and it would be too big a mess. And the silver masked figures were making the hair raise on the back of his neck. He moved and Blake followed him as they walked out. Gary turned to the painted faced freak. “We might stop back now that you mention it.”

Copia raised a brow. “Of course, as I said all are welcome. We’d love to have you.” He gave him another slight bow as they walked out into the hallway, the doors closing behind them, his smile making his face look even more skull like for a moment.

Gary narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore the weird feeling creeping up his spine at the entire group of freaks. Donnie wouldn’t be happy about losing the woman, but then again…he knew she wasn’t really lost. She was here somewhere in the freak house. He followed Blake and the three silver masked weirdos.

When the doors closed behind them Copia moved to slide the lock in place. He took a breath and let it out slowly. He hadn’t expected a confrontation like that tonight. Nor had he expected a frightened woman cowering in his confessional. He needed to find out what had happened, the whole story. And he needed to make sure the lady was okay.

Copia very slowly opened the door to the confessional area and saw her with her head laying on her knees still, shaking like a leaf. She looked up suddenly and he saw the tear streaks on her face. Her face has a few cuts and marks on it from dirt. Her knees and hands were covered in it as well. Her blue eyes were the color of the satin on his robes, but they were rimmed in red from her tears. They were wide and terrified as they looked up at him.

The Papa crouched down, taking a knee next to her and held out a gloved hand. “Cara, they are gone. You are safe here.” He said softly. She was scared and looked at any moment she’d try to bolt away. He couldn’t have her doing that since the safest place she could be right then was inside the church. “I’m Papa Emeritus the 4th….but you can call me Copia.” He gave her a small smile.

She didn’t seem to be convinced yet that she was actually safe with him. He noticed the front of her hoodie and gave a slight nod, his smile growing, “Ah, you are a fan of singers in makeup, si?”

Jennifer realized what he was talking about. The irony was actually funny as she took a breath and wiped her eyes. “Yeah…yes…I grew up listening to them.”

Copia nodded. “I did as well.” He decided this was working, get her mind on something else. “Who was your favorite cara?”

Jen found her breathing was getting easier. She wasn’t trying to gulp air into lungs that didn’t want to work. “Uh…I always liked The Starchild…but The Demon was great…he was a vampire first though.” Rattling off Kiss trivia…she’d nearly been shot, and she was talking about Gene Simmons and spewing blood.

The Papa nodded, “Well, due to my position I must go with The Demon as a personal favorite, eh? But The Starchild has a voice…” Here he placed two fingers to his lips and did an air kiss. “Bellissimo.”

Jennifer laughed…she actually laughed. Just another surreal experience in a night filled with them “I guess you would be team demon.”

“Si, I would.” He reached closer to her with his hand, “Cara, would you like to go somewhere more comfortable than the floor?”

She nodded then and he helped her to stand. Her legs were sore, and she was glad he offered her a helping hand. She nearly stumbled but he steadied her. “Sorry…I’m…I ran up the hill and it wasn’t great.” She let go of his hand and looked at her own, covered in dirt and cuts from clawing up it.

Copia saw the state of her more clearly now. It was obvious she’d been through an ordeal already. She was still shaking though she’d calmed down some. “I can imagine.” He said, “May I have your name?” He asked her.

“Jennifer…Jen…I’m…” She felt a little woozy. “I’m…okay…I think I may need to sit down.”

Copia took her arm. “Jennifer you are safe here as I said. We are a haven for those in need and trouble.” He led her over to one of the pews. “Here, allow me to take your bag.” Jen slid the straps off her shoulders and watched Copia place it next to her. She sat down on the cushioned seat.

Copia examined her a bit closer. She was pale, very pale. He realized whatever had happened she was going into or was already in shock. “Jennifer,” he said her name and she glanced up at him. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Jen wanted to tell him. She needed to tell someone and the nice guy in the skull make up was right there. But when she started thinking about it her lungs started to ache. “They…they killed…oh god they killed that guy…” She managed to get out.

Copia’s eyes widened. Oh Dark Lord…she’d witnessed a murder? “You saw this happen cara?” He asked, sitting down next to her.

She shook her head yes. “They shot him…twice. I…I couldn’t do anything it happened so fast.” She turned and looked at him. “They saw me and they…they shot at me. And I ran.” Her voice was breaking, she couldn’t breathe as the image of the man’s head basically exploding came to her unbidden. She was trembling so hard that she thought she was going to break apart. But she couldn’t stop it, she tried but she couldn’t.

Suddenly she stood up and started backing away from the nice satanist. She’d just told him what had happened. “I’m…I shouldn’t have…” She was rambling and Jen found herself growing dizzy. They’d want to kill him too now, right? She’d just signed this rock stars death warrant, hadn’t she? The nice devil guy with the pretty green eye. Oh god there were black spots in front of her.

Copia stood up and moved close to her. He’d been to enough concerts to tell when someone was about to collapse from heat exhaustion or something else. And right then she was having a hell of a panic attack, something he was personally familiar with. “Jennifer, you’re okay…it’s okay…” He moved closer to her slowly.

