#what really floors me though is DEATH like what fucking author will write about death but not be able to write the word

[zamalie]

maybe I'm putting my foot in my mouth here but I feel like if you aren't comfortable writing a word in its entirety for any reason you just. Maybe shouldn't include it in your writing at all. And probably avoid alluding to it even

[heyidkyay]

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Seventeen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: Okay! Hi!:) Just have to say thank you for all the love you lot keep showing this series, it’s so mad and so very appreciated. Honestly makes me want to carry on writing. But I also wanted to add a quick warning to this update.. There is a lot going on, we finally get what we’ve been waiting for!! But there are other topics that also come into play. SO that being said please read the warnings below.

Warnings: Mentions of drug and alcohol abuse (past tense), as well as sobriety, also a previous death, bit gruesome but needed- this relates back to a conversation held between Matty and Jamie in Part Eight.

> Last update: look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

She never did call.

Matty waited, and then waited some more. He fidgeted the rest of the day, smoked his way through a pack of fags when they’d been down at the studio, and then nursed a single pint after having allowed the guys to bully him into one of the local pubs.

It wasn’t until much later that night that he heard anything from her at all, and it hadn’t been a call, but instead a text.

Messages now Squeaks xx I listened to it 

He’d been cooped up in his office since the second he’d gotten home, looking through a couple of older demos and other sound clips in hopes that he’d find something that would fit with the current sound of their new album. George had been on his case about it all, claiming he’d been too spaced out as of late, so Matty had huffed but ultimately followed through.

Songbooks from years before were piled up high on his desk and on the floor, pages full of chords and scribbled lyrics cluttered the rest of the space, but he continued on, using it to distract him from the torturous wait.

When his phone finally did buzz, Matty had almost decided not to answer it, figuring that it would just be a message from Jamie, or maybe his mum. He was still waiting for that ring. But fuck was he glad that he’d taken a glance. Otherwise he might’ve missed it.

Are you busy?

The next text had come through almost a minute after the first, as though she’d been debating sending it. Matty frowned down at the screen, pushing away from his desk slightly.

She’d heard it.

She’d heard the demo. 

He didn’t quite know how to feel about that, or what to take from her clipped response. It was why he had essentially asked her to call him, because at least then he would’ve been able to somewhat determine what she’d thought about it, how she might’ve felt.

His tongue slid between the row of his front teeth in thought, staring down at the messages he’d received whilst his thumbs hovered over the keyboard looking for something to say.

Can you come over?

His fucking breath got caught in his throat just reading that, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. Matty didn't even think before he hastily answered her, worried she might take it all back.

Give me ten minutes.

He could do ten minutes. 

Fuck it. He’d fucking speedtail it out of here and try for five if it meant that she’d just let him in again. The last week had been painful enough, no need to fucking prolong it.

So that was what he did, throwing on the first pair of trainers he’d found in the hallway and grabbing at the car keys he’d tossed down on the counter months earlier. Forgetting about the album and the work he’d planned to do, along with whatever else that had seemed so important just a second ago.

She called and he would come running.

…

It was pissing down by the time he made it to her place.

Headlights on and ignition still running, Matty went to make his escape from the driver's seat, practically vibrating with the anticipation of it all. But he did momentarily pause to yank the keys from beneath the wheel before eventually scrabbling his way out of the sidedoor, feet immediately dropping into the murky puddle sat beneath. 

He’d parked like a fucking dickhead, halfway onto the curb and his boot sticking out into the empty street, but he could care less about it as he jogged around the front of the car and up the first few steps to her door.

There was blood rushing in his ears, filling up his head and making him dizzy with it all. He raised a fist to knock, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

He’d gotten there in just under seven minutes. 

His heart was pounding like mad. 

He knocked. 

It was minutes or maybe seconds before he heard a slight scuffle on the other side. Before the hallway light turned on and peered through the painted window pane sat atop the familiar front door. 

The chain fell with a clang and Matty swallowed, watching on as the hinges creaked, revealing her face.

She stared up at him, standing in a pair of pyjamas he remembered seeing on a late night call of theirs, her hair all tied up in one of those pretty buns, soft curls escaping at the sides.

Her lips parted with her next breath, the sound of it jumped out at him and Matty couldn’t really hold back anymore. It had been six months. Six whole months. Almost to the day they’d met... Back when he’d been cocksure and arrogant. When he’d still been reeling from another stint in rehab, and from the stunt before the summer, and from Luke’s death.

Matty paused. 

He hadn’t really thought about Luke so easily. Not ever. Not since that night. Not in passing.

But she was currently staring back at him. Her eyes wide and tired. Shining in the light of the street lamps that crowded the street outside. 

Matty stepped forward, reaching for her. 

“Tell me to stop.” He muttered. 

She didn’t. 

And so his hand found the edge of her jaw, fingers nestling into a place at her hairline, skimming the tip of her ear.

“I can’t.” She answered him. Always so full of truth. 

And Matty, Matty was a selfish man. He’d been a selfish kid, too. A bratty teenager. A hellish son and an even worse boyfriend. Always so egotistical, so bold, so brazen. But even more so, selfish. 

He would take and take. And this moment was no different. He took.

Her mouth met his with an agonising fever, and there was an eager sigh that escaped in the breath shared between them that Matty couldn’t really determine if was his or hers.

She let him in so easily, let his tongue roam. She let him pull her close, let his hand find purchase on her hip and hear her moan. 

It was a whimper of a thing, a sound that was swallowed up by his mouth as he consumed her again. But it fuelled that fire within him, that heat which had been simmering so close to the surface of his skin for weeks, months now. 

“Mouse.” Matty said shakily, walking her backwards, further into the flat, where their feet shuffled over the hardwood floors. The door swung shut behind them and rattled in the silence before he was spinning and pressing her shoulders up against its cold wood. 

“Matty.” She breathed back to him, fingers catching on his neck, then his jaw, winding their way up into his hair. Tugging. 

A grunt escaped him and he pressed harder with it, teeth catching on her teeth, hands moulding into her skin. 

She tasted of something sweet, it coated the length of her tongue and melded well with the cigarette he’d lit on his way over. He wanted to taste more of it, found his nose pressing against the skin of her cheek in an attempt to do so. 

It was a second later that he felt himself rut up against her, accidentally mind, but the zip of his jeans tugged at the band of her bottoms and the movement made him realise he was hard. Had been half-way there from the moment she had texted him, but now, in her hallway, with her grinding up against him, and with those pretty little sounds she let slip, it was almost painful.

“Squeaks.” He managed to force out and she swallowed her own name right up, one arm wrapping around the length of his shoulders whilst the other tugged at the nape of his neck. 

Matty followed her demands effortlessly, a hand slipping under the hem of her shirt to feel at the warm skin hidden beneath, a calloused thumb brushing against the jut of her hip.

He explored, felt the edges of rigid flesh she kept hidden and out of sight, the freckles that lingered and dotted her torso, then wedged his knee between her legs. Hands grabbing at the backs of her thighs. 

One of her knees rode up higher on his side as he shifted even closer, letting her use him like a makeshift ladder to lift herself further up in the little space which stood between him and the door. 

He rutted again and the joint of her knee tightened by his hip, the heel of her foot digging into the back of his leg, forcing him even nearer. He grabbed at the swell of her arse, noting the way she arched into him at the touch. How her stomach tensed. 

It had just been pissing it down outside, he recalled belatedly, but her warmth in that moment seemed to dry up the remaining raindrops caught in his hair and along the shoulders of his coat. His fingertips pressed harder into her thighs at the thought, feeling the bottom of her shirt ride up higher between them upon catching on the zip of his jacket. 

She nipped at his lip, then his jaw, hands all but clawing at his neck and his back.

“Squeaks.” He tried again, brain hazy with want but needing to do this right. He had to do this right. “Squeaks.” Again he said, a plea within a shared breath between them, “Baby, please.”

She retreated all too quickly, letting him go with a sharp inhale. Lids heavy with avidity as she blinked back at him. 

Matty realised then that he’d had her pinned to the door, crowded against the wood and practically having lifted her up off of her feet. He swallowed thickly at the sight and willed his dick to calm the fuck down. But it had been way too fucking long. 

He was unhurried in the way he shifted beneath her before carefully letting her go, unwinding the leg he held at his hip before she slid slowly down his front. Feet hitting the cold wood floors with a soft thud.

He blinked and gone was that selfishness they had just shared, that immediate heat, and suddenly she was all wary, shy almost. Matty reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, before he steeled himself and finally took a step back.

“You came.” She murmured after a breath, and had his mind been in better shape he’d have been quicker with his quip.

But yet, he was left drifting in between the heady thrill and the uneventful come down they’d shared. 

He blinked slowly at her. Could see that the hallway light was the only one on, but somewhere, further down the hall, a soft glow from one of her many lamps crept its way past a door. 

“You said you’d call.” He found himself saying in reply, though it wasn’t the reprimand he’d thought it was. 

Her smile was soft then. Fond. 

His breath caught at the sight of her, still laboured from the minute before.

“After.” Squeaks whispered in recall. And Matty heard himself repeat it, “After, you said.”

She took a small step closer to him, the padding of her feet echoed in the narrow walkway. Matty’s hands twitched at his sides.

He saw her throat bob. 

“Tea?” She questioned, and Matty was both thankful and resentful for the quiet offer. 

He nodded, blinking owlishly at her. 

They stood there, not moving, for a long moment. The sound of a car passed, then the scuffle of a person or two outside, as well as the far off yap of a neighbouring dog. And still they just stood there, staring.

She took another step nearer and Matty attempted not to react to the way her fingers caught on the front of his coat, memorising the careful way she started to peel it off of him, turning so that she could claim it and then hang it off some place to the side. He looked at her the whole while, scared to take his eyes off her, in truth.

He licked at his lower lip when he caught her staring too and captured her hand in his when she went to step around him. 

“Tea.” He reminded himself and she smiled, eyes flickering across the length of his face. As though she was seeing him for the first time.

“Tea.”

…

Her kitchen always felt so homely. 

She had spices fixed to a rack on the wall, wound in growing ivy attached to the potted plant that sat on the windowsill beside it. Her fridge was dotted in magnets and polaroids, and a drawing of Teddy’s hung front and centre. The table was always so neat, though still cluttered with the odd crayon and lego piece, a bowl of fruit was perched in the very middle. She had one of those kettle cosy’s too, a knitted one that reminded Matty of days spent at his nana’s house when he was just a boy. 

His favourite part of all of it though, had to be her. 

He stood in the doorway and just watched as she puttered about the space, flashbacks of previous visits coming back to him. She had this easy grace about her, an elegance he always seen but could never quite make out. She was a piece to many puzzles in the way she typically held herself, so ready to fight and so willing to wilt, but in that moment she just was.

And Matty could hardly tear his eyes away from her, from the length of her back to the curve of her waist. The taste, the memory of her still coating his tongue.

He’d kicked off his shoes before he could trail a messy track throughout her home, so his footsteps were quiet when he finally crossed the kitchen tiles. He paused just behind her, his hands falling to her hips whilst his chin dropped to rest on her shoulder.

She allowed it. Picking up the kettle to pour over two mismatched mugs, he simply watched her work.

It was a difficult task not allowing his hands to wander, or to keep his mouth from pressing against the pulse in her neck, but he withheld, content to just hold her. Humming when she picked up the milk and thinking over the last day they’d spent together. That night at his.

They moved over to the table not long after, her kitchen blinds were still open so the moon gifted them all the light they needed. Matty kept close, knocking his knees against hers at the very corner of the table, unwilling to go without.

She was quiet still whilst she danced a finger around the rim of her steaming brew, Matty was mesmerised by the delicate motion.

A hum of hers broke the silence they had since settled in, the softness of it causing him to blink and look up, immediately recognising the faint tune of the demo he’d sent her.

He smiled, his eyes caught on to the one she wore too. Practically conspiratorial.

His legs reached outwards to capture one of her ankles between his feet, her gaze flickered back and forth between both his eyes. He wondered what she saw in them, what she made of him.

“I’m guessing you liked it then.” Matty spoke, voice ever so low, still scared to break their languid solitude.

Mouse dipped her chin in a nod, peering up at him through dark lashes that made him want to catch her by the neck and pull her in again. He knew what she tasted like now, he felt as though it would forever haunt him.

“Thank you,” She whispered after, fingers cupped around the bottom of her mug. His brow furrowed.

“For what?”

She smiled again, blinking at him sweetly, “For my gifts, for always being so lovely, for sending me that song.”

Matty snorted, knowing that the last thing he could possibly be was lovely.

Fingertips touched his chin then and she guided his face back up to meet hers, he hadn’t realised he’d even looked away. But it was then that he was reminded of that night in his own kitchen, crowded between her legs and the counter, her kind eyes. You’re enough.

“Was it for me?” She questioned, watching him closely again. Something she tended to always do. “‘Cause that kiss, it sort of made it feel like it was for me.”

Matty grinned, eyes squinting with the strength of it. 

It was so easy- too easy, even- for her to make him smile like that, and he couldn’t even begin to decide whether he loved or hated the fact that she had the ability. 

“Yeah, Squeaks. It was for you.”

Her cheeks dimpled in an attempt to dim the smile she then wore, elbows pressing against the table’s edge, her foot resting on top of his own. “Good.” She murmured, leaning in closer now.

“Good?” He chuckled, following the motion. Eyes caught on the curve of her mouth.

“Uhuh,” She breathed into the small space between them, nose brushing against the side of Matty’s own. “Really good.”

He laughed again, low and breathy this time around, before he finally closed the distance and kissed her for a second time.

She laughed too, smiling against his lips.

–

For an insomniac, the dark was a place full of many contradictions.

Matty had spent countless hours staring up at all types of ceilings, in all sorts of places, and in all kinds of countries. But hers, he reckoned, was possibly his favourite. As most things had come to be in the short time he’d spent with Mouse.

Because even as she slept on beside him, bundled in the duvet and a blanket that smelt of her, he didn’t stress over the fact that he was still wide awake. 

His mind was too preoccupied to stress. Just thinking back to the expression she’d worn when she’d first opened the front door. To the breathy gasps that had escaped her in the hallway. The way she’d gently carded her fingers through his hair after she’d lured him into bed. Promising to talk more tomorrow.

He thought of Luke then, as well. As he often did whenever the darkness plagued him.

The fucker would be laughing if he could just see him now, obsessing and all soppy over some bird. Smiling away to himself in the dark.

But Matty knew that he’d be happy too. Glad that he was finally getting back on the right track. Actually trying this time around. Because Luke had known the hardships of addiction just as well as Matty had- it was what had killed him in the end, wasn't it.

He could still picture his face, both before and after the fall. One second they’d all been grinning on that roof, high as kites and drunk out of their minds, having the time of their lives, and then his had hit the concrete.

Matty’s stomach rolled at the thought.

At the eerie silence that had followed.

He’d been struggling that night, trying to get clean, to stay clean. And they’d only gone to the party, Luke and Danny, to appease him. Luke, having tagged along wanting to look out for him, to make sure that he didn’t get too caught up in anything he couldn’t get himself out of.

Luke had been sober three months at that point. Clean of the drugs and the drink. All of it. He’d drank that night though, the party had been at one of his dodgier mates places and he wouldn’t have been able to have stayed in the clear.

Matty remembered egging him on, telling him to live a little. To have a beer. A shot. And then another. And another. Someone else had offered him that line though.

He’d been hammered by the time some idiot had come up with that dare and they’d all thought it had been a sick idea to try and walk the length of the roof. Like they were at Zippo’s sodding circus.

Luke had been doing so good. Matty had known it too. What with his first EP coming out that September, something which Jamie had made happen, and his new flat that he’d not long moved into. Away from the familiarity of street corners he knew far too well and faces of dealers that he’d seen time and time again before.

He’d been good. Been going steady.

Then he was just dead.

Matty didn’t close his eyes then, even as they began to water. Didn’t want to see him like that. Knew that he would if only he shut his eyes. Because he couldn't stand to see the reminder, the life that had left him too quickly.

A slight sniff broke him from his thoughts then and he stilled as Mouse moved and turned in her sleep.

He let himself breathe a little easier once she’d settled again, tucking her face into the crook of his shoulder and nestling further into his side. He wrapped an arm around her, needing her close, and then finally allowed his eyes to fall shut, burying his face in the top of her hair.

He wondered if she’d let him stay from now on and pressed a long kiss to her forehead.

He hoped that she would, listening to the quiet that hummed throughout the rest of her flat as his mind began to let go of what consciousness it had once clung on to.

‘Tomorrow’ was his final thought before he eventually drifted off. It had been a long time since he’d thought that he’d ever make it to a tomorrow.

–

It was a grunt I woke up to. The heavy and unfavoured kind, the type that was only ever forced out of you when you received a hefty blow to the stomach.

I felt my face wrinkle as I pressed in closer to the warmth beside me, unhappy to have been woken. But then I heard a whisper, followed by a giggle, which had me blinking blearily and peering up at the toddler now towering over me.

“Wake now?”

“Teddy.” I heard someone else laugh right above my head, and I was quick in the way I looked up, recognising that the warmth I’d been clinging to had been Matty all along. “You’re an actual monster, you know that?”

Teddy squealed happily when Matty tickled his sides, but seemed content with his place on the man’s stomach and the fact that Matty was here at all. 

I wanted to groan at the very idea, I hadn't much thought this through. Not when I’d heard the song, thinking back to the night I’d spent at his, the fight we’d had, the way he’d held Teddy and promised him that things would soon be alright.

It hadn’t felt real. It still didn’t.

“Wake?” Teddy said to me again and I had to give a soft laugh when I felt his finger prod at my cheek, which was probably marked with the line of Matty’s t-shirt now. “Yeah?”

I chuckled again, peering up at him. “Yeah, I’m awake.” I replied, smiling before I rubbed at my eyes.

Matty’s arm seemed to be tucked up under me because it twitched a tad when I moved. I grimaced at the loss of feeling he must have experienced and murmured a quiet “Sorry,” shuffling over slightly so that I could free the limb. But he merely laughed to himself before his hand came up to rub at my arm, keeping me close. 

“It’s fine.” Matty replied, his voice tinged with sleep and grainy from lack of use, but then he winced and flexed his fingers, “Oh.”

I snorted softly and glanced up at him, “Pins and needles?”

His nose wrinkled further, as did his lips when he tilted his head back and tried to shake loose the feeling from his wrist. I let him have his arm back, turning over onto my stomach to simply watch him, drinking in the sight of him whilst I still could.

“Yeah.” He hissed out and Teddy, who was watching too, started to shake his arm alongside Matty.

Matty only noticed the mimicking movement when he felt the toddler shift on his torso and opened his eyes up only to laugh at the way that Teddy was now copying him.

“Oi,” He admonished, using his other hand to playfully pinch at the boy’s side, “What you think you’re doin’?”

Teddy giggled, hair a mess from having just woken but grinning all the while. “Dancin’! Like you!”

I shook my head and bit back my sudden amusement before dropping it down into my hands when I couldn’t quite manage to hide my growing smile.

“Oh, we’re dancing are we?” I heard Matty say, and could feel the grin he probably wore. Then Teddy was laughing again and squirming beside me once more, sounding so happy, before the bed tilted more so to one side and a soft thud was heard. “Oi, where you off to!” Matty asked him whilst Teddy’s giggles still echoed around the space.

“Tele!” Was the only response he got and I listened to the way Teddy’s feet hurried out of the room, having escaped Matty’s merciless tickles.

There was a quiet for a moment before I felt a hand come to cradle my head and fingers card their way through my hair.

I leaned into the touch, savouring it. I didn’t think anyone had ever touched me with such a softness before, like I was something to be treasured, to be held and kept close.

It was a long while before I finally raised my head again, blinking at the sweet sight I was met with. I smiled at the mess his curls were in and the way his eyes squinted in the dim light of the room.

“Hi.” I whispered and his fingers stilled in my hair when he looked back at me. 

Matty didn’t say a thing though, merely shuffled further down the bed, the duvet being kicked somewhere to the bottom before he finally settled in beside me, both our heads now resting on a single pillow.

His fingertips skirted along the edge of my jaw and trailed across the bottom of my lip before his thumb reached out to catch it too, pinching the flesh ever so slightly.

“You snore.” Matty said to me then and my mouth dropped open slightly in offence.

“I do not.”

He snorted to himself, grin widening, “You do.”

I shoved him but his hands were quick to grab at my arms, wrapping them up and moving to press them against his chest. “It’s cool though, they’re cute snores.”

“How the fuck can they be cute, Matty?”

He rolled his eyes at the ask, still grinning away. “Like, just soft and stuff. Don’t stress, I’ve roomed with George and he’s got the lungs of a whale or summat. I could probably sleep next to a fog horn and feel at home.”

A bright laugh escaped me at that, before I was shaking my head gently and looking back at his sleepy smile. “That makes me feel so much better.”

Matty smacked his lips around another grin, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t pressed to the mattress. He reached out then, brushing a loose strand from out of my face and let his thumb linger on a freckle.

“Your breath stinks as well.”

I bit into my bottom lip at that, narrowing my eyes at him. “Well yours is no better! And besides, you didn’t seem to mind it much last night.”

I went to turn over then but he was hasty in his movements to grab at me, tugging me back towards him, closer this time. I laughed joyfully, “Hey!”

“Hi.” Matty grinned smugly once we'd settled, his hand falling to the small of my back.

I was gripping one of his shoulders now whilst my other arm laid in the little space between us. “I said that already.” I told him, feeling each soft exhale that escaped him. 

He hummed, thumb rubbing circles into my skin. “I missed you, you know.”

My brow furrowed, “You slept right beside me, you muppet.”

He pinched my hip in retaliation and so I chuckled. “You know what I meant.”

I did know.

“Missed you, too.” I murmured, letting my fingertips trail up over the side of his neck, liking the feel of his barely there stubble. “But-”

He stopped me then, nudging my cheek with the tip of his nose, “I know. Later, yeah?”

My eyes fell closed and I hummed in agreement, later was fine. We could talk later.

His hand pressed against the curve of my back, forcing me even closer, and so my fingers worked themselves into his hair. I exhaled softly and tilted my head forward just a touch. He closed the distance between us in a single heartbeat.

Kissing Matty was different, everything about it just felt right in a way that no other kisses ever quite had. Things appeared to click. Fall into place around me. 

But don't get me wrong, it was painful too, because there was that ache in my chest again, the hole that hollowed out my unforgiving heart. I wanted him but at the same time, I was too terrified to reach out and touch.

Our lips brushed, once, twice, then a third time, hesitant and careful, before something shifted and I was taken back to the previous night. To the way his fingers had dug deep into my thighs, to the front door pressing against my spine, to the way he’d held me so weightlessly.

Talking could wait til later, I reminded myself.

Now, all I wanted was for Matty to consume me and I immediately gasped at the cold hand that dragged its way up my side to tease me, thumb brushing against the nipple that hardened beneath it. 

I wouldn’t let him have all the fun though, so without a second thought I rolled him over and settled on his hips. He was surprised by the change but adapted seamlessly, rutting up off the mattress to meet me, one hand still toying with me, taunting, whilst the other cupped the back of my head.

It was back and forth for a short while, mouth chasing mouth, chests heaving with the force of it.

But then, a bang hollowed out the flat.

I jumped at the sudden noise and shot my head over towards the door, listening in closer.

“Okay?” I called out, noting the breathless quality my voice now had. I waited and didn’t move even when Matty’s hands came to just sit on my waist. 

“‘Kay!” I heard Teddy shout back and I released a semi-amused huff before turning back to face the man beneath me, “Sorry.”

