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rememberwren · 3 months

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Threshold

Simon asks you to take his virginity, just not in so many words. Or any words at all, really. 5.7 k

cw: virgin!Simon, PIV, oral sex f and m receiving, stop and start sex, lack of communication (typical Simon), poor writing, soft!Simon, hints at past trauma, contraception.

A Ghost shaped shadow falls over the table. Your eyes lift to find him standing there, the neck of his beer bottle held loosely in his hand. His mask is drawn down below his chin, revealing to you one of your favorite parts of him: his mouth. Simon has a pretty mouth, scarred though it is. Maybe you have such an affinity for it because it is so often hidden away from your sight, or maybe it’s what that mouth is capable of, being just as likely to crack a poor dad joke as it is to cut a grown man to the bone with just a few words.

He takes the seat across from you, the screeching of the chair on the floor lost to the ambient sounds of the pub. The others are playing pool (Gaz is taking all of them to task), and the place is packed with bodies, a cacophony of voices and laughter. Feeling overstimulated, you had sequestered yourself away to this little corner hoping to catch your breath and tether yourself back to the earth instead of spending the rest of the night in a dissociated haze.

The sight of Ghost is like a light slap to the cheek, rousing you from your stupor. Lights burn brighter. Sounds are sharper. If you wrack your brain you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve ever been singled out by Ghost, so you know whatever is about to happen is out of the ordinary. Leaning in, you lace your fingers together on the table top and nearly have to shout to be heard as you say: “What can I do for you, Ghost?”

“We should hook up,” he says. Then he takes a long drink from his bottle, eyes sharp and dark where they are narrowed in on you over the top. A sniper’s eyes.

“What?” you shout back, positive that you have misheard him.

He shrugs. He won’t repeat himself.

“Me—and you?”

He raises his brows, looking around the empty table as if to ask, Who else?

“Why?”

He takes another drink, and you see him mulling over his potential answers this time, sucking on his teeth as he thinks. What you wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in his head. He’s got you on tenterhooks, leaning forward onto your elbows, fingers absently (anxiously) playing with a condensation ring left by someone else’s drink earlier in the night.

Finally, he says, “Why not?”

His hand rests low on your back as the two of you say goodbye to the others. You see the downright thunderstruck looks Gaz and Soap throw at each other at your announcement that Ghost is driving you home, but the deeper meaning hardly registers. Who cares if everyone knows that you’re taking Ghost home to fuck him? You’re both adults; you need no one’s permission. Still, as soon as you are outside, you press your palms to your heated cheeks, wondering how you will be able to face any of them in the future.

“You driving?” you ask him.

He lifts his hand, showing you the keys in his palm. He doesn’t open the car door for you—not that you had really expected him to. It isn’t as if this is a date. It’s just two adults hooking up.

Inside, he shifts the vents towards you and turns on the heat, soothing the goosebumps that had begun to bloom on your arms. He waits until you’ve buckled your seatbelt before backing out and onto the street. It’s only then that you remember what Soap says about Ghost’s driving. You wish you had a second seatbelt.

“So what brought all this on?” you ask, feeling remarkably shy in the passenger seat. You’re beginning to sober up from your drinks at the pub, not that you had ever been that drunk to begin with. Maybe this was a mistake. You’re already suffering from nerves, and you haven’t even gotten back to your apartment yet. How were you supposed to fuck Ghost without looking like a fawn, your knees knocking together coltishly, nauseous from anxiety?

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Alright. Downright digestible news. Before tonight, you wouldn’t have even considered you and Ghost friends, necessarily. More like friend-adjacent, thanks to your mutual friendship with Johnny. It’s good to know that apparently you had caught his eye somehow, even if it was by being the only woman among a male-dominated group of friends.

You can’t leave it alone. “But why?”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” he asks, like he’s not a person, like he’s only ever heard about what it’s like to be one from a friend of a friend. “They think about fucking each other. Don’t you think about fucking me?”

Your mouth goes dry. You do. You think about fucking Ghost a lot than one might expect for how few minimal interactions you’ve had. Being perfectly honest, tonight is sort of becoming a dream come true. You’d had an attraction for Ghost ever since you’d met him, even before he’d taken the mask off and you’d seen that he has such a pretty face underneath.

You’d be willing to examine under a microscope your affection for aloof, seemingly unaffected men on a different day.

Ghost looks at you, trying to interpret your silence, the car swerving slowly into the other lane. You make a sound remarkably close to a screech and reach out to adjust the wheel, but he adjusts it before you do, batting your hand away softly.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, eyes firmly on the road now. “I’ll just drop you off.”

“No, I want to,” you say. “It’s just—it’s been a while for me. I want to, though.”

Ghost casts you a doubtful glance. He pulls into your apartment complex’s parking lot and the two of you head up together. True to form, you feel his eyes taking in all the new sights: the man behind the desk who doesn’t even look up as you both enter, the elevator that was last inspected two years ago, the proximity to the neighboring apartments.

After you unlock the door but before he crosses the threshold, he reaches up and runs his hand along the top of the doorframe—and easily pulls away your spare key. For a moment he holds it between you both, staring. He seems nearly as surprised as you are by his own actions. Reaching out, he sets it down on the end table just beyond the entry and says: “You couldn’t find a better hiding place for that?”

“Goddamnit, Ghost,” you whine, slipping off your shoes. “You’re not here to assess my, my security measures. You’re here to fuck me. Will you get in?”

He comes in and makes a circle of the living space, his steps silent in a way you’ve never been able to replicate, not even here in your own living space. You cross your arms, wondering what he’s thinking. Does he think you a slob? A terrible interior designer? You told yourself that you didn’t care. The space was yours, and yours alone, and you liked it well enough. He could survive being in it for one night.

“What’s the verdict?” you ask after the silence stretches too thin.

“It’s nice,” he says. Then he amends, or perhaps adds: “It’s you.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. Do you…want a drink?”’

“No,” he says, taking off his jacket and resting it on the arm of the couch. “Want you to c’mere.”

Your feet obey before your mind even thinks to question it, padding across the living room in your socks until you stand in front of where he has seated himself on your frayed, careworn loveseat. He looks up at you, eyes dark and all-seeing. His hands find your hips, testing the width of them, and he makes you feel like something small, something precious, something to be cradled in the palm of his hand like a gem or jewel.

“Sit down,” he says. So you sit beside him, close enough to breathe in his clean scent.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “As soon as you say you’ll let me.”

“I’ll let you.”

His lips are soft as they look, mouth warm and insistent as he coaxes you to part your lips and taste him—as if you need the incentive. He tastes like Price’s whiskey that he had sipped at the bar, like he would settle warm in your belly and everywhere else. His hand relaxes his hold on your chin, choosing instead to cup your jaw, suffusing warmth throughout your cheek.

It turns into the longest makeout session you’ve had since you were a teenager. You kiss until your jaw aches, until your lips are raw, until you’re throbbing between your legs. Each time you try to move things along, Ghost gently deflects your advances, seeming content to kiss you for ages. If this is how he fucks, it will be an all night affair.

“Ghost please,” you mutter against his mouth when you feel liable to burst, when he won’t even let you slip a hand beneath his t-shirt.

“Here,” he mutters, hauling you onto his lap. That’s headed in the right direction. Your thighs spread obscenely wide to accommodate him, lowering yourself until you feel that hard line beneath his jeans. Instinct has you lining yourself up until you can rub off against him, a choked sound rising up in the back of your throat at the blissful friction.

He sighs into your mouth, a trembling little exhale of air, his hands finding your hips and pinning you in place. Pulling back, he mutters: “None of that.”

“Why not?” you pant. “Feels good.”

“I’m trying not to embarrass myself. Work with me.”

The two of you move to the bedroom. You stand on legs that are already shaking, stripping clothes off along as you go: socks here, leggings there. The typical anxious thoughts have just started spiraling in your head—what underwear are you wearing? Have you shaved recently enough? Is the light flattering? When did you last change the sheets?—when Ghost catches you, looping his forearm around your waist and pulling you back against his firm chest.

“I wanted to undress you,” he says against the nape of your neck.

“I can put the clothes back on if you like.”

“Think I’ll just do the rest myself, if it’s all the same to you.”

His hands are remarkably gentle for his line of work as he helps you out of your shirt, your arms lifting obligingly to help him. The light from the lamp in the corner is actually quite flattering, casting shadows across you both in a way that is artful. His fingertips, calloused but careful, trace up the lengths of your arms and around to your back.

He fumbles a little with the clasp of your bra.

“I hate those things,” you breathe once he finally gets it figured out, coaxing the straps off your shoulders.

“Me too,” he says in that dry, bland way that you’ve come to associate with his humor.

All that’s left are your panties. He presses you back onto the bedspread and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, peeling them off your thighs. Your legs try to close on instinct, but he is quick to wedge himself between them, thumbs finding the creases where your thighs meet your pelvis and stroking the sensitive skin until you don’t know whether to laugh from being tickled or cry from being teased.

“Fuckin’ pretty, aren’t you?” he murmurs, eyes on your pussy. Maybe he’s talking to it and not to you. “Want to get my mouth on you. Can I?”

God, how long has it been since you’ve gotten head? You nod, near frantic. Even if he’s no good, some effort will be better than nothing. Besides, a part of you has high hopes for Ghost as a lover; so far he has been thorough and careful, both points in his favor. He leans up and kisses you again, your nipples brushing against his t-shirt, reminding you that you are naked while he is still entirely dressed. He seems content, and as desperate as you are to see him naked, you’re even more desperate not to break this blissful little soap bubble you both have somehow managed to find yourselves in.

Nudging your head up and to the side with the tip of his nose, he trails his mouth down your neck, tasting your skin and searching for your most sensitive spots. When he finds them, he drags his teeth against them softly until your heels are digging into the bed beneath you, hips up and searching for any kind of friction, even if you have to rub yourself against his jeans to find it.

Ghost continues down over the plains of your chest, teasing first one nipple and then the other with his mouth and his hands, testing the heft of your breasts in his huge palms. He explores your body with an admirable single-mindedness, not the perfunctory, half-hearted way some of your past lovers had. His eyes are never far from your own, categorizing your reactions; for what purpose, you aren’t sure.

After kissing a line right over your navel, he grips your thighs in his hands and spreads you wide. That close to your cunt, he must be able to smell how desperate you are, must be able to see the way it drips from you. He ghosts a thumb along your slit, turns it towards himself until your slick catches on the light. That thumb disappears into his mouth, and it takes all your breath and all your thoughts with it. His hum of approval vibrates against your calves which are pressed to either side of his chest.

“Okay?” he asks.

You nod, unable to trust your voice.

He leans down and kisses your folds, chaste and sweet as he might have kissed your mouth. He uses the fingers of one hand to spread you open, and there is a rush of warmth as he lets the saliva pool on his tongue and then flood against your sex, leaning down to chase it with his mouth.

He is all merciful tongue and lips, no hint of teeth as he licks and sucks at that hidden knot of flesh at the top of your sex. He barely pays your entrance any attention—which is fine by you, honestly, his tongue is direly needed elsewhere—but shifts an arm free to sling it over your pelvis, palm resting over your mons, thumb pulling back that hood that seeks to keep your most sensitive parts hidden from him.

Your hands grip fistfuls of your bedspread, unsure if he’s willing to let you touch his hair. The noises—gasps and whines and choked groans—coming out of your mouth would have your soul leaving your body if only you could hear them over the sound of blood rushing through your ears.

He’s strong, fighting against your natural urges to clamp your thighs shut around his head. Instead he presses you open wider, leaving no where for you to run to or hide as the pleasure in your pelvis blossoms, swells into some sweet fruit that bursts all over his tongue, your back arching into a neat bow.

You find out then that Ghost eats pussy the same way he kisses. He seems content to lap you clean and continue sucking at your swollen flesh, and even though you don’t think you could cum again, it still feels good. You melt into the mattress, boneless. Against your better judgement, your hand finds his hair, tucking back the longest strands that just begin to tickle the tops of his ears.

His mouth stutters against you at the touch, losing its easy rhythm. He pulls back until he is out of your reach.

“Sorry,” you whisper, throat raw. Your hand falls to rest on your soft belly, feeling exhausted.

“You can touch. Just don’t pull. I don’t—“ he stops, like he is searching for the right words. “—I don’t want it to hurt.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“Me neither. Would you kiss me again?”

His only answer is to shift upwards so that he can meet your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue. His cock, still confined in his jeans, brushes against your thighs. One of your hands wanders down his firm chest, down his belly, til you can map the shape of his erection with your fingers. His biceps tense around you where he braces himself on the bed to keep from putting his weight on you, head dropping til his forehead rests against the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

“You should get undressed,” you remind him.

He lets out a breath through his nose that sounds suspiciously like a sigh, leaning back onto his haunches to tug his shirt off over his head. You stare, awed. He’s so thick, all over: muscles hidden beneath a nice layer of soft padding, chest hair broken up by the odd scar here or there. You reach out toward his belt but he stops you.

“I can do it,” he says. He stands and strips himself naked in one fell swoop, like ripping off a bandaid. He’s thick here too, just as you had suspected: thighs and cock included. Already you can feel the phantom stretch of him between your legs and in your jaw. It burns away the last bits of sleepiness your orgasm had given you.

Throughout your perusal, he stands still, at attention, mouth turned downward in its most comfortable frown, meeting your eyes with an almost obstinate persistence. You kneel up and crawl to the edge of the bed, letting your legs dangle off of it.

“Can I touch you?”

“Alright,” he says.

You start at his shoulders, tracing over the broad width of them. Everything about him displays his strength. Even his scars, which some might consider signs of failure, only showed his persistence for survival. You ran your hands across his pecs, pausing to toy with one pale, pink nipple, so soft beneath your fingers. With each breath he takes, his abs are thrown into sharp relief.

“God, Ghost,” you mutter, tracing a line down to his cock.

“I know,” he says dully, though what he knows, you’re unsure of. “Condom’s in my pants.”

“We don’t need one.”

“I don’t want any surprises.”

“You won’t get any. Here.” You take his hand and guide it to your upper arm where your implant sits just beneath the surface of your skin. He flinches, unsure what he is touching. “It’s my contraception.”

“That’s horrifying,” he mutters.

“Do what I do—don’t think of it.”

“Right.”

You shift backwards up into the bed, thighs falling open invitingly. Instead of filling the space between them, he lays next to you, rolling you til you both face each other.

He runs his calloused palm up the length of your leg and grips your thigh, tugging it up and over his hip until you are spread open for him. There’s a question in his eyes, a slowness to his movement that gives you ample time to deny him this if you don’t want it—but you do. God you do. You ache for it—for him.

He reaches down and slips two fingers into you, easy as anything in your wet, relaxed state. The fullness is divine, even more so when he decides you’re ready for that third finger, the one that stretches your entrance and makes you hiss a breath through your teeth.

Ghost doesn’t even fuck you with them, just leaves you stuffed full of his fingers while he kisses you more. He waits until you’re the one shifting and thrusting against his touch before pulling out and wiping your wetness across your tender folds.

He grips his cock, guides it to your entrance. Hesitates.

“Please,” you mutter, face flushed with heat, hoping he doesn’t want you to beg. You’ll debase yourself, but it will be painful.

Whether or not it was your word he was waiting for, he slips inside you, a near-unbearable fullness and pressure that has you burying your face in his chest. His own breaths are stuttered, shallow as he sinks as deep into you as your body will allow and no deeper. Once he’s inside you, he seems to relax, like some great race has been run, some threshold has been crossed and now he can rest.

“Let me know when I can move,” he says, running his hand up and down the length of your back, down over the curve of your ass.

“Not yet,” you beg. “Feels like you’re in my fucking throat. Jesus, Ghost.”

His cock twitches. You both suck in a breath.

“Don’t say that shit,” he mutters, breathless, fingers digging grooves into the soft flesh of your hips. “Lean back. I want to look at you.”

You uncurl yourself away from his chest, tilting your chin up towards him. The last twinges of pain in your cunt have receded until all that lasts is that ceaseless fullness. He moves at last, laying down his arm so you can rest your head on his bicep. Only then are you aware of how painfully intimate this position is. There is nowhere to turn away to, nowhere to hide. You’ve had sex with partners less intimate than this.

“You can move,” you assure him, hoping for a distraction.

He takes a breath so deep his chest brushes your own. The pace he sets is downright agonizingly slow, less thrusting and more of a solid grind against you that has you a shivering mess in his arms. There’s little chance you could cum at this pace, but it feels good, and all of it is strangely secondary to him.

There’s a look in his eyes. You don’t understand it. Is it tenderness? Genuine affection? Gratitude? You’ve never had sex with this much eye contact before, never felt like breaking that gaze could take you out of the hazy headspace you’re in. Ghost finds your hand and grips it—doesn’t lace your fingers together but instead holds them like a tiny bundle of sticks in his giant hand.

He rests his forehead against your own. His eyes fall shut for just a moment, and it gives you the freedom to examine his features freely: the low brow, the curve of his nose, the pink scars tinged pale purple in the low light. You feel like you’re seeing him for the first time. You feel like you’re the first person to ever see him.

That strange thought starts a domino effect in your mind, sets off a chain reaction, slides a dozen puzzle pieces into a Ghost shaped puzzle and all at once it hits you.

“Ghost—stop.”

He stills, eyes opening. Reverses, withdrawing from inside you. “What hurts?”

“Nothing,” you assure him. “But—I’m sorry. You’ve done this before, right?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s meeting your eyes, but he has that obstinate, pained look again, like he’d rather be looking straight at the sun.

Your voice pitches upward with a hint of panic. “Ghost??”

“Fucking hell,” he groans, rolling onto his back, cock slipping free and leaving you feeling bereft. The mattress dips, making you sway toward him. You shift away. “What gave me away?”

“Oh my god. You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Bloody wish,” he mutters, arm thrown over his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The fuck would I tell you for?” He sounds genuinely baffled.

“So I could—I don’t know! So I could have known!”

“Didn’t want you to fucking know,” he says, letting his arm down so that he can glare at you fiercely. At the sight of you huddled at the other side of the bed, naked, arms wrapped around yourself, the fury seems to melt out of him. His shoulders sag. He palms at his eyes briefly, like a headache is brewing.

“Fucked it,” he mutters to himself, going for his jeans and sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. “Fucked it all.”

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily, though it does feel a little fucked. Suddenly you realize that your chance to fuck Ghost is slipping through your fingers like so much sand. What had started as a dream come true was turning into a nightmare, and you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him leave. Not like this.

At your words, he tosses you a look, and how a human can fit so much skepticism in a single expression is beyond your belief.

“Really. I just wish I’d known so I could have been better for you.” You don’t realize the truth of the statement until you say it. The last thing you wanted was for him to look back on this moment with disappointment.

He shakes his head and mutters: “You’re mad.”

“We could still—you know.”

He stops, jeans halfway pulled up his thick thighs. “What, fuck?”

You find a loose thread on your bedspread and twist it around your finger, shrugging. Aiming for cool and missing by a mile.

“You want to.”

“Well, yeah.” You abandon the thread, feeling too exposed. Tucking your legs up toward your chest, you wrap your arms around yourself. “Like you said in the car. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“About fucking me.”

“Are these questions?” you ask, face warm. “Yes, I think about it. Thought about it. I have thoughts.”

His lips twitch, a ghost of a smile, gone before you can imagine what a full-fledged grin would even begin to look like. “You’re serious.”

“Really serious,” you offer, sensing that he might be coming back around to the idea himself. Though you’re no vixen, you let your body unfold just to watch the way his eyes drop to look you over. You never knew eyes could be hungry. “Pants off? Please?”

He’s still and quiet for several long moments, but at length he shoves them back down his thighs, naked once more. He’s only half hard, but no less intimidating in this state. You eagerly shift to the edge of the bed and off, back down onto your knees in front of him, palms against his thighs.

“Is this okay?” you ask, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, aware that this is one of your most flattering angles.

“Go on,” he says. He sounds doubtful. You are too, unsure if you can find the same rhythm you both had going before. Unsure if you want to, now that you know him better.

You take one of his hands and coax it into cupping your cheek, then slide it back and up into your hair. “Don’t pull. No pain, right?”

Something hard in his expression softens marginally. His fingertips scratch gently at your scalp, a silent praise as he agrees: “No pain.”

Leaning forward, you nuzzle at his cock. It is velvety soft against your cheek. His scent here is more concentrated, masculine and warm. Above you, he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

How much you enjoy giving head usually directly depends on your partner, and Ghost is brilliant to suck off. Some might find him stoic or unaffected, but his expressions are just understated. When you place an open mouthed kiss against his shaft, his fingers twitch in your hair. When you take the tip past your lips to rest heavily against your tongue, he lets out a shaky exhale. By the time he’s nudging the back of your throat while you work the excess inches of his cock in your fist, he is grunting in between in sharp breaths. You find yourself becoming hyper attuned to his reactions until each minuscule motion feels exaggerated to your brain. A twitch becomes a caress. A sigh a moan.

“I’ll cum in your mouth if you don’t stop,” he grits out.

You pull off, jaw aching, lips slick. “I’d rather you came inside me.”

He pulls you to your feet and kisses you. All the kisses tonight, and this one has been the most honest, the most needful, the most raw. Had he never even kissed anyone before tonight? you wonder. It’s hard to believe that the answer might be yes. The way he kisses melts your brain, fizzles your thoughts.

“Ghost,” you breathe when he gives you a moment to come up for air, his mouth dipping low to your collarbone where he sucks softly.

“You know my name,” he says, mouth against your skin. “Use it.”

Simon. You have to say it in your mind first to get used to it. Simon. Simon. Then he finds one of those sensitive spots in the crook of your neck and you are whispering it, voice trembling more than you’d like: “Simon.”

“I like the way you say it,” he admits. “You’ve got a pretty mouth.”

“So do you.”

He snorts softly, shaking his head, like you have said something very silly.

“Up.” He grips your waist and helps you up onto the bed. You scoot back, making room for him between your thighs, and he fills the space so fucking snugly. His cock nudges at your sex and reminds you of how you ache all anew.

This time when he slips inside you, it punches a sound out of you that is remarkably close to a whine, your toes curling.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” you gasp, hands scrabbling for purchase against his broad shoulders, careful not to scratch him.

His head drops, forehead resting against your own, eyes shut. “Fuck’s right. Not a chance I’ll last after being in your mouth.”

“Wait for me,” you choke out, working one hand between you both until your fingers can find your clit. The angle isn’t the best, not with him so close, but it’s made up for by how blissfully full you are, by how Simon’s arms are trembling where he holds himself up above you. Briefly you let your fingers take a side trip, teasing his cock where he stretches you open, and Simon groans. Fuck, it goes right to your head. It makes you feel like you could walk on water.

You find his mouth and kiss him, kiss him til your head is light with lack of air, kiss him til your thighs are shaking with how close you are from your own expert touch.

“Fuck me, now, fuck me please,” you beg into his mouth.

He draws back until just the thick head sits inside you, giving your fingers room to work for a moment before he thrusts back in slow and smooth, pinning your fingers against your clit and that simple pressure—it’s enough. Your body bows against him, choked sounds lost against his mouth as he swallows them whole, fucking you so softly through the peak of your pleasure.

