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2024 Armed Forces Bowl odds, prediction, betting line: Navy vs. Oklahoma picks from expert on 72-49 run

[p0orbaby]

Spend the Night with You, Spend My Life with You

summary: sex, snow and three little words

warnings: SMUT 18+, strap use

a/n: these two are so hopeless it hurts

word count: 3.5k

part 1

-

The edge of the kitchen island bites into your stomach as Alexia pushes you forward, her hands gripping your hips with a steady, deliberate pressure. You splay your fingers across the cool marble, desperate for purchase, but the smooth surface offers nothing to hold on to. When her hips snap forward, the shock of it ripples through your entire body, a gasp catching in your throat.

Your hand shoots out instinctively, grasping for anything to ground you. It lands on the hammered copper bowl at the edge of the counter. The movement sends it spinning off balance, and a dozen oranges tumble onto the floor, rolling in lazy, chaotic arcs. The bowl clatters noisily, a sound that echoes off the tiled walls. Neither of you reacts. You’re too far gone.

Alexia leans into you from behind, her chest pressing against your back as her hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, her touch both reverent and possessive. The weight of her against you is grounding, her skin hot where it meets yours. Her lips find the nape of your neck, and she bites—hard enough to sting, hard enough to make you gasp again.

You feel her breath against your ear, hot and ragged. “You’re perfect,” she murmurs, the words almost swallowed by the sounds of your own shallow breathing.

Your head falls forward, your forehead brushing the cold marble. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the weight of her hands on your hips, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Alexia,” you breathe, her name tumbling out of you unbidden, as if it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

Her answer comes in the way her hips press harder against yours, the rhythm she’s set becoming a language all its own. There’s nothing else, nothing outside the space you’ve carved out together. The world could be ending, and it wouldn’t matter.

Her movements are sure, deliberate, her hands sliding from your hips to your stomach, then lower, fingers brushing over the heat of your skin. You shudder beneath her, your legs threatening to give out, but she holds you steady, her strength a reminder of the control she wields effortlessly.

“Look at me,” she commands, her voice low but firm, cutting through the haze that clouds your thoughts.

You lift your head, craning your neck to meet her gaze over your shoulder. Her eyes are dark, endless, and they pin you in place more effectively than any touch ever could. There’s something in her expression—a tenderness that feels at odds with the raw, almost brutal edge of what’s happening—and it makes your chest tighten.

“I love you,” she says, and the simplicity of it leaves you breathless.

It’s the first time she’s said it, the first time either of you has dared to name this thing between you. And even though you’d already come to terms with your feelings in the quiet of your own mind, hearing it out loud is like a punch to the gut.

You turn your head back, pressing your cheek against the cool surface of the counter, unable to face her for more than a moment. But her hands are insistent, guiding you upright, pulling you back against her chest. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close, while her free hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes again.

“Say it,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear.

You hesitate, the words lodged in your throat, but the way her eyes soften—hopeful and unrelenting—undoes you completely.

“I love you,” you admit, the words breaking on a gasp as her hand slides lower, her touch erasing any lingering doubts.

The air between you shifts, heavy with something unspoken but deeply understood. Her mouth finds yours, the kiss urgent and messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling as if she’s trying to devour the words you’ve just given her.

Your legs shake, and she senses it, so she pulls out and scoops you up with an ease that borders on arrogance. Your thighs lock around her waist instinctively, the movement both desperate and defiant, and your arms loop around her neck like you might otherwise drift away. She doesn’t falter, doesn’t pause. She carries you as if you weigh nothing, as if your feverish kisses and clumsy, grasping hands don’t threaten to frustrate her with every step.

You’re not sure where she’s taking you; there’s no plan, only the friction of her fingertips digging into the backs of your thighs and the insistent pressure of her mouth on yours. You lose yourself in the motion, in the heat of her skin beneath her shirt—a cotton button-down you vaguely recall unbuttoning in a fit of impatience. It’s pale blue, maybe linen, and creases easily, but somehow, on her, even its rumpled state looks deliberate. The kind of effortless chic that you hate to admit you envy.

The bedroom is the goal, you think, until it isn’t. Until the two of you crash onto the rug in front of the fireplace. A soft furnishing you remember buying on a whim—hand-woven by a fourth-generation family in the Atlas Mountains, the kind of purchase that implies you’re a person with taste, with distinction. It’s soft in some places, coarse in others, but all you can focus on is the way Alexia’s body moves against yours, her breath hot against your neck, her hands mapping out territory she already owns.

“God, you’re perfect,” she murmurs, her voice rough, a little breathless, and it’s absurd how much the words undo you. You feel her lips against your collarbone, then lower, her tongue tracing a line along the curve of your breast before she takes your nipple into her mouth. Your back arches, your breath catching, and you’re distantly aware of the way your legs tighten around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

The fire is building, frantic and all-consuming, and you’re helpless to stop it. Not that you want to. Not when her hands are on you, coaxing, demanding, grounding you in a way nothing else ever has. You lose yourself in her touch, her voice, her everything.

Time becomes a blur after that. The weight of her body, the press of her hands, the sound of her voice—low and rough and threading its way through the space between you—it’s all-consuming. You don’t remember when you stopped thinking, when you let go of the need to control the situation, or her, or yourself. But it’s somewhere between her mouth finding yours again and the sheer mess of your limbs tangling together, her strength pinning you exactly where she wants you.

When it’s over, when the storm of her finally settles into something quieter, her head resting against your shoulder and her breath warm against your neck, you remember.

“We’re late,” you announce, your voice cutting through the silence with all the grace of a car alarm.

Alexia doesn’t move at first, her body still draped lazily over you, hot breath tickling the damp skin of your neck. “What?” she hums, not lifting her head.

“Skiing” you say, as though it’s obvious. “The booking. The gear hire. The… everything.” You gesture vaguely toward the coffee table, where your itinerary sits, printed and highlighted and unnecessarily laminated.

She looks up then, and for a moment she just stares at you, blinking, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Then, to your utter dismay, she starts laughing. It’s not a small laugh, either. It’s full-bodied, rich, and entirely at your expense.

“You’re joking,” she says between breaths, though it’s clear she knows you’re not.

“I’m not,” you insist, pushing her off you, though the movement feels like betrayal—like cutting the power to a film just as the climax hits. “The lift tickets were pre-booked. There’s a window. A strict window that were going to miss”

“And whose fault is it that?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yours,” you reply, deadpan. “You’re the one who decided to… well, distract me”

Alexia laughs again, a soft sound that’s warm and infectious and entirely too easy to forgive. “Distract you? That’s rich, coming from the person who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves”

“Don’t deflect,” you say, sitting up to make a point this is in fact very serious. “Do you know how much coordination it took to set this up? The calls? The emails? The back-and-forth with their useless website that doesn’t recognise international postcodes? And the ski instructor alone was a nightmare to book. He’s apparently some kind of legend—teaches everyone from A-listers to politicians to royalty. His name’s Pierre, which is almost too on the nose, but I digress. The point is, he’s probably been standing there for twenty minutes now, wondering if we’ve been mauled by wolves”

She grins, shaking her head, and there’s something infuriatingly fond about the way she looks at you. “You’re very dramatic”

“No, I’m being organised,” you counter, scrambling to your feet and reaching for your discarded shirt. “This was your idea, remember? ‘Let’s try skiing,’ you said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ you said”

“It will be fun,” she says, still seated on the floor, her hair dishevelled, her shirt hanging off one shoulder. She looks maddeningly good like this, like she belongs in some high-end editorial spread titled Après Passion.

“Not if we miss the slot,” you mutter, pulling your shirt over your head and avoiding her gaze. “Do you know what happens if you’re late? They give your spot away. To people on a wait list”

She doesn’t move immediately, instead she sits there on your hand-woven rug watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and exasperated. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re like this,” she says, her voice teasing.