“No…no…not…okay…” Oh god, she couldn’t feel her legs. The blood rushed from her head, and she felt herself buckling. She started to hit the floor and felt arms catching her, heard the rustling of fabric as she was caught before she could. The scent of incense was stronger than before. She glanced up and through a haze she saw a skull staring down at her and three silver-headed demons. Before she blacked out completely, she realized…she felt safe.

TRANSLATIONS: Benvenuti Fratelli - Welcome Brothers Sorella - Sister Cara - Dear Si - Yes Signora - Lady

#ghost #the band ghost #fanfic #ghost fic #cardinal copia #papa copia #copia #copia/original female character #papa emeritus iv #this is my crack #my cope pope #nice satanist

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iprefertheterminsane · 7 months

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Take me Home (Where I Belong)

I'm almost finished with my domestic perryshmirtz 5+1, which I'm gonna upload to ao3 soon so here's a tease in the form of the first chapter!

Rating: G

Relationship: Perry the Platypus/Heinz Doofenshmirtz

Tags: Human Perry the Platypus, pre-slash, domesticity, Perry's moved in before they even stopped calling themselves enemies, it's normal to want to kiss the homies sometimes, right?, long suffering Charlene, Perry's got 4 kids actually and that fourth one is Vanessa, haha Perry the Platypus you are dating my father.

Even after having his plans foiled for the day, Heinz doesn’t let him drive home.

“Look at yourself, Perry the Platypus, you’re barely standing on your own two feet.” The scientist points out. He’s right, of course, not that Perry will let him the satisfaction of agreeing with him. It seems to mean less than little; Heinz had already buckled him back into the passenger seat of his truck with the tenacity of a father, and Perry is just barely conscious enough to comply- a bit dumbly, but the taller man does not seem to mind-without much of a fuss. He’s still talking, naturally. Perry has gotten so used to the chatter the droning had begun to take on an ambient sort of feeling, like brown noise. “-practically an accident waiting to happen. Honestly, you’d think Francis would want to try keeping his best agent alive-that agency is gonna do you in better than I would, one day.”

Perry considers giving up a token protest-he had gotten here with the hoverjet on auto-pilot; the routes between the lair and Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. has long been keyed in as his defaults-but decides otherwise. He really was quite exhausted, surely it would be no bother to let Heinz drive him back to Evil Inc. where he’s parked. Why waste fuel when a cheaper of transport was on offer? The Major has particularly been going on and on lately about turning the office more green and saving energy, no doubt one of their latest efforts to cut costs-so he was doing the agency a favor, really. He trusted that Heinz was a reliable enough driver when they’re neither forced to undergo the serial killing obstacle course that was the Drusselsteinian Driving Test Route.

He would sleep in just until Heinz gets them back home. Decision made, he lets himself rest his eyes.

00..00

“Up, up, up, Perry the Platypus you don’t really expect me to carry you up the stairs do you-,”

“-Ok, here we go, sit here-no, no, don’t lay down just yet you need to take your shoes off Perry the Heathenpuss-,”

“-I am not letting you sleep in the corset of a waistcoat Perry the Platypus, wow is this Kevlar? No wonder you can stand my Titanium punches-Ok uppies, I should probably help you take this tie off too, huh? They could strangle you in your sleep, y’know, nuff said, if nuff was-y’know, me-it’s so weird to see you so biddable, Perry the Platypus-,”

“-ok, last thing Perry the Platypus, yes I promise, just need to help you get under the covers, alright? Now, isn’t that better? Aw, look at how cute you look, Perry the Platypus, like a little angel-,”

“Good night, Perry the Platypus.”

00..00

Perry snorts awake in the penthouse guest room with the covers pulled up to his chin, blinking against the light of the setting sun from behind the half-shaded curtains facing east of Danville.

He isn’t sure what’s woken him, but finds himself unable to go back to sleep. This was probably a good thing-he’s never stayed behind in Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. for so long without making his excuses before, and the clock shows that he’s nearly late for dinner back at the Flynn-Fletcher’s household. He’ll have no trouble flying home now, he feels perfectly well-rested.

Rising to his feet, he finds himself underdressed. His hat rests on the right-hand nightstand, right next to his sleeping head, and the rest of his clothes-vest, tie and shoes-draped carefully over the chair that looks like it’s been dragged over from the kitchen, positioned right next to the room’s entryway, deliberately left ajar. He shoves the hat back over his head and toes his shoes back on, but blinks deliberately at the rest of his attire. They are, of course, crucial parts of his armour, but what was to fear for stepping out without them? Heinz’s scheme was thwarted for the day, and lest the man was suddenly overcome with another plan while Perry was out, which he sincerely doubts, Heinz would not have reason to attack him out of the blue, and certainly not out of armour. He was obsessed with playing fair, and acting by the book. As far as they are both concerned, they were now both off the clock.