And I was. I really was, especially when I forced myself to drop back down onto the bed sheets next to him.

Matty simply chuckled and I glanced over at him, smiling slightly when he reached out to swipe a gentle thumb over the scar on my jaw. “You’re good." I wondered if he was just saying that, but then, "What do you think he’s actually done though? Sounded like the bike to me.”

I sighed at the very thought. The bike had been one of my mum’s many Christmas gifts to Teddy, one which I hardly had any room for in the flat. I silently hoped that it wasn't the bike, but was caught on the way Matty had so easily adapted, moving on without complaint.

Was that normal?

Matty’s hand coaxed me back into looking at him again and I softened when I saw the smile he wore. “Later,” He reminded me, knocking a knuckle against my chin before he withdrew completely, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “How about a fry up then? There's that bakery by the studio or the cafe up near mine, choice is yours but it’s on me.”

“Matty.” I huffed, not a whine but near enough, extending an arm out in hopes that it would call him back to bed.

He smirked, glancing at me from over his shoulder once he'd stood. He dragged a hand through his hair. “Come on, got a growing boy to feed- Teddy too, I 'spose.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help my grin. “You’re an idiot.”

“So you’ve said.” He quipped and I could hear how his laughter filled the flat even as he headed for the bathroom, “Teds get ready, mate! We're getting bacon!”

I fell back onto the mattress with a smile, staring up at the ceiling above me with a little bit of hope.

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch7b

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Yinsen discusses his contingency plan for the attacks on Gulmira, then unexpectedly offers it to Emory as a path to help them escape.

Length: 3,659

I’m shy as hell about saying this but if anyone wants to be tagged or ask me to write something please do! Tags: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon, @starksbf

Excerpt:

“You! Where is your white horse? You’re doing everything out of order! Aren’t you supposed to wait until the damsel in distress actually cries out for help before you ride up and fuck with everything?” Emory says, her grey eyes blazing with anger. She’s leaning over Yinsen, who is seated where she’d been just moments before, on his cot. The shirt she’d been wearing under the one she used as a towel is navy blue with its sleeves cut off, and Tony can see a tiny trickle of blood on her arm from the injection.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demands, still stunned immobile by what he’d just witnessed. His feet are lead weights, and so, he worries, is his heart. The image of him slapping the empty hypodermic onto the floor too late for it to matter is like a flake of shrapnel in his brain. He has no electromagnet to keep it from playing back over and over behind his eyelids when he blinks.

“They used to bury people alive back before they could detect really subtle life signs. Sometimes they’d find coffin lids with scratch marks in them, people whose fingernails were torn off in desperation, trying to escape. That’s what I just did. I tore off my fingernail in hopes that it could lift the lid, prevent my death,” Emory says to him in a hollow voice.

Chapter Seven: 115 117 110 108 105 103 104 116

A few hours later, she sets the book down with a frown, coming over to Yinsen’s call for food.

“You look unhappy. What, of the many possible reasons, is it?” he asks her.

“Your book, sorry to say. There really isn't a protagonist! It’s driving me crazy!”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve read books that hop around before, but to me, reading a novel is mostly about connecting with the characters, then watching them go through the plot. This book, though! I get it-- it’s clearly about the plot, to the point where the author doesn’t seem to worry much about whether the reader latches onto a character,” she says, taking the bowl Tony offers her before realizing it’s Tony offering her the bowl.

“Exploring new career paths,” he shrugs.

“So is this selfless in that you’re putting yourself in a position you’ve never been in before, or is it self ish in that you’re taking one of the only jobs that poor Yinsen has in this small little cave ecosystem?” she asks him impudently.

“Self defense. Man is just too heavy on the salt.”

Yinsen laughs at this.

“I guess it would be mean of me to pretend I’m dying at the first bite,” Emory muses, looking at a spoonful. “I’ll wait till four or five, I guess.”

“You were saying, about the book?” Tony asks, his gaze warm and just a touch combative, in a playful way.

The stew is actually no different from how it always is, which she supposes is a strange sort of triumph for Tony.

“So I’m almost at the end of the book. It looks like the whole point of the plot is that Earthlings have a chance to evolve in a way that their temporary alien overlords never will be able to. So everything has been building to that moment. But the scene where the children evolve to have inexplicable powers is written as a kind of horror moment! The parents are frightened by the powers their children display, and the kids are eventually taken away from them entirely. There’s no standpoint of empathy, though, just curiosity, really. I’m disconcerted. I liked the book, but feel really ungrounded by it.”

“I felt the same way to some extent. In the end, I concluded that the unsettled feeling was intentional. Such an evolution that robs humanity of its future would be indeed horrible for the adults who are blocked from experiencing it.” Yinsen’s eyes are animated with interest in a way she’s hardly ever seen. “If you were given an opportunity to develop such powers, would you take it, do you think?”

“I don’t think I’d want to mind meld with some weird Overmind, like in the story,” Emory says, frowning. “But I think everyone in their life has thought about having superpowers of some sort, at least once.”

“I always wanted to fly,” Tony says with a crooked smile, looking over at his schematics.

“I wanted to be invisible, through my older childhood. My parents fought a lot. But I watched a tv show once where this guy got to wish for things and the wishes were granted-- and he didn’t think through being invisible. He got hit and killed by a car, forgetting they wouldn’t see to avoid him,” Emory says, wincing. “I mean, technically, I could get out of here by being invisible, but could I really? If I were in the line of sight for someone firing at you in that suit, for example, they’d hit me even if they didn’t know I was there.”

“Man, you really are Miss Glass Is Empty, aren’t you? You gave the half-full glass to Rory and you’re just making do,” Tony says around a mouthful of beans. “Anyway, that’s assuming you can pick the superpower. Most people don’t get to. They just get what they get.” He pats his ARC reactor.

“But if you had the choice to try, would you do it?” Yinsen asks, his voice oddly urgent.

“Me?” Emory asks, wondering what his life lesson will be this time. “Is this about wanting things we can’t have, versus things we can?”

“Not at all. It’s a discussion on what you might be willing to do, if it were available, to survive past their discovery that Stark is not, in fact, building what they expect him to.”

“Are you serious?” Tony asks him.

“Yes. The conference I attended, just before being brought here, was not my true reason for being in Europe. I was there to meet someone I’d contacted through great personal risk.” He looks down at his bowl. “I’m from a small town called Gulmira. It’s actually a nice place,” Yinsen says, smiling ruefully. “At least it was, before it started being on the periphery of this kind of activity.” He gestures at the cave around them. “I started to fear for my family’s life. My oldest son, he’s intelligent but impulsive. I wanted to provide him some kind of defense, more than just our minds, to keep the family safe should something happen to me. I was just a few hours late.”

“What happened?” Tony asks, sounding concerned. Emory had already been a bit uneasy, but Tony’s tone signals to her that he’s just as worried, perhaps more so.

“They took me, and unknowingly, the serum I’d obtained using the last of the family’s assets. So now it is here, with me.”

“Your family?” Emory asks.

The two men share a look, and Tony gets up to take care of his bowl before she can see his expression. She has a terrible feeling that this means something horrible happened to Yinsen’s family.

“Wait, so you’re saying you actually have something with you that you had intended to use on your own son?” she presses Yinsen.

“I do. I believe it would be wasted on me. Stark has his suit. I am offering it to you.”

“You were scammed, old man,” Tony says bluntly, sitting back down with a metal cup. “No way that’s anything more than sugar water.”

“If it is, then there’s no harm in trying it, is there?” Yinsen says. He’s not defensive in response to Tony's suggestion that he’d been duped, which is surprising.

“Yes,” Tony says flatly. “It could be anything. Convenient that you’re not interested in using it on yourself, hmm?”

To Emory, the ‘hmm’ at the end of Tony’s statement feels like reflecting back one of Yinsen’s own language patterns. His accusation reads as false to her, so to smooth things over between the men, she asks Yinsen a question. A crazy, impulsive part of her wants to jump at this chance, even if it does turn out to be nothing. She’s so very tired of living in someone else’s shadow, of being someone else’s damsel to be rescued.

“Did you get any instructions on its use? There’s no refrigerator here, it could be impotent at this point.”

“I was instructed to keep it against my chest until use.”

Tony snorts in derision.

“Weren’t you telling me to be more selfish?” Emory says, rolling up her left sleeve. It doesn’t go very far, given how much it’s already rolled, so she shrugs, and pulls it off entirely.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, his tone full of alarm.

“Being selfish. I want to do it.”

“Absolutely not,” Tony tells her, standing up.

“You’re not in charge of me.” His assertive tone in what is ostensibly her defense is exciting in a way, but he doesn’t have authority over her just because she was in the same vehicle when they were attacked.

“I won’t watch you die in here!” he shouts.

“Well that’s what you’ll be doing, suit or no suit, you know that, right? You’ve bought me what? A month? So what if it’s sugar water? Nothing will change!” she shouts back, standing up. “What if it’s not? What if I can help you both get out?”

“It could be fentanyl, heroin, tainted blood plasma! You have no idea!”

“Most of those things have value, you think someone’s going to scam a kindly scientist out of what he describes as a fortune with anything they could sell to someone else?” Emory argues, backing away from the table. 

“Your logic is faulty. You’re impulsive, not thinking clearly,” he tells her, walking in her direction.

Emory knocks over her chair in his path to slow him down, backing toward where Yinsen has retreated to his cot.

“You’d know all about those things, wouldn’t you? You’ve spent your life being impulsive, having enough money not to think things through!” she accuses, pulling his work chair out and knocking it over, too. The more Tony seeks to stop her, the more Emory wants to do it. It feels like exactly the sort of last-minute, desperate solution that could change things for her situation, just like his plans to build a metal suit powered by the reactor he’s just built. “How is this any different than the experimental surgery you went through? You turned that into a chance to get out, didn’t you?”

“I was dying--”

“So am I! I’m a dead woman walking, Tony, and you know it. Let me rely on more than your kisses to stay alive, will you?” she begs, backing up into Yinsen’s cot and falling into it in surprise. She closes her eyes and gulps in a few frantic breaths. The strange desperation she feels is a completely new feeling, and Emory feels light-headed.

“You truly want this?” Yinsen asks her. She nods, meaning to say ‘I think so’ but still recovering from the shock of sitting down so abruptly.

“Don’t you dare--” Tony says, rushing toward them.

In a smooth movement, Yinsen moves her loose shirt out of the way of her bare arm and sinks the hypodermic needle in, steadily pressing the plunger even as Tony skids to a halt in front of them, clearly aghast.

Tony slaps the needle out of Yinsen’s hand the second he pulls it away from Emory’s arm. Then Tony punches the man right in the face.

“Tony!” Emory screams, shoving at him and struggling to get back up. He feels like his muscles have spent all of their energy and have locked into place, hands fisted, legs apart, in a fighting stance without any fight left. All he can do is stand there and watch as Yinsen pulls his hand away from his bloody nose to stare at it, surprised, before Emory tears one of her shirts off and wraps it around the hand, pushing the bundle back onto his nose to staunch the bleeding.

“Impulse begets impulse begets impulse,” the interpreter says in an infuriatingly calm voice.

“Are there shoelaces? Anything we can use to make a tourniquet? We have to stop that stuff from getting too far into her system,” Tony says in a rush, hearing the fear in his voice and choosing to interpret it as horror, and not despair. He’d had no idea how important Emory was to his personal sense of well-being until he’d watched a man he knew had saved his own life inject her with something that could very well kill her.

“It is done, Stark. Sooner than I anticipated, but perhaps that will work to our benefit.” Yinsen’s voice is muffled by the shirt and his (hopefully broken, Tony thinks to himself viciously) nose.

“You! Where is your white horse? You’re doing everything out of order! Aren’t you supposed to wait until the damsel in distress actually cries out for help before you ride up and fuck with everything?” Emory says, her grey eyes blazing with anger. She’s leaning over Yinsen, who is seated where she’d been just moments before, on his cot. The shirt she’d been wearing under the one she used as a towel is navy blue with its sleeves cut off, and Tony can see a tiny trickle of blood on her arm from the injection.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demands, still stunned immobile by what he’d just witnessed. His feet are lead weights, and so, he worries, is his heart. The image of him slapping the empty hypodermic onto the floor too late for it to matter is like a flake of shrapnel in his brain. He has no electromagnet to keep it from playing back over and over behind his eyelids when he blinks.

“They used to bury people alive back before they could detect really subtle life signs. Sometimes they’d find coffin lids with scratch marks in them, people whose fingernails were torn off in desperation, trying to escape. That’s what I just did. I tore off my fingernail in hopes that it could lift the lid, prevent my death,” Emory says to him in a hollow voice.

He wants to shake her, but Tony doesn’t know what effect that could have on whatever horrible substance is now making its way inside her body. “So, what? Is this ego? You can’t stand that I’ve come up with an option that could possibly save us?”

“Think about what you just said and then see if you can repeat it with a straight face,” Emory snaps at him.

She’s right, damn her. He’d pushed her to be selfish, to think of what might be best for her needs, and what had that all been for? A vain hope that she would decide that he was right for her needs? Was anything he’s said to her in this fucking cave something worthwhile, or was he just selfish over and over again?

“Did it come with instructions?” he asks Yinsen, his voice gruff and still shaking, whether with fury or concern, he’s not sure. All of his emotions are mixed up in a slurry in his head right now, probably because he won’t even recognize some of them as valid. Concern? Good. Lust? Typical. Affection? Concerning but probably understandable, given the circumstances. Anything else is part of the Not Here, Not Now conglomerate, and Tony has no intention of merging with that company.

He hopes they’re not planning for a hostile takeover.

“One dose, wait a week, give the other. Very dangerous to miss the second, they said. However much anger you have for me, temper it with reason and compassion, or you’ll make her suffer needlessly,” Yinsen says weakly.

“Side effects?”

“Who knows?”

Tony’s jaw hurts from clenching it so tightly. “Well. I have our rescue to work on, so I’ll leave you to monitor her. Teach her some Farsi, Urdu, or whatever they scream at us when they barge in here, will ya? Because if they need to reduce spending on food, I have just the suggestion for them.”

“Tony! Come on,” Emory protests, straightening up and walking over to him. She lowers her voice a little, but Tony doesn’t think it’s to hide anything from Yinsen. He thinks it’s an unconscious mannerism she’s used to using on Rory, a strategy where the speaker is more quiet, which leads the agitated person to lower their voice, too. She’s handling him. “He said he was going to take it himself. He said he was going to give it to his son. I understand your mistrust and uncertainty, but I balanced those with the evidence I do have.” She crosses her arms, then frowns and uncrosses them, letting her left arm hang free and putting her right hand on her hip.

Tony raises his eyebrows, nods at her left arm. “It hurts already? I’m sure that bodes well. Hey, maybe you’ll develop healing powers, and you can use them to heal up from whatever’s giving you the powers in the first place. That’s how that’s supposed to work, right?” He doesn’t remember any of the medical stuff Rhodey had told him in safety briefings. Hell, he doesn’t fucking remember most of the medical stuff he was required to learn in college. He’s 42, that was more than two decades ago, at this point.

“Why are you so angry?” Emory asks, her voice even quieter than before. He wonders if she does it so reflexively that she doesn’t even realize.

He can hear the fury in his voice; his gestures are jerky and swift as he catches her in his gaze and starts to lecture. “This isn’t day camp. We don’t try things in Afghanistan death caves! What you do has an effect on the rest of us, did you consider that? What am I supposed to say if you get sick? ‘No no, I actually find that attractive, please don’t kill her.’ Fuck, Emory, what if they do it anyway and kidnap another woman to take your place!”

His chest aches, and Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with the apparatus that currently resides there. It’s a metaphorical ache. There’s literally no cure for it, not when the cause is a young woman who seems determined to take exactly the wrong lessons from their discussions about making selfish vs. selfless choices.

Tony’s mental filing system has always been all fucked up, partly because his thought processes have way more connections than the average person. Right now, that system is in anarchy, filing links to Emory in all kinds of places she doesn’t belong, places that imply she’s emotionally important to him, and not just in a temporary way. Tony is coming up against a problem he’s never experienced before, the issue that his mind didn’t fucking ask permission to do this, so he’s finding her everywhere he turns. Every single damned place she’s been installed is sending error messages, too, now that her life is in even more danger.

He’s struggling not to show these realizations on his face as they stand staring at each other. Her expression has tightened into a kind of weary defensiveness, and when she opens her mouth, Tony suspects that what she has to say will show she hasn’t been chastened at all by what he’s said. Far from it.

“I’m glad you’re not bound by the battery anymore. I’m pleased that you have no intention of building them their murder missiles. But you didn’t ask Yinsen or I whether it was a good idea do the opposite of what the terrorists are expecting you to build. So don’t stand there and be sanctimonious about my responsibility to make group decisions, here,” Emory says, her voice quiet but intense. “At least if they find out what I’ve done, they’ll just laugh, or be confused. When they find out what you’ve done? They’ll kill us.”  

“Which one of us has experience making important, life-changing choices?” he says, twisting his tone into a superior, insulting one. Most people who get into arguments with him end up stung and bruised, because he’s good at it.

“Don’t act like the lives of yourself and your board members were ever at stake when you made those decisions. Not when the table you were gathered around was probably worth more money than the villages that ended up destroyed with your weapons!”

Mentally, he reels back, but physically, all Tony can do is stare at Emory as she pushes past him and heads for her cot.

The last thing he wants to do is make eye contact with Yinsen, so he turns to watch her.

“Don’t let that pride in your cheap shot stop you from speaking up if you start feeling sick,” he calls out, pushing his voice up to his usual standard of cocky and confident, even though it wasn’t such a cheap shot, and she probably should feel proud.

Emory shoots back a glare at him, but all Tony sees is that her hairline is damp. She’s sweating. Whatever reaction her body is going to have to that injection is starting already. Shit, he thinks.

The best he can do is get the suit built as fast as he can. Right now his schematic calls for welding, nothing he can’t do by himself, with both his cave companions in various states of disconnected from him.

Tony misses his people. Not the hangers-on, not the women, not the yes-sayers, but Happy, Pepper, Rhodey. Hell, it had been Pepper’s birthday the day he left. She deserved better than this.

He tries to picture Pepper in the cave with them as he lines up the next piece to weld and pulls down the ridiculous World War II fighter pilot safety glasses. Honestly, she’s tougher than she looks, but picturing having to kiss her to keep her valuable to the terrorists and thus alive makes him a little ill. Pepper has been a part of his life for so long that she’s like a member of his family.

Besides, he’s the one who would be paying out to keep her alive. Obie (who Tony just… doesn’t miss, which is interesting) would probably have gone hard-ass on any ransom demand for Pepper Potts. Tony turns off the welding torch and leans over to examine his handiwork. It’s possible that if Pepper had been in the hum-vee with him, she’d already be dead. That thought also makes him sick. Happy would be dead, too, most likely. He lines up the next, longer piece and starts up the torch again.

Hell, Obie might still have gone hard-ass, even when it came to Tony himself. He might be consolidating his power in the company without Tony. It’s not like JARVIS could legally serve as the executor of the Stark estate, even if he would be the single most qualified entity to do so. Is Pepper frantically working on trying to find him and protecting his private and business assets, all while he is stuck in this remote wasteland, vainly trying to build a suit of armor out of scraps from his missiles? The thought is depressing as hell.

“Well, I wanted to distract myself,” Tony mutters to himself, turning the torch off to look at the weld he finished. “I’m just that good.”

Next chapter, Emory and Tony's feelings for each other deepen with the new danger Emory faces by taking the serum injection.

[lady-bess]

Dear A Rough Sketch...

A love letter to fan fiction. To the story that got me to where I am today, and to the people who I truly owe everything to.

I was catching up with a friend of mine this evening, someone who has loved and supported the story of A Rough Sketch, when it dawned on me that I’d neglected to ever really go into detail about why this story meant so much to me, and what my motivations were for writing it. I realised that for someone who supported me so much, I’d never shared with more than three people the emotional drive behind this story. So, here we are.

It’s early 2023, and after a winter off work due to my job then being seasonal, I went back to set up for the new season. In myself I felt happy, and I was excited to be going back to work full time after time off over Christmas. I’d missed my work friends, and was starting to run out of things to do at home to occupy my time.

The date is the 11th of February, 2023. There’s an event on at work which introduces the new staff members of the season to the existing team, as well as give everyone a low down of the changes that have been made since the end of the last season in November, 2022. It’s a lovely day, but after a week working flat out doing really physically demanding tasks, I’m exhausted. Still, I show my face, and I mingle.

Then, I got sick. Really sick.

What started as just the flu turned into a violent chest infection, and by the time the new season began on February 17th, I was suffering. As an asthmatic, the infection floored me. In a bid to get my part of the business up and ready for opening day, I had overworked myself too hard, and I never gave myself enough time to rest. I couldn’t afford to be off, and as there weren’t enough people on site yet, nobody was worried about them getting ill from me. So, I kept going.

A week after we opened, my chest had still never gotten better. By now I had torn through muscles, tendons, and ligaments in my ribs from the force in which I was coughing. I was very close to a hairline fracture getting worse, too. I’d pushed my body to its absolute limit, and I couldn’t carry on. The day my voice gave out, leaving me completely mute for two days, was my breaking point.  

I got signed off sick from work less than two weeks after we opened for the new season. Ordered to be on bed rest, I fell very quickly into a depressive cycle, hating the fact that having just gone back to work I was now looking at being off, again. The only thing that made me smile was that I’d recently gone back to A03 to read fanfiction, and I thought ‘well, at least now I can catch up on my reading!’.

But after two days of reading, it wasn’t enough. I wanted to write again. I’d written for A03 about four years ago, at the time, but since the end of 2018 I put down my keyboard one day and never really thought about it. But after reading more Kingsman fanfiction than I care to mention, I picked my keyboard back up again, my own ideas brewing by this point.

Within a few days I’d released a 16,000 word fic, and a week later on March 7th there was already a part two. The writing bug bit me, but as I sat down to write part three there were already ideas whirring in my mind for things outside of Kingsman. By the time March was over I already had 3 Kingsman fics under my belt, and one for Narcos.

As I was writing more, I began branching out with what I read. I stumbled across a few Pedro fics, and I really enjoyed a lot of them. Some of them went a bit far, in my opinion, and it didn’t really feel like him. But the majority were sweet, and the authors had clearly done their research ahead of writing their fics, and it made for a delightful reading experience.

So, I set to work, and A Rough Sketch was born. Mid-March 2023, I sat down and wrote the opening lines; “This book was going to be the fucking death of you”. What it became, though, was the very antithesis of what our dear reader went through.

I had always wanted to write a romance book, and the ‘meeting someone cute in a coffee shop’ trope was absolutely something I would have done. Either that, or something else quaint, like a bakery. And I’d always known that I wanted to write something set in Wales, too. It’s a place that means so much to me, and in a way is like a home.

Growing up, I spent a lot of time in Wales, specifically in the north west. Every summer I’d be there with my grandparents, and up until the age of about 15 I had never known a holiday anywhere other than Wales. I didn’t mind though; I enjoyed going with my family, and as I got older and more aunts and uncles began to pass away, those annual trips became more and more special. We had restaurants we’d frequent every summer, friends we’d visit, walks we’d always do – everything. Every year we’d pack our bags and head to the north west, and hole up there during the summer. I loved it.