Simon stiffens not a handful of moments later, cock twitching inside you. The burst of warmth is pleasant, making you shiver. He drops down til his chest presses against your own, careful not to crush you with his weight.

“Don’t pull out yet.”

His softening cock twitches inside you. All he says is: “Alright.”

You hum, warm and sated. Sleepy. “You sleeping over?”

“Didn’t plan on it,” he murmurs, lips against your shoulder.

“But the walk of shame is a valuable part of the experience.”

“‘M not ashamed of fucking you,” he says.

You’re strangely touched. “Me neither.”

“Did you fake it?” he wonders.

“I’m no good at faking,” you admit. He leans up so his eyes can scan your face, looking for any hint of deception. Whatever he finds must satisfy his curiosity because he lowers his head back to rest against your shoulder.

He rolls you both onto your sides, and his soft cock slips free with a rush of seed. You make an unhappy sound in the back of your throat. Afterward is always your least favorite part, when you feel so empty.

Simon hushes you as he slips from the bed. “Bathroom,” he tells you.

“Through there.”

“Not for me, for you.”

“Why?” you whine, tired and petulant.

“Because pissing afterward is a valuable part of the experience for you. Can you walk, or did I break you?”

When you don’t answer, he grips one of your ankles and pulls you toward the end of the bed. You shriek, rolling onto your belly, but it’s no use. Looping his arm around your waist, he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom like you weigh nothing more than a sack of potatoes, which is patently untrue.

“Are you going to watch me go, too?” you ask.

“Kinky,” he says, already disappearing into the other room.

By the time you clean yourself up and take care of any “valuable post-sex experiences”, Simon has dressed himself. His clothes are gone from the floor in your bedroom. You can’t help but feel disappointed; a part of you really had been hoping he’d stay. Slipping on your panties and a clean shirt, you chase after him hoping he hasn’t left only to find him toying with your spare key at your door.

The way he reaches for your hand and draws you to him soothes some of the ache of seeing out. He thumbs your pulse and says: “I have to be ready to leave for work at a moment’s notice or I’d stay.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re lying,” he says, pressing his thumb more firmly against your wrist. “Don’t lie to me, or I’ll know. Do you want tonight to happen again?”

“Are you seriously copping a feel of my pulse to see if I’m being truthful?”

“Evading the question,” he says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Thanks anyway, for tonight. I’ll see myself out.”

“Yes! Alright, yes. Of course I do.”

His mouth quirks upwards, his grin a little crooked thanks to the scar, but no less precious. His thumb strokes softly. “I don’t need your pulse to tell when you’re lying. I just like to feel it racing when you look at me.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. How embarrassing is that?

“Next time, I’ll stay,” he promises. “Alright? Repeat it back to me.”

“Next time you’ll stay.”

“Next time,” he murmurs softly, turning away. He takes the stairs.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #threshold

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cripplecharacters · 4 months

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How to Support People with Facial Differences - the Face Equality Week 2024 Special

[large text: How to Support People with Facial Differences - the Face Equality Week 2024 Special]

Today is the 13th of May, which means that the Face Equality Week has just started. This year's theme is “My Face is a Masterpiece” which is probably my favorite sentence ever said about having a facial difference. Huge fan, should be used way more often in my opinion.

Because of this occasion, I would like to share some thoughts about Face Equality that I think are rather entry-level, i.e. you don't need to know much to execute these, but you can still support us.

Stop the stare.

I know it's fun to stare - or so I guess, at least - but maybe you shouldn't. Next time you see someone who has a scar or who's face does not move the same way as yours, just mind your business. We can tell when you're “discreetly” looking.

Don't call us deformed.

Knowing how the people you're trying to support actually call themselves should be an absolute first step, but most people still fail here. Most of us don't appreciate being called “deformed”. I certainly don't. Say “facial difference”, or “disfigurement” if you must. It's 2024. Leave “deformed” to medical reports from the 70s.

No more “What happened?!”s.

If you aren't a doctor, there's a high-to-100% chance that it's none of your business. It's cool that you're curious - keep it to yourself.

Stop insinuating that we are ugly.

“Support people who are ugly!” isn't very supportive. I would say, not in the slightest. Say “people who don't fit the current beauty standards” if that's what you mean.

Or, to go with this year's theme, “people whose faces are masterpieces” : )

Use critical thinking online.

Is the reaction photo actually funny, or is it just a person with a craniofacial condition? Is the meme actually a meme, or is it just making fun of a person with a facial disfigurement? Is body-shaming suddenly hilarious to you when the person shamed has strabismus?

If the entire punchline is “lol they have a disability xd”, it's ableism. Plain and simple.

To go with the point above - your joke is probably not funny.

We get it! You can't help telling us how "you're going to hell for laughing" (which yeah, probably) and how we remind you of the ugliest character you have ever seen. I guarantee you that we heard it, and that you are behaving like an edgy middle schooler who hasn't "found out" yet. It's boring and annoying. Also ableist, but you're aware of that already if you're saying that you're going to hell.

Stop with the goddamn trigger warnings.

We aren't “body horror”, we aren't “gore”, we aren't something that you need to advise your viewers to use their discretion over. Every “graphic footage: child with neurofibromatosis” and “#tw burn scar” is a sign of ableism and disfiguremisia. People with facial differences deserve to be seen. Ableds can survive seeing a person without a nose.

Do a basic reading on what disfiguremisia is.

New word! And a pretty damn important one. It's a brand of ableism that intersects with more or less everything, and it means discrimination and hatred of people with facial differences/disfigurements. The bullying, harassment, endless name-calling, and microaggressions are all results of disfiguremisia. The ways in which everything is harder for us isn't some unchangeable rule of how the world works, it's just an extremely prevalent type of discrimination.

Understand that we are people.

I know, revolutionary - and yet impossible for so many people to get. We can be a visual representation of evil when it's necessary, we can be a feel-good inspirational story on a morning talk-show, but not much else, it seems. In reality, we are complex, we have our own lives, we can be happy and sad and have the same exact joys and worries that you have.

Hey, artists - facial differences don't make you evil.

Title stolen from a great essay by Lise Deguire (link). When's the last time you saw a positive character with a facial difference that wasn't inspiration porn? I mean a character that's not edgy, full of angst, a murderer, or a villain. Based on what you see in the media, you'd think that having a scar renders you evil on the spot, but in reality it just makes you loathe how artists apparently think you are like. It's boring, it's overdone, it's ableism. Stop doing this, and start noticing when it's being done. Point it out if your friend is writing their new villain to be an evil burn survivor. This kind of portrayal needed to stop ages ago, but tomorrow will be a great time as well.

Before you reply with “I've never seen this” - Darth Vader, Lion King’s Scar (subtle name, great thing to teach kids!), Freddy Krueger, Voldemort, we could be here forever. You're just not paying attention.

Pay attention to where we are not included.

As discussed, there are some places where you see us all the time. But where do you not see us?

Advertisements (unless it's for a scar-removal cream, of course). Fashion shows. Magazine covers. Romance movies where we are the main character.

We deserve to see ourselves in what's around us in the same way able-bodied people do. Trying to make it seem like we don't exist - that's deliberate.

Interact with our art.

We draw, write, sing, act in movies, we do everything! Support us in the most tangible way - leave us a nice comment, read our books, listen to our songs. Watch movies where actual people with facial differences star, not pseudoinspirational stories about how “being disfigured is ok” where they shove an able-bodied actor into a full face prosthetic just to not have an actor with a disfigurement on set.

Include us.

As this year's Face Equality Week calls for, include us. In art, in movies, in books, in your life. Show us as positive people who are valuable, who are a part of your community - I guarantee that we are in every one that's out there. The world is hostile and unwelcoming to people with facial differences - be the change, wherever you are!

I know that it is different from the usual posts I make, but I hope it was somewhat educational. I just like to use every occasion that I can to force Face Equality into people's heads. To make this at least a bit about writing to keep the blog's theme, I will say that if you want to write about us, you need to care about us in real life as well. Otherwise, it's shallow and pointless.

Below the readmore are some links/resources that you can click to educate yourself further. A lot of them lead to Face Equality International because they have just about everything you should know. If you want to be a better ally to people with facial differences, I heavily recommend them!

#MyFaceIsAMasterpiece

mod Sasza

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2023/04/why-i-will-not-hide/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/disability-is-diversity/202111/hidden-community-the-movement-face-equality

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2022/05/facial-differences-in-the-media/

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2023/04/advertising-excludes-women-with-faces-like-mine/

https://www.phoenix-society.org/resources/burn-community-bookshelf

https://faceequalityinternational.org/about-fei/international-face-equality-week/

https://faceequalityinternational.org/2023/04/hidden-from-view-women-with-facial-differences-in-the-media/

https://www.phoenix-society.org/resources/i-dont-see-your-scars

whoa thanks for actually clicking the readmore!!

#mod sasza #face difference #face equality week #face equality #facial difference

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suzukiblu · 1 year

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excerpt from in-progress "timebending with Zuko" fic

Zuko wakes up and everything hurts.

Most specifically, his scar hurts.

That . . . doesn’t make sense, he thinks, and reaches for it automatically. A strong hand catches his wrist before he can touch it, which seems–fair, yes. Probably a good idea, anyway, because spirits does it hurt. Just . . . so much.

“Uncle?” he asks reflexively, attempting to open his eyes. It’s surprisingly difficult. And Uncle is in Ba Sing Se, of course, but he’s on his back on a futon or bedroll or something similar and someone’s sitting beside him and his head is swimming and he’s injured, clearly, so options for who said “someone” might be are limited, really.

So it’s not Uncle, obviously, but . . .

“Nephew,” Uncle says, very quietly, and Zuko . . . blinks.

At least, half-blinks. The one eye’s in too much pain to open.

The ceiling is metal, he notes absentmindedly. That’s . . . odd. He was in the palace, wasn't he?

“What happened?” he asks, vaguely bemused. Uncle pauses in a very concerning way, and Zuko has about three heart attacks about just how badly he doesn’t want to know what he’s about to say before–

“The Agni Kai,” Uncle says, very carefully. “Do you remember it?”

Zuko frowns–just with the one side of his face, because again, his scar hurts right now. To the point that his whole body feels wrong, does his scar hurt right now.

“Um–which one?” he asks, because there’s been about a dozen this month alone, and frankly he’s getting really sick of fighting them at this point but if the old guard of nobles are just going to keep dragging everything out like this–

“With your father, Nephew,” Uncle says, very carefully.

Zuko . . . blinks.

“Oh,” he says, vaguely perplexed. Uncle never talks to him about that. “Yeah, I remember that. What about it?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Uncle says.

“The part where I disgraced myself or the part where he burned my face?” Zuko says, because it’s so fucked up and awful and horrible that he can’t even get upset about it anymore, except when he’s really upset about it. But if Uncle’s bringing it up, presumably he has a good reason to be, so . . . “Or the whole ‘go find the Avatar who no one even believes exists anymore or you can never come home again’ part?”

“. . . all of that, yes,” Uncle says, still sounding very careful. Zuko frowns a little–again with just the one side of his face–and then looks over at him. His body still feels weird and wrong, but . . .

But . . .

They’re on a ship, he realizes. A Fire Nation one.

Well, explains the metal ceiling.

It doesn’t explain why Uncle is wearing red armor and a topknot like he hasn't in years, though, or why he looks so unspeakably sad.

“Um,” Zuko says, and attempts to sit up. His head immediately starts swimming even worse, and Uncle catches his shoulders and keeps him pinned against the . . . futon? Looks like a futon, yeah. “Where are we, exactly?”

“We are aboard a ship,” Uncle says. “I . . . may have slightly commandeered it.”

“. . . you paid for it, right?” Zuko asks, a little skeptical at that idea.

“Yes, Nephew, I did,” Uncle says, giving him a very tired, pained smile. Zuko doesn’t feel much better, seeing it.

“Is someone dead?” he asks, because he can’t think of anything else that would make Uncle look that way.

“Ah–no, no one has died,” Uncle says.

“Then what’s wrong?” Zuko asks warily.

“. . . you are injured, Nephew,” Uncle says, slowly. Zuko frowns, bemused. “And your father . . . I did not know he was going to do this. I am so sorry.”

Zuko . . . pauses. Looks around the room again, and then realizes: he knows this room, doesn’t he. He knows this ship.

This is the same ship he woke up on after the Agni Kai.

“Hold that thought, Uncle,” he says, then lifts his hands and looks at them. They . . . well, they are his hands, obviously.

But they’re not his hands, obviously.

“Huh,” he says, frowning in bemusement at them; turning them around like he half-expects them to stop being a thirteen year-old’s or something equally ridiculous. They don’t. They are very definitely a thirteen year-old’s hands.

Specifically, his thirteen year-old hands.

Huh.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says after a moment, putting his hands back down and glancing back to Uncle, who’s obviously the more important concern. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I took you into that meeting,” Uncle says, his voice tight. “And I watched the Agni Kai. And I did nothing to stop any of it.”

“I know,” Zuko says. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Uncle says, his smile a sad and terrible thing. “You were there because of my actions. My mistakes.”

“You’re not the one who wanted to sacrifice all those soldiers,” Zuko says. “Or the one who decided to throw fire at my face.”

“You were there because of me,” Uncle repeats, his voice tight and his smile no less terrible. It occurs to Zuko, briefly, that Uncle must be thinking of Lu Ten.

He only ever looks like that when he’s thinking about Lu Ten, so . . .

“Uncle,” he says. “Really. It’s not your fault.”

“Nephew,” Uncle says, and his voice is somehow even tighter. Zuko tries to get up again, and his head swims again, and Uncle moves to stop him again. This time he grabs onto Uncle’s wrists and uses them to pull himself up, and then . . .

Well, then he’s sitting up, at least.

So that’s something.

He tilts his head and his hair slips into his eyes. It’s loose, and long. Not shaved on the sides yet, like he wore it the last time he was thirteen. He supposes he should cut it, but then again, why should he? He's not changing anything, after all.

Except for this conversation, he supposes, because that went very differently last time.

. . . hm.

"Uncle," he says one more time, and reaches out for him. Uncle doesn’t seem to understand what he’s trying to do, so he has to reach out a little farther, and then Uncle makes the connection and leans in and lets him wrap his arms around him and alright, yes: that’s better, Zuko thinks, and clings to him.

Just a little, perhaps, but . . .

Yes. He clings to him.

Uncle wraps his arms around him in turn, very carefully, and makes an awful sound.

“My boy,” he chokes. “I’m so–I’m so–”

“I forgive you,” Zuko lies, because of course there’s nothing to forgive.

But of course Uncle doesn’t understand that, does he.

#zuko #iroh #prince zuko #avatar: the last airbender #atla #rinfic #long post

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undertheorangetree · 11 months

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The Last of the Dragons

Chapter One- The Consummation

Summary- With the Targaryen dynasty at risk, the last of the family must make unsavory decisions in order to ensure their reign continues.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Angst. Politicking. Consummation of marriage with witnesses. Mentions of death. Trauma. Uncomfortable smut.

Author's Note- This first chapter is not very sexy!! There is (consensual) smut but it is not hot nor is it meant to be. The sexy smut will happen later. With that said, the link to the full chapter is below :)

series masterlist

When the dust settles around the Dance of the Dragons, she is the only member of her family still alive.

Her mother burned by dragonfire, her step father cut down on dragonback. Jace and Luke lay dead at the bottom of the ocean alongside Aegon and Viserys while Joffrey lay scattered across the streets of Flea Bottom. It is a reality she does not like to face and though she still has Baela, Rhaena, and their grandfather, she knows she is the last of her family line. The last of Rhaenyra's blood, the blood of the true heir.

It is that blood that damns her the moment Aegon is found poisoned, laying dead in his litter.

She had been spared alongside Baela and Rhaena, though she knew that was more so Corlys's idea than anyone else's. Aegon had demanded her head the moment he learned that it was she and Silverwing who had been responsible for Daeron's death but Corlys had managed to talk him down to simply keeping her as a hostage. He had argued that by having her bend the knee, it would show her mother's loyalists that he was the true king above all others, that her fealty had the power to stop Cregan Stark's march south and would calm tensions in the Riverlands and Eyrie. Aegon had agreed, though only after Alicent had prompted him to, and she had been spared from the executioner's block. Though as she sits at the small council table, staring at her last living uncle, she wishes Aegon had found the kindness in his black heart to swing the axe.

The Battle Above the God's Eye had left Aemond with another scar, this one having ripped through the flesh of his left shoulder and bicep. She wishes it crippled him further, that Daemon's final act managed to cut his arm from its socket, gouge out his last remaining eye and send him plunging into the depth of the God's Eye but other than a deep new scar, her step father managed little.

"Lord Corlys and I believe that it is important, especially now, to assure the smallfolk that this war is far behind us now. Aegon's death threatens the already fragile stability we have managed to find ourselves on," Alicent explains, though it is not directed at her. They had all been whisked away into the small council chambers less than a handful of hours after Aegon had been found dead and that grief is still present in Alicent. Her eyes are rimmed red- a common trait of hers now- and her voice is hoarse from crying, but she still manages to stay strong before the men gathered. She and Aemond had been ordered to sit in on the small council meeting but neither have been given leave to speak. They sit silently, waiting for the moment that deemed their appearance here necessary as Alicent turns to her grandfather. "Which is why we have come to a kind of agreement."

"We want the Iron Throne to remain in Targaryen hands just as fervently as all others here and with the death of our king so fresh, it is of the utmost importance that we find a suitable heir quickly. One that puts both the Blacks and the Greens at ease and prevents a continuation of the war," Corlys says, fingers pushing at the small ball that rests before him.

When the two of them had the time to discuss a potential heir, she has no idea, but perhaps it is a blessing that they had. With Aegon and all his children dead, there are few options left for the throne. She knows in her heart that she is the legitimate heir, being the only one left who has Rhaenyra's blood running through her veins, but she is a woman. After all that has happened, only a fool would attempt to crown her. The same could be said for Baela and Rhaena, though their claims are not as strong as her own. That left Aemond, a man, but widely hated for all he had done throughout the war.

They are damned regardless of who is chosen, the risk of further rebellion at every turn. She does not pity the remnants of this council for the choice they must make now. The realm rests on the shoulders of the six people left in this room and that is a burden she would not want to carry.

"And you have an idea as to who the most suitable heir would be, my lord?" Lord Larys asks. Though he sits at the table, he is not truly facing it, leaning on the cane in his hands. She turns her head to look at him, his eyes wide with his question, and feels her stomach turn at the mere sight of him, their master of whisperers.

Corlys looks toward Alicent, waiting until she gives the faintest nod of her head before speaking again. "My granddaughter, the princess, is Rhaenyra's last surviving child. Aemond is the last surviving child of King Viserys and acted as Aegon's regent for more than half his reign. The dowager and I propose that we unite house Targaryen once and for all and have the two wed to serve the realm as king and queen, like the Old King and Good Queen Alysanne. Equal in power, so as to bring all this unrest to an end."

Read the rest here :)

Taglist- @ammo23 @bellstwd @kckt88 @aemondsbabygirl @shygardengalaxy @duds31 @at-a-rax-ia @ladymarg0t @queenofshinigamis @drakar-i @cl-0-vr @castellomargot @moonlightfoxx @ladybug0095 @marihoneywk

#Aemond targaryen x reader #Aemond x reader #Aemond targaryen x you #Aemond x you #Aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #aemond targaryen #aemond smut #Aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader

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avonne-writes · 3 months

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Photographer Bucky x Benny Cross Headcanons

The lovely @carnevol came up with the amazing idea to make the photographer documenting the Vandals Bucky. We thought Bucky x Benny would be quite hot together, so here are some headcanons. Benny doesn’t get together with Kathy in this AU.

(some NSFW and spoilers for the movie under the cut)

Benny never talks to Bucky, doesn’t even acknowledge him at first but he lets himself be photographed, including his hands with the rings and the scar. It’s only while developing the photos that Bucky notices the heated, intense way Benny looks at him.

The next time Bucky hangs out with the guys, he stares back. Benny likes that, and he also likes it when Bucky directs his flirty jokes and banter at him. Although his reactions are pretty deadpan or just a faint smirk, Bucky can tell that he enjoys it. The intense staring happens increasingly often.

One night - much like in that Johnny & Benny scene - Bucky draws Benny aside, flirts with him some more under some bullshit excuse, slowly stepping into his space. But when Benny says his name, he doesn’t pull away, he lets his lips brush Benny's cheek.

Benny has some internalized homophobia that makes him freeze for a few seconds, but he quickly overcomes it by reasoning with himself that no one tells him what to do, he’s a rebel, a free spirit who can do whatever he wants.

So, before Bucky could backtrack, he finally turns his head and gives Bucky a biting, intense kiss.

He's not one to hold back. He goes for it with a passion that leaves Bucky reeling.

But just as quickly as it happened, Benny pulls away, gives Bucky an unreadable look and goes back to the others.

Bucky doesn’t know what to expect next, but finding Benny camping on his bike outside his place is certainly not on the list.

But that's what Benny does, and when Bucky lets him in, what he says is "So. You wanna show me the bedroom?"

They have bed-breaking, wall-banging, aggressive sex and share cigarettes and small anecdotes between rounds.

When the sunrise starts creeping painfully through the window, Bucky sees a softer, sad side of Benny. Benny doesn’t try to hide this from him, but when Bucky grabs the camera on the bedside table and takes a photo of him, he tells Bucky never to show that to anyone and his tone is threateningly serious.

Once Bucky swears he won't, Benny lights another cigarette, takes a pull, then gives it to Bucky and goes down on him, just like that. Bucky feels like he’s in heaven, but the heat of it burns like it’s hell.

Benny doesn’t swallow, he spits it out quite openly, but since he makes no fuss about sex in any way, Bucky knows that there's nothing else to it, just Benny's preference. Benny gets up before Bucky could reciprocate and while getting dressed, he asks if Bucky wants to go for a ride.

They go out, each on their own bike, but in the light of that dawn, Bucky feels closer to Benny than ever.

They have to repeat this a few times before Benny actually stays the night and sleeps. Bucky's pretty sure it's only a handful of people who have ever seen the man asleep, so it feels like a privilege.

Bucky falls in love, and he knows it's reciprocated the first time when Benny gets that sad look about him again but doesn’t follow it up with something aggressively sexual or restless. That time, he lets Bucky tell him about the bad moments in Bucky's past, with only this pained, upset silence about him. He never says anything in response, but Bucky can tell that he listens attentively.

They both have obsessive and impulsive traits, so the two together makes for a gunpowder-like combination. If they fight others, they back each other up and can do quite some damage. If they fight each other, paint chips off the walls from the outburst of anger.

Bucky stops hanging out with the club and photographing them because the tension between him and Johnny over Benny gets unbearable. Still, Benny continues to come over to his place. There’s never a regular pattern to it, but he keeps coming back.

Bucky asks him to stay and leave the club (which has been getting worse anyway) if that's what it takes, but that's too much to ask then. They have a few fights about this.