“Like what?”

“Frantic. Bossy. Pretending you don’t care when you obviously do”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Just get dressed. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can go back to not caring”

-

The beginner slope—charmingly nicknamed “Bunny Hill”—is far steeper than Alexia had anticipated. She stands rigidly at the edge, her boots clipped into rental skis that are alarmingly bright, the sort of neon green you associate with aggressive cycling brands or obnoxious trainers. You wonder if they’re intentionally loud, designed to help instructors spot the inevitable bodies sprawled across the snow.

Beside her, you’re dressed in a Moncler ski suit so pristine it practically sparkles in the sunlight. The stitching is quilted in perfect geometric diamonds, and the fur-lined hood is deliberately oversized, framing your face like the edges of a Vogue cover shoot. Your skis are top-tier: Fischer RC4 World Cups, chosen partly for their reputation and partly because the matte black matches your poles. You’ve already waxed them twice this season, though they probably didn’t need it. Your goggles, Oakleys with custom polarised lenses, sit snugly over your face, and you’re already warm, thanks to the base layer that cost more than the deposit on your first flat.

Alexia is, as always, frustratingly nonchalant. Her goggles, brand-new Oakleys you’d insisted on buying for her, sit slightly crooked on her face, the strap twisted in a way that makes your fingers itch to adjust them. The matching jacket, a sleek, insulated Patagonia shell in a shade of deep red that complements her complexion, fits perfectly—though she wears it like it’s just another hoodie tossed on before training. The trousers, Arcteryx, are so crisp they almost crackle, the tags having been snipped off mere hours ago. She looks every bit the part of a seasoned skier, though her posture suggests she’s waiting for the whole ordeal to be over so she can sit by the fire with a hot drink.

She shifts awkwardly, her poles dragging in the snow. “This is steeper than I thought”

You glance at the slope. It’s a nursery hill. Literal children are whizzing past with confidence, some barely old enough to tie their own shoelaces. A mother is halfway down, calling encouragement to a toddler in a lime-green snowsuit who is spinning in place, his skis forming an accidental snow angel.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, perhaps too casually, because she turns to look at you, her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not used to this,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the expanse of white in front of her. “You didn’t mention it would feel so… exposed”

You shrug. “You’ll pick it up quickly. You’re an athlete”

“Exactly, I don’t want to break my leg before the season starts”

Her caution surprises you. This is Alexia Putellas, who spends most of her life hurling herself into situations where bones break as casually as fingernails. But now, faced with the prospect of skiing, she’s hesitant, almost timid. It’s endearing, if not mildly irritating.

Pierre, your instructor for the day, is waiting at the bottom of the hill. His presence alone feels like an Arian tourism advertisement: flaxen hair, sharp cheekbones, and a jawline you could slice cheese on. His ski suit is a garish shade of blue, the logo of a the resort emblazoned across his chest. He waves at you both, teeth so white they practically refract the sun.

“Everyone is going to laugh at me,” Alexia mutters, her grip tightening on her poles.

“Maybe, but Pierre doesn’t count,” you say, ignoring the way she winces at the name. “He’s Swiss. They’re born on skis.”

She takes a deep breath and adjusts her goggles, the anti-fog coating catching the light. “Alright. I can do this”

She can’t do this, you quickly learn.

The moment she pushes off, it’s clear she’s underestimated the logistics. Her knees are too stiff, her weight too far back, and the skis seem to have a mind of their own. She picks up speed alarmingly quickly, her arms flailing in an almost cartoonish attempt at balance. You watch in horror as she veers toward the edge of the slope, narrowly missing a child who stares after her with wide-eyed bewilderment.

“Bend your knees!” you shout, though it’s futile.

Somehow, she manages to slow herself down enough to come to an abrupt, awkward halt halfway down the hill. She’s breathing heavily, her face flushed—not from exertion but from what you suspect is a mix of terror and mortification.

“What was that?” she calls up to you, her voice high-pitched.

“You were leaning back,” you reply, sliding toward her with an ease you know she finds infuriating. “Your centre of gravity was off”

“No shit,” she mutters, bending over to adjust her boots.

When you reach her, you make a show of stopping gracefully, your skis forming a perfect parallel line. You stand over her like an insufferable authority figure, which, let’s be honest, you are.

“Look,” you say, your tone breezy. “It’s all about weight distribution. Shift forward. Use your knees to absorb the movement. It’s physics”

She looks up at you, incredulous. “Are you seriously quoting physics to me right now?”

“Would you prefer I quote Pythagoras?”

“I’d prefer you stop being smug”

You grin. “I’m not being smug. I’m being helpful”

She scowls, but there’s no real venom in it.

Eventually, she makes it to the bottom, though not without incident. She topples twice, once taking out a marker pole and once nearly colliding with Sven, who watches the whole debacle with the stoicism of someone who’s seen far worse.

“I’m retiring,” Alexia declares when she finally comes to a stop, her skis splayed at an awkward angle.

“You’re fine,” you say, brushing snow off her jacket.

“I’m not fine. My pride is in pieces”

“Pride heals faster than a broken leg,” Pierre says, his tone unhelpfully chipper.

-

The lodge, when you finally retreat to it, is a welcome reprieve, a perfect cliché of alpine charm. The interior is all dark wood and exposed beams, the kind that might be reclaimed or might just be faux-rustic, it’s hard to tell. Roaring fireplaces anchor every corner, their stone mantels adorned with garlands of holly and pine cones sprayed with artificial snow. The air is thick with the scent of mulled wine, damp wool, and wood smoke, mingling in a way that makes the space feel both comforting and mildly suffocating.

Alexia slumps into a seat near the fireplace, tugging off her goggles with the dramatic sigh of someone who’s just endured a life-altering trauma. She drops them onto the table, where they skid across the varnished surface before coming to rest against a cast iron candleholder.

“I hate this,” she announces, slouching low in her chair like a moody teenager who’s just been told to tidy their room.

“You don’t hate this,” you say, sliding into the seat opposite her and unzipping your jacket with far less fanfare. “You hate not being good at it”

She glares at you, her jaw tightening in that way it always does when you’ve hit the mark. It’s the same glare she gives referees when a call doesn’t go her way, and it’s just as ineffective now as it is then.

“Admit it,” you press, unable to resist poking the bear. “You’re annoyed because skiing isn’t something you can dominate after five minutes of practice”

“I’m annoyed because skiing is stupid,” she retorts, though the defensive edge in her voice gives her away. “Who even decided sliding down a mountain with sticks strapped to your feet was a good idea?”

“Norwegians, probably,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Blame them”

She grumbles something in Spanish, too low for you to catch, but the sharpness of her tone tells you it’s probably an insult aimed at both the Norwegians and you.

Before you can tease her further, a server appears with hot chocolates. They’re obscene—decadent monstrosities served in oversized ceramic mugs. Each one is piled high with whipped cream, dusted with cocoa powder, and garnished with sugar-dusted gingerbread stars precariously balanced on the rim. A stray marshmallow floats in the froth, its edges beginning to dissolve.

Alexia stares at hers like it’s personally offended her.

“What?” she demands when you burst into laughter.

“Nothing,” you say, though your smirk gives you away entirely. “It’s just… not very you, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing,” you repeat, though you can’t stop yourself from glancing pointedly at the gingerbread star perched on her mug like it’s auditioning for next year's John Lewis Christmas advert.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” she mutters, picking up a marshmallow and lobbing it at you without warning.

It hits your sleeve, leaving a faint, sticky smudge of melted sugar on your Moncler jacket. You look down at it, then back at her, your expression perfectly deadpan.

“Childish,” you say, flicking the marshmallow back at her.