Both of my grandparents’ health took a turn when I was about 17, and the trips had to stop. My grandfather (a nurseryman by trade, just as in A Rough Sketch) had recently had cancer removed from his body, and my grandmother’s arthritis had just kept getting worse, making the trip from where we live in England too much for them both. But, in their honour, my mother and I would still go that year, just with a twist. We went south that year, staying in a caravan off the south west coast, near Lamphey. From here, we were just a short drive from the town of Tenby, and while we were passing through we hopped on a boat to take us to Caldey Island…

At Caldey Island, I cried when the Monks chanted. I spent an ungodly amount on the little chocolates that were hand made by the same Monks, my mother picking up some coffee flavoured drops which teenage LadyBess had absolutely zero palette for (and, to this day, I still hate coffee as a drink. Sorry, Pedro…).

The final stop on that holiday was Cardiff itself. Being a huge Doctor Who nerd, the city got added to our holiday just for me. We all geeked our little minds out whenever we went past a filming location, we visited a pop-up museum for the show; everything. I absolutely fell in love with the city, and I never wanted to leave. I’d always known that, one day, I wanted to write a book. But that holiday solidified to me where I’d set it.

Life got manic after that trip. I grew up, moved out, and unfortunately I would never go to Wales with my grandparents again.

My grandfather passed away when I was 19. His cancer came back, and after several weeks of fighting, he slipped away. He was in his nineties when he died, and had a good life, although the last few years of his life were a series of him getting knocked on his ass, health wise, and then bouncing back. We always expected him to just keep bouncing back, but our time with him had to run out one day (does this sound familiar?).

My grandmother died 18 months later, to the exact day. Complications from a surgery meant that one day she just never woke up again. We had to make the painful decision to let her go after multiple failed attempts to wake her. I sat by her side as the nurse muted the heart rate monitor, letting us say goodbye to her in peace…

When I sat down to write A Rough Sketch, I had no plans for it aside from it was going to be a fluffy meet-cute with Pedro, some tension and pining, ultimately ending with the two of them together about to travel the world with one another. It was going to be bare boned, at best, and act as nothing more than the blueprint for what I would eventually come to write as my first proper novel. As we all know, that didn’t happen one iota.

As you can probably tell already, I poured so much of me and my life into this. If I could get away with mentioning a place I once visited in Wales, I did (spoiler alert I’ve visited the majority of the big towns in Wales by now so In Loving Memory is not escaping this same fate!). Reader’s parents live in the village I used to visit, reader lives in Cardiff. There’s a visit to Tenby, and Caldey, and that chapter alone is filled with my lived experiences of when I went many moons ago.

But the more I wrote it, and the more the story developed (all with the help of your support, I might add), the more aspects of my life started to weave their way into the story. My grandparents, specifically, became major influences to it. Places I visited with them, conversations we once had, and even down to the grief I felt when they died. The epilogue was so rough to write, but it did me a world of good.

I don’t think I ever got over my grandparent’s passing. I certainly never processed it at the time. They helped my mother raise me after my own father walked out, and we were incredibly close. I don’t say this for sympathy, I had a wonderful upbringing, (and my father can quite frankly suck it) but it did mean that losing them both so close together was the most pain I’ve ever felt.

I went back to the north west of Wales last summer, for the first time since they passed. My partner drove us over the brow of the hill, and it opened out onto the village. A village that, for over a decade, I called a second home. I broke down. Nothing had changed as I walked around, and it was like time itself had stood still while the world continued moving. I loved that, though, and it made me believe for a brief moment that if there is any kind of afterlife, at least my grandparents could come back here together and recognise where they were.

Going back fixed part of me, but I’d argue writing A Rough Sketch fixed me more. All the pain and agony of losing people who meant so much to me, writing about places that are unknown to so many, but are the reason I am who I grew into…it was like therapy, honestly. For the first time since they died I actively dealt with my grief, channelling it into my writing; the happiness, the sadness, and the pain.  

But why am I telling you all this? The story of A Rough Sketch finished in July, and I’ve got In Loving Memory to work on now which adds to this universe. Why am I saying all this here? Why does it even matter?

This story is something which means so much to me that I struggle to actually put it into words. In spite of the fact I churned out over 260,000 words in this story, the right words to truly express how much this whole process meant to me fail me often. I hope I’ve managed to do some of my reasoning justice. But almost three months after closing the book on A Rough Sketch (pun entirely intended), I am still at a loss for words for the support and love this work received, and I don’t think I’ll ever find a way to thank you all so much. So, here we are. Writing a love letter to this fic, from me, but also me writing a thank you note to each and every one of you.

I’ve seen some discourse online recently about “Why do people turn fanfiction into books?”, criticising authors for wanting to do that. I’ve seen before the argument that “You only got views because it’s fanfiction. It won’t do those numbers as a book”. And, yeah, they’re not wrong. If this had been released as the original story I first envisioned it as, and not fanfiction, it absolutely wouldn’t be about to hit 18,000 reads.

But just because this started its life as fanfiction, doesn’t mean it’s bound to stay like this forever.

The story of A Rough Sketch will be very different when it is printed on pages to the one here on A03 – but you know what? I like that. This version is fanfiction, after all, and this version deserves to have its own space on the internet. I poured so much of myself into this work that it should be able to shine. And every single one of you who read, commented, and left kudos will forever be people I am in debt to because you helped me so much without even realising it.  

I started this year feeling just okay, but I can honestly say that writing this story was the best thing I could have ever done. Whatever happens with this story, the way my life has changed since writing it is something I don’t think I’d have ever envisioned if you’d just told me what could happen. I would never have believed that writing fanfiction would bring me such clarity, peace, and a sense of closure. This story allowed me to be so vulnerable and to process things I’d had locked away for nearly five years now.

To say a fanfiction changed my life sounds absolutely insane, but that’s what happened here, and to the people who supported this work as it was going live week after week, this letter is for you as well. I can truly never say thank you enough to you all. Getting to write this has opened so many doors for me, and not just when it comes to writing. I found my happiness again while writing this, and so much of that I owe to my wonderful friends who I made along the way. I love you all so much.

Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. It warms me to see so many of you reading my other works, interacting with me on Twitter or Tumblr, or even coming back here. I hope that you can feel a sense of pride knowing how much your support helped me, especially given where I was at mentally while writing this. I now can’t imagine my life without spending at least an hour a day tapping away on my laptop, and while I’m sure some people would look at that and think I’m regressing back into my shell, if anything I have a new lease of life.

Thank you, to every single one of you.

All my love and thanks, forever,

LadyBess xxx

[tranquilspot]

Examine Room.

[This is a rewriting of a post that has been sadly deleted, as such this version will be different and modified since I only recall the broad outlines]

This ‘young man’ is now officially John, and the tags will reflect the name change from now on. Both for convenience and non-spoil policy in case new readers happen to come across this blog.

Aaah~ The all-caps words, it’s been pinned down as a Homestuck thing. I saw a post once from someone who innocently wrote in this format. The Homestucks were on the lookout on that one x) Don’t you love it? For me it’s such a treat for my dyslexic eyes. Why can’t all writers write more like this, it’s not rocket science! Bold, italic, space between paragraphs, colors and quotes to draw the attention to the important parts. So please, no more HUGE BLOCKS OF TEXT. It’s ugly, it’s annoying, you spend 5 minutes on a paragraph cause you were reading in diagonal then went back as you didn’t (mis)understand the whole thing and read several times the same sentence/word until you finally get something. And now your head hurts/you’re irritated. Anyway, back to Homestuck proper.

Who the fuck has cakes in their room, hell SEVERAL CAKES with cream and all dripping on the furniture?! Yes I get it, I too like to bring snacks to eat in front of the computer but dude It’ll attract ants! DAD might be a better guardian than the others, but you can’t deny that behavior and parental choice wise there’s something off about him. Don’t get me started on having a HAMMER AND NAILS just sitting on the floor waiting for an unfortunate fool (tool hehe) to step on it. Well, we’ll get back to safety hazard a bit later.

You like to program computers but you are NOT VERY GOOD AT IT.

One thing that I find interesting and just noticed is that John not being good at programming isn’t really important nor relevant, what is on the other hand is that it introduces two significant elements to the story: data structures, and ~ATH (until death). The former focusing on FETCH MODI and CAPTCHALOGUE CARDS, while the latter on VIRUSES (mobius double reacharound starting in act 5). I highly doubt that it was a foresight on Hussie’s side, taking into account the ~ATH is a Problem Sleuth reference (the symbol on the cover is the face of DEATH) and him incorporating those elements in his, at the time, brand new webcomic was a flex on their computer knowledge and skills. Still I think it’s nice to point it out, as it doubles (triples?) as a soft introduction to concepts that will follow the readers far into the adventure and even pop back in as a Chekhov's gun.

You have a fondness for PARANORMAL LORE

This sentence is awesome and irks me, because paranormal shit is so cool but sadly people tend to overlook it and focus on the shitty movies and magician parts.

Which is so lame! John even gave a speech about ghosts and science in Act 6 Intermission 2 that was interesting and I will definitely talk about it when we get to this conversation.

Though maybe I shouldn’t talk about stuff before they’re actually brought up by the narration? Whatever I’m my own boss, I can still develop before or when it happens. You guys tell me in the notes what you think about it.

You also like to play GAMES sometimes.

Funny how among the group of 4 friends, only John and TT have ‘play games’ mentioned in their introduction. TG plays on Xbox alone or with his Bro, GG as far as I know doesn’t own any game until SBURB came around the corner.

Perhaps it’s because the author already established that those two planned to play together. Or maybe it is pointed out by the narration because it is a relevant piece of information for establishing the plot. Or even maybe it's part of Hussie “I’ve put writing rules then soon after will discard them” hijinks. Or all of the above.

John however does own games in his disk rack, and later in the adventure plays at one of them with two of his friends. But I’ll wait and develop my thoughts on the matter when we get there (for the disk rack, very soon). —>

[mywildcreativeself]

Norwegian Wood

Pretty much every time I finish reading a book by Murakami, I put another one on my tbr pile. Mind you, my tbr pile is relatively extensive, so it can take a while to get to the next one. I don’t blaze through books like many other readers tend to do. I see this being a thing on the internet. Setting a really high number of books to read as a goal. I’m a bit slower than that.  So finally, Norwegian Wood (1987) came up for me. Murakami may just be my most read author and it seems strange now that I hadn’t read this one earlier. In fact, the first of his books I read was Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (2013) and it mesmerised me. It’s one of the few books in my life that I had such a hard time to put down. It felt like a matter of life or death to find out what the fuck is going on with Tsukuru Tazaki’s life and why it took such a strange turn.  After devouring Tsukuru, I read Kafka on the shore (2002). Last year I read his short stories in the Elephant Vanishes (1993). I read 1Q84 (2010) and I listened to Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World (1985) in German, which I enjoyed the least and made me continue a) reading his work and b) doing so in English. I will mention, though, that I happened to see a play for The Strange Library in Vienna, which was fantastic, as it created a smooth continuum from the Japanese author to the Austrian enactment.

So perhaps one could say I'm a fan. I am, but I’m also not. Though none of his work had sparked the same excitement in me with which I read Tsukuru, but his colorful images do continue to draw me into his books. A longing inside me connects with his words, his places, his characters. A familiarity, yet a feeling of profound curiosity about places and people entirely foreign to me. It's like a hand reaching out from the pages, something you can almost touch in his writing.

"When everything had ended, I asked Naoko why she had never slept with Kizuki. This was a mistake. No sooner had I asked the question than she took her arms from me and started crying soundlessly again. I pulled her bedding from the closet, spread it on the mat floor, and put her in beneath the covers. Smoking, I watched the endless April rain beyond the window."

Norwegian Wood actually was the continuation from Tsukuru I was craving. Out of all of his stories these two feel the most connected to me. There is a sense of loneliness that flows through all of his writing, but these two books, in particular, seem to ask very similar questions. At least they feel similar to me, quite personally. 

By joining these characters on their respective journeys, I travel deeper within myself and find my own unanswered questions in a dusty box in the corner of the basement of my mind. What does it mean to be the human that I am? The body I was born into? With the people that come into my life - what does it say about me? How does one handle the mysterious pain in life, the one in you, the one in me?

I did put another Murakami in my tbr pile after I had finished Norwegian Wood and I wonder if I will ever come any closer to answering those questions. I wonder if Murakami himself has. 

Something I learned from this book came from being mindful about his writing, his style, I should say: Murakami's voice is exceptionally simple. He has, after all, made this known to be part of his intention. Though I feel I should rather say “non-complex” as it does feel a bit wrong to call his writing simple. I hadn’t really noticed it in the past but I notice it now. He paints an image with basic colours, but the result is complex and mesmerising. 

I will also say, though, there is one thing that stains the image a little for me and it’s the way he writes about women. Those odd beings. Their breasts. Their beauty. I feel like that’s the gist of Murakami’s women. They are these ephemeral beings, never quite like any woman I think I know. Definitely not like me.

But then again, Murakami's women are much like the rest of Murakami's stories. Almost real, floating around the uncanny valley. They are always mysterious, a little headstrong, but only as much as Murakami seems to barely be able to handle. Irrational in that "women are crazy"-sense but only as much as is needed not to become total enemies. He takes us through these women the way he takes us through his stories.

But that's his thing. That's his world. We don't need to live in it. We're just visitors. He’s the one who makes the rules in there and that is fine. 

Norwegian Wood was the first book I completed in 2023 and it will remain one of my favourites, if not my actual favourite of the year. I realise I’m late to that party but I’m not bothered. What a beautiful thing reading is, that we are given these stories throughout time, to travel back and travel forth. 

[dzpenumbra]

10/5/22

Weird day. Everything was off. Woke up and rushed to find groceries left on my porch for close to an hour. I think the food is all okay, there was a lot of chicken there. But it's cool out so I think it was fine. I got "breakfast" - half a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and an "emergency aka I don't want to make coffee Monster".

My mom came over and helped me sort my big pile of possessions that apparently just takes up half of my main room but I never really touch or look at. We sorted half of it a few days ago, today we tried to get the rest. I made it through a lot of it. Found old notepads with notes chronicling very difficult times. Times that should have been better. Well, maybe just could... I found some old lyrics that I don't remember writing, that's always a really cool feeling. Finding something that you wrote stream-of-consciousness and not recognizing that you were the author. It sounded like my style, but it was all new. Really cool experience when it's in lyric/poetry form, but really fucking weird how when I come across old journals and shit, stuff written in this format, I just kinda start freaking out a bit.

Freaking out is what I want to talk about, and fuck the whole "it's 7 AM, I should..." blah blah. Do I want to rush to sleep when it's already this late, or do I wanna work on my PTSD that I've been having like... a lot of attacks from lately. I've gotta do it sometime, and I spent the whole night just fucking off watching Twitch, playing Rimworld and rushing a not that great sketch for SketchDaily at 2AM. Let's break it up first though, start on a good note. I'm gonna go get the lyrics I found and share them with... well whoever reads this, I guess. If you stumbled across this and there isn't a Like (or whatever you guys call them on this site, I'm new, sorry. -_- ) then you are most likely the only other human being besides myself to hear these lyrics, so consider yourself very special!

I broke open the potion, motioning potently Hope my opening coping mechanisms, giving breath to living death We live in debt to thoughts that accost every sentimental pedal grinding cogs in the machine of dreams. Scream for serene mediocrity, premium property careening into poverty. So offer me your thoughts, you see I never let a picture of ghosts convict or repost my notes. Scoping venues of attack, cracking plastic masks we detach the masses with lactic acids and come back with passions, past visions of incisions digging deeper every second we progress. Stepping to the precipice, letting the second messages set and bet all my poker chips to open this Hopeless Opus. I know we'll overthrow this catastrophic masterpiece. At last I see. Rising from the ashes like a phoenix, taking flight into the Stars.

I think I'll call it "Hopeless Opus". And I think I'm gonna put it in my poetry book. I found it crumpled up in one of my storage bins or cardboard boxes of stuff on the floor. It's probably about 7-10 years old. I probably haven't read it since I wrote it. My house is full of this stuff. Poetry, sketches, half-finished projects, notebooks full of dream journals and sketches and doodles and minecraft diagrams and reference sheets for minecraft builds and notes for Subnautica recipes or Diablo 3 Rift run time-to-loot ratios. Shit like that. Chock full of it. It's pretty weird how this is just like... kinda normal to people in my world. Like... no one really looks at the shit I make and goes "We need to save that, we need to frame that and put it on a wall." Nope. This... We're getting to the root of my freakout today, by the way, so if you can feel that momentum, that intense gravity well in my writing that's just sucking this paragraph over towards this topic, that's what's goin on. Here we go. So let me set the scene.

I went to get my container that had... well basically all of my non-medical grade tattoo supplies. You see... there's a complete arc to my life story that I haven't really touched on here, and that I guess I don't often tell people. Well, I mean... it just doesn't really come up anymore? I guess? I don't know. So, when I decided my whole "custom graphics drawn on anything" store thing wasn't gonna work if I just tried to do it all myself (back in 2010), I decided to pursue tattoos. I mean, it's was a similar idea, and I did draw on skin a lot, and designed my own tattoos, right? So fuck it, let's go be a tattooist. I talked to my tattoo artist when I was getting a piece done by her, I still have the hand-drawn custom text font original sitting around somewhere. She kinda mangled the tattoo of it, to be honest. But I compulsively forgive, so like... it's not like it's permanent... But honestly, I'm more upset with where this went.

I asked her where she apprenticed, how to get into tattooing, if she's looking to take on an apprentice, that whole thing. She told me of this Tattoo School thing the next state over, she said she did that and just got licensed and set up shop. So... I cashed in my Americorps money and put it towards going to this school. I got tons of experience, and met some people. But I was kinda dumped out of the school back to my home state after. No one kept in touch. I met up with one of the guys I went with a few winters later, but it was weird, I was older and bought them booze and sat around sober at their party until I got bored and drove home. So... yeah, not the best scene, kinda super depressing actually now that I look back at it. So... yeah. I reached back out to my former artist, really hoping to follow up on finishing my hours under her. She shut me down. I shit you not. I had an art degree, I trusted her with 4 of my tattoos, she had no apprentice at the time and I went to the program she pointed me towards - the one she graduated from. And she turned me down.

So I went home and set up shop to do work for friends if they wanted it, two people took me up on it. Most of my work the next few years was tattoo design and portraiture commissions. I heard through the grapevine, from my best friend at the time who got one of the pieces she commission from me done by my old artist. I swear, at that point she probably inked more of my originals than her own... I'm a bit bitter... I heard that she had a new apprentice. That it was some teenage, maybe early 20s scene chick or something? Probably someone to just work the counters and clean or some shit.

I was dead in the water with tattooing. I didn't have any connections I could think of. The lady that ran the tattoo school moved down to Florida. The kid that had me buy beer worked at his dad's shop, they opened a new shop at some point I think? Fuck if I know. That whole thing was weird. But that kid tattooed a piece on my leg, so... weird how that's weird, I guess.

I didn't know anyone else. So I just went it alone. And fell back into design. Yeah. So just a few years ago, the winter before the pandemic, I went to a vocational rehabilitation program at the state offices. It was awkward as fuck. But the lady was really nice and her kids watched Twitch so she at least had an idea of what a livestream was. She hooked me up with an interview at an animal shelter as a dude who would be basically scooping cat shit and getting super bonded to animals, then watching them be put to death because they don't have a home to go to. And the lady who didn't hire me made a very fucking smart choice not hiring my ass. She saved me a lifetime of sleepless nights. The other meeting I had was with a tattoo shop like 3 towns over. They get a lot of good press, I had heard their name a lot. I showed up to the meeting about 30 minutes early, it was very early morning for me, probably around 8 or 9 AM. It was winter, and I'm just sitting in my car with the heater on trying to keep my music down, looking through my portfolio from years ago on my phone, waiting for the shop to open.

I went in, they seated me in the waiting area. They were still opening up and shit. I have no idea why this guy would schedule me first thing in the morning... that was really weird, in hindsight... but yeah, there I was, looking through their flashbooks on the table to get a feel for their styles, to familiarize myself with it, see if there were common trends I could bring up. I mean, they could be my future coworkers, I should be cool about it and not just brag and show off the whole time.

The guy brings me in to his booth. I start talking about my work and showing him some pieces on my phone. He was acting pretty aloof and, I don't know, distant I guess? Maybe he was just confused or tunnel-visioned or something. After the conversation was visibly not working for both of us, I don't really know what happened exactly, it was a few years ago... but he made it clear that he thought I was here for a tattoo appointment, and I was very clearly there for a job interview. He went on to start telling me a story about how he did an apprenticeship once, and the guy went to a town probably 40 minutes away from him, over a mountain range, and set up a shop in a remote rural area. He claimed the guy stole his business, ripped him off essentially, and set up a competing business in his area or some shit. I heard stories about this mentality in the school.

I very clearly didn't get the apprenticeship. I tried to explain that I just needed hours and that I was planning on leaving the state anyway so like... it's not the end of the world... but it was a hard no. And I really should have guessed seeing that when I looked at the site after, the only people in the shop were him, his wife, his daughter and her boyfriend/fiancee/husband/whatever. No clue why that dude agreed to set up a meeting with me, honestly. That was actually really shitty of him. Maybe he just wasn't thinking or something. Weird shit.

So that's pretty much where I just said fuck the tattoo thing. It was never my favorite medium. Nervewracking, stressful, tactilely overwhelming. It was good money, but it was never my favorite. It had its spiritual angles that appealed, and I got pretty good at it for a while, but I laid that baton down that day. I haven't really looked back since. Fuck that shit.

Then I reconnected with another friend from way back. He wanted to pursue tattooing, and actually turned down an apprenticeship that was offered to him. This was at like late spring/early summer of the pandemic. I offered him all of my tattoo gear. For free. My coil machines, my needles, my inks, even my rotary and the cartridges for it. They were relics from a bygone era. It's not the life for me. He turned them down. He wanted to do it his way. You know, the same reason he turned down the apprenticeship. That thing. So, yeah.

Today. I got the bin of tattoo stuff. The stuff that wasn't medical grade. The sketches, the prototypes, the piles of unused transfer paper (that would have been used as tattoo stencils). I mean, like over 100. IN THE TRASH. My old catalogue from 2013. IN THE TRASH. I debated throwing away the script from the highschool play I was in that my bandmate's friend was in. The one who played bass for us on stage in a Spiderman suit. I started to get stuck. I threw away some of my art today. Sketches, failed prototypes, but so much of it that it just. All of it hit me. Really hard.

I can't even really explain what happened. I just got really... offended, I guess? Or... just insanely deeply acutely depressed all at once? Or something. I really want to try and articulate this feeling, because then I can remember it for when it inevitably hits again. I was sad and angry and outraged and hurt all at the same time. I felt like if I'm such a talented artist, why the fuck does no one want any of my shit?! If I'm so good and skilled, why the hell is it all going into the trash. I feel in that moment like the kid who had his art pinned to the fridge having to take his own work down and put it in the trash himself, and learn through doing - not from being told in a kind, caring and fair way - that he is not a good artist. He will not be a professional artist. He is not talented enough, and no one will even tell him what skills to improve. No one will even tell him where he's going wrong, what he's missing. They just say "it's great, you're very talented" and then walk the fuck away. So a lot of me just goes, "okay, they're clearly just trying to be polite" and try to figure out what I could make better. But that shit was making me a perfectionist, and I'm very susceptible to OCD habits, so I tried to break free from it. I tried to engage - "what do you like about it? who is your favorite character? what could I do better?" Shit like that. But they're usually out the door by then.

So I bitched to the only person in the world helping me with anything about how no one helps me. About all that. And how I wish people would just tell me that I suck to my face so I can just put an end to all this crap. So I don't have to keep going on deluding myself into thinking I have a future with this. That part of me is very convincing, he makes very compelling points. It's hard to let him speak when I don't fully accept his narrative. I truly know I have talent. I do. But when every bit of evidence in front of you is screaming "the only reason people don't want shit is because they don't like it"... and you fight back against that? When you're the only person that wants your shit? That's just egotism. It's narcissism. I fucking hate it. So rock, meet hard place. Me sandwiched between.