Benny runs away from conflict that cuts too deep into those buried emotions he tries to guard. When he has a huge fight with Bucky and then, like in the movie, tells Johnny he can’t take over the club, he leaves just like in the movie.

But Bucky isn't the type to sit on his ass and let him disappear, so he chases him down.

They both value loyalty high, and also, to be able to count on one another. In addition, Benny has this issue that he thinks removing himself from someone's life is taking a burden away from them. Bucky's unrelenting love and warmth and the fact that Bucky goes after him and doesn’t want him to leave get through Benny's walls, and he finally lets Bucky in.

They reconcile in some shady motel and decide to never go back to Chicago. The shift in Benny's priorities and decision to leave the biker life come from the effect Bucky has on him and not from Johnny’s death. Still, Benny cries when Johnny is killed.

He and Bucky settle down far away from Chicago. Benny works as a mechanic and Bucky as a journalist, and after some time, Bucky manages to persuade Benny to let him put that picture he took of Benny in bed on the nightstand.

#mota #john egan #the bikeriders #benny cross #bucky x benny #mota-bikeriders crossover

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lexxiie · 2 years

Note

can we have lov trio + overhaul discovering that their s/o had been cheating on them? 🥺

When They Think You Cheated

Omg, anon, no! I'm so bad at writing break ups, so I'll change the concept a bit to them believing their s/o is cheating, but she's not.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Featuring: Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul.

TOMURA SHIGARAKI

Tomura is an insecure man. That is no secret to either of you, however, he understands how his insecurities may harm your relationship, so most of the time he voices them out so that you can both talk about them, and you always end up reassuring him.

Today, though, he cannot, for the life of him, think of a way to talk out the fact that you have a hickey on your neck. What is there to talk about? The truth that he ignored was that you accidentally burnt your neck earlier this morning while doing your hair, it would've never occured to him, especially when he was as angry as he is right now, observing your neck, a thin layer of make up attempting to cover the mark, but failing. Why would you even hide it if there was a reasonable explanation? He knew for a fact that he didn't left that on your neck.

As much as he wanted to yell at you and dispose of all his rage, truth was that he was really hurt, and so everything he managed to do was confront the reality with resignation. "Who did that?" He asked calmly, but you could hear bitterness in his voice. "What?" You asked, not very sure what he meant. He looked at you angrily now, it was very clear. "Who's the guy that you are seeing? Or do you just happen to have a different one every now and then? You know, I always thought of you as a smart girl, but it is very stupid of you to let them leave your neck like that, you could've tried harder to hide it." You finally understood what was going on... Oh god. He tried to sound as if he didn't care, cold and indifferent, but you knew how incredibly hurt he was.

You immediately got up and approached him, reaching for his face, but he moved to avoid your touch. "Tomura, look, it's a burn mark, I did it with my straightener, I swear." He looked at you through narrowed eyes, still not believing you. You rushed to your room and came back with your straightener in hand, turning it on and attempting to place it on your arm, but Tomura immediately stopped you. "Are you crazy?" The man scolded you, and you looked at him desperately. "It is a burn, I swear." You repeated. Now starting to doubt himself, Tomura then reached for your neck, caressing it softly with his thumb, rubbing a bit of the make up off. You were right. Oh no. He truly felt like a fucking asshole. The man sighed before pressing his forhead against yours. "I'm truly sorry, (Y/n). I'm so, so sorry." You were just relieved it all ended. He spent the rest of the evening tending to your wound, scolding you for putting make up on when it was still so fresh and kissing your cheeks in hopes you would forgive him. Never again will he act like that, that's for sure.

TOUYA TODOROKI | DABI

Touya sits silently on the edge of the bed as he observes the hotel recipt he found under the bed. It dates a week back, when you were supposed to go on a work trip at a completely different city than the one this hotel was at. Now, he can be very confident some days, and very insecure some other days. This is one of the latter days, evidently. In moments like this, thousands of thoughts run through his mind. Why? Is it because of the scars? But you said you didn't care. Did you lie? Of course you did, who would actually choose him over anyone else? He feels stupid, and so heartbroken. He loves you. He really does, and now all of this hurt has turned into uncontrolable anger.

He stands up and walks to the kitchen, where you turn around to smile at him as soon as you hear him coming, only to be greeted by his beautiful blue eyes contorted in pure rage. He must be a very scary adversary to his enemies. "What the fuck is this, (Y/n)?!" He asks while holding the recipt in his hand, speaking those words through gritted teeth, as if his jaw was frozen because of how angry he is.

"Wait, Touya, is not what it looks lik-" The villain slammed his fist on the kitchen island, flames emanating from it. "It's not?! Really, (Y/n)? Do you really think i'm this fucking stupid?” He is now yelling, very loudly. He starts getting closer to you, and you start walking backwards, trembling. He then takes one more step forward and you raise your arms as if you wanted to protect yourself. Now Touya is the one walking backwards. He would never hurt you, but as he took a step back, he realized that it really looked like it. Did you think that he was gonna incinerate you? Did you think he was about to hit you? The look on your eyes was too familiar, he had seen it in his mother's eyes way too many times. He sighed deeply as he burried his face in his hands. It seemed like he wanted to wake up from a nightmare, and then, as seconds went by and he wasn't lifting his head, you realized he might have started to cry, though he would never let you see him.

"That day-" you started speaking after several minutes, "I decided to stay at a different city because I heard about it being quiet and pretty. I thought maybe I could rent an apartment there, so you wouldn't be at risk. There isn't many people, it is indeed quiet, no one would recognize you, so I looked at a few places. There isn't anyone else I'm seeing, just apartments." Touya finally lifted his head from his hands, and you could see the relief in his eyes, but also a lot of guilt. A lot of it. He got closer, kneeling before you, pressing his forehead to your body, his hands clenching the coat that covered the sides of your frame. This was him apologizing. You caressed his hair softly, everything would be okay.

KAI CHISAKI | OVERHAUL

He trusts you, he really does, but what is he supposed to believe when you tell him that you are going to the grocery store and you lie. He went there to help you in case you had bought too many stuff since it was taking you a while, but you were nowhere to be found. Minutes later, you come home, smelling like men's cologne that clearly wasn't his own.

God, this can't be happening, he thinks to himself. You walk to him, hoping to get a kiss from the yakuza, but instead you are greeted with a cold stare, his lips don't move when you place yours over them. "Where were you?" He asks visibly angry. "At the grocery store." You answered showing him the two bags on your hands. "All of these hours just for that? You really don't want to piss me off, (Y/n). Not more than you already did." Now his tone sounds like a threat, and you get defensive. "What is that supposed to mean?" You ask him. You have always hated whenever he would talk to you like you were one of his men, and he knew that. "Where did you actually go?" Unbelievable. You still didn't quite understand where he was trying to get, but you did know that you didn't like the way he was interrogating you. "Did you go out to meet with someone?" He asked, this time, impatience ruled over his voice. Okay, so he thinks you are cheating. great.

Leting out a heavy sigh, you dropped your bags on the floor and approached the hurting man before you. Much to your surprise, he allowed you to take his face in your hands. "I went out to get you a new cologne, I noticed you ran out of the last one I gave you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but it is in the car, in case you wish to have it now."

God, did he feel like an idiot right now... You could tell that he was beating himself up mentally. The worst part of it was that he felt truly relieved that you hadn't fallen out of love with him yet. Despise him attempting to seem indifferent earlier, he felt like his whole world was crumbling down before him. Kai then took your hands in his, kissing them softly. "I'm truly very sorry, darling." He said sincerly. "It's okay, I should've made up a better excuse anyway." You replied smiling gently. He couldn't help but smile back, still embarrassed with himself. He compensated you treating you to dinner that night. Kai saw himself realizing how strong he felt about you. The sole idea of you leaving made him feel vulnerable and terrified for the very first time in a while. He was going to need to learn how to trust you more if he didn't want to lose you.

KEIGO TAKAMI | HAWKS

The pro hero had a lot of work all of the time. He would get home late very often, many times closer to sunrise than midnight. Of course, it was only logical for you to be asleep at those hours, which was always the case. Except for last week.

He had gotten home very late, but still earlier than usual, expecting to find his lover on his bed, hoping he could hold on to you for a couple of hours before he had to get to work once again, but you weren't there. Naturally, he freaked out, but just as he was about to go looking for you everywhere, the main door flew open. He hid on the bathroom, in case it was someone else, but all he saw was you getting on the bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

He let that incident go. He gave you the benefit of the doubt, he gave you his trust. This despite the uneasy feeling in his chest, however, today, you weren't on the bed either. Now the doubt felt very real. What on earth could you be doing at 4 am? He waited a couple of minutes, until you finally got home. The hero was trying his very best not to break down when he saw you. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this hurt. "That other bed must be really comfortable." He accused, startling you as you obviously weren't expecting to see him yet. "What?" you asked, a bit disoriented. "You heard me." Keigo then stood up from the couch, walking towards you. "How long have you been sneaking out for, huh? Cause this is the second time I witness this already" You realized how this looked immediately. Oops.

"Listen, Keigo, I'm not sleeping with anyone else. In fact, I'm not sleeping at all." The man looked at you confused now, all of the anger he previously showed you slowly disappearing. "I have been having trouble sleeping, so i go out and take walks in hopes i'll get tired, I'm sorry I worried you, yes?" You assured your lover as you took his hands in yours, offering him a tired smile. "But why? You used to sleep well before..." All of his previous worries seemed to be forgotten as soon as he realized how tired you looked, his hands roaming your face, as if they would figure out what had changed. "Yes, that was before you would leave all night, I guess I'm a bit more anxious now." You confessed. He felt very bad for adding to your already bad night with his insecurities. Soon after, though, Keigo managed to change his schedule, making sure to spend every night holding you, and he would be lying if he said he didn't miss you too. As for that particular night, he prepared you a tea and talked about his day until he made sure you had fallen asleep.

MASTERLIST

#bnha scenarios #bnha headcanon #bnha fic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #tomura shiragaki #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #hawks headcanons #keigo takami imagine #kai chisaki x reader #overhaul x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia

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myabsurddreamjournal · 11 months

Text

Fate

(part 1)

Soldier Boy x Fem! reader

Summary: Reader is a scientist who is forced to work at lab that they keep soldier boy frozen, she talks and cries to him when she is alone, thinking he can't hear her but he hears everything.

warnings: None, im a ace so my character and story is going to be asexual💜

she slowly approached to cryo where they kept him frozen. it has been a while since she had a opportunity to do this. Since she was taken here they always kept an eye on her, watching every move, punishing any sign of disobedience. It didnt take long for her to learn to be silent, be obedient. scar on her arm reminded her to keep her mouth shut every time she wanted to question something they do. She still remembered the pain. It was her second week here, and she made a mistake of asking why they kept him frozen for almost 40 years. She got the scar for her mistake. The sound of her bone breaking... She could still hear it.

Teardrops started to fall from her eyes as she opened the door of cryo, whenever she was alone she was crying now. It almost became a ritual, sitting on floor with her head hanging low while confessing and apologising to him. Who looked like a statue of a almighty god.

"Hello Ben" she opened her mouth. It made her feel weird hearing her voice saying something other than "yes", or "sir"

"its september 19 today, your birthday isn't it?" she was crying harder now. "i read your file other day. It says you had a rough childhood, me too you know, and now we are both prisoners here. What a fate huh?" she looked at his face as she said that. He looked pale, too pale for human. Well he was in this damn lab for almost 40 years...but deep down she liked the thought of him being something other than a human. Humans always hurted her after all.

After watching the torture tapes she learned he experienced pain and anger just like her. (she threw up all night after seeing the tapes for the first time) he had a life once, he was a child, he had a family. favorite food, favorite drink, he even smoked weed which made her a bit shocked when she read it on the files. But in time she found out he was a lot different from what they made him seen. She saw the few unaired interviews where he acted strong and confident as usual until he was asked about his family or childhood. His eyes getting teary for few seconds, Then his hard expression getting back. His mouth twitching every time journalists made a rude remark.

She knew he was a human. But him being alive after all things human did to him told her he was also something other than human.

and it made her feel good.

"i never wanted to be here, i never wanted this, she said. "i wish i could save you. If i had a powers like you, i would burn here to the ground. And kill all of them. But im so weak. Im so sorry Ben. Im so sorry." She waited there for few minutes. Her head between her hands. Until tiny beeping sound from her watch made her flinch. Telling her it was almost midnight. She needed to get up. Too many work tomorrow. Another day as a prisoner here

She cupped his cheek before closing the door of cyro. It was so cold, but still soft. She couldn't help and kept her hand there while looking at his face. His closed eyelids, then freckles on his nose. Still remembering the first time she noticed his freckles, it was one of the days where her legs hurted for being on her feet for so long. She was taking his blood for monthly test. And she saw them. He had freckles on his nose! They were never shown in his movies or pictures, always hidden behind makeup or his green-gold mask. But they were here. She found them adorable. Never showed it of course. keeping hidden behind her cold emotionless expression.

But she often find herself thinking about him when she tried to sleep at night in "room" they gave her. what else he was hiding under all that persona? What made him happy or sad before all this happened? was it true that he never cried? She tossed and turned at night. Sometimes thinking about him and sometimes thinking about her life. The similitaries between them. Humans hurted him just like they hurted her. They stole their life. She usually fell asleep with this thoughts. And in her dreams it was always end of the World. Everything burning in flames and she watching it from distance with smile on her face.

with a deep exhale she withdrawed her hand from his cheek. "see you tomorrow Ben." she whispered. And she was gone. Not knowing that he heard every word.

that night, she dreamed of something else for the first time since she was captured. Pair of green eyes. They were looking at her. Their shade reminded her a small lake she saw everday when she was a little girl. It was on the right side of the road that she used while walking to school. She always loved the way water moved in small waves. After 2 years, for the first time, she woke up with a warm feeling that morning. it felt like gentle morning sunrise.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles imagine #the boys #the boys imagine

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hellfire--cult · 6 months

Text

Edit of Eddie: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters, plotline and general warnings.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️18+: PINING, LOTS OF IT. Sexual tension, drinking, drinking game, sexual talk

wc: 8.2K

A/N: i can't apologize enough for taking so long. So much happened last month, and I realized I am not capable of having two jobs.

Anyways, Enjoy! ❤️ And don't forget to always support me by hitting the reblog button or leave a comment!

Taglist is closed

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CHAPTER 15

“So? You and Nance? Are you guys official or?”

You took a bite out of your sandwich, as you and Robin sat in your office’s cafeteria. All your coworkers were chatting away, laughing, some stressed while still making phone calls, but those were departments you would never think of doing yourself in your life. Sales. Recruiting. You’re glad you have the editor job because the work pressure is not huge, but it is very important and has to be done perfectly.

“I mean it’s been, what, a month? I still think it’s too soon…” Robin sighed as she took a bite out of her pasta. You gulped your food down, taking a long sip of your diet coke, looking at your best friend who had a sad look on her face.

“But you guys are exclusive to each other already.” You commented because that’s what she had indeed told you two weeks ago. She told you that Nance and her, established that they are only hooking up with each other, no one else.

“Yeah I know, but we’re just having sex, and it’s fun!” You could see the forced smile on your friend’s face and you giggled as she sighed in defeat, slumping back down on her seat.

“Yeah, but you don’t want just the fun Robs. What are you afraid of?” And Robin kept her gaze on her plate, twirling the pasta on the plastic below, not lifting it up to take a bite. You knew why she was scared, she didn’t really need to tell you.

“It started like that with Vickie. What if it happens again? What if I… misinterpret things? Again?” You sighed at that, reaching out to hold her hand in yours in a reassuring manner.

“I can tell that you are not Robs… Nance gets all giggly when you kiss her cheek… I think she is waiting for you to make the move.” At your words, Robin just squeezed your hand with a small smile on her face. “It will be okay, I promise.”

“If I end up heartbroken, I’m coming for your ass.” You laughed as you let go of her hand, resting back in your chair.

“You won’t. And you have to remember, Eddie’s best friend’s with Nancy and–”

“And you talk to him almost every fucking day now, and so you have information.”

You frowned at that with a pout on your lip. Robin wasn’t saying that with venom. She was saying it to tease you really. She found it amusing how quickly you and Eddie turned your relationship from hate to almost an unbreakable friendship.

“I– We don’t talk every day.” And as if on cue, your phone vibrated, a small ting sound informing you that you had been sent something and Robin only rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. “It might be someone else.”

“Really? Open it.”

You winced at your best friend’s order. You knew it was him. You knew he was probably sending you an update on his employee Gareth and how he is freaking out because he thinks Jeff is flirting with him… when it’s all a made-up joke between Eddie and Jeff.

You told him many times to quit it, that Gareth would end up scarred because of it, but Eddie dismissed it because he pranked him once as well, never telling you with what. You assumed Eddie just made a fool out of himself, that’s why he promised to never say a word to you about that.

You slowly raised your phone and unblocked to see Eddie’s message pop up. You took a deep breath in, showing the screen to Robin, only for her to scoff and roll her eyes. You looked back at the screen and it was a message from him reminding you that he has to take a look at the oil tank of your car.

“It’s just about my car.” You excused yourself with that, even though you knew that you two don’t talk just about that. Yesterday he told you that his uncle managed to get up from bed after many days of being unable to do so. The other day you told him about a great orange deal you found around the corner of your apartment building.

But it’s just trivial stuff. They’re just friendly things… but you linger on his Instagram stories.

The ones where he takes in front of the mirror, the ones where he is showing something in his car shop, maybe a wrench, and you can see the inked forearm and hand, veins popping out. And you especially linger on those shirtless selfies he takes in his mirror or when he wears his overalls at his shop with Gareth and Jeff, the top never buttoned, his inked chest at full display.

He is handsome, that’s all there is to it. Your friend is handsome, and he probably takes those pictures to get women to like them so he can have the opportunity to message them and take them out. It’s just that. You have taken a few yourself to try to do the same with all hookups, and you met with Lara again, as well as Jeremy.

You weren’t really into it. You noticed it since you broke up with Henry and divorced him, that something kind of changed. You felt pleasure, you certainly did… but you never felt complete. It was something you could hardly explain, but you shrugged it off as a weird feeling and that’s it. You loved sex with Billy, but it was because you liked Billy mostly.

Physically? You were never full.

“Right, whatever. So, today Friday, still on to go to Eddie’s?” Robin said as she took a bite out of her pasta and you nodded at that, replying back to Eddie that you can take the car on Monday for the check-up. It would be the first time you would see Eddie’s home. He told you he lives right above the shop, and it’s kind of like a loft.

His shop is wide, so you can guess just how big it is. But you can sort of imagine how it looks, and it filled you with some kind of excitement that was weird to explain. Maybe you just wanted to know more about your friend; knowing his house was the next step.

“Yeah, is everyone else going too?” You put the phone down and wiggled your eyebrows at your best friend. She bit her bottom lip with a smile on her face and shook her head.

“Yes, Nance is also going.” You giggled at her face becoming red and you looked up to see the TV above, a commercial popping up that made your smile drop completely. Robin frowned and turned around to look at what you were seeing.

Billy Hargrove announcing a GUCCI perfume.

“Guess he got signed to another publicity company.” You murmured and looked back down. In all honesty, you had moved on from Billy and your friends helped a lot with that. They took you out and the hookups you had also made everything go a little bit smoother, and it’s not like you forgot and were done with… the strong feeling of love never got to build.

Your dislike for him only grew when he was interviewed about betas, same-sex marriage, and adoption, and he said he was all for it, with a smile on his face. It made you mad, it made you feel disgusted that you had a relationship with someone like that. That also helped to destroy that yearning you still had for him, it immediately disappeared just like magic.

“Not our problem anymore, nor yours.” And you knew Robin was trying to cheer you up, but because if Billy’s real personality came out into the light, your company would be targeted, you would all have to make a statement that as soon as you found out his ideals, you dropped him and the contract.

“I know… Okay, what do I have to bring today?”

You didn’t dress much, just some black pants, a white blouse, a little flowy, hem tucked in your pants, you arrived at Eddie’s shop with Robin and Steve, you being the designated driver of the night if it decides to head into a drunken one.

“The stairs are on the back.” Steve said and guided you both around the shop, your coat keeping you warm in the cold night as Robin rambled about the game she brought for the night. She has been here before, you being the only one in the group to actually see his place for the very first time.

Steve walked up the stairs, which was one flight and you could see the window of his office, and then up another flight of stairs, the metal clinking under your boots at each step you took, and Steve entered a small entryway, very small, like a cove, his feet standing over a mat.

You blinked in awe at how big his fucking home is. You always thought that this was kind of like a warehouse attic, but no. It had always been his home. Windows were all around and you are just now realizing all the warm lights that lit the inside. Steve knocked on the door and you gripped the beer pack in your hands. You heard murmuring on the other side and then loud boots echoing as they approached the door.

The door swung open to reveal Eddie, burgundy t-shirt on, almost tight to the body, inked arms on display, as well as tattoos that littered around his neck. His hair was in a low bun, stubble on his chin, and you kind of felt your breath hitch in your throat. You were looking at him over Steve’s shoulder, and Eddie’s eyes landed on yours, and for a second you felt a shiver run down your spine, something that has been happening a lot recently… more than you liked.

“Welcome to my coven.” And just like that he moved to the side to let you all in, the warmth of his place invading the three of you, a sigh of relief coming out of each of your lips and you already wanted to take your coat off. You looked around and… it was certainly an industrial loft like you see in those New York movies. Brick walls, the kitchen on a corner, a wide living room, a black leather couch with a coffee table in the middle, and a wider 55” TV in front.

You also spotted a lot of 80’s rock posters that were put into frames, making them more stylish. An electric guitar next to the TV was standing there, an amp right next to it. You spotted a library as well, and you will snoop into it later just like he did back at your own place. Then you saw the door that was a bit opened, and it was a very nice full bathroom.

And on the other side, you saw some stairs leading up to another part of the home, and you could guess his bedroom was up there. He lived in a better place than you, and… his style was impeccable, so of course that was the first thing you blurted out.

“Holy shit, I really thought this would be a mess knowing you.” And you now noticed thanks to their laughter that Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle were all sitting on the couch and on top of the wide black fluffy rug below, their drinks sitting on the coffee table that’s in the middle.

“Yeah well, it was. Everything was so mismatched.” Nancy replied and then Steve snorted behind you as he walked towards the kitchen to put the snacks on the island counter and you followed to place the six-pack on the black marble.

“I helped too… This guy has no taste in interior design.” He said and you laughed loudly at that, nodding.

“Now, that makes so much more sense.” “You all fuckers know I’m here, right?” You heard Eddie right behind you, a shiver all over your nape at how low the voice sounded to your ears. Was it always that low? You giggled to hide the nerves and the knots appearing in your stomach, taking your coat off and turning around to face him, handing the fabric to him.

“Oh, I do know. What of it?” And Eddie rolled his eyes at you, snatching the coat off your hand to then turn and see Robin and Steve handing theirs to him with smirks on their face. “You know where to put them.” He said it with anger, yet he grabbed their jackets and went to hang them on his coat rack. You ripped your eyes away from his waist, which caught your attention by the movement and the jingle of his metal belt. You turned to start opening up your six-pack, taking the coronas out, grabbing one for yourself, only for it to be snatched by a ringed and tattooed hand.