Perry decides to take the clothes and fold them over his arm, but he steps out without putting them on- the vest tends to cinch, which he tolerates, but not without reason-and goes to search for his host to make his goodbyes.

It’s easy enough to find him; Heinz is in the kitchen, naturally, making dinner for himself, with Norm at the dining table carefully slicing vegetables and making prep; something doughy, it seems. Perry wonders if it’s pie-Heinz makes wonderful doonkleberry pie. He rests his hips against the doorjamb, and chatters his teeth to make his presence known, a noise Heinz is well familiar with. It cuts off the man’s mindless chatter, and he beams. Perry can’t help his own answering smile.

"Ah, Perry the Platypus!” He crows. “Just in time for dinner! I don’t suppose you mind setting the table, just need to give me another couple of minutes-,” he cuts himself off as he sees Perry shaking his head, and Perry signs, regretfully, that he has to make himself scarce.

“YOU AREN’T STAYING FOR DINNER?” Norm asks, as despairingly as his cheerful-sounding robotic voice could make it sound. His mouth is down turned.

“Yes, it’s already so late, Perry the Platypus, surely your report could wait a couple of more hours.” Heinz adds, cajoling. “I worry you know, a man has to eat homemade meals every couple of days, else you tend to get sick to the stomach. I don’t know if you cook. I’ve made lemon pie for dessert.” Heinz sing-songs enticingly at the end, and Perry has to admit it’s persuasive. The man really does have a knack for baking.

But he’s already missed out on family dinner yesterday, due to making up for Agent G’s maternity leave, and the Flynn-Fletchers would worry if he missed out on another. He knows for a fact Linda’s made her award-winning meatloaf tonight, and hedgehog cake for supper. He’d hate on missing out on the treat for the world.

He’s halfway through realizing he’s said it out loud, ‘I have homemade meals at home,’ before he freezes, taking in Norm’s and Heinz’s curious blinks, and his hands pause abruptly, letting the sentence trail off awkwardly. He could see from the look on Heinz’s face that he was curious, mouth opening as if to pose a question, but seems to ultimately decide against it. They’ve both scrambled enough of the expected norms of their Villain-to-Spy nemesis-ship today, and crossing the line to figuring out Perry’s home life seems a midge too far, even for them.

Heinz hums, and changes the subject. “Are you really driving home fully dressed like that?”

Perry looks down at himself. ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

“Nothing, which is my point. You could just leave them here, you know, they’re all dirty, Norm can run them through with the rest of the day’s laundry, and you can pick them up tomorrow. It’s weird to see you all dressed down, you know, but not bad weird, a good weird, makes me feel like a good host. That’s how you know you’re an adult sometimes, ugh, just listen to me talk about good hosting etiquette, Vanessa never has to worry about that sort of thing you know, even though she should. I hope Charlene’s teaching her.”

Perry’s wandered over to the coffee machine at this point, using context clues to figure out how it works and avoiding the large red button in a transparent case on the right-hand side of it’s case. He taps it, and churrs again.

“Oh, coffee! That’s a good idea, Perry the Platypus, some strong caffeine to help drive you through that traffic, I bought this travel mug for you!” Heinz hands him a short and stout chrome and teal travel mug with a silicone top and an anti-slip base. “I saw that color while scrolling through Etsy while I was looking at bento-boxes for this scheme I’m cooking up next week-oop, forget I said that Perry the Platypus, no spoilers! It reminded me of you! But the travel mugs aren’t related, it was just in the same shop, I love travel mugs, especially these newer novelty ones, you know there were never any novelty items back in Drusselstein, on account of the state largely frowning on any sort of color or patterns-,”

Perry churrs again, twisting the top of his cup back on and pointing out the door. Heinz visibly deflates.

“Oh, right, yes, leaving, of course, Perry the Platypus, let me just let this simmer and walk you to the door-and leave the clothes with Norm, Perry the Platypus, I’ve told you, you can come to fetch them tomorrow.”

Heinz helps hold the mug for him while he gets himself settled back in the hoverjet, and the clock on his dash informs him he should reach the house just in time to reach the Flynn Fletchers begin dinner if he rushed. Heinz leans forward to hand him the travel mug, leaving them close, just close enough that Perry feels the ridiculous urge to-maybe-leave a soft kiss on the other man’s cheek, the way Lawrence does when Linda was about to leave the house for the errand of the day.

Heinz doesn’t seem to notice, mumbling about setting the mug just right into the cupholder behind the handlebar, because it was hot, Perry the Platypus, we wouldn’t want a repeat of the driving test incident, do we? When Perry switches the jet on, Heinz waves. Perry, inexplicably, tips his hat back in return.

It isn’t until he’s 15 minutes away from the house that he realizes he really had left his vest and tie behind at Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. He hopes Heinz doesn’t plan to do anything inadvisable with them.

For some reason, Perry doesn’t believe that he will.

#perryshmirtz #human perry #fic tease #perry the platypus #heinz doofenshmirtz #phineas and ferb #domesticity #5+1 type fic

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