She dodges it with the expected reflexes of someone who captains her national team, though the movement is so exaggerated it draws the attention of the couple at the next table. You give them an apologetic smile, but Alexia just grabs her spoon and scoops an alarming amount of whipped cream off her hot chocolate.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn, raising a hand in mock surrender.

Her smirk is pure mischief as she leans forward, balancing the spoon precariously. “You started it”

“And best believe me, I’ll finish it too,” you say, though your tone lacks conviction.

She takes this as permission and flings the whipped cream in your direction. It lands squarely on your shoulder, and the entire room seems to pause as you stare at the mess now streaking your ski suit.

“You're five,” you say flatly, reaching for a napkin.

“You deserved it,” she replies, utterly unrepentant, leaning back in her chair with a victorious grin that makes your stomach flip in a way you’re starting to find annoyingly familiar.

You shake your head, suppressing a smile as you wipe the sticky smudge off your sleeve. The lodge hums around you—soft chatter, the occasional clink of glasses, the crackle of the fire—and yet it feels like the world has narrowed to just this table, just her.

She’s still grinning when you glance back up, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. It’s infuriating. And addictive.

“You’re a pain,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her, but she hears it anyway.

“Yet, you still love me,” she quips, her tone light, teasing, but there’s something in her eyes—something unguarded and fleeting, like a glimpse of light through a crack in the curtains.

It makes your chest ache, but not in a way that hurts. It’s the kind of ache you feel when you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, when everything finally clicks into place.

You shrug, trying to play it cool even as your pulse stumbles over itself. “Maybe I do”

Her grin softens, just slightly, and for a second, it feels like the world pauses. The fire crackles, the snow falls softly outside, and all the noise of the lodge blurs into background static.

Then she picks up her mug, takes an exaggerated sip of her hot chocolate, and smirks. “Lucky me”

Lucky her indeed.

[felinecyan]

Wide Awake

[Shoto Todoroki x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When you take the couch due to your inability to sleep, unfortunately, you get the scare of your life.

WC: 1737

Category: Fluff, Slight Comfort

Finally finished the fic 😴 I apologize it took me so long 🙏

『••✎••』

You couldn’t remember when you found your eyes closing or when you had dozed off. With your favorite blanket and pillow in hand, you had moved to the sofa down in the common room from your room and set up camp for the night. You couldn’t remember why, either. All you knew was that you were exhausted, and it was easier to fall asleep downstairs without the light that poured in through the hallway.

As you laid on the couch, you found yourself somewhere between being asleep and awake. The world was quiet. It was late. And everyone had long since gone to sleep for the night. Even Kaminari, who had a hard time winding down after dark, had passed out before you. The silence was peaceful and the darkness was calming. The world seemed frozen and at ease.

Your mind was, too, finally, after racing all day. A million different thoughts had been bouncing around in your head like a ping-pong ball. They had been loud, distracting, and almost made you feel sick. But they had quieted now. You could barely even remember what you had been thinking about. Your body was heavy, relaxed, and finally, ready to drift off into a deep sleep.

So you did. You fell back asleep as your body relaxed.

But then, an odd feeling washed over you. A chill ran up your spine. Goosebumps prickled over your arms. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Your heart rate picked up slightly.

Something was wrong.

Your eyes cracked open slowly, and you blinked as you peered around the dark common room. No one was there—at least, not that you could see. Your heart was beating a bit faster. What was going on? Was it just the exhaustion that was making you anxious?

It was probably just the exhaustion, you decided. After all, the world was quiet. Everyone was sleeping. There was no reason for you to be on edge. You were just tired. That had to be it.

Closing your eyes again, you rolled over to face the back of the sofa. But as you did, the feeling only grew stronger. Your heart was pounding against your ribs.

Something was definitely wrong.

This time, when your eyes opened, they stayed open. Not because sleep had left you but because a set of mismatched eyes had suddenly appeared right in front of your own. You screamed at the sudden intrusion and shot backward, but you didn't get far. You had forgotten that the arm of the sofa was behind you. So, instead, you simply fell back against it with a gasp and scrambled back to where you had been, clutching your chest and breathing heavily.

For a moment, nothing happened. Your wide eyes remained locked with those mismatched ones, staring at you with nothing more than curiosity. A single brow rose. A moment passed, and then another. But then, those eyes broke from yours. A voice sounded low and soft.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

You nearly choked. "S-Shoto?! Wha… What the hell are you doing?! Why are you staring at me while I sleep?!" You had recognized the boy's voice almost immediately, even with how soft and hushed it was. It wasn't hard to do. He wasn't exactly the most talkative person.

Your eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness, and you could make out the bowl of soba and the steaming cup of tea in both his hands.

"Contemplating if I should’ve woken you or not," he answered as he stood. "I almost sat on you."

You could only stare at him as he placed the tea and noodles on the coffee table next to your book. The panic and adrenaline were starting to wear off, and your heartbeat was beginning to slow. "What are you even doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Decided to eat."

"You couldn't sleep, so you’re eating soba at… What time is it, anyway?"

"A quarter past 3."

Your jaw dropped. "A quarter pa—" You were cut off by a yawn, which forced your jaw shut again. Shaking your head, you ran a hand over your face and looked up at him. "Well, are you done?"

Shoto's brow rose again, confused. "With the soba?"

"What…? No." The amount of sass in your voice was a testament to how exhausted you really were. "With sleep. Attempting to, at least."

The boy shrugged. "Not really. I usually don't fall asleep until after 4. Why? Are you going back to sleep?"

You gave a sigh. "Well, yeah. I was trying to."

"Should’ve tried your actual bed then." He took a sip of his tea, eyeing you as he did. "I’m surprised Tokoyami didn't wake you."

You blinked. "Tokoyami?"

Shoto nodded. "He’s always reading in the dark down here. I don’t think he’s slept since the Liberation War. Hawks’ injuries must’ve really hit him hard."

That was right… you remembered seeing him more and more often downstairs as the days had passed. It was rare to ever see him upstairs anymore. It was just something you had gotten used to. "I should probably check on him."

"Probably."

Another yawn pulled at your lips, and you couldn't help but smile a little. "If he's up, can I get some of that tea?"

"If you want." Shoto turned to sip his tea again, eyes drifting from yours. But when he turned back to look at you, his eyes were wide, and his expression was filled with disbelief. "Wait, you fell asleep here?"

You were already snuggled back up under your blankets. "Uh, yeah? Did you already forget why I screamed in your face?"

He paused, his face unreadable. "I don’t remember you being an insomniac. Are you unwell? Shall I bring some medicine for you?"

"What? No, I'm not sick."

"It’s rare for someone who is well to sleep on the couch."

You sighed. "You just said you don’t go to sleep until later."

"But you don’t come down here at all."

"Because it's not normal for people to hang out downstairs at this time!"

"Tokoyami does."

"Yeah, and you said that's because you told—" You were interrupted by a yawn and shook your head. "Never mind. You're impossible."

"Me? Impossible?" Shoto's brow rose yet again, and he almost sounded amused. "You're the one who's choosing the sofa over your bed."

"I didn't choose the sofa; it chose me."

"Is it a sentient being?"

Sometimes, you couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

"No, Sho. I just— I couldn’t sleep in my room. And I don’t know why." You sighed and rubbed your temples, the frustration from earlier that day beginning to resurface. "There was a lot on my mind, and I couldn’t shut it off, but it was fine. And then I fell asleep, and I felt better, but then I woke up and—"

"And what?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. I don’t think I can go back to my room tonight."

The two of you fell silent, his mismatched eyes peering into yours. There was something about the way he looked at you. It wasn’t a glare or a scowl, but it wasn’t a smile or a smirk either. It was just him watching you.

Then again, that’s all he ever did. He didn't say much. He didn't smile often. He was quiet. But, if you were being honest, that was probably what you liked about him. He didn't judge. He just listened.