“Hey!” You were about to turn your head only for lips to slam against your cheek. Your body heated up by a hundred, to a temperature you haven’t felt in a while. You looked to your side and Eddie was intensely looking at you, and your heart skipped a beat. A cheshire grin spread on his face as he straightened up again, opening the beer for himself.

“Thanks, Peach.” And just like that, Eddie walked away and towards the couch. You turned your head to look at Steve and Robin who were chatting away, putting snacks in bowls, not even noticing what had just happened.

Your heart was beating strongly, that much you knew, but Eddie was just a touchy person. You two are friends, that’s all you are. You sighed and grabbed another Corona, popping it open, before walking towards the circle of friends, sitting down on the rug next to Argyle, who had a goofy smile on his face as he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“So, how is my brochacha doing?” You smiled at your sweet friend, pressing a hand on his shoulder.

“I am doing good. How about you, my long-haired adonis?”

“Hey!” You turned your head to see Eddie with a frown on his face and his hands up. You rolled your eyes at him, ran a hand through Argyle’s hair, and showed the ends to the other long-haired man in the room.

“This? Is taking care of the hair. You on the other hand have a rat’s nest.” And at your words, everyone almost spat anything that they were drinking, except for Eddie who simply squinted at you with fiery eyes.

“I have curly hair, not silky one.” And Argyle threw his hair over his shoulder in a diva manner.

“I am the long-haired Adonis. Deal with it.” Eddie rolled his eyes at his friend but still chuckled loudly as he took a sip of his drink. Steve and Robin soon joined in, Robin sitting on a bean bag chair while Steve sat next to Jonathan, giving his boyfriend a smooch on the cheek in greeting. Your lip twitched upwards at the sight and then your eyes went towards Robin who was smiling while looking at Nancy who was blushing behind her glass.

That leaves three single people in the room. And to think you weren’t one of those a month ago, and now you are glad you are not anymore. Not with the wrong person. You took a long sip of your beer as your heart clouded, mind reeling in memories that do no good. Not now.

A pair of brown eyes were looking at you and he straightened up, clearing his throat in a loud manner to make everyone, including you, look at him. Eddie looked at Robin, pointing at her.

“You said you bought a new drinking game.” He suddenly spat and Robin squealed, and she groaned when she realized she left her purse on the kitchen counter, getting ready to push herself up, but Nancy straightened up and stood up from the couch.

“I’ll get it!” She said contently and walked to the kitchen island to fetch Robin’s purse and you noticed how fondly your best friend was looking at the bright-eyed girl as she approached the group again and handed the purse to Robin.

“Thank you, baby.” And everyone in the room stilled. Nancy grew red, and Robin became mars. They were both stuttering and shit. You looked at Eddie who also looked at you with the same alarmed look on his face and you knew that he knew the situation of their relationship.

You took a quick sip of your beer and then you pretended to choke, coughing uncontrollably and aggressively, making everyone turn their heads to look at you. Argyle perked up and started patting your back with a little bit of force to try to help you cough it all out.

“You okay my friend?” He asked and you nodded, clearing your throat and doing a few more little coughs for good measure.

“Yep, yeah, it just– went through the wrong pipe.” You cleared your throat and Eddie was already putting on music on his phone and towards the speaker. Soon enough, Bad Bunny filled the room and you frowned at the choice and looked at Eddie who was red with embarrassment.

“Since when do you listen to… latin music?” Jonathan spoke this time and Eddie stuttered for a bit, a snort threatening to leave your nose and mouth. You had to stay strong, you had to hold it in.

“I uh… I am trying to expand– my music taste.”

And your snort was what did it. Everyone just started cracking up at the whole chaotic situation. Nancy was still blushing though giggles escaped her lips as she sat back down next to Eddie. Robin shot you an appreciative look through her laughter and you saw Nancy bumping Eddie’s shoulder with hers.

“Okay, okay… shut up!” Robin finally yelled and she took a deck of cards from her purse. “Here is my new game. It’s called ‘Everyone drinks’ and it’s just, grab a card and do what it says in there. Simple.”

“Really? That simple?” Steve asked skeptically and Robin nodded with a mischievous look on her face as she opened the deck and placed it in the middle of the table.

“You start Dingus.” She said with a triumphant look on her face and Steve rolled his eyes and leaned to grab a card and read it. His eyes widened and he looked at Robin and then at the card again.

“Yeah, no. I’m not doing this–”

“Read it out loud babe. What is it?” Steve gulped as he looked at Jonathan and then back down at the card.

“Using your mouth, put a condom on a person’s thumb. Not doing so equals… Six sips of your drink.”

You all started laughing at the dare and soon came to realize that… if you do not complete the dare, you have a punishment. Oh… this was going to be bad. Jonathan was belly laughing real loud as he looked at his boyfriend.

“Seriously Stevie? Are you telling me you’re embarrassed to do that when you do it to–”

“NOBODY needs to know that.” And Steve grabbed his solo cup and started taking the sips mentioned, making everyone giggle and laugh at the situation. Robin sniffled and wiped the tears that slipped out of her eyes as she pointed at Jonathan to keep going. He laughed and leaned forward to take another card out, reading it first and laughing before saying it out loud.

“Everyone that had sex while drunk, drink four sips.” Everyone in the circle did an ‘Oh’ in understanding. It wasn’t just individual dares, they were also group questions. Everyone drank the sips except for Robin and Argyle, making the rest of you frown in question. Robin you knew she didn’t like that, but Argyle–

“I always get high, that? I do. Drunk? Never.” He smiled as he finger-gunned Robin who was on the other side of the table and she winked at him. Eddie rolled his eyes and smirked as he pointed his bottle at Argyle.

“Your turn Adonis.” And you shot a glare towards him, knowing he was making fun of you, but you felt yourself gulp when he was already smirking at you and sent a wink your way. Your attention was ripped away from him when Argyle leaned forward and took a card out.

“The last person who had sex takes three sips.” He looked at Robin for instructions and she nodded at him and straightened up.

“Now we go one by one saying when was the last time we all had sex. The most recent one drinks.” She looked at you now and you frowned in thought, blinking a few times before speaking.

“A week ago.” You looked to your right so you could look at Nance, and you also caught the intense brown eyes looking at you but paid them no mind, acting as if you didn’t feel them at all. Nancy was a blushing mess as she looked at Robin and then back down at her cup.

“Two… days ago.” Steve whistled at that and Robin threw a cushion up his head, making Nancy giggle as she looked at Eddie. He was looking at the ceiling, trying to think and he was scrunching up his eyes in order to remember correctly.

“Four days ago.” That surprised you, but why should it? He is handsome and well, it’s obvious he has hookups. Those semi-naked stories on Instagram are for someone… or many? You gulped as you shook those thoughts away trying not to think about how much your friend fucks per week. None of your business.

“Um… Two days ago as well.” Robin answered to Eddie’s stare and Steve whistled again, earning a punch on the shoulder by Robin and he yelled a little ‘ow’ as an answer while rubbing the place she hit.

“What a cunt… Three days ago.” Eddie let out a small whistle too and Steve only rolled his eyes at him while Jonathan chuckled.

“Same I guess.” And then you all looked at Argyle who seemed to realize that it was his turn, giving a little jump in his place. “Oh, today!” He said with a smile and all the people in the room almost stood up with surprised looks on their faces.

“What!? With who!? Spill it!” You yelled at him and he raised his hands in innocence while looking at you in a panic.

“With Eden! The girl I matched on Tinder! She is– Oh god guys, she is so perfect… We got high, I made some pizza and– perfect date.” Okay, maybe it’s just you and Eddie the only single people in this circle. You gave Argyle a pat on the shoulder with a smile on your face.

“Good job.” He giggles at you like a little kid and motions for you to pick a card. There was a fun nervous knot in your belly as you smiled, reaching over and grabbing a card out of the pile. You read it first and your eyes widened a little in surprise but the smile didn’t leave your lips.

“Say what you like to do the most during sex, or take a shot.” Everyone in the circle let out a synchronized ‘Ooooh’, making you snort a little as you go into thought. There were many things you liked during sex, but you had to pick one. You had soft ones, mild ones… and rough ones.

“How much thought you gotta put into this?” Steve chuckled at your indecision and you shot him a glare and straightened up with a triumphant smile on your lips, deciding on one thing.

“Okay, well… I like to ride.” And Eddie instantly spat what he was drinking and Steve laughed loudly as the rest stared at them with wide eyes. Did you say something funny?

“Fuck– Sorry, didn’t expect you to say that.” Eddie commented as he cleared his throat looking back at you. Your eyes squinted at him, licking the inside of your cheek.

“And what did you expect me to say?”

“Hell if I know, just not that.” Eddie finished, taking a long sip of his beer as Jonathan raised his hand up to talk.

“I didn’t expect it either, to be honest.” You rolled your eyes, not really understanding what they thought of you. It’s not common for women to take initiative, that’s true, but it’s a position that… became your favorite the past year. Be it with a dick or a strap-on, it was the only way to feel, or pretend to feel, full.

“Okay, my turn.” Nancy smiled as she reached over to take a card from the pile, and Eddie looked over her shoulder to look at it as Nancy’s smile slowly fell. Eddie snorted, eyes widening as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stifle his laughs. Nancy shot him a glare before hitting his shoulder. “Shut up!”

“I’m– this is great.” He only mumbled as he shook his head with a smile on his face and Steve motioned Nancy to continue.

“What does the card say Nance?” She straightened up and cleared her throat as she looked down at the card.

“Sit on a person’s lap for a whole round. In not doing so, you will have to take two shots.” You stifled your own laugh now as you looked down but you could hear everyone else snorting softly and clearing their throats.

Robin though, simply straightened up and you looked up to see her patting her knee. Despite the nervousness, you could clearly see in your friend’s features, she was making moves, and you were proud that Robin was finally feeling a bit more confident in trusting Nancy. Her face was bright red and it worsened when Nancy stood up from her place and walked towards her, falling on her lap, making the bean bag chair sink even farther than before.

“Cozy?” Argyle asked and you snorted but still elbowed him on the arm, making him laugh, and clearing his throat.

You looked at Eddie who was smiling as Robin whispered something to Nancy, making her relax and giggle as Robin’s arms were around her, one hand resting on her knee, and the other arm around her waist. You felt your heart do some kind of little jump at how supportive he was of Nance, just like you were with your Robs.

“C’mon Eddie, stop laughing and pick a card.” Robin spat at him and he rolled his eyes at her, flipping her the middle finger before reaching out to pick a card out of the deck. For the second time in the night, Eddie Munson spat a bit of his beer as he choked on the liquid.

“Sh-Shit.” Eddie coughed a few times as everyone looked at him completely startled.

“The fuck does that card say?” Steve asked with curiosity. Eddie blinked a few times and you could see he was trying to come up with a fake sentence, stuttering as he read the card, so you pointed at him.

“He is going to lie!” And at your warning yell, Nancy reached out and snatched the card away to look at it. Eddie cursed under his breath as he sighed, scratching the back of his head.

“It’s not even that bad.” Nancy explained with a pout and Jonathan nodded at her with a confused frown on his face.

“Read it Nance.”

“Name your favorite sex position.” And at Nancy’s words, Steve let out the biggest laugh you’ve heard in the night. You frowned as you looked at Argyle for answers but he just shrugged at you with the same confused look and then you all turned to Eddie who was fuming, looking at Steve who was talking in between his chuckles.

“I know it. I’m sorry it’s just–” and Eddie stopped him.

“A fucking coincidence. It’s all it is, goddamnit.” And it seems Jonathan’s head clicked because he let out a loud ‘Ooooh’ and then started chuckling into his hand as he took a sip of his drink, making you even more confused than before.

“What’s a coincidence?” You asked and then Nancy started laughing as well, already angering you that everyone was putting a puzzle together in their heads while you were yet to understand anything that was going on.

“C’mon Eds. What’s your favorite sex position?” She insisted and Eddie’s eyes clenched tightly and then sighed, looking at Steve with pure hatred in his eyes.

“Cowgirl.”

Huh? That’s it? That’s not—

“Oh.”

Silence. Absolute silence. Your face started to heat up, slowly, as well as your entire body because– fuck, the images. You can’t imagine that. Not with Eddie. He is just a friend who helped you through your breakup. So you two share the same sex position, what’s the big deal?

“Damn, I love it too man, but reverse cowgirl is where it’s at.” Argyle commented, finally breaking the silence and you couldn’t hold it in, snorting out a laugh. Brown eyes were staring at you, bewildered, but a smile started creeping on his face and soon he was laughing alongside you.

“You know what’s funny?” Eddie called out to you and you opened your eyes to look at him, a mischievous smile on his face as he leaned towards you, making you lean and tilt your head to look at him. You were sitting after all, and you weren’t even close to eachother, yet, you could smell his cologne, like a fire spreading all over your body.

“What’s that Munson?” You replied with a sly smirk, which Eddie enjoyed as he pointed at Steve.

“He likes cowgirl too… and he likes to be one.” Jonathan spat everything that was in his mouth, cracking up loudly and shaking his head, while Steve turned three shades of red, grabbing onto a Dorito and throwing it in Eddie’s way.

“I’m going to fucking kill you after this.” Steve grumbled under his breath as he took a sip out of his beer and looked at Robin to continue the game while Jonathan tried to regain his breath next to his boyfriend. Argyle was patting his back, holding back the laughter while your shoulders shook, keeping the snorts in.

You looked up in order to see Robin asking Nancy to grab a card for her since she couldn’t move, but you noticed in your peripheral vision, a pair of dark eyes looking at you, almost boring into your skull. You turned your head to see Eddie moving to sit on the floor as well now, next to you.

“May I help you Munson?”

“Wanted to sit like the peasants.” He replied with a smirk, taking a sip of his beer and you raised an eyebrow at him, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“Aw, did you feel a little bit lonely on the couch?” You giggled as you fixed your hair, pushing a strand behind your ear. “Needed some company?”

And Eddie stared at you, an eyebrow raised up, almost as if testing you. You felt everything stop for a second, and that stupid knot in your belly turned again, bothering you once more. It was as if… you were nervous. Or anxious? But even so, you can’t pull your eyes away from him at all, and they widen as a smirk forms on his lips, leaning close to you, and a voice you never heard before coming from him. Low, only for you to hear.

“You offerin’ Peach?”

What?

“Everyone that ever cheated, takes two sips!” Robin’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Eddie was looking at Robin with a roll of his eyes, and your best friend clapped in excitement that no one in the room cheated before with any partner.

But– What? Did Eddie just– No… He didn’t. He was just teasing, like a friendly banter. Fake flirting and all that. This is what it was, wasn’t it? You are definitely overthinking. Yet– why the fuck did you like it?

You took a long sip of your beer and noticed it was already empty. Soon, you all had your second drink of the night and the dares and truths kept coming, making everything enjoyable and fun.

Steve gave you a peck on the lips because his card said to kiss the opposite sex or he takes a shot, and he wasn’t going to risk his head with either Robin or Nancy.

Jonathan took a shot because he preferred to not do the dare he got. He disliked the idea of having to take a body shot out of someone’s belly button, even if it were Steve’s. In Jonathan’s words, you never know what goes in there, and you honestly agree with it.

Argyle probably got the funniest of them all.

“C’mon Brochacho, get up!” Eddie was whining next to you, shaking his head and you were laughing as you patted his shoulder.

“You just have to stay still, Eds.” And he only shot a glare your way as he got up from the floor to walk towards Argyle who was jumping up and down in excitement with his phone in hand.

“I swear to god–”

“Yeah, right there’s perfect man.” Argyle pressed play on his phone and the music in the place changed to Everytime we Touch by Cascada and laughter was heard all over the room while Eddie groaned with a whine as he looked up at the ceiling, asking for mercy.

“I want to die.” You heard him talk but not a second later, Argyle started to seductively move around Eddie while the metalhead stayed still. Steve whistled through his cackles and tutted at Argyle’s movements.

“The card said ‘Use a person as your personal stripper pole or take three shots.’ and, as far as I know, you GRAB onto stripper poles!” You almost spat what you were drinking as Eddie’s eyes turned murderous, looking at his best friend, but Argyle wrapped his arms around Eddie and slowly started grinding down.

You were filming a story for Instagram, trying to contain your laughter as you saw Argyle dancing on a very scary Eddie Munson. Your cheeks were burning and aching from how much you were smiling, and everyone else was just clapping along to the music until Eddie had enough, raising his hands up.

“Okay, it’s done!” He yelled as he ran back next to you, plopping down on the rug, exhaling harshly, and shaking all of his limbs as if that would wipe his memory from what had just happened. The music turned back to a background volume and into an 80’s mix as Argyle sat back down on your left again.

“I do personal private dances for fifty.” And Jonathan laughed, taking a few sips of his Margarita. You were still giggling at the video you took, tagging everyone in it, ready to upload it. But a strong hot breath stopped you from pressing ‘post’, very close to your cheek, and it smelt like tobacco, beer, and firewood thanks to his cologne.

“Post that, and I wreck you.”

You clenched. Shit, that– He is just close, that’s all. For fuck sake, it’s just the cologne. You were always sensitive to smells and perfumes, and a good perfume on a man did wonders. You took a deep breath to calm yourself down before straightening up and turning your head to look at him. The knot in your stomach became painful when your nose touched his from how close he was.

His brown eyes were staring into yours, deeply, and if you were in a state of delusion, you would think he was showing interest in them. It just made your stomach turn, your heart jump out of your throat, and it made you– nervous. It’s just Eddie. He is messing with you. Totally fucking messing with you, because that’s just who Eddie is.

A ping was heard and Eddie’s eyes blinked in surprise, pulling away to take his phone out of his back pocket. His eyes widened, jaw dropped as he stared at the notification. His eyes slowly turned to look back at you, and all you had was an innocent smile on your face as you locked your phone again, putting it on the table.

“I’d like to see you try Munson.” And Eddie only stared at you as you reached out to get hold of a card. He hummed to himself as he looked back down at the notification of you tagging him in an Instagram story. You sat back down as you read the card for yourself, mouth dropping instantly as you cleared your throat, putting the card down.

“Um… Can I pick another one?” Everyone booed at you and you shook your head at them, feeling your entire burning a hundred degrees. “It’s just–”

You couldn’t even finish your words, the card being snatched away from your left hand in one move, draining all the blood from your body. Your stomach was flipping upside down as you saw Argyle’s smile widen as he read the card first.

“Kiss the first person on your right, on the lips, or finish your own drink and theirs.”

You would have done the latter, if it weren’t so much, because your bottle was halfway full, and Eddie had a brand new one open. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest, but you didn’t know why you were caring so much. It’s not like it’s anything crazy, it’s just a kiss, and friends sometimes kiss for fun without it meaning anything at all… right?

“Jeez Peach, is my face that unpleasant?” You blinked, turning your head to see Eddie with a smirk on his face, making your face turn into a mocking one.

“Maybe it is Eddie.” You would have thought that his smirk would have fallen by now, but it remained, as well as his eyes staring right into yours. You felt a sharp pain right in your chest and you knew your nerves were getting the best of you now.

“It’s just a kiss!” Robin yelled from her chair and you glared at her as Nancy giggled on her lap. Your palms were sweating, fingertips tingling as you tried to gather up courage. You weren’t a fucking teenager, you were a grown woman, you shouldn’t be flustered by this. But Eddie is your friend now, it would be like–

“It’s either that, or you chug those two beers Peach.” Eddie was taunting you, the smirk still showing on his lips with that playful look in his eyes. His shoulder was brushing against yours as you both stared at one another. You gulped gently in order for him to not notice how nervous you felt, because you would be kissing your friend, and you really don’t want to make it weird.

But you really don’t want to chug those beers… And you can’t deny that there’s some curiosity inside of you. After all, the first time you saw Eddie you thought he was handsome. Probably even tried to flirt with him. With time, that attractiveness disappeared thanks to all the hate you felt for him and him for you… But what if it never truly disappeared? What if it was hidden?

He was sitting with his legs crossed, leaning back, using his hands and arms for support, your friends whistling for you to move and kiss him, to get over with it. And they’re right, you just have to do it and you can move on. There’s no meaning behind it. You just don’t want to do the stupid chugging. That’s all there is.

You don’t want him. You are just nervous because he is a friend and friends don’t normally do this. It can turn everything awkward so it’s normal to feel weird about doing it. But it is just a meaningless kiss. It really is just a small and boring kiss.

You leaned towards him and you couldn’t reach him. You would have to move your entire body to lean all the way to his face if he didn’t lean in to meet you halfway as well.

“Munson.” You gritted out through your teeth in annoyance. He just kept grinning at you, staying in his same spot, not moving a single inch towards you.

“You are the one that has to kiss me, Peach.” Your eye twitched at his cockiness. Is he the king of England? You heard Jonathan and Argyle chuckle at the situation and that only ignited the fires within you even more, the annoyance starting to boil in your chest. Eddie lost eye contact with you to laugh with them and your arm shot upwards.

Your hand gripped the back of his head, your nails digging into his scalp and holding him tightly there, forcing him to turn his head towards you. His eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted to say something, but you didn’t let him. No. He doesn’t get to be cocky and make you seem like a coward.

You pulled him towards you, and he winced when he almost lost his balance on his arms thanks to your force. His breath was close, his cologne was stronger, making you feel a little lightheaded, but in a good way. It means nothing. It means absolutely nothing, and nothing will change between the two of you.

Because you are friends now.

But you didn’t expect for his lips to be soft. You didn’t expect to feel your stomach exploding and your chest having a heave of relief. You didn’t expect to feel an electric current go from the top of your head to the sole of your feet. You didn’t expect it to feel good. You didn’t expect the intensity of it all by just this small kiss.

You can feel him taking a deep intake of breath through his nose as you two kissed, and you held in the need of moving your lips because, fuck, you really wanted to move your lips on his. You wanted to keep kissing him because it feels so good, he feels– perfect. It was a small and short kiss, but you made sure it was deep. You made sure to taste it accordingly.

And you pulled away with a smack of lips. Your eyes opened to find brown orbs looking at you with something you really could not decipher, but it made your whole body light on fire, almost as if you were about to combust. His eyes went back and forth on your eyes and then down to your lips, to your now reddened lips that had just kissed his.

Was it the beer? Was the small amount of alcohol you drank able to make you feel like wanting to dive into another kiss with him? It must be. It’s done, that was it. A friendly kiss. Not even with tongue, just a peck, it was small and enough to complete the dare. You had to talk to lose the tension because you wouldn’t be able to take his stare much longer.

“Speechless Munson? Seems I’m really good.” That was your cocky answer in order to disguise the turmoil of nerves in your belly as you turned to the rest of the group who were still whistling and wooing you both. You flipped them off, not even noticing that Eddie’s eyes were still locked onto the side of your face.

The air in the room definitely changed.