So in that moment, I search for meaning. I search for exemptions to this damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. I explain how I wouldnt have this problem if people valued my shit. How demeaning it is that people can't even bother to go to my print shop that's been up for like 2 years. Why? Because... I mean... I don't know? Why is this hard? Just give people my Instagram, my profile has a link on it. I mean that's just like... How. Fucking. Lazy. Are People?! Do you need me to swipe your card for you too? I mean come on here. I think I literally said that to my Mom, like "I could hold a tablet with the shop up and Pay Now button on the damn screen and I'd still have to pull their arm over to press the screen." And you say you like my shit? You say it's good? It's like bargain bin prices too, it's super insulting. So yeah, you can probably tell by how worked up I am now how irritated I was getting there.

So yeah. A long path to get to that place. And that place was clearly a combination of a lot of intensely stressful and life-changing moments. A large nerve cluster at the center where this web of experiences meet. I guess they call that "complex trauma"? I don't know the jargon.

After a while of trying to get through that, eventually it kinda just faded down I guess, I don't know how. I really don't remember a ton. Maybe I let it go or something, I don't know. But the whole time I was just... I don't know... waiting to hear something different. Waiting to hear someone say "you better not give up on this." "You have a gift, you need to see it through, you've already come this far, don't give up now." Shit like that. Not like, you need to get better at marketing. Not like, you need to make more friends. Not like, you need to figure out how to fix this yourself. These are the sentiments I read from the situation, there's a reason they're not direct quotes.

So yeah, a bit of a Yin and Yang here in this journal that I was going to depressedly skip and just try to pass out, but instead stayed up until 8:30 AM typing because fuck it, I need to get this shit out and it's a rollercoaster of a story. I'm glad I got to share the poetry too, I think it's very relevant to a lot of what I'm dealing with here, at least parts of it.

I can feel myself winding down. Thank you for reading if you did. This is the story of how my career went to shit. But it led me to freelance, streaming and content creation, so in the end, this may be a better life for me than the one I was signing up for. I guess we'll have to see!

[masterofmunson]

promises, promises (6)

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend, Eddie Munson, accuses you of cheating on him due to your strange behavior. If only you could tell him you were hunting interdimensional monsters instead.

Word Count: 8k+

Warnings: language, blood, gore, death, and violence

Author’s Note: I would like to apologize in advance for how I ended the chapter, even though I don’t mean it haha. I can’t believe that there’s only one part left. This was a beast to write since it’s over 8k words. If you’re looking for the previous parts, they are linked in my bio! Please, please, please tell me what you think with a comment/reblog/ask or all three. Enjoy!

You wake with a start the next morning. You gasp awake and sit up in bed, your shoulders shaking. You startle Eddie awake and he sits up quickly, brushing his hand against your back to calm you down.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re safe,” Eddie whispered, kissing your shoulder.

You let out a deep sigh and lean back into his chest. Eddie’s arms wrap around your waist and pull you close. His soft, warm kisses against your skin bring you back to reality. Your fingers thread through his and you rest his hand against your chest. The feeling of Eddie’s calloused fingers against your beating heart helps you take slow, deep breaths. He noses at your throat and leaves kisses beneath your ear.

You feel like cotton is in your mouth. Your throat is dry and you ache for some water. Kneeling over the bed, you reach for the gallon of water you brought last night and twist off the cap. You take a large sip and gasp as the water coats your throat. You pass the gallon off to Eddie and hide your face between your hands. Eddie tsks beside you, resting a hand against the back of your neck.

“Hey, hey, what is it? Talk to me, honey. I can’t help you if you keep to yourself.”

You turn around and maneuver your body so you’re sat in Eddie’s lap. Your hands rest on his bare chest, tracing the black-widow tattoo just beneath his collar bone. The warm, concerning gaze Eddie has on you pierces your soul as you find the right words to say. Your legs wrap around his waist and his hand holds the side of your face between his palms. You lean into his touch and press a kiss to the tip of his thumb.

You let out a careful breath before speaking, “Remember how I told you that Max was having visions about Vecna up until yesterday?” you asked. Eddie nodded slowly. “I think… I think she passed them on to me somehow. He wasn’t able to take her when he wanted to yesterday because the kids saved her with music. I think I made him angry somehow, so he’s tormenting me instead. Now it’s just my dreams and not when I’m awake. I haven’t had a nightmare with him since last month and I just had one again. It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie cursed under his breath. Eddie leans over the bed and fumbles for the radio on the floor. He sits back up and turns the dial on, the sound of static fills the bedroom. “Dustin, are you there?” Eddie pauses for a moment, then two, then three. There’s no response. “Henderson, we have a situation here. Respond!”

It wasn’t like Dustin to not respond to the radio. You know that he always leaves it on. It’s the only way you could communicate, and with Eddie, when you weren’t together. Eddie’s brows pinch together in confusion and he passes the walkie talkie to you. It was worth a shot to see if he would respond to you instead.

“Dustin, it’s me,” you said gently, “we really, really need you to respond. It’s about Vecna.”

The empty static of the radio channel is deafening. You and Eddie both groan in frustration and you lay your forehead against his shoulder. This wasn’t good. “What time is it?” you asked against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie shifts beneath you and glances at the watch on his wrist. “Just past ten.”  

Fuck, you swore. You had accidentally overslept. No wonder Dustin wasn’t responding. They were probably out doing God knows what in order to stop Vecna and clear Eddie’s name. Meanwhile you were hiding out in Reefer Rick’s mess of a house and boatshed with your boyfriend. You were so wrapped up in Eddie’s warm touches and soft embrace that you slept the morning away.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumbled under your breath, climbing out of bed. You shimmy back into your jeans and toss your windbreaker over your shoulder before toeing your shoes and socks on. You don’t have it in you to feel embarrassed about how the stench of sex wreaks in your hair and on your skin.  

“Where are you going?” Eddie asked, getting out of bed. He’s quick to get dressed and gently stops you with a hand to your wrist.

“I told them I would be back this morning and then I overslept. I have to go and find them.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re not going anywhere. It’s too late for you to leave. Someone might see you walk out of the house. Plus, they’re not responding, so you don’t know where they are. I’m not letting you out of my sight now that Vecna’s gotten to you too.”

You can’t help the glare that passes over your face. You know he’s right and it makes you angry at him for it. You huff childishly at your boyfriend and cross your arms over your chest. Eddie grins at your silent concession and tip toes towards you, his hands settling on your hips. You huff again and turn your head so you’re looking towards the bathroom and away from Eddie. He noses at your cheek and Eddie’s unruly hair tickles your skin.

“C’mon, princess,” he hummed against your ear, swaying you gently. “You know I’m right. You just have to spend the day with your hot, gorgeous, sexy, boyfriend. If I wasn’t wanted for murder, you’d be spending time with me anyway.”

“Yeah, not in an abandoned house or old boatshed, Eds,” you grumbled with a pout.

Eddie laughs softly and spins you around in his arms. He hums a song under his breath and grins when you relax under his touch. Resting your head against Eddie’s shoulder, you close your eyes and allow Eddie to lead you around the bedroom. No words are exchanged as you bask in each other’s presence. You wonder briefly if this is what it would be like to wake up beside Eddie every morning. Would he always want to dance with you in the morning to the sounds of the birds chirping and the song in his head? You certainly hope so.

You’re mortified at the sound your stomach makes, interrupting the sweet moment you had with Eddie. He smirks against the side of your head and resists the urge to laugh at your hunger. Eddie leans back and catches your chin between his fingers so you won’t have the opportunity to shy away from him.

“Let’s go eat some killer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before your stomach yells at you again,” Eddie teased with a gentle smile and a kiss to your lips.

You slap his chest playfully and grab your backpack from the floor, stuffing everything you brought over the last two days inside before swinging it over your shoulder. The gallon of water you brought the night before hangs loosely on Eddie’s fingertips as the two of walk down the hallway into the kitchen.

Soft, morning light flickers through the pale curtains as Eddie stands in front of the counter, dousing bread with peanut butter and jelly for the two of you to eat. Grabbing the grocery bag, you gather the leftover food and place it inside the bag before poking your head out the window towards the lake. You couldn’t see anyone from where you stood, so you could make the quick journey to the boatshed undetected.

Eddie bumps your hip with his, holding two sandwiches between his hands. You grin and grab the jars and bread and slip them into your bag. Slowly opening the door, you race down the small slope of the hill to the shed door. Opening it quickly, Eddie slips inside and you close the door behind you.

You let out a sigh of relief and practically collapse against the door. Eddie sets the sandwiches on the table near the dock and returns to you. Eddie takes you by the hand and helps you into the chair across from him. Dropping your bag to the floor, you reach for your sandwich and eat silently.

Staring out into the lake, you notice a few small fish boats in the distance. You can barely make out the silhouettes of the fishermen in them. If you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you, and that was good enough for you.

Your mind slowly starts to slip back to the nightmare you had before you woke up this morning. Like the first one a month ago, it felt too real to be a figment of your imagination. The feeling of tentacles wrapping around your throat, choking you to death wouldn’t go away. The helplessness you felt when you heard Eddie, Max, and Steve cry out for help… cry out for you. It terrified you to no end that you couldn’t help the ones you loved most in the world.

Vecna’s voice echoes in your ears. His taunts and threats stick to you like a loose thread. He called you weak and pathetic, and you didn’t have a strong enough voice to disagree. You felt small again, like there was nothing you could do to stop Vecna from hurling the insults at you and hurting your friends. You weren’t strong enough to stop him. The image of Eddie dying in your arms wouldn’t go away.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Eddie chastised quietly, reaching across the table to hold your face in his hands. “Don’t hide away from me. Tell me what’s on your mind, sweetheart.”

You can’t help the tears that fall down your face. Your sobs echo off the old, worn walls of the shed and back into your ears. You hide your face in your hands and your shoulders shake and tremble as you cry.

The sound of the chair scraping against the floor fills the shed and Eddie carefully guides you off the chair and into his arms. His warm embrace shelters you from any kind of harm. Eddie doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to right now. You just need him to hold you.

Your fingers squeeze the rough denim of his vest as you sob into his chest. You sway in his arms and Eddie’s chin rests on the top of your head. He kisses the crown of your head affectionately and rests a hand against your neck, holding you there.

Your cries come to a slow stop and you hiccup as you catch your breath. You lean back to look at Eddie and to your surprise, he’s crying too. His silent tears cover his cheeks as he stares down at you. Another onslaught of tears threatens to break free as you look at him.

Eddie sniffs quietly and noses at your cheek before leaving a soft kiss there. It makes your heart hammer against your chest as you struggle to find the right words to say to him. Eddie deserved better. He didn’t sign up for any of this and now he was dealing with your tears when he’s wanted for murder. Your struggles seem inconsequential compared to his.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest. “Here I am crying like a baby over a nightmare and you haven’t complained once and you’re wanted for murder. You deserve better. I’m pathetic and—”

“Hey!” Eddie tutted, pulling away from you. His hands caress your face and wipe away your tears. “Stop that. This is exactly what Vecna wants. He wants you to feel alone and isolated, and I won’t let you. You are not pathetic. You’re scared, and that’s okay.”

“But—” you tried again, but Eddie wouldn’t let you finish.

“No buts. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you think you were pathetic, hmm? You’re not. It’s okay to be scared. That doesn’t make you weak or pathetic. It makes you human and that’s what Vecna lacks.”

You nod slowly and sniff through the last of your tears. Eddie presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head and you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your chin against his chest. The wind billowing through the trees whisps through your ears as Eddie rubs your back affectionately. You close your eyes and sway in his arms again. You lay your head against his chest, listening to the soft beats of his heart. Eddie hums in your ear.

“I love you,” you whispered into the soft silence of the boatshed. “I don’t know if I could do this with anyone else.”

You feel Eddie smile against your neck and kisses the exposed skin there. His mouth trails up your throat, across your cheeks, before settling on your lips. Eddie’s kiss is slow and deep. Your fingers tighten against his t-shirt and you preen against his touch before pulling away to catch your breath. Eddie smiles affectionately at you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumbs hold your face in his hands.

“I guess it’s a good thing that you won’t ever have to,” he teased with a smile. “I love you, my sweet girl. I thank the universe every day that you’re in my life… in my heart.”

You blenched at him. “You’re so corny, Eddie. I think I’m going to be sick with all that cheese you’re spreading.”

“Heeeeeey,” he pouted, “I’m trying to be romantic. I thought girls liked that stuff.”

You grinned and kiss his pouty lips. “I’m just teasin’. I very much appreciate your sweetness, Eds.”

Eddie smiles against your mouth and pecks your lips several times before pulling away. You hug him again and Eddie takes your hand, walking back over to the table near the docks and finish your sandwiches.

….

You spend the day in the boatshed with Eddie. You fill the time playing childish games like thumb-wars and I Spy. When the sun begins to set, you hear a car pull into the gravel driveway. You glance over at Eddie and notice the worry take over.

The two of you peer out the window and a chill runs down your spine. Jason steps out of the driver’s side door and the rest of his posse clammers out of the car. You turn to look at Eddie and he swallows hard.

“How did he know where to find you?” you whispered, fumbling behind you for your backpack. Eddie shrugs in response and you turn the radio on. “Dustin! Come in, Dustin! We have a code red!”

The radio static is deafening and it sends your heart racing. This was not the time for Dustin not to respond. You try to hide your panic from Eddie, but you fail miserably. Eddie reaches for the radio and tries his luck at trying to get a response.

“Henderson!” Eddie hissed under his breath into the walkie talkie. “Wheeler! We’re in serious trouble. Jesus Christ!”

There’s no response. You feel like you’re going to pass out.

Grabbing the radio from your boyfriend, you stuff it back into your bag and watch Jason and the basketball team open the door to the house and step inside. Blood rushes to your head and your hands start to shake. Eddie rests a hand on your shoulder and you turn to face him. He holds your face between his hands and leans his head against yours.

“You need to leave,” Eddie whispered in the small space between you. “I’m the one Jason wants. I can distract him long enough for you to get away.”

You shake your head and this time you hold his face between your fingers. “I am not leaving you, Eddie Munson. We’re doing this together. I don’t care if Jason just wants you. He’s not going to get you if I have any say in the matter.”

He pleads with your name on his lips. “Please, baby. I don’t want you to get hurt if I can prevent it. Please, go.”

“No,” you replied firmly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I won’t leave you.”

Eddie huffs through his nose and you press a soft kiss to the creases in his forehead. Eddie pulls away and the two of you stare out the window towards the house. The lights flicker on and you watch their silhouettes move around the house for what seems like an eternity. You see Jason peer through the window towards the shed and you and Eddie duck under the window instinctively.

“Get in the boat, Eddie,” you whispered. “If we leave now, there should be enough distance for us to get away and cross the lake.”

He nods wordlessly and you throw your backpack over your shoulder. The two of you crouch and walk to the dock. Eddie tears the tarp away from the boat and hops inside. He turns to face you and extends a hand out for you to take. You grasp his hand firmly and step into the boat.

You quickly untie the rope attached to the mast and you both push the boat from the dock and into the lake. Reaching down to the floor of the boat, you grab both oars and hand one of them to Eddie and dip the wood into the water.

You stroke the water as fast as you can. Your arms burn with each stroke of the paddle in the water. Your breath catches in your throat when you hear Jason scream behind you. Turning to look back at him, Jason shrugs off his suit jacket and jumps into the water, his teammate trailing behind him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie muttered under his breath, stepping towards the engine of the boat. Grabbing the lever attached to the engine, Eddie pulls it back quickly, but the engine sputters instead. He tries three more times and the engine refuses to turn on.

To your horror, Jason had gain an incredible distance from the shore to where you were in the lake. You realize, as you squint to see who’s with him, that Patrick is swimming behind him. You and Eddie start swinging the oars in his direction in a weak attempt to get him to back off from the boat. The boat sways beneath you and you watch Jason glance back at Patrick.

“C’mon, Patrick! We have him!” Jason yelled.

You watch Patrick mindlessly swim in circles before he’s pulled under water. You gasp in surprise and hold your breath. Several seconds pass before Patrick reappears, floating in the air. You tumble back into Eddie, accidentally pushing the two of you overboard. You fall into the water with a large splash.

You gasp instinctively as the ice-cold water soaks you through the bone. The shock the water gives your body is numbing. Swimming up to the surface, you break through the lake with a loud gasp. You sputter out the water that snuck into your lungs and tread the water so you don’t sink to the bottom of the lake.

Looking up towards the sky, Patrick’s body begins to crack and contort under the light of the moon and the reflection of the water. You watch in both awe and horror as Patrick’s arms and legs twist midair.  A scream escapes your throat as you watch his eyes cave in on themselves, replaced with dark holes where they used to be. Patrick’s jaw snaps open and then his body falls into the lake with a large crash.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whimpered, watching Jason swim to Patrick’s body.

Eddie yells your name and swims over to you. He grabs your face and brushes your wet hair behind your ears “We gotta go, baby,” he whispered.

You nod wordlessly and swim back to the overturned boat. You and Eddie turn the boat right side up and grab the oars floating nearby. Tossing them into the boat, Eddie hoists himself inside before leaning down and helping you. Grabbing you by the arms, he lifts you out of the water and into the boat.

Sitting on the bench built into the boat, you grab an oar from the bottom and Eddie takes the seat beside you. Your heavy breaths mix with the sound of the water being pushed and pulled against the wood. Your teeth chatter as you float across the length of the lake as far away from Jason as you could get.

When you reach the shoreline, Eddie climbs out of the boat first. He grabs your hand and helps you out. With your feet hitting the hard ground, you let out a sigh of relief and wrap your arms around yourself.

Eddie drags the boat out of the water flips the boat upside down. Throwing the tarp over it, he hurries over to you and takes your hands in his. Bringing your freezing hands up to his lips, he blows warm air into them before letting them go. Threading his fingers through yours, you disappear into the tree line.            

You walk for what seems like forever. Your arms hurt and your legs are heavy from your soaked jeans at you walk. Your body is tense as you duck under fallen trees and push through bushes the more you walk. Owls coo above you and the wind whistles against the trees. The silence between you and Eddie is deafening as you trail just finger-tip length behind him. He glances back at you every now and then, but you’re too busy focusing on not trying to freeze to death to notice.

Then your mind wanders back to Patrick at the lake. He was Vecna’s latest victim. Is this what you had to expect if he were to succeed in taking Max? You couldn’t bring yourself to imagine what it would feel like to die such a gruesome death. What happened to Patrick happened to Chrissy, and Eddie witnessed both. Now you understand how terrified he was when you found him hiding in Reefer Rick’s boatshed several days ago.  

You swallow hard and shiver the more you walk. Eddie stops when the two of you reach Skull Rock. The two of you duck underneath the mouth of the rock and Eddie takes you in his arms in a weak attempt to keep you warm. A broken sigh escapes your throat and you hide your face in Eddie’s neck. You sniffle and cry quietly before leaning back to meet Eddie’s eyes.

You swallow hard, the feeling of cotton stuck in your throat as you build up the courage to ask Eddie a question. “Is that… is that what happened to Chrissy?” you whispered as your tears mixed in with the lake water on your skin. Eddie nods. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my—”

“Shh,” Eddie cooed gently. “It’s okay. You’re safe, we’re safe.”

“Eddie, his body… his body just…” you don’t have the right words to express the feelings running through you. Was it horror because of how he died or was it shame because he died and you didn’t?

“I know.”

Eddie gently peels your soaked backpack off your shoulders and guides you down to the ground. You lay against his chest to try and stay warm. Eddie opens the bag and grabs the radio. Pulling it out, he turns the dial on and it sputters before shocks of electricity escape the device. Eddie groans against the side of your head and tosses the broken radio against the rock. His hands settle on your hips and you reach up to kiss his chin and brush his wet hair out of his face.

“We’ll figure something out, okay? I promise. Try to get some rest.”

You sink further into his chest, shivering against the crisp, spring air. You close your eyes and fall asleep to the feeling of Eddie’s chest rising and falling with each breath against your back.

….

You wake up the next morning with a stiff back and sore arms. Groaning loudly, you stretch your arms above your head and arch your back away from Eddie’s chest. Eddie grunts and yawns in your ear. He presses a gentle kiss to the skin there.

Pulling away from him, you stand and stretch your legs. Lifting one leg up at a time, your knee cracks under the weight and you cock your head to the side in an attempt to stretch your neck. Instead, it cracks under the position, relieving the pressure that had built up over the last day.

Letting out a sigh, you reach for your backpack and dump out the contents to see what you could salvage. It seemed that your fall into the lake ruined everything. The flashlight wouldn’t turn on and whatever food you stashed in your bag was ruined. The only highlight was that your keys were still inside.

You grumble under your breath and drop to the ground against. You sit across from Eddie and lean against the rock. Despite your foul attitude, Eddie smiles and reaches for your hand. You suppose the only good thing about the situation you were in was that you were together. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself had you done what Eddie asked and left him alone at the lake.

You play with Eddie’s rings mindlessly and the warmth returned to his skin. Eddie stands up and helps you to your feet. “Let’s go. We have to find a radio to try and communicate with Dustin. Hopefully he answers this time,” Eddie sighed, squeezing your hand.

The two of you walk side by side in the opposite direction you came last night. You walk for nearly a half hour when you hear construction in the distance. Eddie stops and turns to you. “Stay right here. I will be right back. The construction site should have radios. I’ll try and steal one. If I’m not back in ten minutes, you run like hell, alright?” Eddie whispers firmly.  

“Eddie—” you attempted to argue, but he cut you off with a pointed stare.

“You run like hell, do you understand?”

You nod begrudgingly. You can’t hide the pout that appears. Eddie takes your chin between his fingers and kissed you firmly on the mouth before walking towards the construction site.

You feel like you can hardly breathe for the ten minutes that Eddie’s gone. The weight on your chest is unbearable. You bite the inside of your cheek anxiously and circle around a set of trees to pass the time. You hold your breath and hide behind a tree when you hear a branch snap nearby.

“Sweetheart?” Eddie whispered loudly. “It’s me!”

You sigh in relief and leave your hiding spot. Jumping over a fallen tree, you quickly return to the spot Eddie left you at. Eddie grins when he sees you and you hug him tightly. “You scared me,” you confessed against his chest. “I thought you were a construction worker.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You nod and step out of his arms, noticing the radio in his grasp. He shakes it in front of you and you can’t help but grin. Now you have a way to reach Dustin and the group. Hopefully they can come and rescue you. Maybe Eddie could hide in Nancy’s basement.

When you return to Skull Rock, Eddie hands you the radio for you to find the right channel. The static of the radio fills your ears and you and Eddie both cheer, grinning like mad fools. You turn the dial for a few seconds before you’re on the right radio frequency.

“Dustin? Steve? Do you read me?” you asked, holding your breath as you wait for a reply.

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin cursed into the radio. “Where the hell have you been? Where are you?!”

You hand the radio off to your boyfriend and roll your eyes. “Hey, watch your tone, Henderson,” Eddie hissed back. “Where the hell have we been? Where the hell have you been? We tried reaching you all day yesterday!”

“Sorry, sorry! Where are you?”

“Skull Rock. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.”

“Bring food, and that six pack I asked for.”

The conversation ends and the static of the radio returns. A deep sigh escapes you and you take a seat underneath the large boulder. Eddie joins you and takes your hand between his. You rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes. The feeling of Eddie’s fingers brushing against the top of your hand lulls you to sleep.