Finally, he spoke. "I know the feeling…" His voice was soft, his gaze distant. "I used to sleep on the floor because I thought I didn’t deserve a bed. I grew out of that, but every now and then, the thought still comes back."

You blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah," Shoto responded. "But my room isn't really home. The dorm is. This is. So when I feel like that, I come down here."

"…Is that why you’re down here now?"

"No. I just wanted soba."

His bluntness made you laugh. You shook your head and smiled. "I forgot you're always hungry."

"Not always."

"Always. It's 3 AM, Sho."

"Yes, and?"

"And? You don't think it's a little weird to eat soba at 3 AM?"

"Weird? You were sleeping down here. That's weirder."

"Hey! I—!" You were cut off by yet another yawn, and you could only look at him as it faded away. "I can't argue right now."

"I'll win anyway," Shoto stated matter-of-factly. "Go back to sleep."

"You can't just tell me to go back to sleep. It's not that easy."

"Sure it is. Close your eyes. Count sheep. Pretend you're dying. Anything works."

"Roki, that's the worst advice I've ever heard."

"And yet, it's still better than any advice Kaminari or Sero would give."

Damn. Tired or not, he still kept it real.

"I’ll wake you up before Aizawa gets here."

"He checks on us? Since when?"

He shrugged. "Certain days. Since that time when Midoriya and Bakugo snuck out to fight, he likes to make sure no one else is trying to do that."

"Oh. He wouldn’t be mad, though, if I was just down here."

"Him being concerned is worse than him being mad."

"I don’t think that’s…" You were cut off by another yawn, and when you opened your eyes, you saw him staring at you. His expression was blank, but his gaze was intense. "Okay, okay. Fine. I'll try. Just don’t watch me sleep again, or I will throw a pillow at your face."

"I wasn’t— okay."

"Okay, you will stop?"

"Okay."

"Good."

You laid back down and rolled over, facing the back of the couch again. You could hear Shoto shuffle a bit and the clink of his chopsticks, but everything was quiet once again. Closing your eyes, you pulled the blanket closer to you. You had to admit, you were a bit more at ease than before.

"If it helps," Shoto's voice suddenly said, "Goodnight."

A smile tugged at your lips, and you shook your head. "Night, Roki."

As you drifted off to sleep, finally, without any worries or intruding thoughts, your smile didn't leave your face. You had expected it to, and yet it didn't.

Aizawa also never came to check on you or the students. You realized this because Ochaco was waking you up in a panic, yelling something about being late for class.

It was a chaotic morning, but at least you were well-rested.

[clockwayswrites]

Part 2

Part 1

Danny & Cass, Cyan, Wind chime bells @wandixx

Cass placed the backpack down on the kitchen counter, unzipped it, and spread the opening purposefully.

Alfred looked from the bag to Cass, one pointed white brow raised. Keeping her eyes locked with Alfred, she took an apple from the fruit bowl and placed it inside the bag.

A moment later the brow lowered and a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “Ah, looking for a picnic, Miss Cassandra?”

Pleased he had gotten it, Cass nodded eagerly and held up two fingers.

“A picnic for two? Is one of your siblings joining you?” He asked.

Cass shook her head.

“Ah. Are you off to see a friend?”

Cass nodded and scooted the bag a little closer towards Alfred.

“Well then,” Alfred said after a beat, “any allergies your friend has?”

She took a moment to think about and then shook her head. She’d always seen Danny eat everything that either of them could get their hands on.

“And is your friend human?”

That was an odd question. Cass’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“You would not believe the things that both Master Richard and Master Jason got up to,” Alfred answered, looking like a man who had been long suffering.

Cass gave a little giggle, which softened Alfred’s expression.

“If you will give me a small time, I will put together a meal for you and your friend. Perhaps, while I do so, you would go and let Master Bruce know that you are going out.”

That seemed odd, but Cass figured it was part of being in a family now. They often liked to know where she was or tell each other when they were going somewhere not the manor or would be be back to the manor. It was still taking time for Cass to be used to all of these rules that weren’t rules.

Knocking she understood now, it was apparently polite and sneaking through the shadows was not. To that end, she knocked on the door to Bruce’s study and waited for the slightly distracted ‘come in’ to enter.

“Cass,” Bruce said with a smile when he looked up from his work. “How are you doing today, honey?”

Cass gave him a thumbs up as he turned on the tablet on his desk and spun it around for her. Her tongue stuck out just slightly as she looked for the right images.

🦢🫱🥪🎒 🏠🐦‍⬛➡️🌆

Bruce watched her put in the images. “Ah… Alfred is putting food in a bag for you and you’re going into the city?”

Cass nodded.

“Alright…,” Bruce said slowly. He tapped the edge of the tablet in a soft rhythm. “Thank you for letting me know. First off, do you have your phone with you?”

Cass pulled it out of her back pocket.

“Good. Do you remember what we talked about with the emergency button? How even if you don’t think you need the help, you should press it if there’s any trouble?”

Cass swiped over to the left screen and the large button on it before locking the phone again.

“Alright. Are you willing to wear an alert bracelet too?” Bruce asked and purposeful leaned back into his chair and forced himself to relax. “That way if your phone is taken or breaks you can still press the bracelet. It has a tracker in it, but we won’t use it unless we need to or you tell us too.”

It didn’t really mater to her, she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t trust them, so Cass gave a little shrug and help out her wrist.

Bruce gave an amused snort and opened up one of his drawers. “If you’re any example, daughters really are easier than sons.”

The bracelet, black of course, was a little snug, but it was low profile enough not to get in the way. Cass adjusted it just slightly before she was satisfied. She was confused though when Bruce stood.

He gave her a soft smile. “I’ll drive you into the city. I have some paperwork there I should get anyways.”

That was a little bit of a lie, but Cass decided not to call him on it and simple held out her hand for Bruce to take.

-

“You aren’t supposed to come out here anymore,” Danny said. He’s trying to look mad— arms crossed with a wide stance, but the way he looked at her from under his black bangs gave him away.

Cass patted the spot on the roof next to her. It’s one of their favorite spots to watch the sunset together. Not only was the view of the sunset over the waters amazing, but when there was a breeze they could hear all the bits of metal tied to the bridge next to them clink in the wind. It made Cass sad to think of Danny watching it up here alone now.

He gave an aggrieved sigh but took the indicated spot. Once he’s seated, Cass starts pulling out the food. There are bulging sandwiches, fresh fruit, salty chips, and best of all cookies.

“Wow,” Danny said. His hand twitched like he wanted to just reach out and start eating before the food disappeared.

Cass handed him a sandwich.

“You still shouldn’t be out here,” Danny protested, but the words were muffled by the large bite of food.

Cass just smiled and started on her own.

Part 3

[destourtereaux]

just a little bit of hope - peeta mellark x fem!reader

⤷ summary: with katniss and gale both gone, peeta steps in as an unlikely hunting partner for y/n. ⤷ wc: 2.6k ⤷ requested? yes. see request here. ⤷ follow @lovebirdupdates and turn on notifs to be on my 'taglist'!

⤷ a/n: two things - one, peeta has dimples here, it's just how i imagine him, so please bear with me; two, pretend gale's father is alive please, i didn't think our girl would be able to support two families, no matter how strong she is.

___

The day is horridly warm, exacerbated by a heavy humidity. As you wake, hot air suffocates your surroundings, and the sun glares through the window, hung on a span of blue sky. Pushing yourself up on your elbows, your bare feet find the ground, then immediately retract. The floor is burning hot, baked by the sun. You grit your teeth and force your feet back onto the wood, ignoring the searing heat. You have things to do.

You make a bowl of porridge, watery, but edible. You drink half, and leave the rest for your mother. Your father is off to the mines already, his boots absent. You get dressed, pulling on the prettiest dress you own. You're ready. Or, as ready as one can be. 