“Never thought I’d see the day you two would kiss, but, it was less weird than you two becoming friends.” Nancy replied as she grabbed a card but what she said caught your attention, and it seemed Eddie’s too because he sat back up, staring at her.

“What does that mean?” Eddie asked and you felt another wave of cold sweat at his voice, and you tried to tell your head to not raise the temperature of your body again. You don’t want to give yourself away that you were nervous or felt awkward. Nancy just shrugged at the two of you and read her card out loud.

“Everyone that wants to have sex tonight, take a drink!” She cheered loudly with a smile and she turned to look at Robin before taking a sip. Robin’s face reddened as she took a sip herself, and Steve wiggled his eyebrows at Jonathan as he raised his cup to his lips while the other had already taken his drink and rolled his eyes at his boyfriend.

Should you lie…? But you could– You could mean anybody, it wouldn’t seem like you would want to do it with him, right? Would it look like that if you drank? What if he drinks? It probably doesn’t mean with you, doesn’t it? It’s just a general feeling, wanting to have sex. It’s normal.

So you took a sip, trying to not think too deeply into it, but then your eyes caught the tipping of a bottle on your right. You managed to not turn, keep your head forward, seeing everyone laughing, trying to not pay attention to the man on your right who had just taken a sip, at least until your nerves settled back to normal. You looked at Argyle with an eyebrow raised up.

“You– Oh right.” You giggled at that and he nodded at you with a playful look in his eyes.

“Don’t get me wrong, I totally would again, but I’m satisfied for now.” You giggled at that and nodded, feeling a bit of the tension leave your shoulders as you interacted with Argyle. You saw Robin reaching out for a card but Eddie raised his hand up.

“Nuh uh Buckley. My turn.”

“Huh? But Nancy–”

“Nancy was sitting next to me, between Peach and I. So technically, it’s my turn.” He didn’t address the fact that Nancy could already go back to her place, leaving her on Robin’s lap. Robin flipped him off and Eddie chuckled with victory as he grabbed onto a card and looked at it. You decided to break the tension with him as well because you just cannot keep being weird all night. You were acting like a teenager.

“What does that one say, Munson?” You were grinning towards him and he looked down at you, a smirk on his lips and you felt a bit of relief at the known interaction.

“All the people that wanted, at any point, to fuck a friend, take a drink.”

You blinked a few times, his words processing in your head, and then he put the card on the table, facing up. It truly did say that. You cleared your throat and you looked down at your bottle of beer. Why do you feel like you have to take a sip? Your mind kept going back to Instagram stories with a bare chest that was filled with tattoos, dirty overalls, and ringed fingers holding tools or beer cans.

Your mind went back to his lips on your cheek. To his voice against your ear. To his breath against your cheek and lips. To his lips against yours. To his words.

No, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that. He is a friend. Eddie is just a friend.

“Why are you drinking Jonathan?” Steve asked with an eyebrow raised up and that made you snap out of your thoughts, looking at the couple. “We are together, so we don’t count babe.”

“Well…” Jonathan then pointed at you with a smile on his face. “You forgetting that I went on a date with that beautiful girl there once?”

And you smiled at that, nodding and raising your beer with relief, clinking it with his. Maybe it wasn’t exactly sexual attraction, but… you can pretend it was. You were saving your ass. You knew you were. The realization already happened, but you can just hide it. It won’t happen, it cannot happen because it would just ruin the friendship, the group.

You took a sip as well as Nancy and Robin. Argyle took a sip and he explained that back in California, he had this group of friends from the pizzeria he worked at, and there was this girl that was just too pretty for her own good. You were listening to him, not noticing the other person that took a sip of his beer.

A person that wouldn’t have taken a sip before. A person that has been hungrily looking at you all night. A person who has been stalking your Instagram more than he should. A person with brown eyes whose interest is at its peak. But maybe, just like you, it’s better to not do anything about it. Save the friendship, don’t commit to it, not because of just sexual attraction.

Besides you two are adults, and you can handle these urges.

Can’t you?

end of chapter 15

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A/N: slowly but surely. it's not called a slowburn for nothing.

Taglist is closed! I will start deleting people that do not interact with my posts.

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okay-j-hannah · 2 months

Text

Part 8: The Favor

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 2 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining and depressed, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good}, amnesia, finger picking, AGAIN ANGSTY AS HELL

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Don't worry

100% recommend listening to rain sounds when you get to the end part where it's a thunderstorm.

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor {You Are Here}

“No, I’m sorry, who are you?” The look on your face sends a wave of hurt down Stiles. “How do you know my name?”

He’s gripping the steering wheel of the jeep, cruising with Scott and Allison in the car. Lydia had gone missing about twenty minutes ago, the police at the hospital taking witness statements and rallying an APB.

With you indisposed, the trio decide to take matters into their own hands. That doesn’t mean Stiles is free of the hurt. You really have no idea who he is.

“Alright, but if Lydia’s turning, would they actually kill her?”

Allison is fretful, “I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. Okay, all they say is, ‘We’ll talk after Kate’s funeral when the others get here.’”

“What others?” Stiles looks in the rearview mirror.

“They won’t tell me that, either.”

Stiles sighs, “Okay, your family’s got some serious communication issues to work on.” He yells at Scott whose head is out the window, “Scott, are we going the right way?”

Scott sniffs the rushing air and says, “Take the next right!”

“This is really turning into a real shit night.”

Allison is chewing on her fingers, “(Y/N) really doesn’t remember us?”

“She’s lost her memory from the last few months,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “She remembers last summer but doesn’t remember starting her job at the hospital. That means her memory stops around October of last year.”

“God…” Allison mumbles, “Did they say if her memory would come back?”

Stiles digs his thumb into the ridges of the wheel, “They called it retrograde amnesia, and there’s a chance the memory loss could come back if they treat the underlying cause. But the cause was an anoxic brain, and they just needed to oxygenate her body to fix that. I don’t…” he slams a hand against the wheel as Scott slides back into the car. “This is what happened to…”

“Happened to…?” Allison presses, but it was Scott who answers.

“His mom,” Scott’s voice was quiet and full of sympathy. “There were days she didn’t know who Stiles was.”

Allison looks mortified, “Stiles, I am so…”

“How close are we?” Stiles cuts in, jaw set.

Scott points toward the woods, “It’s coming from that direction. We’re definitely closer – the scent is stronger.”

“There’s no way she’s a werewolf, right?” Allison says in a shaky voice, an attempt to get past the topic of you. Clearly this expedition to save Lydia was a way to distract Stiles. “You said her bite didn’t heal.”

“I know,” Scott frowns, not-so-subtly looking over at his friend to gauge the hurt he was feeling. “Maybe it was a late reaction?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles muses, tone a little rigid, “This has got to be something else. Peter made it clear that she either turns or she’s dead.”

Scott directs the jeep further into the woods, “Maybe we should try to get ahold of Derek?”

“I’m done being on speaking terms with psychotic alpha werewolves,” Stiles goes off road into the trees and leaf-strewn ground. “I want that guy out of here by the next full moon.”

“Do you think he’ll leave town now that he’s gotten his revenge?” Allison muses, eyeing the back of Stiles’ head just as much as Scott was looking. “He avenged his sister, right?”

Scott shrugs, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to create a pack of his own.”

“And he can do that somewhere else,” Stiles scoffs, bouncing along with the jeep, “Go back to wherever he was the last six years.”

“(Y/N) wasn’t bitten, right?” Allison asks quietly.

Stiles is quick with the answer, “No, just… she was just thrown around a bit. No teeth action.”

“With all the supernatural stuff happening to us… hearing about (Y/N)’s heart problems just seems so – human, don’t you think?”

Scott gives his girlfriend a warning look, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I think her memory will…”

“Can we drop the whole (Y/N)-amnesia thing?!” Stiles grumbles.

Allison is swift in her retort, “She’s my friend too, Stiles. I’m allowed to be worried about her just as much as you!”

“Let’s not do this right now,” Scott says in a louder voice. “Lydia’s scent is coming from there.”

Stiles parks the jeep, leading the way into the moonlit forest and the house far in the distance. The Hale House. He’s still grumpy as he asks, “She came here? You sure?”

Scott stands back with Allison, hands nearly touching, “Yeah, this is where the scent leads.”

They keep walking, “Alright, but has Lydia ever been here?”

Allison shakes her head, “Not with me. I don’t think with (Y/N) either.” She talks with Scott in hushed tones, “Maybe she came here on instinct, like she was looking for Derek.”

“You mean, looking for an Alpha.”

“Wolves need a pack, right?” she asks, “Would she have been drawn to an Alpha? Is it an instinct to be part of a pack?”

“Yeah, we’re stronger in packs.” They watch Stiles wander around the tree line, inspecting the area as he goes. “Like literally stronger, faster, better in every way.”

They could see the breaths coming from their mouths, it was so cold. Allison pulls her beanie over her ears, “That’s the same for an Alpha?”

Scott nods as something tightens around his ankle and lifts him into the air. Allison muffles a scream and backs away, watching her boyfriend be pulled toward a tree.

Stiles makes a funny choking sound, squatting on the ground and holding a black wire between his fingers, “Sorry, buddy.”

“Stiles, next time you see a tripwire… don’t trip it.”

Allison smiles, cheeks rosy from the cold, “Let’s get….”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Scott flails in the air, waving them off, “Someone’s coming. Hide!”

The pair of them jump into action, Stiles grabbing Allison’s arm to pull her back towards the woods. No sooner had their footsteps soften on the leaves as they hide behind a tree, did a group of hunters appear from the backside of the house.

“Oh, shit,” Allison mumbles into Stiles’ shoulder, “They probably thought about Derek too.”

“I can’t hear anything they’re saying,” Stiles bemoans, “This is stupid.”

Allison clutches his arm, “It’s going to be okay.”

In a quick motion, Stiles slams his head into the tree. Considering they were already pressed into it, the hit wasn’t that hard. “Things are anything but okay.”

~~~

The boys huddle into the locker rooms as Coach yells for them. Isaac fumbles with his equipment, joining the back of the pack.

“Quicker!” Finstock yells, “Danny, put a shirt on.” The coach prattles on, “Stilinski, that means you! Let’s go, gather round. Listen up.”

Isaac searches the office wall behind Finstock, looking for you. You were always near the Coach during team meetings, usually holding an energy drink or pointing out things Finstock failed to mention to the team.

But you are nowhere to be seen.

“Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. It’s a sick girl, roaming around, totally naked.”

Isaac remembers how the Sheriff questioned him about the same advisory that morning when he reported the strange grave robbery at the cemetery.

“Now, it’s supposed to get below 40 degrees tonight. I don’t know about you, but the last time it was that cold, and I was running around naked… I lost a testicle to exposure. Now, I don’t want the same thing happening to some innocent girl. So police are organizing search parties for tonight.” The Coach brandishes a piece of paper and Isaac can visualize the rolling of your eyes at the poor delivery of the speech.

Finstock tapes the paper to his office window, “Sign up, find the missing girl, you get an automatic ‘A’ in my classes.” He smiles at the instantaneous cheers, but Isaac is of the few standing still.

He holds his duffel bag and looks for you again. There was no way you’d let Coach give students straight A’s like that. You were his voice of reason – the only way classes came out coherently and fairly graded.

A swarm of players rush past him, but Isaac lets his eyes roam until he finds Stiles and Scott. He knew you were friendly with those two, more so than him at least. He walks over to the boys at the shower entrance.

“Um… hey…” he says awkwardly, holding the strap of his bag with two tight hands.

Scott looks taken aback, but is friendly anyways, “Hey, Isaac.”

Stiles is a little more blunt, “What do you want?”

“I uh… I wanted to ask where (Y/N) was,” he wrings his hands, “Usually she’s at these team meetings.” He notices the way Stiles looks to the ground, letting Scott speak first.

“She’s still at the hospital,” he says calmly, “She won’t be back for a while.”

Isaac knits his brow, “Oh, is she okay?” Again, he notices how Stiles scoffs at his shoes.

“Yeah,” Scott says with a lackluster tone, “She’ll be fine. Did you need her for something? We can give her a message.”

“Just… I haven’t seen her in class and – we miss her.” He has a hard time looking them in the eye, “And maybe that Coach is running rampant without her.” His lips upturn ever-so-slightly, “She’ll want to know her assisting is very much appreciated.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles cuts in front of Scott’s laughter. “I didn’t realize you and (Y/N) were close?”

Isaac wipes the smile from his face. “We’re not. Not outside of class at least.” He grinds his teeth, “She’s great. She’s always been kind to me. I’d hate if something happened and I didn’t know about it.”

That seems to appease Stiles, a flash of guilt washing over his face. “Right.”

~~~

The days seem to darken. Even with the promise of spring right around the corner, the world seems dusky, like the sun was a dimmer set low. Stiles’ lens was filtered with gray, shadowing his perspective with melancholia.

He spends his afternoons chasing the supernatural with Scott. But his nights he spends alone – quiet – in his room. He sits at his desk, spinning from side to side to look at the bulletin boards on the walls.

The one directly in front of him was all about you. He had covered it up with a blanket when you slept over that one time. A family picture and a selfie he got from your social media are pinned in the middle. Countless strings are between the picture of you and little bits of information.

A few green strings lead to fun facts like:

Watches true crime

Likes to read

Works at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital

Born in Palo Alto, California

Fireman Tom

Front Desk Westbrook

Atrioventricular canal defect

A yellow string leads from the fact about a congenital heart defect. It spreads to multiple pictures, article clippings, and website screenshots on the heart problem.

“Children born with this condition have a hole in the wall between the heart’s chambers. They also have problems with the valves that control blood flow in the heart.

Atrioventricular canal defect allows extra blood to flow to the lungs. The extra blood forces the heart to work too hard, causing the heart muscle to grow larger.”

“Ventricular tachycardia is a type of irregular heartbeat, called an arrhythmia. It starts in the lower chambers of the heart, called the ventricles. A healthy heart typically beats about 60 to 100 times a minute at rest. In ventricular tachycardia, the heart beats faster, usually 100 or more beats a minute.

Sometimes the rapid heartbeat stops the heart chambers from properly filling with blood. The heart may not be able to pump enough blood to the body. If this happens, you may feel short of breath or lightheaded. Some people lose consciousness.”

He has a red string leading to an unknown section about the 3-inch incision on your chest. After hearing you mention that it was a device inserted near your heart, he did some more research. It might have been an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator, or an ICD.

Those devices detect irregular heartbeats and deliver electric shocks to hopefully restore a regular heart rhythm.

Other blue strings lead to theories he has about why your CHD correction wasn’t permanent, as well as solutions to your persistent tachycardia.

The other side of the board has a few other green strings that lead to a picture of you, Lydia, and Allison. Another is the name ‘Andrew’ written sloppily and then crossed out repeatedly with a ballpoint pen. A few short strings lead to the various situationships in your past and some notes on their kissing techniques.

Overall, Stiles was proud of the research he had conducted on you. But staring at it wasn’t making him feel any better. He was exhausting himself over retrograde amnesia, failing to put those details on your bulletin board.

He was hoping it would correct itself before he had to.

He barely registers that his dad enters the room. “Hey, kid,” he says, void of his sheriff uniform. “How you holding up?”

Stiles shrugs and it pulls a sigh out of Noah. “Listen, I’m glad we were able to find that Martin girl tonight. We should consider that a real victory.” Stiles just nods and Noah continues, “I uh… what in god’s name is that?”

He looks over Stiles’ bulletin board. “Research,” Stiles mumbles.

Noah sounds hesitant, “Right. Um… should I be concerned about this?” He searches his son’s vacant expression, “Like, are you peeping into her windows and stealing things from her underwear drawer?”

“What?” that snaps some life into Stiles, “No! No, dad, it’s not like that. It was a little inside joke from when we first started hanging out. Then it kind of turned into me trying to figure out what her heart problem was.”

Noah looks to the side with the medical research, “You know… uh, the Westbrooks called.”

“And?” Stiles looks up with dull brown eyes.

“And the doctor says (Y/N) should be exposed to things that might trigger her memory back. Stuff that she doesn’t remember.”

Stiles bites at the inside of his cheek, “Like me?”

Noah takes a deep breath, folding his arms. The reserved Stiles before him was disconcerting. “Having you visit might help.” The Sheriff tries to find something helpful to say – his wife was always better at these things. “They’ve had Scott sit with her and she remembers the few times they ran into each other during her early hospital days; back when she was still getting surgeries.”

“I don’t know how I… how do I sit there and…” Stiles leaves his hands limp in his lap. “How am I supposed to help? Pretend that I don’t know anything about her? Act like we’re meeting for the first time?”

“Maybe,” Noah grimaces, “I’d start with keeping this bulletin board to yourself. It might scare her into getting a restraining order.”

Stiles cracks the smallest smile, “How long is she going to be at the hospital?”

“About two or three days,” the Sheriff scratches the scruff on his chin, “They’ll probably keep her from school for even longer.”

“She’ll need to keep up on homework,” Stiles sighs, “She’d hate to miss out on so many assignments.” His small smile grows, “Of course she’s already done with her end of term projects.”

Noah smiles, “Even that biology one you guys were supposed to do together?”

Stiles shrugs, “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.”

They both share a laugh before Noah beckons him, “You should go. I’ll tell Tom you’re on your way.” He looks at his son, nostalgia flooding him.

Little Stiles jumping across waiting room seats. Little Stiles following the nurses around. Little Stiles foraging for snacks in the vending machines. Little Stiles afraid to talk to his mother who didn’t recognize him.

Little Stiles that cried in the hallway while he was busy with a police dispatch.

“Hey, it’ll…” Noah tries, “… it’ll be okay.”

Stiles looks drained, but he smiles at his father’s attempt. “Thanks dad.”

It was a long drive to the hospital. It felt like the world around him was moving in slow motion. It was like his jeep was gliding on the road with no traction. It didn’t help that he let the ringing in his ears be the only source of sound.

There was a tightness in his chest that wasn’t as warm as before. It was accompanied by an anxious knot in his stomach. Hospitals were bad enough. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his mother while he sits with you.

Knots in his shoulders, he walks into the hospital with shuffling steps. He vaguely remembers running into Melissa. He barely notices how the Westbrooks dismiss themselves to grab lunch.

He’s in your doorway and watching the line of confusion grow between your brows. The look of someone meeting a stranger.

And he’s suddenly eight years old again.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he says with a growing lump in his throat.

You fidget with the blanket laying over your legs. Your eyes are uncertain, “Hello. Um… are my parents…?”

“They’re grabbing lunch,” he says, hands in his pockets, “Is it okay if I visit for a bit? The doctor said it might trigger your memory.”

You look reluctant and it pains him. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” you watch him pull a chair over, “I don’t think you told me your name before.”

He tries to swallow past the lump, “Stiles.”

“Stiles,” you say quietly, as if you had never said the name before. “Stiles what?”

“Stilinski.”

Your eyes brighten, “You’re a Stilinski?”

He snorts, “Yeah, my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Woah,” you smile, “Your dad has been to my house a few times.”

Stiles nods, reminiscent of your first conversation together searching the woods for Scott all those weeks ago. “And you’re front desk Westbrook’s daughter.”

That makes you giggle, “I like that nickname.” It grows quiet for a few seconds while you consider his deflated figure. His eyes are downcast and his hands are stuffed in his pockets; you can see his leg starting to bounce. “Are we really good friends?”

His muted brown eyes turn to your brighter ones. “Yeah, we are.”

You nod, “For how long?”

“Since January when the school came back from winter break.”

You give a side smile, “So I did manage to start public school.”

He licks his lips, “Yep. And being a medical assistant here and being a teacher’s assistant to Coach.”

“That’s amazing,” you remark, “I didn’t realize… I’ve been dreaming about doing those things for years, but the fact I did… and I don’t even remember.”

Stiles frowns deep, “You haven’t gotten any of your memory back?”

You shake your head, “I get these flashes sometimes and I can’t tell if they’re dreams or not. Like… blue spray paint on my arms.”

Stiles’ face brightens with hope, “That’s – that’s real! That’s not a dream. We had a spray paint fight when we were fixing my jeep.”

Your eyes snap to his. A strange guilty feeling enters your stomach. It was bad enough disappointing people simply because you couldn’t remember them. Seeing the hope on his face makes you fill with pressure. You two must’ve had a pretty significant friendship.

“What other things have we done together?”

Stiles takes a tight breath, “Well… we’ve had dinner together. You’re an excellent cook. We painted my jeep and took Scott to get drunk on the preserve. We did a few school projects together and hang out at lacrosse practice. I took care of you when you were sick,” he suddenly looks you right in the eye, “I was there when you broke up with Andrew.”

Your eyebrows go up, but you don’t interrupt him.

“I was there when you got those claw marks on your shoulder – and other times you felt in danger,” he swallows hard, “We went to the winter formal together.”

“I went to a school dance?” you breathe out quietly. “Was it amazing? I’ve always wanted to go to a school dance.”

Stiles rubs his suddenly clammy hands down his pants, “It was. You looked great.” At seeing the light shining in your eyes, he continues. “You wore a dress that had these sparkling stars on it. The… y-you let the scars on your chest show. You were… you looked beautiful.”

“Did we slow dance?”

“Yeah, we did,” he sighs, chest aching. “It was the only dancing you could do that didn’t mess with your heart.”

You feel a drop of insecurity enter, “How much do you know about my heart?”

“I know about the heart defect and the tachycardia,” he rubs at his face. He could really take advantage of the situation here and learn more about your condition. But as quick as the thought came, it left. He wasn’t going to manipulate you like that. “I know you had a device put in last summer.”

“And that’s it?” you ask quietly. “I didn’t tell you more?”

“You always felt like it wasn’t the right time,” he shrugs, “But I suppose you might feel differently once your memory comes back.”

You brush your hair away, “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

A sadness creeps into him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry. I hate seeing the disappointment,” you gesture to his slumped figure, “I really am trying.”

“I believe you,” Stiles says with a little more vigor.

Your eyes are a little wide as you say, “My mom told me you were the one to find me and bring me here.”

Stiles bows his head, visions of your bloodied figure going purple from the lack of oxygen. “Like I said… it’s not your fault.”

“And you’re saying it’s yours?” It was an honest question, but you said it with such sarcasm that it takes you aback to see the seriousness on his face. He really believes it was his fault. “From what I hear, you saved me Stiles.”

“Not all of you,” he winces a smile, leaning back in the chair, “If I had been sooner… maybe your heart wouldn’t have given out in the parking garage.”

“You don’t know that,” you say quietly. You may not recognize the boy, but it upset you to think he was blaming himself for your condition. “Regardless of whatever retort you can think of… you brought me to help. If you hadn’t done that then I would’ve been dead for sure.”

He doesn’t see the point in arguing with a version of you that doesn’t even know him. “Maybe. How has your heart been since being here?”

“Fine,” you say quickly, “I’m ready to get back home.”

“Ollie misses you,” he smirks.

You gush, “Oh my god, you know Oliver! He’s my handsome little man.”

“That he is…” Stiles laughs, “Very handsome.” He plays with his fingers, leg still bouncing from the rising anxiety in his stomach. “Is this helping with your amnesia at all?”