….

You wake with a start sometime later. You didn’t mean to fall asleep. You have half a mind to chew Eddie out for letting you sleep. If anyone needed sleep, it was Eddie, not you. Your eyes widen as Eddie slowly removes his hand from you mouth and puts a finger to his lips. His deep, brown eyes are wide with fear.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered, “we have to hide.”

You nod in understanding and hurry to your feet. Grabbing your backpack with one hand and Eddie’s with another, you run through the small mouth of the rock and duck behind a tree. Your stomach squeezes against the trunk and Eddie’s chest presses against your back as you peek over to try and get a glance at the person walking towards Skull Rock.

“Eddie? It’s Dustin!” the voice—Dustin— shouted into the forest.

Sighs of relief escape your throats and Eddie rests his forehead against your shoulder. Eddie laughs softly against your skin before kissing the side of your head. He takes a step back and reaches for your hand, helping you walk over to Skull Rock again.

Dustin grins when he notices the two of you and makes a bee-line for your boyfriend, hugging him tightly. You take the opportunity to walk straight into your best friend’s arms. Steve sighs in relief and hugs you tightly. He leans back to get a good look at you and his brows pinch together.

“You look like shit,” he said.

You roll your eyes and shove him in the shoulder. “Thanks, Steve. You try falling into freezing lake water and spend a night in the woods for a change. I’m sure you’ll look sooo much better doing it than I do.”

Steve laughs and hands you a sandwich and a canteen filled with water. You return to your spot next to Eddie and take a seat on the ground before digging into your meal. You were so focused on not getting caught by the police that you forgot how hungry you were. You take a large gulp of water before passing it on to Eddie. You eat in silence and Eddie takes a beer from the case Robin brought.

You open a bag of chips and nibble on them between bites of your sandwich.

So they found where Vecna’s been hiding. That’s great. Now you just needed to figure out a way to get to the Upside Down to kill him. Just perfect.

“Do you know what time it was when Vecna attacked?” Nancy asked.

Eddie hums in confirmation, fumbling for his watch. “The radio wasn’t the only thing that was soaked. My watch died too,” he said, tossing it to her.

“Nine twenty-seven, that’s when the flashlights blew up at the Creel House. That was when Vecna attacked Patrick.”

“Now we know where he attacks from and how he attacks, we just have to find his lair and attack him in the Upside Down,” Max said.

The group shares ideas on how to kill Vecna before you gently interrupt. “We can’t do any of that unless we find a gate to the Upside Down,” you mentioned.

You notice Dustin pacing in circles glancing down at his compass every now and then. Eddie’s brows pinch together as he stares at the young teen and asks what was wrong with him. Steve shrugs in response, and then Dustin screams suddenly.

You jump at the sudden noise and watch Steve and Dustin bicker back and forth about who was right about the direction of Skull Rock. You groan as they yell at each other, not in the mood to deal with them fighting about a compass.    

“Lucas, do you remember what can affect a compass?” Dustin asked, turning to his friend for help.              

“An electromagnetic field!” Lucas answered eagerly.

Dustin explains how in the presence of a strong electromagnetic field, the needle of the compass will deflect towards it and not the direction you were heading. You digest the information slowly. There’s a gate nearby but you were nowhere near the lab.

“There must be a smaller gate. That’s why the compass is going haywire. That’s our way to get into the Upside Down and stop Vecna,” Dustin said with a grin, walking down the small slope near the rock towards the direction the compass was going towards.

“Hey, hey, hey, hold on a second!” Steve shouted after him. “We can’t just go hiking in the woods. Eddie’s still a wanted man and she’s wanted for aiding and abetting, remember?” he asked, nodding towards you.

Dustin stops and turns back to the group. “This compass could be the key to saving both of them.” He motions towards Eddie. “What say you, Eddie the Banished?”

You turn and look at your boyfriend and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your throat when he references Lord of the Rings. You shake your head and smile fondly at Eddie as he looks over at you with a soft grin. Dustin cheers at his response and Eddie stands up, offering a hand to you.

You take it eagerly and stuff the radio in your bag and hold the canteen between your fingers as the two of you trail behind Dustin. Your pinkies link together as you walk.

You walk for what feels like hours. You know you’re walking the way you came the night before, but the only difference this time was that you could see where you were going. When you and Eddie ran off the lake last night, you had no sense of direction. The only thing getting you through the night were each other and the fact that you hadn’t been caught.

By the time you return to Lover’s Lake, it’s nightfall. Your legs hurt and you’re absolutely exhausted. All you want to do is sleep. Eddie’s shoulder starts to feel like a nice pillow as he gives you a piggyback ride the half hour before you make it to the lake.

Eddie sets you down on the ground gently and kisses the crown of your head as he pulls the tarp off the boat. Eddie and Steve flip it right side up and Eddie helps you back on to your feet before lifting you by the hips and setting you down in the mouth of the boat. Your boyfriend is quick to join you with Nancy, Robin, then Steve following respectively. As Dustin tries to get on the boat, Steve and Eddie shake their heads at the young teen.

“C’mon, are you serious?” Dustin whined. “It’s my theory, I should come with!”

“Just wait here, we’ll be back soon. Give us the compass.”

Dustin glared at Steve and tossed the compass over to Nancy. You wave apologetically as Steve and Eddie grab the oars and push the boat out into the lake. Looking over Nancy’s shoulder, you watch the needle of the compass go haywire. The boat stops when the needle starts going in circles. If Dustin was right, the gate should be beneath the boat.

Steve stands up and discards his t-shirt from his chest, making some big speech that he had to be the one to investigate because he was the swim team captain in high school and lifeguarded too. You had no problem with Steve taking the reins on this one. You and Nancy would just have to time how long he was under water before one of you considered going in after him.

Steve dives into the water and you reach for Eddie’s hand, squeezing it hard. Eddie threads his fingers through yours and brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles gently. You glance at Nancy’s watch. Steve’s been underwater just over a minute. You decided that if another minute went by and Steve wasn’t at the surface, you would jump in yourself.

Steve breaks through the water with a gasp several seconds later and you sigh in relief, leaning against your boyfriend for emotional support. Steve rests his arms on top of the boat and gasps for air as he catches his breath.

“The gate’s down there,” Steve panted, swallowing hard. “It’s not as big as the one from the mall, but it’s pretty big.”

Now you know how to get into the Upside Down.

Suddenly, Steve dips back underneath the water. The wrinkles in his forehead crease in confusion as he clings on to the side of the boat. This time, he’s dragged underneath, screaming for help.

The image of Steve screaming your name in your nightmare startles you into action. You won’t let Vecna take someone you love, not if you had any say in the matter. You scream after your best friend and stand up from your spot in the boat. Eddie attempts to get you to sit back down, but you slap his hand away. Your eyes meet Nancy’s in a silent understanding.

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart—” Eddie attempted as a threat, trying to coax you back on the seat beside him.

His pleas fall of deaf ears and you and Nancy dive into the water together. Like last night, the water is bitterly cold. It sends a shock through your system, but you don’t have time to focus on how cold you were. You needed to save your best friend.

The pressure building up in your ears burns the further you swim down and the closer you get to the pulsating red light of the gate beneath you. You beat Nancy to the gate. You don’t have time to hesitate in front of the gate, so you push forward.

You stick your hand through and it disappears. Gathering your courage, you stick your head into the gate and kick through until your body shoots through. The water falls away from you and your body flies in the air, landing on the ground with a loud thud. You spit and choke on the water you inhale and drag yourself on to your feet, running towards the sounds of Steve yelling in the distance.

Grabbing an oar from an abandoned boat nearby, you break off the paddle to create a make-shift spear in its wake. You notice Steve writhing on the ground immediately. He’s swarmed by bat-like creatures and you run like hell to him.

Stabbing the vine wrapped around Steve’s throat, it whimpers back and he’s able to break free. Nancy joins the pair of you soon after as you and Steve struggle to kill the Demobats surrounding you. To your surprise, and perhaps relief, Robin and Eddie run towards you from where you originally came. Steve grabs one of the bats and slams it into the ground, pinning one of the wings beneath his foot and pulling hard, tearing its limb from its body before tossing it aside.

“Go to hell!” you shouted through gritted teeth as you pierced the pointy end of the oar you were holding into one of the bats flying near your head.

Robin and Eddie kill the last of the Demobats and you breathe hard in an attempt to catch your breath. You toss the broken oar to the side and squat down to your knees as Nancy hurries over to a very injured looking Steve. Eddie closes the gap between the two of you and holds your face between his hands.

“What were you thinking?” he couldn’t help but yell at you. Eddie’s face pinches together in worry and rests his forehead against yours.

“I wasn’t,” you admitted with a shy smile.

Eddie huffs out a sigh and wraps his arms around you protectively in a tight hug. You return the embrace with equal fervor and hide your face in his chest. Your heart races and you turn your head towards the sound of bats screaming in the distance. You back into Eddie and he’s careful to steady you on your feet.

“The woods!” Nancy shouted before taking off.

You run after her and jump over the vines covering the ground. Your breath is labored and your chest aches as you run through the woods. You crouch underneath Skull Rock and Eddie squeezes beside you as you watch the bats fly overhead until they pass.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie cursed when it was safe to stand. He helps you to your feet and you struggle to keep your tears at bay. The last thing anyone needed was to watch you cry when you were all stuck.

Steve winces behind you and Nancy is quick to catch him as he struggles to remain upright. You watch Nancy tear off a piece of her sweater and wrap it tightly around Steve’s wounds. Eddie climbs on top of the rock.

“This is just Hawkins with creepy monsters, right?” Eddie asked you as he turned to hop off the rock. You nodded.

“Don’t step on the vines!” you told him. “It’s a hive mind.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“You step on the vines, you step on the demobats, who steps on Vecna,” Steve winced.

“If this is just another version of Hawkins, we could go to the police station, right? They have guns and grenades and weapons for us to use against the bats guarding the gate,” Robin said.

“We don’t have to go all the way downtown for guns,” Nancy replied. “I have guns in my bedroom we could use—”

The ground begins to shake suddenly. The sounds of the monsters screaming reach your ears and you fall into Eddie on the ground. His arms wrap around you protectively and you hold his arm like your life depends on it. The ground stops shaking and you puff out a breath of air, resting your head against Eddie’s shoulder momentarily. Several, long seconds pass before Steve and Nancy stand up. Eddie helps you to your feet and doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go,” he said, leading the group through the woods to Nancy’s house.

You focus on the feeling of Eddie’s fingers rubbing against the top of your hand rather than the fear eating away at you. Your nightmares of the Upside Down weren’t far off. There’s still red flashes in the sky and darkness covers everything you see. The vines slither on the ground and the sounds of the monsters screaming in the distance will stay with you for the rest of your life.

Breaking away from Eddie, you jog up to meet Nancy and Robin up ahead, looping your arm through Robin’s in an attempt to calm her.

Eddie watches behind you as Steve approaches from behind him.

“Thanks, Eddie, for saving my ass back there,” Steve said, stepping over a series of vines.

“Nah, man, you saved your own ass,” Eddie replied with a gentle smile. “What you did back there with the bat was totally metal.”

Steve and Eddie talk quietly and you turn to look back at them, smiling when you realize they’re talking about Dustin. You’ve always wanted for the two most important men in your life to get along. Steve was skeptical of Eddie when you first started dating. He was worried he wouldn’t treat you right and Eddie didn’t want to hang around someone who he thought was a douchebag when he was in high school. You had to hang out with them on separate occasions, worried they would start fighting about your relationship, but now it seems like you don’t have to worry about it.

“I’m still jealous as hell, by the way,” Eddie admitted after a while, making Steve laugh, “which is why I would have never jumped into the lake to save your ass. But her and Nancy didn’t hesitate and… I would do anything for her. I love her more than anything.”

Steve smiles softly and nudges Eddie gently. “If anyone has any reason to be jealous, it’s definitely me. She adores you and has wanted nothing more than for us to get along.”

“You’re jealous of me?” Eddie can’t help but ask in disbelief. “Why?”

Steve shrugs. “The relationship the two of you have, I envy that. I miss having that with someone. It’s obvious to anyone that can see it how much you love each other. Who else would go to such lengths to save your ass?”

Eddie can’t help the blush that creeps up on his cheeks. He turns his head to hide his growing smile as the two of them trail behind you.

The ground starts to shake again and you fall into Robin as she drops to the ground. Nancy clings to a tree up ahead and disappears through the tree line. You yell after her and hurry to your feet to run towards her. Eddie yells your name and you come to a stop when you see Nancy’s house in the distance.

You sprint to the door and Nancy pushes it open. Trailing behind her, you take a hesitant step inside.

Looking around the entryway, the house is covered in vines and you walk towards the kitchen with Steve as Eddie, Robin, and Nancy go upstairs to her bedroom. Your brows pinch together when you hear the faint echo of Dustin’s voice. You turn to Steve as he flashes the ceiling.

“Did you hear that?” you asked him. “It sounds like Dustin.”

Steve nods and you wait for Dustin’s voice to flicker through again. A handful of seconds pass before you hear him again.

“Dustin! Dustin!” you and Steve both screamed. Eddie, Nancy, and Robin hurry downstairs and run into the kitchen. You can’t help but grin. “Dustin’s here! He’s at your house!”

You scream his name, but he doesn’t respond. You stop when you notice Nancy standing below the kitchen light. Soft, red-light glitters around the light. You hold your breath, watching Nancy reach out and touch the light. Her smile encourages you to touch the light.

“Does anyone know Morse Code?” Nancy asked.

“Does SOS count?” Eddie replied.

You watch with bated breath as Eddie flicks his fingers into the light, pausing momentarily between each letter. The minutes tick by slowly, hoping and praying that Dustin notices the lights flickering.

“Guys,” Dustin’s voice echoed above you, “I think I overestimated them when I said they wouldn’t be stupid enough to go through Watergate.”

You grin wildly. It worked!

After communicating with Dustin in Nancy’s bedroom several minutes later, you hurry out of the house and into Nancy’s garage. Grabbing the bikes from a rack in the corner, you mount them in the street and bike the seven miles to Eddie’s trailer.

By the time you arrive at the trailer park, your legs ache and your lungs burn. Tossing the bikes aside in front of the Upside-Down version of Eddie’s home, Eddie opens the door and you corral inside.

Staring up at the ceiling, you look at the gaping hole in amazement. Pieces of the gate start to fall on the floor beside you and Eddie pulls you away to safety. Soft, warm light begins to flicker through until you’re looking up at Max, Dustin, Lucas, and Erica. Dustin laughs and waves at you.

The younger teens walk out of view and return moments later with Eddie’s mattress on the floor. You turn to look at your boyfriend and he ducks down in embarrassment, scratching his neck.

“I don’t—I don’t know what those stains are,” he mumbled quietly, making you laugh.

Dustin tosses a rope made from sheets and Robin eagerly volunteers to be the first one to go through. Eddie follows soon after. As Nancy reaches to go after him, you notice her eyes gloss over. Your heart drops to your toes as you call out her name.

You make the mistake of touching her shoulder.    

[julesclues]

hi boooo! You’re legit my favorite author on here! I love your writing so much 💕 was wondering if you could do one: outer banks JJ getting so drunk at a party and throwing up at the party and getting sick all over JB car going back to the chateau with all the pogues. And like reader (not Girlfriend yet) taking care of him please 🥺 thank you so much!!!! 😍😍😍 I know you’re busy so like take you’re time and if you don’t want to it’s fine too 💕💕

Drunken Confessions

Warnings: excessive and underage drinking, cursing

Pairing: jj maybank x reader

Word count: 2.48k

Summary: JJ drinks a littleee too much at a party, which makes the reader worried about him. So being the great person she is, she decides to take care of him.

a/n: thank you for the kind words in your request! It really means a lot! <3

3 things JJ Maybank loves most in this world: sex, surfing, and booze. Emphasis on the booze because once he started, it was almost impossible to stop him which, was currently the situation at the party you were all at.

It was a normal party, one mixed with tourons and pouges. But a normal party for JJ obviously meant drinking. You always worried about him when he would over do it like he is now. Though you were all used to the underage drinking, it was kind of hard to remember that it still is, technically, illegal.

The music was almost too loud. You could barely hear your friends as they each took turns telling stories about their most embarrassing moment. “Mine’s gotta be in 3rd grade when I was in the talent show for dancing and wound up twirling off stage,” Kie exclaimed, making all of you laugh. Pope went next and then John B and as you went around the circle, you realized JJ was no where to be found. You stood up in worry and searched the party for his unique clothing style and beautiful set of hair. “Where is he?” You ask, making John B tilt his head. “Who?” You roll your eyes and look at him. “Your best friend?” You ask with a laugh. Before John B could answer though, you all heard some yelling in the distance. Turning your head to the sound, your question was answered.

There was JJ. Standing on top of a table. Chugging beer after beer, almost as if he was putting on a show for the cheering audience under him. They were all applauding him as he downed the substance, some of it pouring down his chest, turning his dark blue tee into black. You groaned in annoyance as you and the other pouges ran up to him. You pushed through the crowd and made your way to the front, giving you the perfect view of JJ’s drunken state. You sigh and stick your hand out to him. “JJ!” You yell, but he still continued to pour the drinks down his throat. “Maybank! Hey! Let’s go!” You attempt again, but it’s no use. So, you climb up on the table with him, earning even more cheers from the people below. Maybe they thought you were going to join him.

He finally turns to you and his eyes light up. “Y/n!” He exclaims happily. As much as you loved JJ, in this moment, you were pretty upset. All you wanted was for him to just take care of himself so he wouldn’t do stupid shit like this. “Let’s go J,” you whisper only loud enough for him to hear. You reach out to him but he dodges your touch. “No!” He yells, scanning the people below. “Please J. Come on. Please let’s go home,” you plead, making JJ turn toward you. This time, his eyes were soft and warm, almost as if he had turned sober for a quick moment. “Ugh, fine,” he groans, but secretly doesn’t mind the feeling of your finger tips guiding him off the table and back to the pouges. You ignored the boo’s you heard from the others, but they soon forgot about it. To you, they weren’t worth JJ’s time.

“He’s shit faced,” you state to the other pouges, as JJ leans further into your side. Without you, he might have fallen over. “What’s new?” Pope laughs, making you roll your eyes. You knew that this was normal for JJ and that the pouges took it as a joke, but that doesn’t mean it should’ve been normalized. You always worried about JJ and the fact that the other pouges didn’t, made you upset.

You sigh as you sway awkwardly with JJ, thinking about what to do. “Can we just take him back to John B’s? He can’t be drinking anymore guys,” you plead, as John B nods and grabs his keys to the van. “Let’s go then.” You all start walking to the van, you and JJ a little bit behind due to his wonky walking. “You’re cute,” he laughs in his drunken state, making you smile a bit. JJ flirting with you both sober and drunk wasn’t out of the ordinary, but it never failed to make you blush like a middle schooler. “You too J,” you admit, and he chuckles without saying another word.

You make it to the van where Kie holds the door open for you two to hop into the back. You shove JJ in first, having him sit near the window while you sit in the middle and Kie sits next to you guys. John B starts the van and starts driving, which makes JJ hold his stomach. You’re the only one who notices it. “You okay JJ?” You ask him, but all he does it roll down the window. “I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbles, making your eyes go wide. “Oh no JJ, not in the van please,” John B begs. JJ doesn’t say anything as he sticks his head out the window and starts violently throwing up. All of you groan and laugh, as you rub JJ’s back to soothe him. You repeat the phrases “it’s okay” and “you’re okay” like a mantra.

You felt something on your thigh and looked down to see JJ’s hand. After pulling his head back out the window, he plops down on the soft seat under him and looks at you with a sloppy smile while squeezing your thigh in reassurance. “I’m good,” he laughs, looking around the van. “Good cause if you ever throw up in my van, I’ll kill you,” John B chuckles, making everyone else laugh along.

Finally making it back to John B’s, with JJ getting sick almost every 5 minutes, you limp with him by your side as the pouges rush to get the door open for you two. “Come on,” you grunt, finding it a bit difficult to hold JJ up by yourself. He keeps giggling and laughing while slurring his words. “Get him cleaned up in the bathroom y/n,” Pope says, and you nod. “We’ll get him water and some tylenol but until then, just make sure he doesn’t throw up all over my house,” John B exclaims, making you chuckle and adjust yourself against JJ. “Sure thing John.”

You walk into the bathroom with JJ and plop him down on the toilet seat. He sways back and forth, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Jesus J, your clothes are so dirty,” you whisper with a sigh. “Would you like me to strip then, princess?” You roll your eyes but can’t help but grin at his flirty words. “Shut it Maybank. Let’s just get you cleaned u-“

Your words were interrupted by JJ rushing to get off the toilet seat so he could open it. He instantly started throwing up, gripping the sides of the toilet until his knuckles turned white. You instantly got on your knees and sat behind him, rubbing his back to try and soothe him. “Shit JJ..” you say sympathetically. “I fucking hate when you do this shit.” After a minute or so of throwing up, he sits down on the floor and wipes him mouth. “Come here,” you mumble, coming closer to him with a napkin, but he swats your hand away. “JJ..” you warn. “Y/n just get out of here, okay? I don’t need you taking care of me.” You blink in surprise of his words and how quickly he can switch up. “Instead of being petty JJ, how about you be grateful that someone cares about you!” He scoffs and looks away. “Whatever,” he hiccups. “Why do you even care? It’s not like you’re my girlfriend.” 

You freeze for a minute, trying to pretend like his words didn’t hurt you as much as they did. “You’re an asshole sometimes JJ. Girlfriend or not, I care about you. So stop denying my help and just shut up! God, I don’t even know why I’m fighting with you. You’re obviously so drunk right now. You don’t mean anything you’re saying.” You get up and stick your hand out for him. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” He looks at your hand and then up at you. You shoot him a smile and he could swear, drunk or not, that smile would be the death of him one day. 

He hesitantly takes your hand, and you pull him up, having him stumble a bit before regaining his balance. You lead him to his bedroom and plop him down on his bed. You kneel down to take off his shoes for him, but he stops you. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, looking down to the ground. “For what?” You ask him, sitting down next to him. He feels the bed dip down a bit, which makes him sway a little. “For what I said in the bathroom,” he mumbles. You shake your head and chuckle. “JJ, you’re just drunk. I know you don’t mean any of it.” You were always so patient and understanding when it came to JJ. It was one of the many things he loved about you. That’s what made you so different from the other pouges. 

“Y/n?” He whispers. “Hm?” You ask in the same volume that he had used. “I like you a lot.” You smile and grip his shoulder. “I like you a lot too, JJ.” He shakes his head and lays down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. “No Y/n,” he sighs, while closing his eyes. “I don’t think you understand. I like you a lot.” You tilt your head for a second in confusion, but instantly look at him wide eyed when you get what he meant. “Wha- JJ? Are you serious?” But he doesn't respond. All you heard from him was his silent snores. You get up from his bed and look down at him, to see he was fast asleep. Your breathing starts to pick up as you pace around the room silently. “Oh my god, oh my god. He didn’t mean that, right? He’s just drunk.. right? My god Y/n, who are you even asking? You’re alone. Right.. okay.” You stop pacing and grab a blanket that’s folded on JJ’s bed and cover him, leaning down to give him a quick kiss on the forehead. “You better have meant what you said JJ, or I’ll kill you.” 

You leave a letter for him and go on your way, hoping he calls you in the morning or is not too sick to remember what he meant. 

Dear JJ, 

It’s your favorite person :) You were pretty drunk last night so the pouges left you some water and medicine while I took care of you. When you wake up, give me a call, okay? We kinda need to talk. And please JJ, try not to get so drunk anymore. You worry me when you do. I care about you. Girlfriend or not. 