Today, there will be no hunting with Katniss and Gale, no trading at the Hob. Today, there is only the reaping.

___

You spot Katniss at the edge of the square, gripping her sister's hand. Your friend looks nothing like she normally does. Gone are the boots and hunting jacket, replaced by a simple blouse tucked into a modest skirt. You nod grimly at her; neither of you feels like smiling.

Gale is over on the other side of the square, across from the stage they've set up. Your eyes meet, and he mouths "good luck".

After a few minutes of the routine announcements, Haymitch is introduced, then Effie. By now, the crowd has settled into an air of grimness, despite the clear blue sky overhead.

You don't hear Effie's jokes, and nobody laughs. She finally stops smiling, looking extremely awkward – you almost feel bad for her. Almost.

Then, she sticks her hand in the ball of names, each carrying a life, and pulls one out. Her smile is back on her face when she announces, "Without further ado, our female tribute is: Katniss Everdeen!"

You freeze, repeating her words in your head as if hoping they'd sound different. Your oldest friend – determined, brave Katniss, given a death sentence.

But Effie doesn't wait. Her next words are just as devastating. "And for our male tribute: Gale Hawthorne! Come on up now, dear, don't be shy."

Peacekeepers erupt through the crowd, grabbing your two best friends in the entire world by the shoulders, and forcing them up to the stage. Katniss whips her head around, looking at you with pleading eyes. You know what she's asking for.

"I'll take care of her, Katniss. I won't let her die. And you can't let yourself die, okay? Promise me. Katniss! Promise me!"

Your last words are hysterical, but ironically, Katniss is not. Having heard your commitment to Prim, she is satisfied. She yanks her arms free of the Peacekeepers and walks by herself, her head held high and her face serene.

You grab Prim's hand. Her whole body is shaking, wracked with sobs. You don't hear Effie's last words, but you know what they are.

"May the odds be ever in your favor."

___

It's been two weeks since the reaping which stole your best friends. It's shocking how quickly you fell back into routine, as if nothing has even changed. The only indicator of their absence is an added part of your day: splitting your earnings between your family and Prim's.

There are now double the mouths to feed, so you spend double the hours in the forest hunting. Villagers are sympathetic – that may be the only reason you're all still alive. They love Prim, and they trust you. Everything you hunt manages to be traded.

But still, you're cracking. It's just too much, and you don't know if it'll ever get better. You have no idea what Katniss and Gale are going through right now, and you don't let yourself think of them. It would break your heart.

___

Peeta Mellark has always been observant. His teachers told his parents this, back when he was a child. It's this trait that makes him notice you. The girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders, killing herself day after day to provide for not one, but two whole families.

He doesn't understand how no one else sees it. But maybe they do – it's just that no one in District 12 is really in a position to do anything about it. Still, the fact remains that you're close to breaking. You can't keep doing this alone.

Peeta Mellark has never been brave. His mother yells at him, beats him, and he takes it. He has never talked back to teachers, or dared disobey the Peacekeepers. So when he offers to hunt with you, he surprises even himself.

"What?"

"I'm Peeta Mellark. We were in the same class, and my parents run the bakery. I was wondering if I'd be able to hunt with you?"

So you weren't hallucinating. The baker's son – a boy you didn't think could kill a fly – had just asked to hunt with you. Your shock translates into a small laugh, not that anything about the situation is funny, really. Hurt flashes in Peeta's eyes, and you quickly backtrack.

"I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm Y/N L/N, I know who you are. I just didn't think you'd be the hunting type," you explain. Because you're gentle, and kind, and I've never seen you hurt anyone, with your words or physically. But you don't add that last part. 

"I've only ever hunted with Katniss and Gale, you must know them, they were reaped this year." Your voice cracks a bit with those last words, and Peeta acknowledges the fact with a nod. His hand twitches; he wants to pat you on the back, or grip your shoulder, anything to stop the melancholy leaking into your eyes, but he doesn't.

"But you're welcome to join me," you end with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

___

The new partnership starts early the following day. You meet a groggy Peeta near his home, and the two of you begin the walk to the Meadow.

You hear no electrical hum from the fencing, which means it's safe to touch, and you guide Peeta across the boundary which separates the Seam from the forest. This is all illegal, you know, but you're too used to it to even notice. Peeta, on the other hand, feels an exhilarating sense of rebellion as he crosses the barbed wire, following your figure into the woods.

"You've never hunted before, have you?" you probe, although it's more of a confirmation than an actual question.

Peeta nods. "But I'm a quick learner. And I won't get in your way, I promise."

You smile, a genuine one this time. "We'll see about that, Mellark."

Over the next hour, you go over all the traps you had set from the day before, collecting from Katniss and Gale's traps as well. True to his word, Peeta picks it up quickly, and even has a great eye for camouflaging the traps. This becomes his task, using grass and twigs and flowers as his medium, painting a deceptive scene which looks safe and welcoming to the many squirrels and rabbits in these parts.

You also start him on foraging. Only one type of berry is poisonous in the Meadow, and it's easy to identify. You make sure he's clear on which to avoid, and leave him to it, while you head to the hollowed out tree where you've hidden your knives. The familiar sight of Katniss' bow and arrows within the trunk brings a pang in your heart. You leave them nestled within and retrieve only your daggers. You were never a good archer.

Another hour passes, and you return to Peeta with a deer. You're happier than you have been in weeks – this will be enough for almost a week's worth of food. Peeta is not empty-handed either, he has two buckets of progress, one filled with strawberries, the other with raspberries. He gives you a soft smile – he has dimples, you think. He then immediately turns a faint shade of green, having noticed the dead deer. 

You're seized with the desire to laugh, "Why'd you offer to hunt with me if you get queasy from the sight of game?"

He looks at you with an indignant pout, and you can't stop the giggle that tumbles out, then the full on laughter. 

"I'm not like this with all game, just, you know, the larger animals. I can look at dead squirrels just fine – stop laughing!"

Making your way back, within the District, you stop just outside of the fence to split your gatherings.

"Take the squirrels and rabbits, and the bucket of raspberries. I'll keep the deer and trade the strawberries with the mayor," you offer.

"No, you take it all," he crosses the barrier carrying the buckets, and you follow after him, shaking your head.

"I can't, Peeta. That wouldn't be right. This is a fair split."

"I never said I wanted to keep what we hunt. Only that I wanted to hunt with you, Y/N. Take it. I know you need it more than I do. I'll see you next weekend?"

And with that, he pops a strawberry in his mouth, smiling at the sweetness, and walks away.

You're left with your mouth open, unable to process what had just happened.

___

The next morning, you show up at the bakery. His bakery. You earned a few dollars from selling your strawberries to the mayor, and you figure that if Peeta won't take anything, you should buy from him instead.

A few dollars is enough for two loaves of good bread, and so you head to the bread aisle. But your gaze catches on the beautiful cakes on display, decorated with multi-colored icing and swirling script written in melted chocolate.

"I did those," comes a voice from behind you.

Whipping your head around, you see Peeta himself, looking at the cakes with fondness and a bit of pride.

"You did what?"

"The cakes. I decorated them. My mom bakes, but I decorate. I like doing it – it's like painting, just on a different canvas."

"They're really lovely. You have a talent for it," you confirm, "I bet that's why you were so good at hiding traps yesterday. You can see nature's patterns."

He gives you a soft smile in return, and you can see the dimples again. They're adorable, you think. I want to see them every day.

He gives a small cough, looking at you questioningly.

You startle, and blush a deep crimson. "Sorry, I lost my train of thought. I'm here to buy bread. Two loaves," you say as you lower your head to stare down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

It's only when you hear a chuckle that you lift your head back up. Peeta's eyes are sparkling, and his dimples are clear as ever.