Your shoulders rise in a shrug, “I’m not sure. Nothing has come to me yet. But I do like talking to you.” You have a sweet smile on your face, “You mentioned I was dating someone named Andrew?”

“Just for like two weeks,” he says hotly.

You don’t notice, “I told myself I wouldn’t ser…”

“…seriously date anyone,” Stiles finishes, “That’s why you broke up. He was looking for something long term with you.”

Curious, you tilt your head to the side. “Was he cute?”

Stiles snorts, “Well… I guess. You had a crush on him.” He tries to stop his leg bouncing, “You have good taste too, he’s a good guy.”

“Is that why we went to the dance together?” you wonder, “Because I broke up with Andrew?”

“Technically we both went stag,” he says with a faux smile. A forced smile to keep you at ease. “But it was important to you to have the full experience – so I asked.”

You sigh, leaning against your pillows in thought, “You don’t realize how lucky you are to live such an average teenage life.” Stiles holds back his sarcastic laugh. What you said was so ironic. “I spent a lot of my life dreaming about the little things – silly things – like high school dances and playing sports and learning to drive.”

“Wait…” Stiles leans forward, “You don’t know how to drive?”

“No, I do,” you say defensively, “I have a license, technically.” You slump a little further, “But medically I’m not allowed to drive. The potential for fainting is a big red flag for driving. I don’t want to cause any accidents because my heart decided to give out on the road.”

Stiles has a wary smile on his face. “That’s okay, I drive you everywhere.”

“Is that with the jeep you mentioned?”

“Yep, my pride and joy,” he says, “It was my mom’s. She called him Roscoe.”

You remember how the Sheriff lost his wife. Something your parents told you after a few visits from him. You remember feeling sad that someone had died. Now you realize how sad it would be for a child to lose their mom as well.

“And we fixed him up one time?” You want to hear him talk more.

“Yeah, we put a new hood on him,” Stiles sighs out a smile. “You kept poking fun at how… how much duct tape and spray paint I have for him.”

You have a sweet smile on your face, “You want the car to last, I get it. Probably will be just duct tape by the time you turn him in.”

“Oh no,” Stiles waves his hands, “I’m going to keep this jeep for the rest of my life, even if it runs down. I’ll import custom parts to keep him fixed, I don’t care. I just need to find a way to make enough money to.”

You giggle and it strikes Stiles.

“What sort of job would that be?”

“I don’t know, maybe like an FBI agent or something.”

“FBI…” you nod, impressed, “That’d be cool.”

Stiles swallows, unsure of how to keep a conversation going with you. That was a feeling he wasn’t used to. It was so easy to talk to you before. He hates the awkward edge he feels brimming his smile.

“What about you?”

“Another one of those silly things I dream about,” you say sadly, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

His brow knits, “Spitball some ideas for me.”

You laugh again, “Maybe… a writer. Or maybe I’d open a cat rescue. Even better, what if I opened a cat café where you could read and buy books and pet cats.” The more you talk, the easier it was to spill your dreams. “I could be a nurse one day. Maybe work under a cardiothoracic surgeon. I could also just be a stay-at-home mom.”

Stiles feels that achy warmth in his chest more and more. “You want a family?”

“Of course,” you say as if it were the easiest decision in the world. “I always hated being an only child. It made being stuck at home so much worse. I’d want a bunch of kids.”

“How much is a bunch?”

You smirk, “I don’t know, like ten maybe.”

“Ten!?” Stiles jerks in his chair and it makes you laugh louder than before.

You wave a hand, “I’m kidding. I think four might be my max.”

Stiles wipes at his brow comically and your following giggle keeps that ache pulsing in his chest. “I think all those ideas are great. I think I’d even read a book written by you.”

“Are you not a big book reader?” you ask.

He winces, “If it’s not for research I don’t usually partake.”

“That’s a shame. There’s some really good fiction out there,” you smile. But there’s a sudden shift in your expression. “Have we had this conversation before?”

Stiles feels a tug at his heart, “No, actually. We don’t talk about the future much. Usually it’s whatever has happened in the past before we met – or what our friends are up to.”

You nod, a little reassured. “I would hate it if you just pretended like you didn’t already know this stuff about me.”

“When it comes to you, (Y/N),” he says confidently, “I’d say I’m scarily unfiltered. I say things to you that I don’t to anyone else. I don’t think I could pretend.” Even with his feelings for you – they came out in the littlest of ways without him voicing them directly.

That puts the smile back on your face, “It makes me sad not remembering you. It sounds like we got along really well.”

“We did,” he says quickly, “We do.”

You pull at the edge of your cotton blanket, “Our friends seem nice too – Allison and Lydia.”

“Nice might be a little kind for Lydia,” Stiles laughs, “Maybe a faux cold-hearted rich bitch is more appropriate.” He feels proud to rouse a look of shock on your face, “She’s all talk at school, but she has a good heart and is super smart. Just don’t get on her bad side.”

You chuckle, “And Scott sat with me a couple times. He looks different than what I remembered.”

“It’s been almost six months from where you memory ends,” he says, “That makes sense to me.”

“Do you…” you falter, “Do you think I will remember eventually?”

God, I hope so, he thinks. “I think you’ll get a few things back,” he says honestly, “I don’t know about everything. Amnesia is stupid like that.”

You frown, “Will you still – hang out with me?”

“Of course,” he says instantly, “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know it’s probably overwhelming.”

“It is,” you push back your hair again, “But I still want to try.”

~~~

The next week is full of anxiety. With spring right around the corner, March appears with sunny days and average temperatures. The promise of rain was on the way. It was nearing the next full moon and Stiles was full to the brim with nerves.

You still hadn’t come back to school, and he was finding it hard to come visit you. Meanwhile he and Scott try to tackle school one day at a time. Scott finds ways to see Allison while the overly watchful eyes of her grandfather become an increasing pressure.

The old man, Gerard, was still living at the Argent residence after his daughter’s funeral. His presence brought a newfound fear to the group.

He was the one at your door when you heard it knock.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he says with a smile. “I’m Mr. Argent, the new principal at Beacon Hill High.”

You blink a few times before awkwardly saying, “Right, um… hello.”

He raises his eyebrows, “May I come in?”

You look behind your shoulder for a moment before muttering, “Sure, we can sit here.” You gesture to the sitting room with the piano just beside the door. The older man nods his thanks and finds a seat in a comfy armchair.

You follow and sit on the loveseat opposite him. “How can I help you?”

“I’m just checking in on your progress since leaving the hospital. Many of your teachers have asked about you returning. I understand you experienced some memory loss the night of the school dance.”

“Yes,” you say, sitting on your hands, “I don’t remember any of it.”

He leans his elbows on his knees, looking at you seriously, “And you haven’t regained anything?”

“I get these flashes sometimes,” you mutter, looking towards the carpet beneath your toes. “But those seem like dreams to me. I don’t recognize them.” At his persistent look, you elaborate, “Like visiting the mall or a lacrosse field or the woods.”

He nods, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any intention of returning to public school?”

You swallow hard, “Well, um… seeing as I don’t remember any of it – I think it would be hard to pick up where I left off.”

“Our staff is willing to accommodate to your situation,” he finally leans back, “We’ll give you special permission to use more resources and have extension time on all assignments. We want to make sure you’re comfortable in returning.”

“That’s good to know,” you say, noticing Oliver enter the sitting room. He jumps onto the couch with you, “I’ll need to talk to my parents about it.”

Gerard gives another strange smile, “Of course. Are you getting any of your course work from friends at least?”

You grimace – does he mean the friends you don’t remember? “I’ve had a few homework things dropped off.”

“Some from my granddaughter, I believe,” he chuckles, “She’s always had a good heart, that one.”

“Who is your granddaughter?”

“Allison Argent,” he says.

You widen your eyes, “Oh, yes – Allison. She’s been helping me with some assignments. I didn’t realize her grandfather was the principal.”

“Like I said, my position is relatively new.” He claps his hands together, “Please reach out to the office if you plan on returning full time.”

Meanwhile, in the middle of town, Stiles and Allison are at a hardware store looking for something to help Scott with the upcoming full moon. Allison was intent on being involved this month, her first full moon since learning the truth of it all.

“You used handcuffs last time?”

“On the radiator, yeah,” Stiles grumbles, looking at the shelves stocked with tools. “And he still got out and almost killed (Y/N).”

Allison gasps softly, “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. If Derek hadn’t shown up, I think he would’ve…” he stops at the end of the aisle, “We need something that won’t break as easily. Heavy duty.”

“Like… chains?”

Stiles waggles a finger at her, “I like your thinking.” He checks the signs above each aisle for what they need. “We can chain him up somewhere until the moon sets.”

She follows, her intentions on more than just helping Scott with the full moon. “(Y/N)’s told me you haven’t been visiting her.”

It’s like she can see the tension knot in his shoulders. His sneakers squeak on the tile floor, “And you have been?”

“I’ve been helping her keep up to date on our school assignments.” She watches the hunch develop in his posture. It was like he was deflating before her eyes, “Don’t you remember the doctor said exposing her to things she…”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says a little more coldly than before. “It’s just that…” He spots the chains and goes for them.

How does he tell Allison that seeing you might finally break his already tearing heart? He’s sure seeing the look in your eyes again – the polite look someone gives a stranger – would kill him. How does he explain the pain he feels knowing you don’t remember a single memorable thing you’ve done together? It was a new kind of rejection.

He prefers daydreaming about the you that knows him. The you that he feels more deeply about than anyone else before. The you that he now searches for in his sleep. It was now his favorite time of day.

Sleep meant he could dream about you. He could see you there, smelling of sparkling strawberries by the lake – looking like a sun warmed burst of color. He yearned for that peachy summer filter your presence brought to his life.

His days were dull without you. Like the world resorted to turning the brightness down because its sun had disappeared.

“I’ve been…”

“… distracting yourself?” Allison offers.

He grips a coiled pile of chains and pulls them over his shoulder, “Maybe. The full moon kind of takes priority the next couple of days.”

“Do you think (Y/N)’s in danger?”

“Not if this idea works,” he grumbles under the weight of the metal links. They walk towards the registers. “And with you helping it might make things easier.”

Allison pulls out some cash so they can split the cost. “First searching for Lydia, then looking into a new beta werewolf, now making plans for the full moon… you’re going to run out of distractions eventually.”

I’ll just sleep then, he thinks. You’ll be waiting for him there.

“Let’s tackle this first,” he says.

Allison sighs her frustration. “I wish there was a way we could just… reach in and pull the memories out, you know? Make her remember.”

Stiles drops the full weight of the chains on his foot, and he curses loudly, “Ah, fuck!” He bounces on his unhurt foot, panting as he has a stroke of brilliance.

Maybe there was a way to force your memories to the surface.

~~~

Scott is lying on your living room floor, Ollie hiding upstairs from the doggish presence. You’re sitting cross legged on the couch ottoman, listening to his woes.

“So you think the principal became the principal to spy on your secret relationship with Allison?”

“No, there’s got to be more to it than that,” Scott grumbles, arms splayed to either side. “He’s looking for something more. The Argents are… very loyal to their ideals. Once they set their minds to something – they accomplish it no matter what.”

“And by becoming principal, Mr. Argent is trying to accomplish… total domination over teenagers?”

Scott sighs out a laugh, sitting up, “Maybe. I’m sorry – I’m venting too much. It’s got to be super confusing for you.”

You shrug, “Just a little. I’m starting to piece things together.” You start to pick at your nails, a nervous habit you’ve been more partial to since the hospital. “Allison has been a big help. I think Lydia is still recovering from the attack, more than me at least.”

“And Stiles?”

You frown, “I haven’t seen him.”

Scott matches your frown, “He’s taken it pretty hard.”

“I thought as much,” you pick at your cuticles, “Why do you think that is?”

Sensing the touchy subject, Scott looks to the ground. “We all deal with hard stuff in our own way.”

“But he told me he still wanted to see me,” you say confusedly, “Even if I didn’t remember everything.”

“I think he holds a lot of guilt for the memory loss,” Scott defends, “He uh… he cares a lot.”

“I sort of got that from his last visit,” you wince, “I guess I wouldn’t want to be reminded of something I consider a failure.”

Scott furrows his brow, “You being alive isn’t a failure, (Y/N).”

“My amnesia is, though,” you sigh, “But it’s got me thinking… maybe there’s more to why he thinks of it as a failure.”

“What do you mean?”

You swallow, “I don’t know. It’s hard trying to figure this whole thing out. It’s like I’m trying to give a summary on a book I never read.”

“We’ve done that plenty of times in English class,” Scott smiles warily.

You chuckle at the joke. “I mean, I’m seeing the end of the movie without any plot. I don’t know what to make of anything I see. I hear of all these things I did, and it just feels like I’m out of the loop. I’m being told about someone I don’t even know.”

Scott nods at your words, happy to be your confidant. “It sounds hard.”

“And even with that, everyone is making an effort to stay connected to me. Everyone I don’t remember. Allison does homework with me, you vent to me about Allison, the hospital has put my work schedule on hold, the high school is making accommodations, even Lydia has texted me.” You grimace as you pull at the skin around your nail. Part of a cuticle tears away, “So why hasn’t Stiles? Why is he different?”

Scott bites his tongue. “This whole thing might mean something a little different for him.”

“In what way?”

“Just you,” he swallows, “You mean something different to him.”

“You mean, because he was the one who saved my life?”

Scott clenches his jaw, “Yeah, something like that.”

You suck on your finger. It stings where you tore the cuticle away. You taste blood on your tongue.

“We should do something,” Scott decides, “We should get the friends together and hang out.”

“And do what?” you ask, standing to find a band-aid.

Scott follows you to the hallway closet, “You have a firepit in the backyard. Maybe we roast some marshmallows?”

“You don’t think it might rain?” you wrap a plain brown band-aid around your finger. It almost surprises you to see two other fingers with the same bandage around the nail. “It’s been cloudy all week.”

“No, I think we’ve got a few more days before the weather gets real bad,” Scott waves a hand at you, “Would your parents be okay with it?”

“Sure,” you shrug, “My mom would probably be thrilled.”

Scott is already texting on his phone, “Perfect. I’ll let everyone know – do you have firewood?”

“Are you kidding?” you laugh, “My dad keeps the shed fully stocked. Marshmallows and everything.”

“It looks like Lydia is going to be at her dads place tonight,” Scott grimaces at his phone, “But Allison is available.”

You watch the dopey lovestruck smile grow on his face, “Won’t it… won’t it be terribly awkward for everyone? You guys have history to talk about while I… I don’t remember meeting any of you.”

Scott shifts his face into a serious expression, “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to still hang out with you.”

You fist your bandaged fingers into the pockets of your sweats. “I guess I can see it as a chance to get to know you guys better.”

“We could play like truth and dare, or answer get to know you questions,” Scott chuckles.

The next half hour has you creating a s’more station outside while Scott brings over a pile of firewood. He’s just exploring the depths of the shed when Allison appears, the sunset illuminating her in flattering light.

“Hey!” you say, glad to see her again, “I was just laying out the chocolate.”

Allison gives you a hug, eyeing her secret boyfriend carrying an armful of wood from the shed. “Perfect. Let me help with the camping chairs.” She hops over to kiss Scott before taking the covers off the chairs.

“Have you talked with Lydia recently?” you help move the seating around the firepit, “She was a little frazzled the last time I saw her.”

“She was a little shy coming back to school,” Allison admits, “But Lydia has always exuded a kind of confidence, even if she doesn’t especially feel it. The whole school was gawking at her, and she strut down the hallway like nothing happened.”

You nod, a smile of gratitude on your face, “I’m glad.” You notice how Allison deliberately set the chairs in two pairs across from each other, on either side of the firepit. She plans to sit by Scott, and across the fire, you sit by Stiles. “Is Stiles for sure coming?”

“He told me he would,” Scott throws a few more logs on their pile, “Just that he’d be late.”

As Scott was making a tent of wood in the firepit, a grumbling engine could be heard pulling in front of the house. You sit in your chair, matching cream colored sweatshirt and sweatpants on. You even had a green and blue flannel on over the sweatshirt for an added layer of warmth. It was something you just found in your closet.

Stiles appears walking around the house, hands in his pockets. His lips are in a thin line as he waves a hand in hello.

“How are you, Stiles?” Allison asks, ever the polite one.

He shrugs, eyes flitting between the remaining seats. He knows his best friend will want to sit beside his girlfriend. “I’m alright.”

Your eyebrows knit. Stiles doesn’t look very alright. He looks like he could collapse from exhaustion at any second.

“Hey, grab me some of that kindling, would you?” Scott says, kneeling beside the firepit and crumpling old newspapers into flammable balls.

Stiles leans down for a box of splintered wood and shaved bark. He gives the pieces for Scott to create a nest in the heart of the pit.

You fold your arms as the sun fully sets and the stars become more visible across the indigo sky. You observe the wrinkled nature of Stiles’ clothes – the dark rings beneath his eyes. He looks a little worse for wear.

“This is my first fire of the season,” Allison says, crossing her legs and admiring how Scott sets the kindling aflame, “I love having campfires.”

“Me too,” Scott says warmly, standing to go sit beside his girlfriend, “I’m a fiend for toasted marshmallows.”

“I like them a little on the burnt side,” she says in reply, enjoying how he easily slips his fingers between hers.

Stiles stands as the kindling burns more brightly, sending plumes of smoke into the air. His eyes find your form tightly wrapped in your chair. There’s a flicker of something sad in his gaze – guilt, pity, pain?

He walks around the pit and sits in the camping chair beside you. It was more like he collapsed in the chair, the legs scraping on the stones littering the ground.

“What about you?” you ask timidly.

Stiles looks at you with tired eyes, “Sorry?”

“How do you like your marshmallows roasted?”

His eyes are still sad, but something quirks in his lips, “Golden brown – although that’s dangerously close to burnt and that happens more often than I care to admit.”

“I don’t have patience for roasting marshmallows,” you say begrudgingly, “They’re never exactly what I want. I eat them too fast.”

Stiles swallows hard, moving his limbs slowly as if any faster would give him a headache. He spears two marshmallows on the end of a roasting stick. “And if you had patience for marshmallows – what would they look like?”

“I like them golden too,” you smile, “A little or a lot is fine with me. I just don’t like them burnt.”

“It gives them flavor!” Allison defies, “And it’s fun blowing them out when they catch fire.”

“Until they melt right off the stick,” Scott laughs, “And they burn in the pit like Anakin near the lava pools.”

You giggle, a strange flash of a dream crossing your mind. Yourself wearing a star wars t-shirt with a blue and green flannel. The same flannel you have on now. Was it a dream… or a memory? Was it like the strange memory of blue spray paint on your arms?

There was something stirring in your stomach. You could mistake it for anxiety or the painful churning of your insides – but something was trying to pry itself out of you. Watching Stiles rotate the roasting stick against the firepit was sending waves of familiarity through you.

The campfire reminds you of Stiles in a way. He reminds you of autumn and woods and campfire smoke. It makes you think of fallen leaves and flashlights and flannels.

Just as you remind Stiles of summertime – he reminds you of autumn.

“Did you hear about Isaac’s dad?” Allison suddenly speaks.

Scott sighs, “Yeah, he was taken out of lacrosse practice today to talk to the police.”

“I don’t think he has a strong case of his innocence,” Stiles mumbles.

“What happened to Isaac’s dad?” you ask, unsure of who Isaac even was.

Scott clears his throat, checking his marshmallow by pinching the soft white fluff. “He was murdered.”

Something cold and steely takes ahold of your limbs, “Oh my god, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it happened during the last rainstorm,” Scott continues, “I think they suspect Isaac.”

“Why would he kill his own father?” you ask with a slanted brow.

Allison prepares some graham crackers and chocolate, “I don’t think they had a very good relationship.”

“You could say that,” Stiles scratches at his neck, “Seeing as he comes to school with new bruises weekly.”

A small gasp escapes you, “That’s awful…”

“You’ve actually helped Isaac with it before,” Stiles says, “You’ve taken him to your house and cleaned him up after a fight.”

You find it hard to swallow, “I’m glad someone did. Has there ever been an investigation at the house for child abuse?”

“Not that I know of,” Stiles sighs, “Isaac has never wanted any trouble.”

“That doesn’t make any of it okay,” you say more to yourself, “Is he still being questioned?”

“I think my dad might take him into the station tomorrow for further questioning,” Stiles says.

You tilt your head towards him, “As in, Isaac is going to be arrested?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says quietly, “I wouldn’t be surprised seeing as he’s their biggest suspect with a damning motive.”

You don’t realize your fingers are searching for more tender skin to pick at around your nails. Scott puts his toasted marshmallow on a prepared cracker and proceeds to set another on fire. Allison giggles as she smashes one s’more down.

“I haven’t seen Isaac,” you say quizzically.

Scott presents the marshmallow aflame on his roasting stick for Allison to blow it out. “He’s been asking about you though.”

Stiles removes his marshmallows from the fire as well. “He says Coach has been unreliable and chaotic since you’ve left.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Because I’m his TA?”

“He may be your superior, but that man is hopeless without you,” Scott laughs, “I honestly don’t know how Coach has kept his job as long as he has.”

Stiles is preparing two s’mores beside you, layering a graham cracker and chocolate with golden brown marshmallows. You are picking at your unbandaged fingers terribly.

Scott and Allison are preoccupied with feeding each other sticky s’mores while you stare into the dancing flames of the fire. You wince at a sharp pain. Looking down you see your fingers have pried a sliver of skin from around a nail. It stings being exposed to the nighttime air and a blossom of blood speckles the tender skin beneath.

A large hand enters your vision – long fingers reaching for yours. He pulls your injured hand away and inspects the bandages on your fingertips. He places a readymade s’more in your palm. “What’s happened to Isaac isn’t your fault,” he says quietly, “Neither is Coach being manic – that’s nothing new.”

You watch his hand pull away, fisting in his lap as if regretful to touch you without your permission.

Taking a deep breath, you look at the perfectly cooked s’more, “Man, there weren’t even coals yet,” you say with mustered warmth. “This looks amazing.”

You catch him staring at your smile. The tiredness is evident in his look, but the fondness that warms his eyes is undeniable. He holds his hands together like he fears they’ll move for you if he didn’t.

The gooey marshmallow sticks to the sides of your face as you eat. It’s exactly how you like it, and you can’t help giggling at the sticky sweetness melting on the chocolate.

Stiles is watching you with something sad and sweet in his face.

“Thank you,” you say, cracker crumbs littering your lips. “You didn’t have to make me one.”

“I wanted to,” he says in return. “I wanted to see if that marshmallow would stay on the cracker or not.”

You snort with a full mouth. Bits of sticky fluff are on most of your fingers and stuck to your cheeks. You flick your fingers, seeing how some of the marshmallow was gripping the fraying fibers of your band aids.

“Oh, shoot,” you shake a hand free of crumbs. “I’ll be right back.”

As you rise from your chair, Stiles grips the arms of his – like he was about to stand with you. His eyes follow you all the way to the back door.

Scott clears his throat loudly and Allison nibbles the marshmallow from her fingers.

“What?” Stiles questions, still on the edge of his seat.