Love, Y/n <3

-----

JJ wakes up the next morning with a groan and a pounding headache. He felt like he got hit by a truck. He never drinks this much and he knew it, but for some reason last night was different. He was trying to forget. And apparently it worked because he forgot what he was trying to forget. Bingo. He blinks a couple of times to get his vision from blurry to clear before standing up and stretching. He  looks down at his nightstand and finds a folded piece of paper and instantly recognizes your handwriting. 

He opens the letter and reads it. His eyes go wide when he reads “girlfriend or not.” He starts to wonder what he could’ve possibly said to you last night for you to include that in the letter, but his memory is failing him. Nevertheless, he finds his phone and quickly finds your contact, hesitantly clicking “call.” 

You answer after a couple of rings with a chipper yet out of breath ‘hello.’ 

“Hey Y/n..” he says softly, hearing your pants. “Are you okay?” he asks with a hint of concern in his voice. “Yeah J, I-I’m good. Just surfing. Why don’t you join me? None of the other pouges are here, and I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay.” You didn’t sound mad or upset, which JJ took into consideration. The last thing he ever wanted was to make you upset. “Sure, yeah. I’m on my way.” 

-----

JJ meets you on the beach about 15 minutes after your phone call. “Hey J!” You say, running up to him with a smile. “How are you feeling?” You ask him, and he just rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m a little out of it but the strangest thing is that I don’t remember anything from last night.” Your face instantly drops and JJ is quick to recognize your disappointment. “Oh..” you sigh, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down. “What’s the matter? Did I say something last night? Y/n whatever I said, I didn’t mean it, okay?” You look back up at JJ with a bit of tears in your eyes. “You said you liked me,” you mumble, making JJ tilt his head. “Of course I like you,” he chuckles. You shake your head, realizing you were mimicking his actions from last night. “No JJ. You said you liked me.” His eyes go wide, immediately realizing what you meant. “Oh.. Y/n, I- I don’t-”

“Did you mean it J?”

“Y/N-”

“Just tell me JJ. Please. Don’t lie to me, okay?”

 JJ looks down for a moment, contemplating on whether or not he should tell the truth to you and potentially ruin the friendship, or lie to you, and ruin the friendship even further. He saw how hurt you look when he said he didn’t remember, so maybe, just maybe, there was a slight chance that you liked him back. 

“I like you Y/n. I do. More than a friend. I didn’t want to tell you while I was shitfaced and with you taking care of me. But I did, and I’m sorry. You deserved a better confession from me. I really do like you Y/n but if you don’t like me back then that’s okay. I ju- are you crying?!”

You wipe the tears away as you chuckle from JJ’s concerned face from you crying. “Of course I am, you idiot!” You exclaim, walking closer to him. “JJ I like you too. So much. I was really hoping you were telling the truth because I don’t think I could watch you have one night stands anymore,” you laugh, and so does he. “So does this mean..” his voice trails off but you knew what he meant. You nod with a smile and he returns it, blinking slowly. 

“Can I kiss you now?”

“Please do.”

[theghostofblackbunnymask]

Have you thought about writing a part 2 for the Yandere! Karlnapity story? I would love to see how Quackity deals with the aftermath of killing y/n. If not, it's all good.

Author's note- Oh mate I have, and boy will this be angsty...

Part 1

Warnings- Death, gore, implied past abuse, cursing and greif

Yandere Karlnapity x Reader Part 2

Quackity looked down at Y/N who was limp on the floor, their eyes looking dead as they stared at floor, blood seeping through shirt and blood coming from their head. Quackity dropped his axe and looked at his hands, covered in blood. Quackity looked up at the mirror and he began to tear up. He was covered in blood, Y/N's blood. Quackity didn't even remember the person in the mirror, he only saw a monster wearing his skin.

"Y/N, respawn, please..."

Quackity looked at their bed, but they never respawned. Quackity was confused until he counted Y/N's deaths, Y/N lost their first canon life to Dream and their second from when Schlatt executed them with Tubbo. Then that's when Quackity's blood went cold, he took their last canon life.

"Wait, no, no! I didn't, I thought..." Quackity said as his voice began to break.

Quackity looked at Y/N and hugged them, not wanting to let them go.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! Please, come back, please, you're all I have left..."

Silence...

"Karl and Sapnap were right, I'm too unstable to take care of you..."

With Karl and Sapnap...

"Karl, you can go back and time and save them, right?" Sapnap asked.

"No, I don't think I can, if I do than it could seriously mess up the future..."

"Well, can you at least see what happened?!" Sapnap asked.

"I can, but I can't interfere..."

"Ok..." Sapnap said.

When Karl got back to the time Y/N was killed, he hid in Quackity's Penthouse. Karl watched as Quackity pulled out an axe.

"Quackity, wait!"

Quackity pushed Y/N to the floor, making Y/N hit their head on the floor, making their head begin to bleed.

"Maybe killing you will remind you of your place..."

Quackity began to plunge the axe into Y/N's chest and stomach until he saw they were at half a heart.

"STOP! PLEASE, HALF A HEART!" Y/N yelled, holding their body in pain.

"Like I said, you deserve this..."

And then they were gone... Blood everywhere as they fell onto their stomach, their cold dead eyes staring directly at Karl's panicked and scared ones.

Karl went back to the present shaking, he was shaking so bad he couldn't even stand up. Sapnap caught Karl as he fell.

"What happened?"

Karl shook his head as Y/N's face kept showing up in his head, the way he just sat there and did nothing, and seeing their final moments alive haunt him.

"I can't relive it, I can't, I'm sorry. It was awful, their face... What Quackity did... I don't want to remember this, I want to forget what I saw! But I just can't!" Karl said as he cried in Sapnap's arms.

Sapnap rubbed Karl's back as he comforted him. Sapnap felt awful for making Karl see that, and having it traumatize him this much made it even worse.

"Shhh, it's ok Karl, it's ok..."

3 months later...

"The books, Dream," Quackity said, glaring at the man wo was bloody on the floor.

"H-Here..." Dream said, writing down the stuff needed for the revival book before giving it to Quackity.

"I need two."

"But you said you-"

Quackity pointed the axe towards Dream, making Dream shut up and hand him another one.

"Thank you, enjoy your stay Dream," Quackity said as he stepped on the platform.

When Quackity got off Sam was waiting for him.

"Perfect," Quackity said.

"Mhm.," Sam said as he began to escort Quackity from outside of the prison.

"Quackity, can you promise me something?"

"What is it?" Quackity asked, examining every detail within the revival book.

"When you bring Y/N back, protect them, and control yourself. I don't want to hear again that Y/N got killed, either from your lack of control or from someone else."

Quackity looked up at Sam and smirked sadly.

"I promise, I don't plan on letting them die, and especially from my own hands," Quackity said as he left the prison.

At Las Nevadas...

Quackity looked at both of the revival books, one had 'Schlatt' written on it, while the other had 'Y/N' written on it. Taking a a deep breath, Quackity threw both into the fire, watching as they burned into ashes.

Quackity left his office and walked to where Schlatt was buried, when he got there he saw horns that looked too familiar.

"Quackity! How are you doing old friend? Thanks for bringing me back." Schlatt asked, pulling Quackity close.

"I don't have time for your antics, come with me," Quackity demanded.

"Oh, you're in a awful rush, and look, you finally had an ass," Schlatt teased as he followed.

"Shut up Schlatt!" Quackity yelled in frustration.

Schlatt walked in front of Quackity and grabbed Quackity by his chin while he held him by his wast.

"Deny it all you want Baby, you know you still love me, and you know that you're still useless without me," Schlatt said, watching as Quackity's pissed off face turn to one of sadness and fear.

Quackity looked to the side before pushing Schlatt away.

"I'm not fucking useless! I have my own fucking country, and unlike you, I actually know how to run it! I don't fucking abuse my employees and drink so much alcohol that I can't even do my fucking job!" Quackity said as he walked past Schlatt, who was shocked, pissed and somewhat amused.

Schlatt followed Quackity as they both walked into a forest.

"Where the hell are we going?"

"Shut up and don't worry about it."

Quackity stopped walking when he heard a sound. Walking towards it, he saw Y/N, who sat there confused. Y/N had a streak of white in their hair, just like Wilbur. Quackity slowly walked towards them, and when Y/N looked at him he stood still.

"Q-Quackity?"

Quackity ran over to Y/N and hugged them, knocking them over. Schlatt wasn't paying attention to the scene and was just smoking behind a tree.

"Y/N I'm so sorry! I won't do this again, I swear..." Quackity said, pulling them close.

Y/N hesitantly hugged Quackity back, not sure if this was a trick or one of his many lies.

"Where am i?" Y/N said in a cold and dead voice, pushing Quackity away as they looked around.

"Your grave, I buried you where you, Karl, Sapnap and I met..."

Y/N looked around before standing up giving Quackity the cold shoulder.

"I hate you..." Y/N said, speaking their mind to Quackity for the first time in years.

"W-What..."

"You killed me, I don't want you to hurt me again! The pain I felt... It still hurts," Y/N said, beginning to shake as they held their stomach.

"I want the old Quackity back, not you... I want Karl and Sapnap back, I just want to have them back! You're not Quackity, you're a demon wearing his skin..."

Quackity's heart broke in two as he saw Y/N point at him, their eyes holding nothing but pain. Schlatt began to chuckle as he heard the two talk. Y/N looked away from Quackity and began to walk off.

"Wait, no!" Quackity said, grabbing their wrist, preventing them from leaving.

"Let me make it up to you, please! I'll change, I'll let you see Karl and Sapnap again, I just want you to be happy, and I don't want you to leave me..."

Y/N looked at Quackity before thinking about what to do.

"You promise?"

"Promise."

"Ok, I'll come back..."

5 hours later...

Karl was cuddling up with Sapnap when both of them got a private message from Quackity.

"Come to Las Nevadas."

Sapnap and Karl looked at each other, thinking the same thing.

"This may be a trap," Sapnal said.

"I know, but, I want to hear what he has go say."

Karl and Sapnap walked into the Las Nevadas, only to be greeted by Quackity himself.

"What is it Quackity?" Sapnap asked.

"Karl, Sapnap, I'm sorry, I really am, and I know you won't forgive, and may want nothing to do with me, but please, let me explain."

Karl and Sapnap glanced at each other before nodding, agreeing to let Quackity explain.

"I revived Y/N, and they really miss you two, a lot, and so do I. They want all of us together again, to be happy again. You may not want anything to do with me, but please, for Y/N..."

Karl and Sapnap hugged Quackity without a second thought, catching him off guard.

"We thought you'd never ask," Sapnap said.

Quackity hugged the two back before they all started to walk off.

"Where's Y/N?" Karl asked as the three went up the glass elevator.

"My penthouse," Quackity said as he exited the elevator and walked to the room which led to it.

Quackity unlocked the door and entered, Karl and Sapnap following after. Y/N was no where to be seen, but you could hear them crying in their room. Sapnap and Karl slowly opened the door and saw Y/N sitting on their bed, rolled up in a blanket as they silently cried. Y/N stopped when they got knocked over by someone. Turning their head, they saw Sapnap and Karl hugging them, which surprised them.

"Sapnap, Karl..." Y/N whispered.

"We missed you so much!" Sapnap said.

"Yeah, we thought you'd never come back!" Karl said.

Quackity had a warm smile on his face as he watched what happened, it reminded him when they were all together, before Kinoko Kingdom and before Las Nevadas. When Quackity turned around to leave, Karl grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hug, trapped him as Karl cuddled him. Y/N fell asleep while Sapnap cuddled them. Even though their relationship wasn't the best, it made them all happy.

[hotch-stufff]

Surprise, Surprise

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x F!reader

Warnings!: there are no warnings, im not telling you a single thing. It's a surprise. Just read and find out ;)

Also, as much as I love him, Jack does not exist in this story, wasn't really sure how to write him in.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry that I haven't written in a while, I have had no inspiration and my bf dumped me so... ya'know that was nice. Anyways, finally getting some inspo, hopefully I will be writing more. Hope you guys enjoy this one :) Also, the mood board is mine, but the images are all from pintrest.

Word count: 1.4 k words

This is an emotional roller coaster

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

You couldn't breathe.

You couldn't move, or speak.

Your knees gave out as you fell to the floor, sobs racking your body.

You felt arms wrap around you, but it didn't help. You were suffocating. He was your air, and he had just been ripped from your lungs. 

He was gone, dead.

Your husband.

The love of your life.

Aaron Hotchner was dead

* * *

You don't remember anything after the doctor uttered those words. You don't remember Rossi picking you up and holding you. You don't remember the sad glances, the tears shed by your teammates. You don't remember the car ride to your now empty shared apartment. You don't remember lying down and sobbing into the pillow for hours.

No, you only remember the pain. The unbearable pain of loss.

He was gone. Really gone.

You cried and cried for hours on end. Until you had no tears left to shed. 

Then you just lied there, staring at the wall, gripping his favorite shirt in your arms, remembering every little moment with him.

And it hurt like hell just thinking of everything you did with him. The day you met. Your first kiss, your first date. The day he proposed. Your wedding. Every little thing. 

And you wouldn't be able to do anything else. You wouldn't have kids with him. You guys had just talked about having a baby just the other day. He wanted one so bad. 

You shouldn't have waited.

Because now, now he was gone.

* * *

The next few days were a blur. You found yourself with home-cooked meals overflowing your fridge. A team member at your house every night. But it was all a blur.

All meaningless without Aaron.

The funeral was coming up. You didn't make any arrangements, you asked Rossi if he could handle it and he quickly agreed. 

He had taken care of finding the casket, picking a place, and finding a burial site. Everything. 

The only thing you had asked for was a closed casket.

You couldn't handle looking at him.

* * *

On the day of the funeral, the girls all came over to help you get ready. 

"Alright y/n, do you have a dress?" Penny asked as she walked out of kitchen.

"In the closet." You croaked. Your voice being hoarse from the crying and lack of speaking for the past two weeks.

"Okay I'll grab that, and shoes. Jj is going to make you breakfast and Em is going to do your hair okay?" You gave her a sad smile and a small okay.

Penny quickly walked back your hallway as Em began pulling your hair back in a low ponytail. You felt the tears begin slipping down your face once again.

Jj saw as she walked back in the room with a bagel and coffee.

"Oh sweetheart." And the dam broke. They comforted you the best they could. But they couldn't even imagine what you were going through, because he was gone.

* * *

The funeral was a blur. It seemed like everything was these days. 

It was a beautiful service. You don't remember much. Lots of hugs and 'sorry for your loss's.

It had gone quickly, and soon you found yourself in Rossi's living room. Everyone but the team had left, you sat alone. The rest were in the kitchen cleaning up.

You didn't move from your spot, sipping your wine.

Everyone walked in, and found spots around you.

It was silent. Not a single word was spoken.

"I'm taking a leave of absence." You spoke.

6 pairs of eyes shot to you, but they couldn't say they were surprised.

"It's just too much. I'm not ready to come back." Your voice was quiet. Rossi was the first to say anything.

"Take all the time you need." 

* * *

And you did. You spent about 3 months in that apartment, alone and sad and heartbroken. 

But you realized that Aaron would never want you to live like this. And you really needed to be able to pay the bills.

So after those 3 months, you gave Rossi a call. He had become until chief since you had left, and he instantly accepted you back to the team.

You were slowly getting better. 

Each passing case a distraction. 

Each one fixing you just a bit more. 

Each one giving your life a purpose, a meaning again.

And you felt better. You stopped crying yourself to sleep. You stopped sitting in silence for hours on end. You stopped crying every time you thought about him.

But you still visited him every week. You still thought about him everyday. You still wore your wedding rings, refusing to take them off.

But you were better. 

* * *

A few more months went by and you started going out with the team again. You spent more time with them. Almost every weekend. And you were somewhat okay.

And it wasn't until about 8 months after his death did your world come to another crashing halt.

You had been called in to the BAU, not entirely sure why, but you came in none the less. 

You figured it was a case, but Jj hadn't specified on the phone, which was strange.

You had walked up to the conference room, and were surprised to see the whole team sitting there ready to go. 

"Hey guys, do we have a case?" You asked, but Jj sent you a sad look causing you to grow worried.

"Y/n, you should sit down for this." You had no idea what was going on. What on earth was happening. "Peter Raymond recently resurfaced, and was taken into custody this morning about an hour ago. He resisted arrest and pulled a gun on an officer. He was shot and killed." Your heart hammered in your chest. He was gone. The bastard who killed your husband was gone. Rossi stood walking towards Jj.

A pit grew in your stomach, there was more, something you didn't know.

"8 months ago I made a decision that greatly affected this team. Aaron Hotchner received substantial injuries from the wounds he endured, but his surgery was a success and he was airlifted to an unknown location. His identity was changed in order to keep him safe. But he is alive." 

You couldn't believe your ears. He was alive. Alive? 

Your eyes shot to the door and there he stood. 

Aaron Hotchner. 

You couldn't breathe. 

You couldn't move or speak. 

He was alive, you should be ecstatic.

But you only felt anger.

Your eyes shot to Rossi.

"How dare you." You whispered out, surprising the team. You weren't an angry person, you never yelled at your teammates. But you, you were seething. "How could you do that. You knew he was alive and yet you let me suffer. You watched as I cried day and night. You watched as I let myself go, as I lost myself." You shook your head in anger.

Aaron stepped forward reaching out for you, but you shook your head.

"Dont touch me. Don't fucking touch me." You felt the tears fall down your face. Again. "You left me. You're dead. You're gone. Y-you left." You were shaking and crying and once again Aaron reached out for you, but this time you let him.

He brought you into a crushing hug, holding you like you had begged to be held for months. 

He was here, really here. You could smell and feel and see him. He was really here.

"Y-you bastard. You left me." You whispered desperately as you cried into his shirt. 

The team was quick to disperse. They too were mad at Rossi, and they wanted to reunite with Hotch. But they left you be, at least for now.

Aaron pulled back slightly, looking down at you.

"Sweetheart I'm so sorry. I wish I didn't have to. But he would have killed you and then he would have killed me." He had tears running down his face as well now. But you were so angry at him.

You pushed him away.

"I could have gone with you Aaron. You could have gone into witsec. You didn't need to fake your fucking death Aaron!" You yelled at him. you couldn't even believe you were eating this conversation.

"Y/n please, I'm so sorry." You were mad yeah, but you were so overwhelmingly relieved that it overpowered your anger. "I missed you sweetheart." He whispered out and you broke just a little bit more.

"You bastard. Y-you stupid man." You pulled him back to you and slammed your lips together. "You stupid, stupid man." You gasped out between kisses. 

"I know, I'm so sorry. I love you." He stated after you pulled away.

"I-I love you too." You were sobbing at this point.. "Don't ever do that to me again." He nodded, leaning in to kiss you again.

And you kissed your husband.

Because he wasn't gone. 

He was right here.

And god did it feel amazing to have him back

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

Thanks for reading! Requests are still open, so ask away! Currently I'm only taking requests from my prompt list, which is right here! School is starting up soon though, so i may not be writing very often, but i will definitely try! Anyways, if you would like to read more of my work, here is my masterlist.

[theplanetprince]

Pick Your Poison || Invisobang 2022

Fic: AO3 || FNN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: Teens and Up

Word Count (approx): 38k~

Chapters: 5/5

Relationships:

Valerie Gray/Wes Weston (implied, one-sided)

Danny Fenton & Wes Weston

Dash Baxter & Wes Weston

Jazz Fenton & Danny Fenton

Characters:

Wes Weston

Kyle Weston

Valerie Gray

Dash Baxter

Danny Fenton

Jazz Fenton

Penelope Spectra

Additional Tags: Horror, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Morally Ambiguous Character, Poisoning, Poison, Mental Health Issues, Therapy, Really Bad Therapy, Paranoia, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Psychological Horror, Angst, Teenagers, Teen Angst, Gaslighting, Violence, High School, Bullying, One Shot, Blood and Injury, Animal Death, Origin Story, Not Fanon Compliant, Canon Rewrite, Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Anxiety, Separation Anxiety, Family Drama, Family Feels, Villains, Bastardization Arc, Missing Persons, Danny Fenton is a Little Shit, Pretentious, Obsessive Behavior, Feral Behavior, Inspired by Music, Based on a The Front Bottoms Song, Song: I Ran (So Far Away) (A Flock of Seagulls), Inspired by Stephen King's IT, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), Song: Voodoo Magic (The Front Bottoms), Attempted Murder, Assault

Fic Summary: Grief has a way of changing people. Wes Weston's older brother going missing during the haunted house fire last year had changed him. His therapist would agree. Change isn't always for the better.

What hasn't changed are the countless questions Wesley was left with. Though some had more puzzling answers but answers nonetheless...

Could you kill a ghost?

And could Wes get away with it?

Author's Note: Thank you all to the lovely people who host @invisobang and who let me come back this year. I also wish to thank my lovely fic partner for this year @valpal5117 / @valpal5117-art! Go check out the artwork they've done for this piece, as well as everything else they post bc it's fantastic. I brought you all something a little different from my usual style, something a bit darker and a bit more spooky since the season is arriving. It's my first time writing Wes Weston, and I hope I've done this fan character some justice. Like last year I've included the link to my fic as well as the first chapter under the read more. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed making it! Thanks again! -Voorhees 🤟

Every morning Kyle would check the rat traps in the basement for his Dad. It wasn’t that he had strong feelings for the creatures, but he still winced at the idea of killing the poor things. It bothered him, but you get used to it, y’know? It wasn’t like he was a vegan or, god forbid, an ultra-recyclo-vegetarian. But death seemed so… permanent, for lack of a better word. It was such a severe punishment for the crime of just existing in a hostile environment. 

Then again, this is Amity Park. Death didn’t seem to stick here. 

It had been more than a year or so since they moved here, and with every passing minute, it felt like an eternity longer. Kyle, like any child, was apprehensive about transition, but when his father said they wouldn’t have to move again after their resettlement to Amity Park… he was more receptive to it. 

But then again, it’s Amity fucking Park. It had this habit of sucking all the good out. As soon as you step into the county boundary, it's like you forfeit all rights to happiness. 

At the bottom of the first-floor stairs, the sixth-grader had sleepily pulled on his socks. He hated going down there. The concrete floor was always so cold. It was like the ice resting on Lake Eerie. It was freezing and— it’d kill someone in this house to break out the broom. Rocks and shards of debris would lodge into his heel, and the youngest Weston would limp around the house. Kyle’s jaw popped as he yawned. The boy organized his choppy red hair into its natural cowlick before stuffing it into his ball cap. He got to his feet and shuffled towards the back of the house. The stairs creaked under his weight as he descended. The basement door caught a gust of wind and slammed against the wall, sending vibrations through the house. 

Damn, I hope I didn’t crack the wall. 

There was no arm rail for the stairs because this architectural nightmare was built before common sense. Kyle turned his head back from the light of the first floor, back into the blackness of the basement. He didn’t want to upset his Dad again.

See, this first year hadn’t been smooth sailing, if you managed to guess. Kyle’s brothers weren’t as ‘go-with-the-flow’ with the move. Or anything that came after. Kyle didn’t believe in conflict. He was the youngest; he was the baby of the family. He was the one who got the pat on the head for every single achievement; before, inevitably, the conversation shifted. It wasn’t his job to rock the boat. It was his job to be a good student, get the garbage out, and of course…

Go into the creepy-ass basement to check for rats that may or may not exist. 

See, Wes was the first one to see the rats. Or, more accurately, he saw the damage the rats did. Some chewed and frayed wires in the power box—things of that nature. 