"I'll give you three."

___

Two months after the reaping, your partnership with Peeta is still going strong. Every Saturday, the two of you head to the woods, and spend half the day fishing, gathering, and hunting. Originally silent company has evolved into true friendship, with witty banter, fleeting touches, and shared smiles.

You have come to know Peeta Mellark. He isn't just the baker's son, the one who decorates cakes and hates seeing dead animals. He's the boy who saved you, when no one even knew that you needed saving. 

Day after day, he has shown up, offering kindness, companionship, and warmth, without expecting anything in return. You care about him more than you thought you could ever care about someone who wasn't family. You care about his messy blond hair, and you care about his broad shoulders. You care about his blue eyes which sparkle when he tells a joke, and his beautiful heart which leads him to give the occasional customer an extra free loaf. Most of all, you care about his dimples, which come out when he smiles at you. You care so much about him, that it scares you.

And Peeta cares about you. He cares about your hands, calloused but nimble, lethal when holding onto your twin daggers. He cares about your face, how it glows when you laugh at his jokes in the woods, but dims a bit when you're back in the district. He cares about your hair, always tied in a ponytail when in the Meadow, but left to flow freely down your shoulders when hunting's over. Most of all, he cares about your smile, which comes out when Prim thanks you week after week for your help, and forces you to take bottles of goat milk and pet Buttercup. He cares so much about you, that it scares him.

___

This hunting day, Peeta comes with news from the Capitol. A few weeks back, he started giving you updates on the Games, after you told him that you couldn't stomach the thought of watching your friends fight to the death.

"Y/N! Good news!" he greets, exiting the bakery. As the two of you begin your walk, he adds, "I'll tell you when we get to the Meadow."

"You're insufferable, Mellark. You can't just hook me like that, and not tell me what it is."

Peeta doesn't answer, so you start walking twice as fast, ushering him toward the edge of the Seam so you could figure out what exactly he wanted to tell you.

Once in the grassy plains of the Meadow, between the forest and the fence, you turn back to the boy, the impatience evident in your face.

"Tell me, Peeta, or I swear I'll –"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, "but it's not really good news, per se. It's just a little bit of hope."

You nod, urging him to continue.

"It's about the Games. About Katniss and Gale."

The last traces of your smile fade. Concern is etched onto your face, and your eyebrows scrunch up, your jaw tightens.

Noticing this, Peeta pulls you in by the waist, so that your head lands on his shoulder. "It's good news, Y/N. Don't look so defeated. They're both still alive, and they're fighting."

"But at least one of them won't be coming back," you whisper into his neck, so quietly you wonder if he even heard. But Peeta always hears you.

"Y/N. That's the news. They could both come back. Caesar Flickerman has just announced that they will be changing the rules this year – allowing two victors of the Games, provided they're tributes from the same district!"

You look up at him in awe. A change to the Games. Katniss and Gale, not one or the other. Both could win. Both could come back.

You choke down a sob, staring at Peeta's brilliant smile and those mesmerizing dimples. And before you can process what you're doing, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a bout of bravery.

Peeta's frozen for a second, before he begins to reciprocate the kiss in earnest. He pulls you in, one hand holding your neck and the other wrapped around your torso, pressing himself impossibly closer. He tastes like icing and strawberries, and you can smell the comforting scent of warm bread.

The kiss ends far too quickly for your liking, and you're suddenly impossibly shy, all bravado gone. You lower your eyes so you won't have to meet his eyes, but realize that you're practically sitting on his lap, having moved there at some point during the kiss. This observation brings a flaming blush onto your cheeks, and you scramble to move away, but you're held in place by Peeta's arms, forming an iron-tight cage around your figure.

He brings a hand to your chin, lifting it up, and kisses you again, more gently this time.

"Don't go all shy on me now, Y/L/N," he teases, and holds the back of his hand against your forehead, as if feeling for a fever. "You're burning up, darling."

"You know damn well that's not a fever–", you start, but you're cut off by his laughter, and once again distracted by those dimples of his. 

Maybe Peeta was right. Maybe there is just a little bit of hope left for you.

___

interested in other works of mine? see my masterlist!

[crescenthistory]

Haunt Me, Then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Synopsis: The Hunger Games AU; After your best friend miraculously won his games, you were never to see him again – until your last Reaping as an eligible citizen ends catastrophically for you and another one of your friends.

Words: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, us of y/n, Hunger Games typical warnings, grief, implied loss, heavy hurt/comfort, talk of death and poverty, Capitol Citizen!Bellatrix Lestrange, same for barty sorry, angst, some fluff, childhood best friends (to lovers), physical affection, unwanted physical touches, creepy Capitol behaviour, heavy disassociation, strategically used characters, background bsf!marylene, implied that sirius got the finnick odair treatment, nb! it's a thg au but not thg canon compliant (aka i make the rules here)

A/N: this is sooooo exciting to me. your district is only implied (district 7) in this one and there are a lot of purposefully unresolved threads 🌝 there's more to come, if you want it. and yes – the title is from the wuthering heights quote "you said i killed you – haunt me, then"

You hated Reaping day for more reasons than most.

While no person, whether they are of eligible age or not, enjoyed being in that town square annually, watching the Capitol representatives clown away on stage as your heart and ears thundered with anticipatory fear, you were left with the biting pain of the past, present and future all at the same time.

Stood in a sea of people, feeling both as if you were drowning and had a spotlight shining on you, you feared for yourself. You writhed beneath the thought of how many times your name had gone into that bowl in an attempt at keeping your loved ones safe, you winced at the knowledge that it would be just the perfect karmic timing for you to have everything taken from you this one last time.

Clutching onto Mary’s trembling fingers with one hand and Marlene’s little sister Mabel with the other, you feared for your loved ones. Your makeshift found family now consisted of the McKinnons, the McDonalds, the Pettigrews and you – and you could not bear the thought of how many of you were jammed into the plaza today. Marlene and her older siblings had aged out, but you, Mary and Peter were still in for your last year. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of how many years Mabel and the McKinnon and Pettigrew boys had left. Children. They were all just children – the very reason why you all kept consistently placing your own name in over and over again, to keep them safe. While you could never decide if you trusted the legitimacy of the arrangement that you could covertly buy someone’s immunity by placing your name in more times, you also could never help but try each year.

Thus far, it had worked. Mabel had at least never been picked. 

But then again, you knew of at least one person who was picked despite their supposed immunity. Odd how the guilt always forced your hand regardless; the risk was worth the potential reward.

You could feel her breaths grow shuddering beside you, but could not bring yourself to look down at her. You just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shoved away the doomsday feelings brewing within your chest.

You felt guilty for even fearing for yourself, because you knew well how out of everyone, your name was in there probably the least amount of times. Apart from buying the immunity of one of your friends’ siblings, you had never needed to buy anything with tickets of your name. You had been financially looked out for to a much larger degree than most could dream, and not had your hand forced. At first, the help came through the direct acts of kindness from your best friend, and then later, you would somehow just always find exactly what you needed. Whenever the Capitol increased ridiculous taxes that felt as if they were specifically designed to wring you dry, there would be a freshly opened position for you to apply for, a wad of cash found in one of the boxes you looked through, even a charity basket by your door that you would always pass on to the rowdy McKinnon home. 

Part of you could hear his whispered promise to you whenever these blessings seemingly fell into your lap, but you always pushed it down. It couldn’t be.

“I will always take care of you, princess”.

Above all else, being in the town square tore up your heart because you could only ever think of him. Of Sirius.

Of that day 5 years ago, when you had just started breathing normally after they called some girl’s name you did not know in the Reaping, only for your lungs to be ripped from you permanently at the sound of the reaped boy.