Scott wiggles his eyebrows, “You know what.”

Allison licks her lips and nods toward the house, “Take the chance.”

“Ah… god.” Stiles slips out of the chair, tripping on his way to the house. He opens the door and spies you starting to open new band aids at the kitchen counter.

“Oh!” you say sharply, “Hey – everything okay?”

“Um…” his throat was suddenly very dry, “I just – wanted to see if you needed help.” He walks to the counter and sees the pile of marshmallow coated band aids. “I know it can be hard to… wrap those on your fingers by yourself.”

You feel shy, hesitant to display your fingers, “That… that’d be nice, thank you.”

He ignores how your hands shake, unwrapping a band aid and picking a finger with raw skin around the fingernail. Some were scabbed over, and others were still wet with exposed, tender skin.

He’s soft in how he holds your hand, gently wrapping the band aid. “I’ve never seen you pick at your fingers before.”

“Me neither,” you say quietly, “I guess it’s just a new nervous habit.”

“What was making you nervous?” he asks just as quietly. He keeps his gaze on your hands, his own oddly cold against yours.

It leaves you free to look at his face without fear. You never noticed how thick his eyelashes were. You suspect they frame his bronze eyes well, especially when they were well rested. He also has a constellation of moles across his face.

You were tracing them with your eyes as you say, “I guess I was feeling guilty again for losing my memory. It sounds like people need me… the old me.”

I need you, Stiles thinks, upset at how the guilt was presenting itself in you. “But none of it is your fault.”

“That doesn’t stop the fact that lots of problems would be solved if I could just remember.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with hidden emotion, “I… I could’ve… if I had just stayed with you…”

Your brows knit as he applies a third bandage. “It’s not your fault either, Stiles. We’re both doing the best that we can.”

He clenches his jaw, “Maybe we should put band aids on all your fingers so you’re not tempted.”

You snort, “Thank you for helping me.”

Stiles smiles and again you’re struck by another one of his features. Stiles is cute, you think, he’s really cute. “You’re welcome,” he says.

He holds your hands for a second before lifting them to his lips. He kisses each of your bandages in a chaste, silly way. “Make-it-better kisses,” he says almost dreamily – remembering a past memory, “Your specialty.”

You’re stuck on the way his mouth hovered over each of your fingers. “You learned well, apparently.”

“You’re basically cured,” he smiles again, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Make-it-better kisses are a medical miracle, so they say.”

You nod slowly, “Maybe I just need a couple more of those to get my memory back.”

Stiles’ eyes blow wide, “Oh… oh my god – that’s not what I… I didn’t mean to insinuate – I mean, not that I’d be upset to do… ah, shit, I’m messing this up.”

Giggles are falling out of you faster than Stiles is running his mouth. “Stiles, I was meaning a forehead kiss. Help fix my brain.”

He lets out a loud sigh, “Of course – of course that’s what you meant.” He’s jerky and hesitant and terribly endearing as he leans over to place an awkward kiss to your temple.

~~~

The jeep stops with a jolt in front of the sheriff’s station. Through the blinds Stiles and Derek see a woman behind the counter.

Somewhere in the holding cells is Isaac, being held on suspicion of his father’s murder.

“Okay, now the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father’s office,” Stiles says. He grits his teeth, “The problem is getting past front desk Westbrook.”

It was Angela on duty, filling out her part on police reports behind the counter.

“I’ll distract her,” Derek says nonchalantly.

Stiles freaks, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he grabs Derek’s leather jacket, “You? You’re not going in there.”

Derek looks at the hand on his jacket like it might be his next snack.

“I’m taking my hand off,” Stiles says quickly. “That is Angela Westbrook in there – you can’t just ‘distract her.’” He uses air quotation marks.

“Sure, I can.”

“She’s married!”

Derek shrugs, “And I’m charming.”

“You’re a criminal!”

“I was exonerated.”

Stiles licks his lips, “You’re still a person of interest, and trust me, Westbrook is the last person you want to mess with. She almost always hangs up when I try to call the station.”

“That’s because you’re a hyperactive, overexaggerated teenage boy and I’m…” he adjusts his collar, “A handsome innocent person of interest that looks really good in leather.”

The look of acceptance in Stiles’ face was laughable. He couldn’t deny any of those points. “Fine. Try and charm her and see what happens.”

They wait as another police officer appears to talk to Angela, looking like they were about to head home for the night. It’s the opportunity Stiles needs to talk to Derek about one more tiny favor.

“So with me helping with this whole Isaac fiasco… I was thinking maybe you could do something for me.”

Derek whips his head over, “Excuse me?”

“A favor for a favor.”

“You know I could just walk in, knock everyone out, and break into that lockbox, right? I don’t actually need you.”

Stiles lifts his hands in protest, “You do if you want to remain an innocent person of interest!”

Derek stares him down uncomfortably, “What favor?”

~~~

The new spring rain was finally here, starting with a light sprinkle. You are on the couch, your favorite forest green blanket over your socked feet. Oliver is snuggled on your lap, enjoying the way your stomach rocked him back and forth with your breaths.

Angela sits with you, warming her hands on a mug of tea she brewed for you. “Chamomile and lavender,” she says.

You sigh, “Good for stress.” You give her a knowing look, paired with a smile.

“And sleep,” she says, “I’ll probably pass out in about ten minutes.” She laughs and then clears her throat, “You know, there was something super strange that happened at the station the other day.”

“What was it?” you ask, excited that your mom wanted to share about her workdays again. She had been worried about putting stress on your heart by telling you those stories.

She looks worried now, “It was a little chaotic.”

“Please, mom,” you say, “We haven’t just talked in a while.”

Angela seems to agree, taking a big gulp of her tea. “Well, we had a boy in holding for a murder – no, I won’t tell you who. And Derek Hale came in to talk to me.”

“Hale,” you mutter, “Wasn’t that the name of the family whose house…”

“Burned down, yes,” Angela says, “And while he was there, the boy broke out of holding and an officer I’ve never seen before was knocked out on the ground.” She shakes her head, “I have no idea how any of that happened on my watch. The poor officer had an arrow in his leg and everything.”

“Oh my god, from what?” you ask with pursed lips.

Angela shrugs her shoulders, “The Sheriff is looking into it, but I’m not sure. His son was by the holding cells when he got there.”

“That Stiles guy?”

She nods, suddenly looking at you with warmth – a question in her eyes. “That’s right. He’s a good kid. A strange one, but good.”

“Did you…” you start to say, “Did Stiles and I hang out a lot?”

Angela swallows, “You did. He thought we couldn’t hear all the times he climbed the garden trellis,” she smirks, “But your father and I aren’t that dumb.”

You scoff in surprise, “He climbed the front of the house?”

“A couple times,” she replies, finishing her tea, “He’s not exactly the most graceful person. It’s easy to hear him struggle up the vines and fall through your window.”

You laugh, “And you never thought to stop it?”

“Your dad considered it,” she says, pausing to hear the rain fall heavier on the roof. “But we knew you kids were fine. He might be a bit of a troublemaker, but I know he wouldn’t do anything to put you intentionally in harm’s way.”

Squinting your eyes, you suddenly gasp, “Oh my god, you approve of him, don’t you?”

Angela shrugs again, “Maybe.”

“You’ve never liked any boys I’ve brought over.”

“I think your dad still needs a little convincing,” she says, “But Stiles will win him over eventually.”

“I didn’t realize…” you say, flinching as thunder crashes overhead.

Angela shivers, “Well, that’s my cue for a nap.” She stands and stretches, “Warm tea, cozy bed, and rain in the background? Don’t expect me to wake up anytime soon.”

You laugh, “I’ll be here reading. Thank you for the tea, mom.”

“No problem, sweetie. I wish I could start on that garden, but the recommended time frame is the end of April,” she rolls her eyes, “My herbs are suffering in their little pots!”

You smile as she retreats up the stairs. The rain was really coming down now, pelting the roof like a hail of bullets. You always loved the sound of rain. Maybe it was the cliché book reader in you, but the weather gave the perfect conditions for a reading session.

Ollie sleeps soundly on your lap as you pick up your latest read. It was strange coming home to see a bookmark in a book you didn’t remember. It still sits on your nightstand, hopefully to be picked up again should your memories return.

In the meantime, you begin to read a new fantasy trilogy.

The rain and thunder continue for another half hour, Oliver choosing to sleep on an overturned pillow beside you. He snuggles his face into his fluffy tail as you read. You were just starting to feel sleep tugging at your eyelids when a firm knock came on the front door.

You close your book, apprehensive as the last time someone knocked on the door, the new principal sat you down to question your current whereabouts.

But you find that it was someone new. A tall handsome man with light eyes stands on the porch, sprinkled with rain.

He wipes the water dripping into his eyes, “Hey, (Y/N).” He looks up at the ceiling as if listening for something, “Can I come in?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you ask, shocked that this handsome man knew you by name.

“I’m Derek,” he says, pushing his way in and standing beside the piano.

You follow by quietly closing the door, afraid to wake your mom. One of the men involved in the strange chaos that happened at the police station was currently in the sitting room.

“Like Derek Hale, Derek?”

“You remember me?” he asks with confusion in his brow.

You fold your arms, “I remember your name on one of my mom’s police reports years ago. About a house fire.”

He clamps his mouth shut and nods. “Listen, Stiles and Isaac have been talking about you – asking me for favors.”

You remember your friends talking about an Isaac. “Okay?”

“I told them it might not even work, but alphas are usually the ones best apt to do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, arms tightly wound and your feet rooted to the spot. You are starting to get a pit in your stomach. Thunder is roiling outside.

“Just… jog your memory a little bit.” He takes a step forward and you suddenly find the ability to move backward as far as the room would let you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say quickly, “I don’t even know you!”

Derek holds up his hands, “You need to calm down. Your heart is stuttering all over the place.”

“Yeah, it does that,” you say angrily, fear overtaking you, “Especially when strangers threaten to do something to jog my memory.”

“It’s just some minor memory manipulation,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I haven’t really done it to extract memories out of someone else before, but it can be done.” He approaches your body pressed against the wall, “You need to hold still though – I don’t want to damage your spinal cord.”

You gape your mouth, “What the hell do you mean!?”

He takes ahold of your neck and you’re on the brink of a scream when he covers your mouth with his other hand. “I need you to stand still.” And he sinks his claws into the back of your neck.

You flinch and gasp behind his hand. Something sharp punctures the nape of your neck, heat trickling down from the top of your head to your spine. You feel a strange twinge of electricity and it makes you shiver.

A picture was filling your mind, crisp and warm as you close your eyes to see it better.

It was you in a pale yellow dress, bows in your hair, and your hand held tightly in Tom’s fingers. Judging by how you had to crane your neck to see his tall figure, you had to be about four years old.

Another warm image appears: dirty carrots being pulled from smelly earth. Your mom claps her soil stained gloves, proud of the garden you planted together. Little you was just as excited, taking a bite out of the carrot and grimacing at the gritty taste of dirt.

One memory flows in, a tinge of cold on the edge of this one. Like you found a cold spot in a pool of water. You were finishing a homework page your mom made on algebraic equations. A bitterness was in your chest at not being able to do it in an actual school.

Your mom appears to place a stapled packet of papers in front of you. You curiously pull the first page towards you and the top reads: ‘Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital – Job Application.’ You squeal and launch yourself into a hug with your mom.

The next memory that tries to surface isn’t as warm as the others. And it doesn’t flow in as easily. You start to get a headache as a cold image swims into view. A jeep driving through the woods.

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughs, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirks.

You flinch, the memory crumbling into something new – just as cold and difficult to resurface as the other one. A movie was playing in the background and a steaming meal was on plates in front of you.

He was describing a different meal to you, “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say, moving your plate, “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

He laughs, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” he says quietly, “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

Pain pulses in your temples as floods of memories try to pry through your vision. It was like trying to yank sharp rocks through a rubber hose. But the next memory appears with a slight warmth.

Your chest was fluttering with desperate breaths.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

“My heartbeat,” you say, tightening your fingers around his, “Your hand. And the cracking spray paint.” It was getting easier to breathe as you open your eyes to look at him.

You can see your initials drawn on his cheek with blue paint. He looks concerned as his thumb starts to rub along the inside of your knee.

Stiles, you think. That’s Stiles!

A burst of freedom surges through your head – like a lock being broken. You start to remember everything in between these colder memories. They start to warm with recognition.

Stiles is rambling, “… and I wasn’t sure how you felt about me being close when you weren’t in some kind of distress from your heart because so far the only times I’ve touched you has been when you were about to faint or your heart is racing or you just went through a traumatic ordeal, and seeing as being drunk and having a breakup bonfire with your friends is none of those things… I thought maybe you’d be mad at me for, you know… touching you.”

You smile as he gets even more adorably endearing, “I’m not mad, Stiles.”

He still looks ashamed, whispering, “Okay.”

“I would tell you if I didn’t like how you were touching me.”

He whips his head to you, his throat bobbing.

Your eyes start to prickle with tears. How did you not realize how much this boy was into you? The signs were all there.

“Get in the bed, Stilinski,” you mumble, already soothed by his woodsy honey scent. You breathe it in deeply, loving how he apologizes as he gets under the sheets. You relish in his awkward avoidance of your limbs, “It’s fine, Stiles,” you laugh, “We’re bound to touch being this close.”

He swallows hard, staring at the ceiling like avoiding your gaze would save him from the heat encompassing his heart. It was making his cheeks burn.

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

He bites the inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Tears are filling your eyeline, a drop racing down your cheek as the distant, cold memories are fully back in focus. The pain in your head was growing, but it was worth it to remember all this. The fact you didn’t notice Stiles’ feelings sooner was putting a pool of guilt in your stomach. The poor boy was being so terribly obvious now that you saw the scenes again in your mind’s eye.

He smells like candy, you think.

Your lips fall into an easy pattern. He moves his hands to the small of your back to remove any more space between you. Your noses brush and press into cheeks as you kiss.

He hums deep in his throat, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He places two quick kisses along your jaw and lands on your neck, right beneath the bend in your jaw. Your head falls back as he leaves chaste kisses there too.

“Is this good?”

You laugh with your eyes still closed, tears actively falling down your face. It was good, you remember. So good you actually have a crisis in thinking you might’ve made a mistake. You were in denial of any feelings you had for him.

Even when Allison and Lydia questioned you before the dance.

Your mind swims to the desired memory that you had forgotten. Projected stars fill the space as the band plays a soft song. You hold onto Stiles in a beautiful starry dress. You’re hidden from him as you’re pressed together, swaying to the music.

You wonder if that’s part of the reason you two have courage to talk. Neither of you were looking.

“What else?” you ask with a puckered brow. A warmth you now know to be likeness enters your chest.

He grips your sides, “I like… being this close to you. And smelling that wonderful fruity stuff on you.”

You laugh, “You’ve said that before.”

He smiles, “I like you in this dress. I like that your scars are out. I like the fact you came without a date because I get to dance with you like this. And I like knowing you’re smiling right now without me needing to look because I can feel it against my cheek.” He pulls away to see proof of that smile. “I like you, (Y/N). Like a lot.”

Your cheeks start to feel itchy with salty tears, a quiet sob making your breath stutter.

“Like a lot a lot.”

Before watching the aftermath of that dance play out in your mind, you force yourself to the present. Claws rip out of your neck, and you wince, wiping at the tears that had dripped down your chin.

“How…” you sniffle, “How did you do that?”

Derek looks serious, searching for side effects in your crying, “It’s just something werewolves can do.”

“Never heard of that one before.” You cover another sniffle with a laugh, “Thank you,” you say, “Thank you.” You jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s frozen for about three seconds before placing his hands gingerly on your back, “You’re welcome.”

You’re on your tiptoes to reach him, but it’s the perfect height to hide your face in his chest, “He was so devastated when I didn’t remember.” You recall Stiles when he first saw you in the hospital, “He has to be so upset.”

“He’s miserable,” Derek says gruffly, pulling you away. “I need you to fix him. I didn’t think he was capable of being any more annoying.”

Your smile suddenly drops, “I never got the chance to tell him.” Your hands fly to your hair, completely ignoring the pain still pulsating in your temples. “I went to find Lydia before I…”

Derek raises his eyebrows, “Before you…”

You look at him with red eyes, “Derek this is so important. I need a ride. Please!”

~~~

The rain is in full force behind you, providing a backdrop to your panting silhouette. Just traveling from Derek’s car has you soaked in rainwater. The sleek black car drifts away under the cover of thunder.

You’re shaking terribly, water dripping from your hairline and down your face. The porch at least gives you some cover while you wait. It was ridiculous. You left the house in such a hurry, you hadn’t thought to change.

You wear comfy sage green pajamas, matching with little white daisies on them. A sunflower yellow knitted cardigan lays wet and heavy over your shoulders. One sleeve is dangling further down your arm than the other.

Anxiously you check that the police cruiser is absent from the driveway. Then you hear the door creak open.

Stiles is there in dark blue loungewear himself. It brings out the purple circles under his eyes.

“(Y/N)?” the dull expression in his face suddenly changes to one of deep concern, “What are you doing here? Did you walk in the rain?” He’s reaching for your cardigan, wishing to pull you into the shelter.

But he hesitates – not knowing if it was okay to touch you so forwardly. Not knowing if you’d find it a violation that a near stranger lays his hands on you.

It breaks your heart.

“I need to talk to you.”

He blinks, hand falling to his side, “Yeah, of course.” He opens the door further and ushers you in. “You must be freezing.” He jumps to find a towel to cover your shivering figure.

You’re pulling the wet cardigan off when he returns with a giant fluffy towel. He sees the straps of your pajama top and immediately averts his eyes, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. He rubs up and down your arms for about two seconds before catching himself again.

He takes three steps back, rubbing at his face harshly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You aren’t sure if the tears ever stopped since regaining your memories; it was too hard to discern what was from the rain and what was from you. But you look at Stiles now with a deep warmth in your chest.

It was so large and so warm it was constricting your lungs. Looking at him was making it hard to breathe. “Are you not sleeping?”

He clenches his jaw, “I try to sleep as much as possible. It’s probably not very restful sleep,” he runs a hand over his shaved head, “But… it’s nice to dream.”

You want to touch his face, touch the circles beneath his eyes. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. I completely forgot and then there just wasn’t any time to.” You hold the towel around your shoulders, taking a few steps toward him.

He looks scared, his throat bobbing as you approach.

“That night at the dance,” you start, “We were on the dance floor, and you were saying such wonderful things.” You shiver, “And I was afraid to admit the things I was feeling.”

Stiles’ eyes were growing wide. Wide and desperate. They were silently pleading with you. The very air surrounding you two seemed to be sucked out. A hitch is in your chest as you continue:

“I never got the chance to tell you… how I feel.”

His eyes were growing warm, tears lining his bottom lashes, “(Y/N)…”

“I like you too, Stiles,” you say with a proud smile. “I like you a lot.”

You watch the breath leave his lungs – like his chest had collapsed. He’s screwing up his face like he’s trying not to cry, but a tear falls anyway. “Really?”

You give a breathy laugh, voice choking on the emotion in your throat. “Really.” And you let the towel drop from your shoulders, launching yourself forward to crash your lips against his.

He stumbles back and grips your waist for support.

You stand in the entryway, holding his face and kissing him deeply. You tilt your head and make the kiss deeper; he follows a second behind you, still recovering. He’s shaking just as much as you are now.

Goosebumps erupt on your bare arms, and you pull away to look at him. Tears are smeared on both your cheeks.

“You remember?” he whispers softly, moving his hands to hold your face.

You run your hands down to his chest, “There’s this little trick with a werewolf and my spinal cord,” you shrug, unable to stop smiling. “It pulled everything back for me.”

He’s still trying not to cry, twisting his lips, “Thank god,” he gasps a sob. “Thank you god.” He pulls you in for another kiss, soft and tender this time. He wipes away the wet strands of hair framing your face.

You take a deep breath, tracing a finger up his chin to the soft skin beneath his eyes, “You really need to sleep.”

“I do,” he licks his lips, eyelashes sticking together with tears, “Just to see you.”

You take ahold of his wrists near your face, “You need real sleep.” You tug on his hands and lead the way upstairs. The rain continues to fall, accompanied by rumbling thunder. It gives you something to listen to as you enter Stiles’ bedroom.

You take a quick peek at the disarray: clothes strewn about the floor, old books open and stacked precariously on scrap paper, lacrosse equipment dirty with soil and grass piled in the hallway. The bed is scrambled like he was kicking in his sleep.

Pushing him to sit down on the mattress, you turn to move toward the dresser, but his hand clamps down on yours.

“Where are you going?”

You look back at the instant terror that envelops his face. “I’m just going to change out of my wet clothes.” You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

At the dresser, you find a pair of plaid pajama pants and a shirt with a Doctor Who logo. In the hallway bathroom you change and comb through your hair. You’re hanging your wet clothes on the shower rod when you hear stuttered breaths coming from Stiles’ bedroom.

In a few quick steps you’re back in the room and see Stiles struggling to maintain his breathing. His eyes are still wet with tears and he’s holding his chest like it hurt. His head snaps to you when you enter, and a micro change happens in his expression – the smallest amount of relief.

You’re at his side in an instant, running your hands over his chest and to his face, “Stiles, it’s okay. I’m here and I remember. This isn’t a dream. We’re okay – I’m here.”

He nods his head, but still struggles to draw breath. He is fully panicking.

You grab the covers and pull them over you, crawling onto the bed and laying yourself over his body. Like a weighted blanket. You take deep breaths and hope he can mimic the feeling as he feels it against his torso.

One of his hands goes to your back, holding you to him. With his other, you intertwine your fingers. You pull your hands under your chin, giving them a kiss. With your head nestled into his chest, your free hand raises to be up by his pillow. You’re able to reach his short hair, running your fingers over his head in a soothing motion.

A tangle of limbs, your body holding his down, he starts to calm. He holds onto you like his life depends on it. Like if he lets go you’ll float back into his restless dreams.

It feels like hours later you both fall asleep, holding each other.

And it was the best sleep either of you have had in weeks.

~~~

Research Websites

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Ventricular Tachycardia

Implantable Cardioverter-defibrillators (ICDs)

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies @dullypully @taylordaughter @greenoliveslover @nataliambc @anehkael

#okayjhannah #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #fandomfantasia

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crazylittlejester · 1 month

Note

Sometimes, when I see this specific image I feel so much whiplash because WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT WAS WARRIORS DURING THE WOE!? HE LITERALLY HAS THE SAME CUTE CHEEKS AND BIG OL EYES THAT WILD HAVE!