…Wesley was a lot to unpack. Some would say. 

He was high-strung, had trouble letting things go, and, oh yeah, he kept seeing things that didn’t exist. That was the concerning part. At first, everyone wanted to shrug it off as a 'middle child' thing. That's before he started saying his classmates were… dead. Wes said one of his classmates had been replaced with a ghost. Then there were the weird phone calls at all hours of the night. The obsession with short radios and the police scanners that would buzz and burst to life randomly with noise. 

That’s what led to Kyle and Easton being dropped off at practices and games, while every other Thursday, they had to wave off their brother Wes in the parking lot of a therapist's office. Kyle had only been inside that building once. It didn’t smell like how a doctor’s office should, sterile, harsh, and chemical. Instead, it vaguely had the stench of coffee and cigarettes and was… overwhelmingly stale. It wasn’t a very ventilated place. There were hardly any windows except those in the private rooms where Wes would allegedly spend his allotted hour staring blankly out like he was in The Shawshank Redemption— effectively burning their father’s money.

The shrink— or rather, Ms Penelope, seemed really nice. Teetering on the edge of overkill. Kyle understood why his older brother would be reluctant to share anything with someone who appeared to be trying too hard to seem trustworthy rather than proving it. She didn’t seem too interested in Kyle’s issues per se; they spent their introductory session playing all manner of board games. Her office was plush. The couch was padded arm to arm with throw pillows, the kind with the fur on them. Not that the sixth-grader could get comfortable anyway. It may not have smelled like a regular doctor's office, but it sure was cold like one. What little hair he had on his arms stood on end with the chill. 

Kyle spent most of his appointment hunched over the coffee table, trying to rationalize in his head which colored 'Sorry!' pawn meant he had the least amount of mental disturbances. The idea behind the practice was to become emotionally vulnerable, but often that feeling overlapped with being completely exposed. Not that the middle schooler had anything to hide. Nothing out of the ordinary for a kid his age. 

Kyle would argue that he was the most well-adjusted in the family, including the two adults, in terms of who needed therapy and who didn't. Ms Penelope agreed and thought Kyle was quite mature beyond his years. However, that wasn’t the thing that stood out the most about that first and last session. Maybe it was something in his mannerisms or when Wes was brought up— perhaps it was what Kyle didn’t say. 

Penelope seemed to believe that Kyle was developing the early stages of SAD. Separation Anxiety Disorder. She said it was completely natural, given what he’s been through. Kyle didn’t like to be alone. Who did? What shocked him was that he didn’t refuse. There was no initial denial when the shrink laid it out like that. With her soft and educated voice, she had smoothed out her red pencil skirt, and lowered her cat-eye glasses to the bridge of her upturned nose. She just said it without any preamble; no fanfare at all. 

Who isn't anxious these days? In this economy? Have you seen where they live? 

Penelope had deduced effortlessly that Kyle used his humor to distance himself from his fear. The facade that took him twelve years to craft had been pierced. 

In even less time, she had come to the conclusion that the trigger for Kyle’s anxiety was… Wes. 

At once, Kyle had leaped to his older brother’s defense. Saying that, while Kyle may have been a bit… stressed , for lack of a less clinical term, Wes would have never done anything intentionally. 

That’s where she stopped him, her pen coming to a halt on her yellow notebook. Penelope dotted the end of her last sentence. Her eyes found him, then the cozy clutter of the office fell away. The maternal cadence dissolved into something cold and purely analytical. 

She told him, ‘The path to hell is paved with good intentions.’ 

Every morning Kyle would check the rat traps in the basement. 

The wooden stairs exhaled—Groaning with each step the youngest Weston landed. The water heater churned ominously. The grey floors were warped with age and stained with damage from times long gone. Kyle carefully found his way to the bottom and glanced up from his feet. He saw his brother now. Wes was hunched over the rat traps. He had one of his freckled hands inside like he was digging something out of it. 

Kyle cocked his head, still blurry with sleep, rubbing his eyes, “What’re you doin’?” 

Startling, Wes didn’t drop the metal box. Instead, the elder brother froze and stared up at his younger with bloodshot eyes. He didn’t answer right away. 

Clearing his throat, Wesley pulled his fist out of the plastic box. He explained, “I thought I’d check the traps for you. I know it's… it’s kinda gross.” 

Kyle let go of a sigh he didn’t know he was holding. He’d rather not look at something that small being dead. He asked, “Did we get’em this time?” 

Hesitant to answer, the elder moved the now closed box into the trash, “Ye-yeah. We did.” 

“Thank god.” Kyle scratched his forehead nervously, “Well, I mean, it sucks that it’s dead-dead, but…” 

Standing, Wes clapped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, “It's just nature. Don’t feel too bad about it, ‘kay? If it wasn’t us, then it’d be a cat later or somethin’ else. They were already dead when they walked in here.” 

“I guess…” Kyle begrudged and leaned into his brother’s hand, taking him wholly at his word. It was effortless to believe him. Wes had a way with words. Y'know that was his nickname when they were younger; Wesley the wise. Then there was Kyle the kind, Easton the earnest, and Clay… 

Kyle winced. They weren’t supposed to talk about Clay. 

Awkwardly, the older turned and stuffed something into his backpack before zipping it up, “Hey, don’t get too bummed out, alright? It's still kind of early, so now you have extra time to stop by the corner store and get some doughnuts for breakfast.” He threw his bag over his shoulder, “Doesn’t that sound good?” 

Kyle rubbed his arms, sniffling, “Uh, yeah… chocolate milk with a maple bar… what’re you gonna get?” 

Mirroring his younger brother’s body language, Wes shook his head, “You can go on ahead of me; you're old enough.” 

“But Dad says—” 

Wesley cut him off, “What Dad doesn't know won’t kill him.” He extended his pinkie, “I promise.” 

Taking a step forward, Kyle wrapped his pinkie around his older brother’s; he nodded, “Alright. I’ll walk to school by myself.” 

“Get a move on! I wanna hear all about your solo excursions when I pick you up!” Wes coaxed his brother up the stairs and out of the basement, “Talk to some cute girls, put in a good word for me.” 

The conversation struck Kyle as odd. He couldn’t exactly put his finger on why. Maybe because Wes, for once, didn’t have to be dragged out of bed by his ankles. He seemed motivated. 

Then there was the second fact: Wes basically told him everything he wanted to hear. This wasn’t a conversation but the facsimile of one. Like there was a cue card Wes was reading just behind Kyle’s head. Somewhere out there, the same audience that got their kicks from Full House would be cracking up about this. 

He was pretending to be okay. 

Like with every rehearsed motion, the elder was telegraphing silently, ‘Look! Look at me! Look at how good I am! Aren’t I fixed now? Aren’t you proud of me?’ 

There was something quiet about his desperation to be accepted back into the flock. The family didn’t like to acknowledge their blackest sheep. It was almost like an unspoken rule. Wes’ appointments and his antics were written off and thrown under a huge rug. Less like he was a young adult approaching college and more like a precocious toddler or a rambunctious family pet that was resistant to discipline. After all, both of those options bite people unprovoked. 

Kyle could only wince through a smile. What was he supposed to do? He was just a kid, and as life liked to remind him at a near-constant pace— there was very little someone his age could contribute. So, he stays out of the way. What else could he do? 

“Uh…” He asked once more, knowing he wouldn’t enjoy the answer, “Are— Are you sure?” 

Wes silently tilted his head. He didn’t understand the rising fear in his younger brother’s voice. 

Kyle clarified, “Are you sure you don’t want to walk together?” 

“Don’t sweat it, bud. I won’t be late.” 

That was the furthest thing from what Kyle was worried about.

[pwarkluv]

❝ idk you yet ❞ - p.js

park jisung x reader | angsty, fluff | 1.6k words 

WARNINGS | TW: mentions blood, abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, smoking, lowercase au, non-idol au, high school au, badboy!jisung, mature language/cursing, reader is like an angel sent from heaven for him, jisungie just in need of love :(

SUMMARY | being an outcast has him wondering if he’ll ever be happy. cue you, the new girl, stumbling into his life (literally).

AUTHOR’S NOTE | inspired by the song “idk you yet” by alexander23! also AHHH this is my 100 followers special fic :) THANK U LOVES FOR 100 IM SO SHOCKED CJSBFKEJD <33 the writing is a little crappy because i’m currently on my period and my patience for sitting down and writing this went down halfway through lol but I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, ENJOY THIS JISUNG FIC BC JISUNG MY BABIE AND SO ARE YOU GUYS!

whenever anybody thinks of park jisung, they think of the chains and dark clothing he wears. they think about the faint smell of smoke and men’s cologne that follows him wherever he goes. 

they think of the boy who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. 

but what they don’t think about are bruises on his face he fails to hide whenever he walks into school, the dejected look on his face whenever random people give him disapproving looks, the way his smile slowly faded into a permanent frown wherever he went. 

jisung quickly accepted his reputation at school and in their little town, not having enough energy to feel insecure about it like before.

the only group of people that even remotely cared about the boy were his best friends in the whole entire world, nct dream.

they were outcasts just like him, the most “fucked up group of boys” in their town (the people’s words, not theirs).

see, they were your typical bad boy group straight out of your typical fanfic. bad grades, smoking in their free time, getting into fights, always being late to class; not a single person had hope in them.

but behind their scary and intimidating facade, all seven boys were big softies with misunderstood hearts and difficult backgrounds.

people were just too dense to look into it, only judging them based on their looks and personality on the outside. 

❝ how can you miss someone you’ve never met ❞

love was a foreign thing to jisung, the only form of love he’s ever felt being from his friends. his parents were… interesting to say the least. 

jisung’s father was a hard-core alcoholic, his mother being a major druggie. with no siblings in the house, jisung was usually their main target to push around and beat up.

and so because of this at a young age jisung learned to distance himself from other people and found different ways to release stress.

he started smoking when he was 14, the warm and hazy feeling of the smoke entering his lungs comforting him.

if jisung humored himself enough, maybe smoking could count as his first love. it was always there for him, never leaving him alone even if he wanted to quit. 

he relied on it knowing it was the only constant in his life. 

now of course the boy has heard of proper love, love like in the movies or shitty romance songs he hears on the radio.

and he won’t lie, there were moments he thought about what it felt like to be in love. but he knew that would never happen, at least not in their small town anyways. 

he just wanted to be loved. 

jisung would never admit it but sometimes he’d be jealous of the old couples walking down the street in their own world like it was just them two against the universe. he was jealous of the happy kids running around, their mother’s and father’s fondly smiling at their child. he was jealous of all the “normal” kids in his neighborhood. 

jisung wanted that, craved that. 

but most importantly, the boy wanted love.

❝ cause i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

everything hurt. 

his head, his body, his mind, his heart; everything was in pain.

jisung walked down the empty streets of their city, a trail of blood following behind him as he accepted his fate. the boy was 99% sure he had a concussion and at the very least had a few broken ribs. 

he felt like this was the end, and he was ready.

-

wandering aimlessly around town, you decided to take a late night walk to familiarize yourself around the area. you had just moved into the city a week ago, spending all seven days trying to help your family unpack and rearrange your cozy new home. 

now that you were finally free of the smell of tape and the dust of the boxes, you decided it was best to get to know the place you were living in. 

the autumn air seemed to settle at night as you shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket of some sort. the sight of a convenience store up ahead of you brought you relief as you rummaged through your pockets wondering if you had enough money for ramen.

your steps became excited as you found a couple dollars, fondly thinking about what type of ramen you should buy. you became so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice the poor boy who was staggering in front of you, or the trail of blood he left behind. 

-

jisung pushed himself to reach the convenience store a couple feet away from him, in desperate need of supplies to at least try and fix himself. 

if it didn’t help in any way then oh well, maybe death was indeed an option. 

grinding his teeth though the pain, he did not expect to feel a small body bump into him. had he been at his regular health, jisung would’ve easily been able to keep still but because of how much blood he was losing the boy was knocked down like a bowling pin.

“holy fuck.” jisung cursed the feeling of the concrete floor colliding with his ribs. he didn’t even notice the girl who had bumped into him sitting on the floor dumbfounded, freaking out over his state.

“oh my fucking god.” the girl said, capturing his attention. jisung glared at the stranger, mentally acknowledging the fact she was pretty. 

but her being pretty won’t get you anywhere, he scolded himself. she’ll leave you just like everyone else.

“a-are you okay?” she said, eyes glancing at his black eye. jisung rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “does it look like i’m okay?” he replied, his deep voice catching the girl off guard. 

“just, fuck off.” jisung said closing his eyes as he laid back down on the floor, knowing he couldn’t force himself to get up anymore. he didn’t even have to open his eyes to know she left, hearing the sound of her footsteps walk away.

the boy sighed as he laid idly on the floor, wondering what sin he committed to lead him to where he is now. not even she wanted to stay, the tears threatening to fall as his thoughts buried him alive.

“why can’t i just die?” jisung said out loud, asking no one but himself.

“because i won’t let you.” a voice replied as jisung forced himself to sit up in confusion. it was the same girl he had bumped into, but this time she had a first aid kit with her. he gave her a lost look despite knowing what she was here to do. 

jisung’s mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that a total stranger would even bother to help him. 

“now sit up.” she said softly as she bent down to open the box, the boy slowly followed her instructions. “i’m sorry this might sting.” she said though jisung didn’t mind because she was much prettier up close.

-

the next ten minutes were you trying to fix his wounds against the shitty chairs outside the convenience store.

jisung didn’t even bother mentioning his broken ribs, not wanting you to freak out. you cleaned up what you could and the boy was beyond grateful for that.

you subconsciously rubbed his back in a comforting way whenever you’d apply alcohol to his open wounds, trying to ease the sting. you held his hand for him to hold and though he was a big boy and had a high pain tolerance, he still gave it a squeeze just to keep your hand there.  what the actual fuck is this feeling, jisung asked himself as he watched your determined figure work on him.

it was cold and in order to better work on his wounds, the boy offered to give you his hoodie which strangely had no traces of blood on it. you gladly accepted, the faint smell of blood and his cologne engulfing you up. 

the sight of you in something so big and so him made his chest swell in pride.

jisung couldn’t even formulate a sentence as you cursed at the time once you finished patching him up, fleeing the scene before he could say anything with a small smile, his hoodie still on. 

❝ and can you find me soon because i’m in my head ❞

the thought of your soft hands on his, your voice, your whole presence; everything about you couldn’t seem to leave the poor boy’s mind. it was now monday, and waiting for his class to start already made him want to go home.

if only i got her name, jisung daydreamed with his head resting on the palm of his hand. the classroom was loud and bright, people occasionally giving him looks but the boy didn’t mind. 

“jisungie~ did you hear we have a new kid?” jaemin asked, poking the boy’s cheeks. the boy only gave him a pointed look before sighing. 

“hyung i don’t really care.” jisung replied, looking back out the window. 

jaemin only gave him an offended look before grumbling a bit. “i don’t know maybe you will.” he muttered under his breath as their teacher walked into the room. 

❝ yeah i need you now but i don’t know you yet ❞

their homeroom teacher stood in front of the class, jisung tuning out his voice. the boy once again sighed as his teacher called for their attention, explaining they had a new girl in their class. “now make her feel welcomed,” he said before turning towards the door.

“y/n, please come in.” the teacher said and jisung almost fell out of his seat when he saw you walking through the door with the same smile you gave him a couple days ago.

“hi i’m y/n and i hope we can get along.” you bowed to the class, a familiar hoodie you were wearing catching his attention. 

isn’t that mine, jisung thought to himself as he bit back a smile knowing you kept it all along. 

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

Hi, I have an idea for Chishiya if it's okay! He have something going on with Kuina's friend, and after she didn't came back from a game everyone thought that she died, but she actually just left (she didn't want to become too attached to Chishiya maybe?) and 1 month later the militants found her and Chishiya is rather cold toward her because she left him without saying anything. Happy ending if possible, please

Thanks for requesting, here you go. Enjoy! 🥰

Home | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Chishiya (ft. Kuina, Niragi)

Summary: You run away from the beach, but soon were found by the militants again. Chishiya, your closest companion, is mad when you return for not saying anything.

Warning: mention of sexual harassment, swearing, grieving, heavy angst

Word Count: 4.8k

*reader is female

Author’s Note: I’m sorry if the ending is a bit cliché, but I really enjoyed writing this one!

“I’m so sick of this shit Kuina. She’s gone. What the hell do we do now?”

Chishiya and Kuina sat on the top roof of The Beach. Their legs were dangling over the edge, above the groups of people who sang their hearts out over the loud music. They couldn’t be down there themselves, not that night.

“It’s so unfair,” Chishiya grumbled, rubbing his stained eyes with his hands. “I hate how everyone just moves on like nothing happened.”

Kuina sniffled, trying to control her runny nose as she listened to Chishiya’s pained words. “Look Chish, it was going to happen to one of us three at some point, it just happened to be Y/N.” Kuina tried to keep her voice stable, but the occasional voice crack gave away her sadness.

“Yes I know, but it still hurts so fucking bad.”

You hadn’t returned from your game. You hadn’t returned back to Chishiya and Kuina. You hadn’t returned home.

*******

“Oi Y/N! Slow the hell down!”

You heard Kuina yell out to you from down the hall. You laughed at her desperate attempt to catch up while Chishiya walked at his own pace watching you guys.

“Why are we suddenly having a race?! We have all day to get down to the pool!” Kuina called out. You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face her. “I want to get down there before the sun comes out and everyone wakes up! Don’t you want to have it just for us three for a while?”

“I suppose so,” Kuina breathed out heavily.

Chishiya’s lips pulled up into a smile as he watched you too bicker. “Oi you two. Be quiet. People in these halls are still sleeping,” he said.

Kuina turned to Chishiya and pulled a mocking bored face towards him. “Well you’re fun this morning,” she muttered in a sarcastic tone.

All three of you made your way to the pool on the bottom floor of The Beach, tripping and shoving each other playfully while giggling. You hardly ever did this together, because Chishiya always slept until noon, so you were excited about having the pool to yourselves before the sun came up.

When you reached outside, your chatters and the sound of your bare feet on the pavement broke the silence of the night. You hoped that Hatter kept the windows closed to his suite because you knew if you woke him up he would come down and beat your asses for being awake so early.

You looked over towards the pool that was still lit up with underwater neon blue lights from the night before. You’d think that they would shut all the lights off at least to save a bit of electricity, but apparently not.

Kuina had thrown her towel down carelessly on a nearby deck chair and was now chasing after Chishiya, who powered his short legs to try and escape her.

“Chishiya you’re going in the pool! You can’t chicken out forever!” she yelled as she caught up to him and wrapped her strong arms around his waist.

You could tell the years of martial arts training paid off for Kuina as she lifted Chishiya into her arms like he weighed nothing. “Bitch, put me down! I don’t want to go in the pool! Why is that such a crime!?”

You doubled over in laughter as Kuina held the cat-like blonde in her arms, him squirming more violently as she got to the side of the pool.

“Goodbye!” she yelled and dropped him into the pool. His screaming cut off as he was submerged into the water. You walked over and placed your stuff down, listening to Kuina and Chishiya bickering in the background.

It was a shame that you were planning on walking out on these guys. But in a world like this, the bad moments really outweighed the good ones.

“Alright you’re next!” you heard behind you, making you snap out of your short daze.

“Wait, no!” you bellowed as Kuina repeated the same thing she did with Chishiya. This time, it was his turn to laugh at you.

“Jesus christ woman. The fuck got you so lively this morning?” you laughed at Kuina, who gracefully dived into the pool to tease you two.

You felt Chishiya tuck his chin on your shoulder gently, taking you by surprise. “I guess we got to act as happy as we can now. Our five day visa ends tonight.” Chishiya mumbled to you two.

The air around the three of you suddenly became stiff at the mention of the games. You lifted your hand and placed it on Chishiya’s damp hair. “It’s alright, it was a fun and relaxing five days while it lasted,” you said cheerfully.

“Don’t say that like as if you’re going to die,” Chishiya scolded you. “You won’t die, none of us three will.” He was trying to reassure himself that he would come back from his game with you all happy and healthy waiting in the lobby for him. He hoped for that exact reality every time he had to leave you to restore his visa. He panicked even when you were ten minutes later than usual. It was a constant battle with anxiety when it came to caring for you in a world like this.

But unfortunately, while Chishiya was willing to fight against the growing anxiety that came with loving you, you didn’t want anything to do with it.

You and Chishiya have been as tight as two peas in a pod since Kuina introduced you. Kuina and you happened to meet at a diamonds game that was further in the centre of the city which was where you appeared in the game. She was nice enough to take you back to The Beach, because she thought that your intelligence and gentle personality would be useful.

But the plan of using you for Kuina and Chishiya’s own personal gain went out the window when both of them built a strong connection with you. They tried so hard to stop it, but in the end, they decided to make you an addition to their little manipulative games with the others. A mysterious duo became a peculiar trio.

That’s when Chishiya began to notice other things he felt.

He began feeling an irrational attachment to you, always wanting to be around you and always wanting to make sure that you were safe. You began noticing his additional little quirks as well, as soon you both fell for each other, without the other knowing of course.

Kuina obviously knew, as she was incredibly observant. She always kept her mouth shut though, wanting to see the drama play out in front of her. It was entertaining at times.

“You two are cute,” she gushed at you and Chishiya, holding a cheeky smile on her face.

Chishiya tucked his face into your neck to hide his blush, but it only made your heart skip a beat. “Shut up,” he mumbled into your skin.

You sighed heavily as he kept his place there, snaking his arms around your waist. This was honestly normal. The closer you’ve gotten with Chishiya, the less shy he’s been to convey physical affection. You loved and hated it at the same time, because you knew the more he made your heart race, the harder it would be to leave him.

At times you thought you’d rather deal with his cold and untrustworthy personality, like how he was when he first met you. It was easier to dislike him then, but now that his real personality has shown through, you realized how good of a person he actually seemed to be.

Chishiya never became close to someone, because he knew it would be hard to pull away when he needed to use them for his own survival. So he’s just always chosen to keep everyone at a distance.

You on the other hand, you hadn’t fallen down the deep whole of caring fully for someone in this world, but you knew you were about to stumble off the edge.

While Kuina and Chishiya waited to renew their visas, you waited to run away from the stress of waiting for your friend’s potential deaths.

******

You, Kuina and Chishiya trudged down the steps that led to the lobby. Hatter had called everyone to meet there a few minutes ago to prepare for the games. Hearing the familiar bell ring throughout the so-called paradise made your heart weaken. It was calling you to your end, every single time.

The trio of you took your usual place towards the back of the lobby, leaning against the cement walls and looking over everyone’s heads. How weird it felt, that by the time you gathered here next, the number of people would reduce by a couple dozen. It made your stomach sink in remorse. You truly were nothing more than soldiers fighting a war that wasn’t your own.

You looked down at your own feet, beginning to feel guilty about your plan of running away. The people you would abandon, the friends who would miss you. And even they can’t come find you, but you knew it was for the best. For both you and them.

You felt something tickle your hand. You glanced your eyes down to see that it was Chishiya, trying to sneak his hand into yours as Hatter began his booming speech across the crowd. You looked up to the blonde’s face, but he was focused on Hatter. You smiled sadly and accepted his hand into yours, earning a soft squeeze from him.

Kuina placed her head on your shoulder, leaning closer towards you. It was as if they knew, and they were trying to get you to change your mind. You felt tears building up in your eyes, but quickly wiped them away with your hoodie sleeve before anyone noticed.

Damn. You were never going to forget them.

******

Chishiya sat in the leather lounge in the lobby. He had just arrived back from his spades game. Wasn’t too difficult, for him at least.