The second “Regulus Black” boomed through the scratching speakers, your heart was shattered into a million pieces, because it was immediately followed up by: “I volunteer.”

When your head whipped to the side to witness your best friend in the whole world march towards his inevitable death, you had found his sad grey eyes already fixed on you through the massive sea of bodies. You have no recollection of the sounds after that, but you know you were crying, trashing even, in the firm grip of Marlene as she forced you into a bear hug to stop you from trying to be a human shield for the one person you could not stomach losing. The sight of Sirius kissing Regulus’ head and squeezing Peter's arm before taking to the stage, shoulders squared and jaw lifted, already looking every bit like a child warrior was burned into your retinas.

It took years before it was not the first image you saw whenever you closed your eyes. It still sometimes was.

That day, you had been certain your best friend was lost. When they let his loved ones bid him a quick goodbye in a solitary room after the ceremony, you had stood to the back with your hiccuping sobs, allowing Regulus the space you knew he needed. Marlene and Mary passed through, so did Peter, until it was just you left.

His parents did not show up.

While Sirius had kept up the facade with the others, his face crumbled when it met yours in your momentary privacy – save the Peacekeepers by the door. You had been hugging your front to keep from falling apart, but the second he slumped back against the desk and opened his arms for you, you were wrapped up in them.

At just 13 and 14 you were each other’s worlds. Grown up as neighbors, surviving just about everything together.

And it was because he was just 14 that you had no belief he could survive the games – at that point, no 14 year old had, and no matter how strong Sirius Black was, it took more than strength to break through that harrowing cycle.

Sirius had let his first few tears slip and fall into your hair, holding onto you for dear life. You can’t remember what you said anymore, just the way he smelled, just the way he held you and the murmurs he whispered into your skin as he swayed you.

“I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

You hoped to the gods you had said it back.

Though you did not know that then, you had been correct. Your best friend was lost that day – but he survived his games. 

It had been a torturous few months, forced to see him paraded around like a piece of meat only to suffer through one of the longest games anyone had seen. You had sworn you would not watch it, but could not resist taking a peek at a small screen you snuck into your bedroom, crying as you caressed his face that looked so void of the Sirius you knew. Sometimes he would find a nearby camera and stare into it as he fell asleep, almost as if he could actually see you, feel your touch. You hoped it comforted him; that thought had you returning to the screen almost every night. The only nights you didn’t were the ones where you and Regulus slept in the same bed to keep each other sane, tethered.

When you two eventually woke up to the news that he managed to outlast the final tribute overnight, you cried until you laughed only to laugh until you cried.

On the day of Sirius’ return, you had made everything ready; dusted his room, bought the ingredients for his favourite dessert, orchestrated for his parents to be elsewhere, planned what to say with Regulus, who was equally as teary. Except when the Capitol Carriage swept up by the entrance and you ran out to greet him, only Peacekeepers exited the carriage, forcing you to step back. The blinds were shut. 

You stumbled, entirely bewildered by the situation, sharing deeply concerned looks with Regulus. You had tried shouting for Sirius, you had tried asking the Peacekeepers, but you were left with nothing but silence.

While you were dumbfounded, Regulus grew agitated. With months worth of guilt piling up, it was easy work for them to bubble over into anger; he pushed past the Peacekeepers to try and bang on the wall of the carriage, yanking on the locked door handle. His screams of Sirius' name were cut off in an instant when the Head Peacekeeper slammed the back of his rifle against Regulus' neck. He lurched, tried to regain his footing, before he crumbled to the ground.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, you dragged him off to the side and held him tight to your chest, as if that would protect him. With an unconscious Regulus in your lap, you were forced to watch them carry down all of Sirius’ belongings, packed haphazardly in bags, and shove them into the back of the carriage. 

It drove off without you ever even catching a glimpse of Sirius. 

The next time you saw him was a few days later, on a broadcasted interview where he announced his permanent move to the Capitol. Clad in shining black clothes that could have fed the entirety of Districts 11 and 12, he had taken on the persona of the Casanova of the Capitol, the goading gladiator, the wicked victor. 

The day after that, Regulus disappeared without any warning or trace. 

All you had was a seemingly private note slipped beneath your pillow that said “Don’t go looking” – you never told anyone about it. In the meantime, you were left completely and utterly alone. 

Grief settled into your veins, and you did the only thing you could: you settled into routine. Sweet, hard-working routine to keep your storms at bay until you had made some sort of life for yourself. With one job as a wooden toy carver and another as a wood sculptures, not to mention the dinner rotation at the McKinnons and the Pettigrews, you kept busy. You could pretend to forget.

Until you couldn’t. Each year when you were forced into that town square, the memories haunted you viciously, cruelly – taunting you with how little you understood, how much time had passed. Beneath it all, there was a simmering of the one emotion you never could get rid of in the grief and confusion; love. It was the singular thing that powered all within you, ranging from the determination to the resentment. Oh, how you loathed how much you loved and missed your Black brothers.

You felt Mabel jump beside you at the crackle of the sound system, as the new Capitol representatives got ready to commence the Reaping. You shared a quick glance with Mary, acknowledging how the younger girl had to be your priority right now.

“It’s alright, Bel,” you whispered, shifting to hold her tighter against your side. “That sound means it’s almost over. Soon we’re done.”

Mary squeezed your own hand in return, almost as if to say take your own advice. You smiled meekly at her, and she rewarded you for your efforts by momentarily placing her forehead on your shoulder.

The younger girl just buried herself into you and you sighed to make yourself softer. It was her second Reaping, which meant it was far from her last. You understood her fear well, but still, you wanted to quell it.

The further the representatives got into their speeches, the longer the same old video droned on for, the more you disappeared from the current moment. It was hard to differentiate between past and present in these few heavy minutes, so you preferred to be in neither, to float up and out of your body. The only thing grounding you was your two friends pressed up against you, and that was all you needed. Nothing they could say up there was of any meaning to you.

Sirius never attended the Reapings the way some of the other victors did. They would line up at the front, on occasion even make speeches themselves, but never Sirius. He had yet to be a mentor, but you knew that victors were supposed to have a meeting of sorts before each game, where one of them was selected for the year. You often found yourself wondering where that meeting took place, if it was at the Capitol or nearby, if you unknowingly were standing just a couple hundred metres from him where he waited backstage or on the train.

A part of you hoped to never find out. A part of you hoped to never be near him again.

Most of you knew that was a poisonous lie.

These were thoughts you promptly pushed away. They did you no good – it had been made clear to you that you were not to think of the noble victor Sirius Black anymore.

The muscles in your back tensed more and more, shoulders hiking higher and higher the longer into the speeches the Capitol representatives got. Knowing that a name was soon to be pulled, yet you kept yourself disconnected.

Almost over, almost over.

The sudden outburst of sound and emotion around you – cries of relief, gasps of shock, whispered reactions– alerted you to the fact that a name had been called.

However, it was Mary’s loud sob and her face turning towards yours with nothing short of horror written over it that told you it was someone you knew.

One glance up into her grieving eyes told you that no, it was– it was you.

After so many years of just barely dodging it, you had been reaped. You were reaped. You were reaped. If your thoughts mere moments before had been a cloud, dragging you up above the crowd, they now became an anchor, cementing your feet to the ground.

“Mary…” you began, but were cut off by a static crackle.

“Y/N L/N? Come now love, don’t be scared.” The glee and excitement in the Capitol woman’s voice was nauseating, but it did kick you into action – and everyone else around you too, as the crowd seemed to separate to form a physical beacon on where the three of you stood, pressed together.