(link to the post this is from) HE WAS JUST A TEENAGER AND WHENEVER I SEE ART THAT REALLY SHOWS HOW YOUNG HE WAS I GET SO SAD (he’s literally around my sisters age lmao, but like… but like he was a kid… and teenagers shouldn’t have to GO through that) I started replaying HW last night and literally in the beginning when everything starts and the enemies are advancing, one of the other trainees is like “Damn, I guess we just wait here until this battle is over, huh?” and then turns to Link and is like “Hey- Hey what’re you doing with that sword?” AND LINK JUST GRABS IT AND JOINS THE FIGHT, AND HE’S SO DETERMINED TOO. HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS ALL ABOUT TO HAPPEN BUT HE WAS PREPARED TO THROW EVERYTHING HE HAD INTO THIS FIGHT 😭 LIKE HE GOES UP AGAINST VOLGA THAT BATTLE, AND I’M 90% SURE THAT’S WHERE HE’D HAVE GOTTEN THE BURN SCARS JOJO GIVES HIM FROM (because Volga does throw him around a bit and spit fire at him, and I can’t remember if that happens at any other point)

THIS, from that same post, HAPPENS LIKE RIGHT AS A SOLDIER COMES IN TO TELL ZELDA AND IMPA THEY HAVE TO GO. This was like less than an HOUR before he went up against Volga. THIS is the kid who had no idea the triforce would protect him because he didn’t know he was special but who took on Volga anyway, and who surely would’ve died if he were anyone else:

he also did a backflip like, 5 seconds before this, because is he even Wars if he’s not absolutely ridiculous and extra?

I don’t think any of this was very coherent BUT I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT HIM. little Wars…. ough……….

(art cred to @/linkeduniverse)

#jes talks #jes ask #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu wars

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yuujispinkhair · 1 month

Text

Separation Anxiety (Chapter 14)

Put your lips on my scars and teach me to love

When a ritual separates Sukuna from Yuuji, Sukuna is delighted to find that besides having his own body, there is also another gift handed to him: The brat has lost all his memories and is now the perfect little plaything to take home and manipulate. At least, that's the plan. But the King of Curses isn't prepared for the feelings that come along with being human again. And another complication is how cute the brat is when he has no idea who Sukuna is and, instead of hating him, treats him with genuine love and affection. So, without realizing it, Sukuna suddenly finds himself on a journey of learning how to be loved and how to love.

++ Masterpost ++

Pairing: Sukuna x Yuuji Genre: Memory Loss AU, fluff, smut, light angst Word Count: 4.5k Playlist: Separation Anxiety Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, dub-con (Yuuji has lost his memories, and Sukuna lies to him about being boyfriends). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

A little reminder for this chapter: In this AU, Shibuya and the Culling Game never happened.

Chapter 14

I can't keep you in these arms, so I'll keep you in my mind (You and I - Stripped by PVRIS)

Sukuna's POV:

He wants to tear the whole city down. He wants to set the world on fire, wants to kill and destroy and hear the screams of thousands burning in his wrath.

But Sukuna doesn't do any of those things. He does nothing at all.

Because Yuuji is somewhere out there in this city, and Sukuna cannot risk hurting him or the people Yuuji cares about. On top of that, Sukuna knows that Yuuji would blame himself for the destruction and the deaths. Sukuna knows how his brat's mind works. Yuuji would convince himself it was his fault because Sukuna managed to escape the cage that Itadori Yuuji was supposed to be.

That foolish brat will always blame himself for every crime Sukuna commits. This will never change. But what has changed is that Sukuna doesn't want to use this knowledge against Yuuji anymore.

So Sukuna does nothing. He just sits in the dark in his living room, which is too silent without Yuuji's excited chatter and loud laughter. He has a glass of dark red wine in his hand, occasionally taking a sip while his gaze wanders over Tokyo's bright lights glittering in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows.

Even if Sukuna would burn this city down, he doubts it would bring him any satisfaction. Nothing seems to be able to do that anymore. Everything has lost its meaning. Uraume can serve him the most exquisite meal, and it tastes bland. This city could crumble to ashes, and it wouldn't lift Sukuna's spirits. It wouldn't be able to fill that emptiness in Sukuna's chest. The dull ache is back, stronger than ever.

Uraume stands behind him, waiting for Sukuna's orders, watching him, observing every little thing he does. Their presence never bothered Sukuna, but right now, he feels their gaze like needle pricks on his skin. He never felt as exposed before, like his chest got torn open, and his heart and soul spilled over the floor for everyone to see.

"We can get you a new pet, Master Sukuna."

Sukuna's hand tightens around the wineglass so tightly that it breaks. Dark red wine spills over his hand, seeping into this white shirt, dripping down his wrist, and onto the luxurious white carpet beneath his feet.

Sukuna stares at the growing dark red pool at his feet, looking like the spilled blood he just imagined. He doesn't like lashing out at Uraume, not after all the years they spent together, but it takes every last ounce of control to keep his voice low and steady as he answers,

"I don't want another pet. The only one I want is him."

No one else could give him what Yuuji did. No one else could make him feel the way his brat does. No one else could be worthy. No one else could even begin to know him like Yuuji does.

When Yuuji was here, Sukuna felt warm. But now he feels that old familiar solitude drowning him again in its cold, rough waters. It's even worse now than it was in the past. A thousand years ago, Sukuna didn't know what he was missing, at least. He didn't know love. He didn't know the warmth of a lover's embrace, the utter bliss of seeing trust and affection in someone's eyes, the comfort of a genuine smile given to him without any ulterior motives or selfish reasons. Back then, he didn't know what it felt like to be loved.

But he has been touched by love now, by this oldest and most powerful curse of all. There is no going back. Yuuji came into his life, tore Sukuna's walls down, kissed his scars, and changed him forever. It's irrevocable.

Yuuji's presence still lingers in the apartment, even weeks after he left. The cookbooks with his messy handwritten notes scrawled all over the pages where he added his own adjustments to the recipes. His clothes, carelessly shoved into the closet, despite Uraume's attempt to fold them neatly, still smelling like him. The manga he bought at one of the small bookshops, which he enjoyed so much, dog-eared and strewn all over the apartment.

And that photo album he made for Sukuna and himself.

I wish I had had something like that when I woke up and couldn't remember anything. Now, we will always have these pictures to look at! He had said, and now Sukuna is the one who leafs through the small album, feeling the pain in his chest becoming even worse.

He can see the change in himself in those pictures as the date progresses. With every page he turns, it becomes clearer that Sukuna has fallen in love.

He stares at a picture taken in front of the shrine in the park only a few weeks ago. Yuuji took it, holding up his phone, smiling his happy sunshine smile into the camera, and making a peace sign. He is leaning against Sukuna, who is standing behind him, both arms wrapped around Yuuji, hugging him while smiling into the camera with matching genuine happiness written all over his face.

Sukuna wasn't even aware he was capable of looking like this, so at peace with everything in the world. So content. So happy.

It's unsettling to see himself like this, with all those human emotions he thought he had locked away forever, so openly on display on his face. Sukuna's first instinct is to tear out those treacherous pages and burn them to ashes. He cannot let anyone see this testament to his weakness. His long fingers hover over the page with the picture where he hugs Yuuji in the park.

But he cannot do it. He cannot destroy those pictures. Instead, he touches them gently, tracing them with his fingertips, careful not to do any damage, like he is touching his most precious possession.

Once again, Sukuna asks himself what he is doing. He used to be a man who always took what he desired, a man who only did what he wanted. A thousand years ago, he wanted to become The Strongest and hadn't stopped until he had succeeded.

But what does he want nowadays? Even more power? Make everyone bow down to him? Kill all the sorcerers who aren't worthy in his eyes? Enslave every human? Wage a war on this whole world?

No.

Sukuna gets up and slowly walks over to the floor-to-ceiling window, stopping in front of it and gazing out over the endless city lights.

"I just want to live my life in peace."

He is surprised that he said the words out loud and even more surprised by how right they feel.

Peace. It's something Sukuna never thought he would want. In his past life, he had been restless, always pushing himself to become stronger, always striving for more, reaching for enlightenment and a god-like status. He had different lovers every night, never letting anyone get truly close to him, just using them to quench his desire. He watched cities burn to dust while already thinking about the next steps he had to take. He sat on his throne and ruled over the masses.

But nothing ever felt as good as this new life he had those last few months. Nothing ever brought him more joy than the peaceful, domestic life he got to experience with Yuuji by his side. The peacefulness of walking the streets without anyone recognizing him, without having to watch his back at all times for the traitors who wanted to kill him. The peacefulness of only having Yuuji and Uraume around him and not having to deal with all those fake people surrounding him who told him everything he wanted to hear just to get on his good side. The peacefulness of sleeping in Yuuji's arms every night, knowing he could rest without any fear of getting attacked in his sleep.

And suddenly, peace doesn't seem to be such a dirty word anymore.

A humorless laugh escapes Sukuna's lips. His breath fogs up the window, making the bright city lights beneath him blurry. As unbelievable as it sounds, Sukuna knows it's the truth. The only thing he wants nowadays is to live a peaceful life with the man he loves by his side.

Sometimes, Sukuna sees him down in the park in front of the house.

Sukuna knows Yuuji is coming here intentionally. There is no other explanation for it. That sorry excuse of a school is too far away for Yuuji to accidentally end up here in front of his former living space. And the way he's looking up at the penthouse leaves no room for doubt as to why he is here. Golden eyes gaze up intently as if trying to see through the mirrored windows.

In these moments, Sukuna feels his heart contract painfully. The longing is so intense that he finds himself pressing a hand against the cold glass of the window as if reaching out to capture the boy down in the park, to capture that dream of a life with him.

He has to remind himself that this is his own doing. He chose this. He pushed Yuuji away. He changed the locks. He shut Yuuji out of his life.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't eat him up alive.

The first time the brat returned, he rang the doorbell for a solid ten minutes, and Sukuna felt more fear than at the time he faced a whole army of jujutsu sorcerers in Heian times.

He barked at Uraume to not let Yuuji in and fled to the bedroom, only to end up asking himself angrily what was wrong with him. The strongest sorcerer of all time was hiding away in his room because he feared he wouldn't be strong enough not to answer the door! Pathetic!

Sukuna stood at the floor-to-ceiling window with his arms crossed, staring unseeingly at the city below him, while his mind was filled with warm, golden eyes, a bright smile, and cherry blossom petals on pink hair.

The same thing happened several days in a row. The boy came back and rang the doorbell, stubborn as always. But Sukuna stayed adamant and didn't let him in.

It took Yuuji a whole week to stop ringing the doorbell, but it wasn't enough to make him stay away. He still comes here all the time. He still goes for his morning run here in this park, just like he used to do with Sukuna. As if he is waiting for Sukuna to join him.

Sukuna had to change his schedule. He gets up an hour earlier now to finish his morning run before the boy comes here. He tried to avoid going out completely, but he missed those morning runs and refused to give them up. And yet, they don't feel the same anymore.

Those runs used to fill him with exhilaration. But now, the park doesn't hold the same beauty as when Sukuna was here with Yuuji. The shrine, where they used to go to make wishes, suddenly seems shabby and not very well looked after. And the park seems to be too small, too lifeless, with no animals and poor choices when it comes to the flowers they planted, with no sense for poetry or beauty.

But it's not just the park. The whole city is different. Dull would usually not be the word someone would use to describe Tokyo, but this is how it feels to Sukuna now.

All the noises that used to be almost overwhelmingly loud seem far away. The city lights and neon signs aren't able to illuminate the streets the way they used to. The world doesn't have the same bright colors it had when Sukuna was walking through it with Yuuji by his side and heard his loud laughter and neverending chatter.

When Yuuji was with him, it felt like Sukuna was a part of all this. Of this city, of this modern world. But now it has pushed him out again, and he is a mere observer from the outside, never belonging, never finding any connection.

It's ironic. Sukuna had wanted to become Yuuji's whole world. That had been the plan back when he decided to keep the boy as his little pet. But now Sukuna knows better. The one he truly played was himself.

Yuuji still has a whole other world that belongs to him. He has other people who love him. He has a life he can live. He can blend into this world naturally and find a way into people's hearts.

When Sukuna looks around, he knows that this is Yuuji's world. This city, these modern times. It all belongs to Yuuji. He can go out there and meet new people, make them love him, and build a new life with them. He doesn't need Sukuna.

The one who is alone is Sukuna. He is a thousand-year-old relic walking these modern city streets, always knowing that he doesn't belong. He is an alien in this world, has always been, and will always be.

Yuuji was the one who made Sukuna feel like he was a part of this world. Yuuji was the one who took him by the hand and dragged him along into this modern life with its movie theaters and coffeeshops and restaurants and bright lights and loud music.

When it comes down to it, it is always Yuuji. He is everything. Sukuna's whole world.

Sukuna thought he was on the safe side with his early morning runs. But he is proven wrong when he is halfway toward the little shrine on this chilly Thursday morning.

His senses tingle, alerting him of the presence of another sorcerer. But it's not just any sorcerer. What gives it away is the strange feeling of relief that fills Sukuna's chest, making him let out a loud breath. Those last few weeks, the dull ache of their severed soul connection was a constant pain in his chest, the mark of their separation haunting Sukuna unrelentingly. But now, that ache is getting less prominent with every second that passes.

And that's why Sukuna knows that Yuuji is here. An hour too early.

Sukuna feels himself slowing down without making the conscious decision to do so. He huffs, shaking his head as a bitter grin spreads over his face. How foolish he has become. How utterly weak. He knows the reasonable thing would be to run faster. To get away from Yuuji as fast as he can. But Sukuna finds himself unable to listen to his mind. Is that what he is now? A prisoner of what his heart wants?

He has come to a complete stop when the familiar, too-loud voice is heard behind him,

"Kuna!"

At least Sukuna still possesses the strength not to turn around. His shoulders tense up, but his voice is calm, not giving away how distraught he feels when he answers,

"You shouldn't have come. I told you to stay away, brat."

"I don't want to stay away! I want to talk to you! Please!"

Sukuna still refuses to turn around and look at Yuuji. He doesn't want to encourage the boy. But most of all, Sukuna knows the moment he looks at that pretty face, he will feel too much. He will drown in those emotions again, in that unfamiliar territory that makes him feel so terrifyingly helpless. Sukuna knows whatever he does, he must not turn around and look at Yuuji.

But, of course, Yuuji thwarts Sukuna's plan. Of course, he is his usual stubborn and fearless self, who doesn't even let himself get scared away by the fact that the man he lived with for all those months is the King of Curses. He jogs past Sukuna, breaking through Sukuna's last line of defense as if it doesn't even exist, and puts himself right in front of Sukuna on the path leading to the shrine with flushed cheeks and an indignant look in his beautiful eyes.

"Stop trying to push me away! I know, Sukuna, ok? I know who you are and what you did, but I still want to be with you!"

He is breathing heavily, staring so intently at Sukuna that it seems as if he is looking right into Sukuna's soul. A soul that is in turmoil.

It was easier to stay strong when Sukuna watched Yuuji from the penthouse's windows. But now the boy is so close, close enough for Sukuna to see the tears shimmering in those golden eyes. Close enough to hear that warm voice tremble slightly when Yuuji adds,

"I miss you so much."

Something throbs in Sukuna's chest.

"Why do you still come back after knowing you lived with a monster all that time?"

"Because I don't want to be anywhere else in this world. You aren't a monster to me. Or if you are one, then I am a monster, too, and we make a good match."

Sukuna sighs. He feels that nothing he says will be able to make Yuuji back off.

"You foolish brat."

But the words lack the bite. Sukuna can hear the affection in his voice. The words aren't an insult but rather an endearment, and he knows Yuuji realizes it, too. The boy takes a step closer to Sukuna, looking at him with big eyes,

"When you said you love me, you meant it, didn't you, Kuna? I'm not talking about the beginning. But when you said you loved me during the last weeks, just tell me, did you mean it? Yes or no?"

There it is. The most dangerous question. Sukuna wants to deny it. Wants to say it was just part of his game. Wants to make Yuuji leave again. But didn't he try that already? And yet Yuuji is standing before him now, crying and asking Sukuna if he loves him, golden eyes begging him to tell the truth. And so Sukuna nods softly.

"I did mean it. I still do."

A happy, breathless chuckle escapes Yuuji's lips, but those golden eyes still look unrelentingly at Sukuna. So much strength. So much want.

"I knew it. So, if you love me, and I love you, why aren't we together?"

And for once, Sukuna knows no answer.

He exhales slowly while eyeing Yuuji carefully. Finally, he says,

"I don't deserve your love. Look at you. You are so full of love and compassion. The embodiment of humanity. And I am none of those things."

Yuuji shrugs,

"I don't think you are as bad as you try to make yourself out to be. I know there must be more to it than what I read in all those old files in the academy. Maybe if I only knew the man those records talk about, I wouldn't be able to love you. But the thing is, I know another version of you, and he is nothing like that evil king everyone tells me about. And I know no matter what you did in the past, you aren't doing those things anymore now."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Because I know you."

Yuuji says it so matter-of-factly that it makes Sukuna laugh softly. How can the boy say such things? How can he say them with such conviction? How can anyone claim to know him? Him, Sukuna, who always hides behind a mask? Who locked all of his feelings away such a long time ago that he forgot about them? That he forgot how to be human.

But is that really true? Didn't he already prove himself wrong by falling in love with Yuuji? Didn't he feel human emotions all those last months with Yuuji by his side?

If anyone in this world can claim to know him, it is Yuuji.

They are closer than anyone else. They shared a body. Their souls used to be entangled, and even now that they are physically separated, there is still something tying them together. They are connected by a red string of fate. The stars wrote their story into the history of this universe. Yuuji and Sukuna. Sukuna and Yuuji.

So maybe Yuuji can say such outrageous things with such conviction. Because maybe he is right, at least a little. Out of anyone in this world, he is the one closest to Sukuna's soul. Closest to his core.

Sukuna cocks his head and gazes challengingly at Yuuji,

"What do you think I will do if anyone tries to hurt you? Do you think I won't burn this world down?"

But Yuuji just gazes back at him unafraid, cocking his head too, mirroring Sukuna's stance,

"Then I guess I will have to make sure to stay out of trouble, huh?"

There's a lopsided boyish grin on Yuuji's face, and Sukuna stares at him incredulously.

How can Yuuji tear Sukuna's walls down so easily? How can he be so filled to the brim with love and understanding? How can he be so sure and adamant about his feelings? How can he stand here in front of Sukuna after everything that happened and tell him it's ok and that he still wants to come back?

Sukuna had been so sure that sending Yuuji away was good for Yuuji. He had been so sure that Yuuji would hate him once his friends confirmed who Sukuna truly was and what he did.

But he is beginning to realize his mistake.

Yuuji isn't a stupid child or a damsel in distress who needs saving. He is strong and smart in his own way and so much better at understanding emotions and love than Sukuna. Yuuji is very capable of making his own decisions.

Sukuna knows what to do now. He starts walking again, waving Yuuji over with a casual flick of his wrist,

"Come on, walk with me. I will tell you the whole truth. I will tell you everything, even the things you didn't find in the sorcerers' records. And if you still think you can love me after that, then stay."

They slowly stroll further down the path, side by side, and when they reach a park bench, they sit down on it right in front of the shrine. Their shrine, the shrine where they made all those wishes, where Sukuna even stooped as low as asking the resident deity for help, the shrine that he always went back to every day, and more than once stood there with a small wooden ema in his large hands, staring at it, needing all of his strength not to write another wish on it.

He always put the empty ema back on the shelf and left without writing another wish, but in his mind, he knew what he would have written. He knew he would have wished for a new beginning for Yuuji and him. For a chance to make things right.

And now Yuuji is back, sitting next to Sukuna, so close that his thigh brushes against Sukuna's. He looks at Sukuna with those beautiful golden eyes that seem to carry all the riches of the world, everything one could ever want, the biggest treasures there are.

Sukuna speaks to him in a soft, calm voice. He tells Yuuji the truth. All of it. Tells him about his former life, the loneliness, the walls he built around himself, the absence of love, and the abundance of cruelty. Tells him that all that mattered to Sukuna used to be strength. How he needed to be The Strongest, and how he became it. He tells him about the violence Sukuna excelled in. About power and control. He tells him about abandoning a regular human life and becoming something more, something god-like and yet he wasn't satisfied. He tells him about dying and then waking up again in Yuuji's body a thousand years later. He tells him about the hatred in his heart, about the cruel joy he found in tormenting Yuuji because he hated the fact that a boy like Yuuji could hold him hostage in his body.

He tells Yuuji about every terrible thing he did and also about some of the terrible things he had to endure. He tells him about how his own mother thought he was a monster. He tells him about only ever seeing fear or disgust on the faces of the people who stood before him. He tells him about all his admirers who only flocked to him because they wanted to gain an advantage. He tells him how he discovered only now that there is more meaning to life than just strength. That he craves a peaceful life. The kind of life Yuuji showed him when they were together. He bares his whole soul to Yuuji, feeling naked and weak like never before. And yet, it feels right. Because this is Yuuji.

"You can only remember me as your boyfriend, Kuna, but I am also Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, and I have killed many, and I felt nothing while doing it. I still feel nothing for all those people who swarm the world like insects. You are the only one who makes me feel something. The only one I care about. But that wasn't what I planned. I went into this with bad intentions. I manipulated you. I tricked you into loving me and had my cruel joy with it. I wanted to break you. So consider it carefully. Do you really want to be with someone like that?"

He watches Yuuji's pretty face intently, blue eyes looking deeply into golden ones. He sees all the different emotions flickering over Yuuji's face. He sees the disapproval when Sukuna talks about killing, but also the understanding, the love, that is still there unwaveringly. A soft smile spreads over Yuuji's face when Sukuna is finished.

"You tricked me at first, but the Sukuna I lived with those last few months was the real you. And I love you the way you are. There isn't any manipulation or magic involved. I fell in love with the man I laughed with so often, who loves food as much as I do, who took me on nice dates and showed interest in my movies, and re-watched them all with me even though you already knew them by heart. What I feel for you is real, Sukuna. And I am glad to know the whole truth now. I am glad I can be by your side now and pull you out of that loneliness. I am glad you want different things in life now than you did in the past. I am glad that I can help you with that. I choose you, Sukuna. I choose you willingly, with your past and everything that comes with you. I want to live my life by your side. I think that's where I belong."

Sukuna watches him in silence for a moment, his chest filled with that warmth he was missing so much, his fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and pull Yuuji back into his arms.

"Then teach me, Yuuji. Teach me how to love you the right way."

"Oh, that's easy! Because you already do!"

Yuuji smiles that bright smile at Sukuna and reaches out to cup his face, tenderly tracing the black lines on Sukuna's cheeks. And Sukuna finds himself falling again, falling into Yuuji's warmth, into his bright colors, into his love. It's both terrifying and beautiful how the gentle touch of Yuuji's fingers on his cheeks holds more power than a whole army. Destruction in the most beautiful way.

Thank you so much for your patience!! I am so happy to finally post the new chapter! AND THEY ARE BACK TOGETHER 💗💗

I once again cried a lot while writing this. It always gets me so much when I write from Sukuna's POV, and he is vulnerable 😭 I hope you enjoyed the chapter and that you are happy they are united again!

I started posting this story over a year ago, and it has been a lot longer in my drafts before that, but I am actually really happy that I am still working on it atm because I love seeing the current chapters of the manga, where we get so much Sukuna and Yuuji content and it makes me an even bigger mess for those two lol.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

#sukuita #sukuna x yuuji #sukuna x itadori #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk fanfic

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