Only now he was stressing inside, leg bouncing up and down on the carpet quickly. He knew you wouldn’t return for a good while, but yet he always was worried about you. No matter the situation.

Niragi didn’t help the situation. He strolled over earlier with a few of his militant mates and roughed Chishiya up for a bit. He honestly wasn’t in the mood for their antics, so he didn’t fight back much. They eventually got bored and walked away.

There hardly was anyone in the lobby, it was strangely quiet.

Chishiya looked towards the entrance to the lobby where a small group of people just walked in from. He recognized them as the group Kuina was placed with, so he stood up from his seat and quickly made his way over.

He managed to spot Kuina walking by herself at the back of the group. Chishiya let out a relieved sigh and strolled up to her. “Thank god you’re okay,” he said, giving her a short hug. “You too,” she replied.

They walked back over to where Chishiya was sitting beforehand and sat down. “Do you know who Y/N went with?” Kuina asked.

“No idea, I had to leave with my group before hers,” he answered.

They both sat in silence for a while, hearts squeezing in on themselves from tension.

As group after group piled into the lobby and moved to go to the back pool to celebrate their wins. While their hearts and minds were overflowing in joy of surviving, Chishiya’s and Kuina’s slowly became heavier and heavier with grief.

One of the last groups finally came back, being a few hours later than everyone else. Chishiya searched the small crowd for your familiar face, but didn’t see it.

“Kuina,” he started with a tense voice. “Don’t say it,” she immediately cut him off. “Don’t say anything Chish. She’s fine, I know it.”

That became harder and harder to believe the later into the night it got. Soon enough, no one was left in the halls and the lobby, either gone to bed or stayed out in the pool area.

Chishiya didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t feel anything. His body was tired from the constant tensing, the constant anxiety.

He stood up abruptly and looked towards Kuina, who had her head in her hands. He gave her a sad smile, and reached his hand out to help her up. “Come on, let’s go to the roof like old times,” he smiled, fighting the tears building up in his eyes.

*********

When they reached the top of the building after climbing many annoying flights of steps, Chishiya tilted his head back to feel the wind blow around his head. He opened his eyes and saw the galaxy of stars above him. ‘So weird,’ he thought to himself. ‘In a horrible place like this, such beautiful things can still exist.’

Kuina and Chishiya sat on the edge of the roof, feet dangling off the edge. Complete silence took over them. Neither of them knew what to say.

Kuina broke her gaze off the staggering height of the drop below them and glanced at Chishiya. He was staring straight ahead of him, hoodie covering his face so she couldn’t see what he was looking at.

“Chish, are you okay?” Kuina asked quietly, leaning forward to try and see his face. It felt strange to her, having Chishiya be completely silent for a change. Usually he would be making a smartass comment or a teasing joke towards her or Y/N. It was like the happiness in him had drained out.

He didn’t answer for a short moment, but then he turned his head to look at Kuina in the eyes. Kuina was taken back.

Chishiya had pools of tears cascading down his pale face, mixing with the sweat that he still endured from the game. He let out no sobs and no cries. Just dry, empty tears running down his cheeks like doves flying down the edge of a cliff.

“No, I’m not okay,” he muttered to her. “This fucking sucks.”

*******

It had been a few weeks since your death, not that there was a huge difference at The Beach from your disappearance. Everyone carried on like normal, everyone except Kuina and Chishiya.

They became secluded, more than usual. Kuina spent most of her time in the hotel’s gym, trying to distract herself from everything that happened. She wanted to get stronger so she could win games, she knew that’s what you would have wanted.

Chishiya however, he wasn’t taking your death well at all. Chishiya lost his fire, his headstrong attitude and snappy remarks. He kind of disappeared himself, but only his body stayed.

He felt stupid at times. What would he have expected? Of course you died, knowing his luck. He began irrationally thinking, believing that the world took you away because he didn’t deserve someone as warm-hearted as you. He felt cheated almost. It was like the universe had you dangling on a string in front of him, and when he finally had the courage to reach towards you, it yanked you away out of his view.

When he was having particular hard days, he would lie on his bed in his room for hours, not bothering to get up for food or the bathroom. He felt numb inside, he honestly thought nothing would be able to hurt him anymore, because he’s endured the worst of his emotions.

The mirror in his room was smashed, due to his own doing. He broke it a few days after the incident, screaming into the stuffy air of his room and throwing one of his makeshift knives at it. He watched in pain as it crackled and crumbled under the impact, seeing his own reflection fall into a million pieces, much like how he was feeling at that moment.

He had never experienced this kind of hurt before. He always thought other people were being dramatic when they broke down crying after hearing their significant other or friend didn’t make it back to The Beach. He thought that it should’ve been expected, that they shouldn’t be surprised that it happened. But he guessed you never know what another person is feeling unless you experience it yourself.

But god, does he wish he didn’t, because it hurt more than a thousand knives to his cold, stone heart.

**********

One day, Chishiya was standing on the edge of a balcony that looked over the entrance to The Beach. He enjoyed standing up there because he loved the spectacular view of the ocean. It reminded him of his real home, when he used to ride his bike down to the beach with his friends and swim in the water for hours. He missed life when it was so easy for him.

The breeze was cool on his skin, giving him goosebumps. It felt refreshing and somewhat free, a small taste of bliss for him. His eyes were shut as he listened to the crows screech in the distance and the ocean waves hit the shore. The sound of nature rang in his ears, making his endorphins swirl in his brain.

It was a good break every now and then from the usual melancholy emotions that swarmed around him, keeping his happiness locked down in chains. While he was on that balcony, actually breathing fully and normally for once, his demons decided to let loose of the chains that held his sweet happiness trapped.

Chishiya opened his dark eyes and glanced downwards towards the bottom level and saw something that caught his eye.

A group of three militants seemed to have a young woman in their grasp, one of them being Niragi himself. Chishiya watched as they tried hard to hold the smaller person at bay, as she was thrashing around trying to escape.

He frowned, confusion painting across his face. That girl, she looked oddly familiar.

Niragi told the militants to bring her around the side of the building, where a small alley was located beside the entrance. Chishiya knew that’s where the militants dragged people to kill them off, they were planning on killing her.

Chishiya wondered what she did that was so bad. Hatter hardly ever gave the order to kill someone, unless the situation was betrayal or anything worse.

He moved himself along the balcony towards where the commotion below him was occurring. He wanted to hear what they were saying, because who knows what shit Niragi gets up to without Hatter knowing. It seemed a little too suspicious to be dragging someone to their death in broad daylight, especially where everyone could see.

Chishiya heard slight fragments of what they were yelling: “You thought- … run away?!” Niragi screamed in his psychotic voice. “Let go of-...! …could have just left me there!”

Chishiya felt his heart drop. That voice, it was all too familiar. How could he have forgotten what your voice sounded like.

He lifted his head and stared forward in shock. That couldn’t be right, you’ve been dead for weeks!

He thought for a second, trying to come to a possible conclusion with the horrific yells in the background of his mind. How is it possible you could still be alive?

That couldn’t be you, it just couldn’t be. Chishiya shook his head and chuckled. “The fuck am I thinking? Great, now I’m hallucinating. No one told me that was another stage of grief.”

He turned his body to walk back inside to look for Kuina, until he heard the young woman getting attacked yell again, this time, clear as day.

“Chishiya! Kuina!”

That was it. That was definitely you.

Chishiya lifted his legs and began sprinting towards the staircase inside. There was no doubt in his mind that that wasn’t you. The way you said his name was too real to not be you.

He tripped and stumbled down the stairs, almost falling flat on his face on one flight. He had to get there before you were dead, for real this time.

As he pushed his entire body weight against the entrance doors to the hotel, he pulled a small knife out his white hoodie pocket. He had made it out of glass from his broken mirror, considering that Hatter wouldn’t allow him to have his own weapons.

Your screams were much more prominent now, more desperate sounding and more fearful. The sound pierced through Chishiya as he made his way quickly around the side of the hotel.

There you were, being pinned against the wall by two militants while Niragi held the barrel of his rifle against your chest, right over your heart.

Chishiya yelled out, which probably wasn’t the best idea considering his current situation. It was three tall men with guns against a small, frail man with a makeshift knife.

“Chishiya! The fuck you doing here?” Niragi asked with a cheeky smirk on his face. God, Chishiya wanted to punch him so bad.

“Let her go Niragi, you don’t want this to get ugly do you?” Chishiya threatened, holding his glass knife out.

Niragi laughed along with the other two militants. You still struggled against their grip, seemingly more calm with Chishiya distracting them.

“How cute ‘ey? Little blonde twink coming to save the love of his life, how sweet of you.” Niragi pressed, pushing his rifle harder against you just to push Chishiya’s buttons.

“If you haven’t noticed Chishiya, she ran away! She never died like you thought she did! She ran away from The Beach, she ran away from you!” 

His words were like bullets in Chishiya’s chest. He felt belittled and mocked, he hated it.

“Shut up! She wouldn’t do that!” he yelled frustratingly.

“Oh really?! She wouldn’t?! Then explain why we managed to find her strolling the streets of Tokyo! Not a scratch on her, and she seemed smart enough to run away when she saw us.”

Chishiya’s scowl dropped on his face. He looked at you to see if you would deny it, but you had stopped struggling against the two men and hung your head low, not looking into his eyes.

He shook off the hurt he felt from this fact. He had to focus on getting you away from Niragi before he took time to think about other things.

“Niragi please. Just let go of her, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Chishiya begged. He felt small, never has he ever begged for something in his life.

“Hmm? How though? I was just about to have some fun with her before I killed her off. Why should I give that up just because you want me to,” Niragi spat at him. Your eyes widened in fear and you thrashed around in the grip that the militants had on you, panicking from Niragi’s threat.

Chishiya thought for a second. He would honestly give anything to bring you over to him. “My cards. You can take credit for every card that I collect for a couple of months. If Hatter or Aguni asks, just say I’m slacking. I’ll take any punishment they throw my way.”

You saw Niragi consider it before lowering his weapon off of your torso. You breathed out heavily in relief.

“Fine, but don’t expect me to do this again. You can’t bribe me with everything you sneaky fuck.” Niragi growled. The two militants let go of you and followed him out of the alleyway and into the entrance of The Beach.

You leant against the wall, staring at Chishiya as he stared down at the ground below him. The air between you two was tense. You could tell he was mad, Chishiya was always silent when he was incredibly angry.

“Chish, I-”

“Don’t talk to me. Just come.”

Don’t get me wrong, he couldn’t have been happier to see that you were alive and well. But the betrayal he felt from the fact that you ran away from him greatly outweighed his happiness.

He walked briskly ahead of you, you didn’t dare walk next to him or too close to him. He was scaring you a bit, and you wanted nothing but to sprint to your own room and hide from the rest of the world.

You were embarrassed and also frustrated you were caught. Trust Niragi and his cocky ass to find you.

Chishiya stopped in front of his own room, opened the door and gestured for you to walk inside. You hesitated before slowly making your way through the door. You hated how tense it was, it was the complete opposite of what you usually felt when you were around Chishiya.

You sat down on his bed, sitting in an awkward position and looked towards Chishiya. It was complete silence as he was frozen at the door, back towards you and holding the door handle harshly.

“What the fuck Y/N?” he mumbled. It was almost inaudible, but you could hear pain in his words, which made you immediately feel guilty.

“What the fuck was that? You ran away!?” he turned and yelled at you, tears building up in his eyes.

You flinched as his loud voice. You had never heard him yell in anger before, usually he kept his calm. You looked down to the ground, feeling your own eyes fill with hot tears. You felt like you were back in high school with your parents screaming at you for running away from home.

“I THOUGHT YOU DIED!” he shouted louder, “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH PAIN YOU PUT KUINA THROUGH?! HOW MUCH YOU PUT ME THROUGH?!”

You couldn’t breathe. Pain and suffering dripped off his words like rain on a roof, coming together and creating an atmosphere that held air that was unbreathable. You suffocated on the oxygen, making you choke and cause tears to begin running down your cheeks.

“Why!?” he cried. “Why did you run!? There was no reason, me and Kuina could have protected you if you were too scared! Why did you think that running away was the only option!?” Chishiya stumbled closer to you, almost tripping over his own feet.

You flinched heavily as he placed his cold hands on your shoulders roughly. They were shaking from trying to hold your sobs in.

“WHY DID YOU LEAVE-” “Chishiya!” you interrupted him by snapping your head up to meet your eyes with his. His face dropped as he saw the sadness behind yours, replacing the wonderful and cheerful happiness that once swam in your eyes like dolphins in a sea.

“I l-love you,” you mumbled out between your shaky breaths. “That was the problem Chish. I-I’m in love with you and it hurt too fucking bad to know that you could disappear out of my reach at any moment. I ran because I didn’t want to watch you and Kuina die!”

Chishiya’s own hands shook violently against your shoulders. He gazed into your eyes which were red and puffy from your tears. They were shining more now than they had ever before.

“You don’t have to leave Y/N,” he whispered, still trying to control his own breathing. “I want you here, next to me. Not out there, because when you’re out there, I can’t be with you.”

You nodded and smiled sadly. Chishiya pulled his hand from your shoulder and cradled your face gently. He swiped his thumb over your cheek to get rid of the tears there. “I love you too, but I can’t be without you.”

A grin crept onto your face as you looked into his eyes. You felt safer than ever in his arms, why did you think of ever leaving?

Chishiya wiped his own tears with his hoodie sleeve and put on a happier smile. “You want to know how pathetic I am without you?” he giggled and held your hands in his.

“I almost threw myself off the top of the hotel the night you didn’t come back. Kuina had to tackle me to the ground to keep me away from the edge.” he laughed at himself.

You chuckled along with him. “Imagine if you did! What a shocker it would’ve been if I came back and Kuina saw me alive after you killed yourself because you thought I was gone!”

You both sat on Chishiya’s bed and laughed at each other. You had to do it, humour is best in times of stress and anxiety.

*********

You opened your eyes slowly, only to be met with the blinding light of the sun seeping through the blinds. You hissed and turned your head the other way.

Chishiya chucked at your reaction, making his chest that was underneath your head vibrate. “So cute,” he muttered to himself.

You pushed your face deeper into his chest and breathed in his scent. It felt good to be back with Chishiya. It felt good to be home.

Author’s Note: oKaY so this ended up being a lot longer than expected. Please send in some requests if you have any! 🥰🥰

[writefightandflightclub]

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long. 

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.” 

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles. 

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

[riddikulus-writings]

Take A Nap

A/N: So yeah. I have a long, in depth fic for these two that's chock full of secrets and fluff and Actual Backstory but for some reason all I can write is smut. This is part two to Escapades and takes place just after the police van rolled down that hill. Also, can someone let me know if that link I tried doesn’t work? I’m still new to writing on this blue hellsite

Word Count: 1734

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader [Codename Nyx, after the Greek Goddess]

Warnings: Still not really any plot, sorry guys. The plot for this is hidden elsewhere. Vaginal fingering. Semi-public sex. Dirty talk. Rick still won't shut up but he really should, though, people are trying to sleep. Choking. Uh, nothing makes sense, really? Movie innacuracies due to the fact this is now a bigger vehicle than the hippie van they were cruising around in, but the same concept still applies. 

Apparently, the van was on fire. One by one they stepped from the wreckage, walking out into the road, weapons in hand. Nyx wished she could’ve taken a picture, because she was positive they probably looked pretty cool.

Disoriented. Possibly concust. But cool.

And suddenly, rolling to a stop, was the small dusty van they'd rode to town in. Abner was in the open slider door, waving them in. DuBois puffed out his chest, "Alright. To Jotunheim."

"Not yet," Rick stopped him, "There's something else we need to do first."

"Stop standing like you have an American Flag waving behind you and get in the fucking mini bus, Flag."

Nyx's voice shook him out of his reverie; he was the last one outside. He jogged to catch the bus before it began moving faster, piling in the door and sliding it shut behind him. His eyes immediately found Nyx, seated in the very back. Rick beelined for her through the others and took up the space on her right. Peacemaker called to him from a seat up, "So, where are we going, now?"

"The Mayor's mansion in town," Rick told him, "We need to get Harley."

"Oh, I miss her," Nyx mused quietly.

Oh yeah. Rick cringed to himself, remembering the three missions he, Nyx and Harley had been on before he’d requested to Waller that Harley be benched more often than not. The first had gone by fine, minimal issues. The second was better. No deaths, no infighting amongst the Squad. Nyx had loosened up around other people by then and banter even happened. And the third--

Ain’t it normally the gal makin’ heart eyes at the guy and not the other way around, Ricky?

He’d shaken his head and given Harley a stern glare for assuming things. Harley had simply given him her smuggest million dollar grin and continued about her own business and not his.

“Suicide Squad to Mr. Flag,” a hand was waving in his eyes, slowly coming into focus. It was Nyx’s hand, but Cleo’s heavily accented voice, “What’s the plan?”

Rick cleared his throat, looking among his teammates, “Peacemaker high up, across the street. Sniper for any possible danger. Cleo,” he pointed at her, “Abner and, uh… Sebastian… are around back. Take out any guards back there. DuBois scales the wall to the top, Nyx and I keep watch.”

“Question,” Nyx raised her hand up, “Why can’t we just walk in the front door?”

"That would give us away," Peacemaker told her blatantly, "Instant capture. Dumb idea."

"You're a dumb idea," she retorted, "Actually, a bad idea was bringing you along."

Whoa. Everyone's eyebrows shot up, "Nyx, what the fuck? No infighting. Knock it off," Rick's voice was low but firm with authority.

"He's-- he's got bad vibes about him," Nyx's words slurred, "I-I just don't like him."

"No one does," DuBois told her, patting the very quiet Peacemaker on the shoulder, "Everyone try to get some rest before we get to town. It's going to be a while."

The rest of the team hunkered down in their seats, leaning against their respective windows or leaning forward with their heads against the seat ahead of them. Cleo snuggled into Nanaue's side, and Peacemaker went as far as laying completely flat on his back, his thick splayed legs hanging in the aisle.

Rick reached over and tugged Nyx across the bench seat they were seated on, sliding her into his side, "What’s up between you and Peacemaker?" His voice was quiet, muffled against the hair at her temple.

She ducked away from him a little, tucking her head under his chin, "I've been with him a bit longer than you have. I just… can't explain it but I don't like him. He makes me uneasy."

Rick's thumb started rubbing circles in her hip, "So many trust issues."

"I have my reasonings," she yawned up at him, "Secret reasonings."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," he whispered, grabbing her chin with his free hand so he could look her in the eye. The dim moonlight through the window made her eyes seem almost black, "Extra secret reasonings, huh?"

Nyx leaned closer, staring at his mouth instead of his eyes, "Top secret."

Rick hummed in agreement and closed the gap, sealing his mouth over hers. He wasted no time dipping his tongue into her mouth, drinking in her moans before they could get too loud. He gently pushed on her, laying her down across the length of the seat. Rick followed her down, nestling himself between her legs. Nyx planted a foot on the seat beside Rick’s thigh as he hitched the other into the crook of his elbow, “Gonna be quiet?” he asked quietly, lightly peppering kisses down her neck. Sucking on her now-exposed collarbone.

She whined, a breathless whisper as she nodded desperately, trying to grind her hips against something. Rick moved back up, his free hand moving around her neck, “Quiet.”

He slowly lowered her leg, her boot softly hitting the floor. Rick sent a sidelong glance through the rest of the dark bus, and so far no one had moved from their previous positions. Thank God for that. What a sight they’d wake up to; Nyx spread over the only bench seat here, Rick looming over her, a hand around her throat. They’d either think he was trying to kill her, or get very uncomfortable very fast and ask him to stop.

Which, he wasn’t about to do whether someone woke up or not.

He turned his attention back to the panting woman beneath him, raising an eyebrow at the grin spread over her face. The more pressure he applied to her throat, the wider her lips spread. His right hand worked at the buttons of her black pants, “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, “There’s other people on this bus.” Rick snaked his hand down the front of her pants, stroking down her dripping sex, “All for me?”

“That is you,” she panted out, grabbing the back of his head to pull him down for another searing kiss. When he scooped his cum back up with two fingers and pushed them inside, Nyx bit his bottom lip so hard he was sure she’d drawn blood. He leaned into it, pushing his tongue on her mouth again as he worked his fingers and scissored her open.

“Quiet,” he admonished, again, pressing his free hand against her throat once more. He pinned her to the seat, squeezing his hand as tight as he’d let himself, “Gonna wake everyone up,” he breathed out, his nose brushing against hers.

Again, Nyx’s grin grew, her pearly teeth glowing in the shards of moonlight passing through the windows, “Good.”

Rick almost growled but couldn’t without fear of waking someone up. Instead he buried his face in her shoulder, “Fuckin’ filthy little thing,” he repeated, curling his fingers against that certain spongy spot he’d found that made her grind hard into the palm of his hand, “Gonna be a good girl and keep me in there?” She whined out a high pitched yes but otherwise stayed breathless, quiet pants crawling up her throat and Rick wanted nothing more than to shove his cock in her open mouth. He pulled up from her neck, almost sneering with the strain of trying to stay quiet as he worked his thumb up to the peak of her cunt, “Want you to cum all over my hand, sweetheart. Gonna do that for me? See if you can stay quiet.”

“Bastard,” was the whimper he got.

“That’s not very nice,” he told her, pressing his thumb hard on her clit. Her arm suddenly flew up to cover her face, Nyx burying her face in the crook of her elbow as Rick buried a third finger deep in her cunt, his thumb rubbing fast circles. He moved his hand from her throat, sliding it instead to her hip to hold her down as she bucked into his hand, “C’mon, almost there. I got you,” he muttered.

Her hips stuttered, low whines coming muffled by her elbow. She was choking his fingers and he had to remove one so he could keep them moving, working her through her orgasm. Rick’s hand got soaked suddenly and she went limp, her only movement coming from her chest that moved with rapid breaths, “Bitch.”

Rick tugged her arm from her face as he slid his hand from her pants, “What’s the matter, Nyx?”

“I--” she panted out, “hate being-- quiet.”

He flashed her a bright grin and tugged her pants back into place, giving her stomach a gentle pat, “You didn’t have to,” a quick peck on the lips, “But it would’ve been a bit awkward for the others. Especially when I wouldn’t stop.” Another whimper, and he raised an eyebrow at her, but simply stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“I’m going to sleep,” she whispered, dropping her hand off the side of the seat. Her knuckles brushed the floor. The other arm folded behind her head.

“I sure fuckin’ hope so,” DuBois grumbled from somewhere up front. “You two are disgusting.”

"No one told you to listen," Rick shot back, his whisper loud enough for DuBois to hear over Nyx's stifled giggles. Rick was grinning, though; thankfully Bloodsport couldn't see it.

"Someone needs to nap," Nyx murmured, a small smirk plastered over her mouth, "He sounds cranky."

“You ain't laying down there,” Rick suddenly tugged her back up to snuggle into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders as he scooted them both to the end of the seat, “Leanin’ or layin’?”

“Lay,” she yawned.

He turned and pressed his back to the window, head lolling to the side to lean on the seat. After some shuffling, she was between his legs, back to his chest. HIs arms wrapped around her, one leg from each of them on the seat and the other leg on the floor. They looked like they had the same boots on. Nyx nuzzled her head into his shoulder, “Y’smell nice…”

“I smell like jungle and sweat,” he chuckled, his laugh vibrating through her, “And blood. Go to sleep.”

And they both dozed off like that, just as they had several times before on Nyx’s couch. Their breathing evened, Nyx drooling a little onto Rick’s bicep. Rick shifted in his sleep and snugged her closer to his chest.