Your body moved on instinct; it was as if you were possessed by Sirius’ memory, pulling Mabel's crying form against you and kissing her head much like he had done with Regulus, squeezing Mary’s shoulder with a tight-lipped smile much like he had done with Peter. Ignoring your heart and mind screaming through sobs and anger as you released yourself from both of their grips to walk down the metaphorical red carpet leading up towards the stage. Chin tilted up, face schooled into nothingness. Eyes burning at the lights that suddenly shone upon you, but yet fighting to keep from squinting. Forcing the tremble away from your fingers by balling them up into fists as you began to ascend the steps to the stage. 

“There we are, darling,” the male Capitol representative, who you had yet to bother learning the name of, essentially cooed at you, reaching out a hand for you to take.

You walked past it and assumed the position to the right of them both, staring emptily into the air. 

He chuckled in a low, menacingly lilting tone. “Okay, well, we can see what kind of tribute we just selected, can’t we, Bella?”

“We sure can, Barty,” the woman, Bella, replied with a gleaming smile. “As for her comrade in arms…” she trailed off for dramatic effect before dipping her fingers with their ridiculously long and sharp nails down into the pot.

From a distance, it was easier to distort the sounds of their voices. Now up close, you couldn’t help but hear every word passing between the two representatives, no matter how loud the screaming in your own head was.

No. No, no, no, no.

“... Peter Pettigrew!” Bella shouted cheerily, with a screeching joy that all but punctured your eardrums.

No. 

You squeezed your eyes shut from the first syllable, fighting the shaking taking over your body. Heavily, your shoulders slumped and your face began to fall at the revelation, before you scrambled for any and every piece of strength in your body to square up once again and face the literal sound of the music.

Deep breaths. 

In the corner of your eye, you saw him climb the stairs to stand beside you. For only a brief second, you dared glance over, only to see the pure terror written all over Peter’s face, only to immediately regret it and whip your face forward again. You knew in your heart that you were not making it out of these games – and unlike with Sirius, the feeling settled like wings on your shoulders instead of rocks. If you were honest, you knew Peter would likely not either, but you could at least fight for him, in the hope that he would.

The man Bella had called Barty came up behind you both and placed a strikingly cold hand on your shoulders, twisting you to face one another. It was custom to shake hands with your fellow tribute, but for the Capitol representatives to lay hands on you like this was certainly not. You fought back the urge to shake it off.

“Now if the tributes may shake hands,” Barty said with a wicked grin, speaking loudly enough for the microphone a metre away to pick up on it – thus too loudly. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Peter’s hand was trembling with such force that he could barely move it away from his body. With a quick sideway glance at the cameras, you reached forward to grab it, steadying it even as you shook it. Peter could not meet your gaze, and not a single part of you could hold it against him; you merely squeezed his hand reassuringly. That had to be enough for now.

As soon as you let go, Bella closed the Reaping Ceremony with a flourish. 

You kept your chin elevated and your gaze empty as you began to move, lest it meet any of your friends and family in the many separated crowds. You weren’t sure if you would be able to keep it up if your eyes locked with Mary’s parents, with Peter’s brothers he just had to leave. Instead, you walked behind the walls with a pin straight back and let the Peacekeepers lead you through the townhouse, room after room, keeping all your emotions balled up. You signed some papers in one room, received a bag with a uniform in another. Finally you walked into the very same room that broke your heart 5 years ago, where your friends and family were already waiting.

The goodbyes were a flurry. Nothing felt real.

You hugged every one of the McKinnon siblings goodbye and nodded weakly when they begged that you would come back home to them, unable to make false promises verbally. The eldest, your Marlene, was the only one who did not plead; she grabbed each side of your face with a determined look and forced you to meet her eyes. “You will come home, Y/N. You will. I am not giving you a choice, you are making it back to us. Do you hear me?”

Even her, you could only spare a nod. But you listened and held her gaze through every word she spoke to make up for it, which seemed to be enough for now. Her hug was even more crushing now than when she kept you from running after Sirius and getting gunned down during his Reaping.

Mary had been silently crying through it all. When she hugged you, your collar was instantly wettened, and you could not help but wonder if this was how it felt for Sirius when you cried into him. You hoped it wasn’t, even as you knew it was. 

When every cheek was kissed and every I love you uttered, you sized them up with a resolved gaze. You let it drag carefully over them all, committing them to memory, one last time. 

Marlene could see what you were doing. With minimal movement, she shook her head – not admonishingly, but the correction was clear nonetheless. You will come back. You gave her a tight-lipped smile, and gave them all a final nod before exiting, allowing Peter to enter for his own goodbyes.

You stopped to say something to him, to hug him or give any reaction, but he scurried past you before you could. Even as you kept walking, your heart was sinking.

There was only one Peacekeeper waiting for you in the hallway. “Where do I go now?” You hated how weak your voice sounded, but at least there were no cameras here to catch it this time.

“Mrs. Lestrange is waiting for you around the corner. She will take you to meet your mentor on the train.” Even in your shock, you were baffled by the extreme lack of emotion in his voice. It was almost like talking to a robot, except it had distinctly human eyes. You supposed that was something to get used to.

“Thank you,” you replied, unsure if that was a common custom with Peacekeepers.

You heard Bella before you saw her, she was excitedly recapping the entire Reaping process to Barty, as if it did not just end and he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He didn't seem to mind; he was twirling around himself, as if your metaphorical dead body was his favourite meadow to frolic through. Her clapping hands and screeching voice made you sick to your stomach, but her eyes might as well be cameras in the court of public opinion, so you picked your facade back up.

“I was told you would take me to the train.” You interrupted one of her tirades, and when her head snapped towards you, there was a second of blazing fire in her expression before she realised that it was you – a new plaything. The glee set back into her within a second.

“Oh, this was the part I was the most excited about.” She smacked a kiss to Barty's cheek before grabbing your elbow to drag you away with her. You had to clench your teeth not to rip it away from her – these Capitol people were handsy. “It’s about time for a reunion, don’t ya’ think?”

You weren’t sure what she was saying most of the time, though you rarely were with Capitol people. Yet the pinching feeling in your stomach did not recede to make space for confusion, nor did your shoulders lower even a fraction.

There was a special entrance to the train that you could access through the townhouse, so that you would not be too swamped by onlookers. Bella was explaining the whole ordeal to you somehow, but as the metallic train came into view through the windows, the blood rushing through your head got louder and louder, even more so than her pitchy voice. 

With this entrance, you only had to walk a meter unsheltered in the transition between the townhouse and the train. Shortly after the first gust of wind hit you was it again shut away as you stepped onto the metallic floorboards.

“Where are we going?” You found yourself asking Bella, unsure if she had already answered this or even if she was in the middle of a sentence.

She looked at you as if you were dumb, but it did not lessen her unnerving smile even a fraction nor stop her quick strides through the many corridors of the train. “Well, to meet your loverboy, duh.”

You stopped in the middle of a step, staring at her incredulously, unsure if you heard her correctly. A frustrated groan escaped her when she had to stop too, looking at you as if you were quite tedious. You knew who she must be referring to, but you had no idea why she would. At least like that.

“Am I not to meet with my potential mentors?” You tried to force any emotion out of your sentence.

“You’re being so silly, did you know that?” Bella took your arm once more, jostling you along with her. “Your mentor has already been decided, stupid. He’s waiting just over there, come on.”

You stumbled slightly in your step from how forcefully she dragged you. You were unsure if she even knew that she was gripping you as hard as she was, or if there was some serious disconnect between her mind and body. 

She only let you go in favour of ripping open a rather large oak door and releasing an unnecessarily loud “ta dah!”. 

The back you were met with was one you would have recognised in every life. 

He stood hunched over a table, hands splayed out so wide they were shaking, black curls hanging messily in his face, breathing ragged. At the sound of Bella’s entrance and you being ushered in, he whipped around.

It was Sirius. Of course it was. Your heart wanted to say it was your Sirius, but you could clearly see that he wasn’t. 

Though he looked different than he had on the occasional glance you stole of him onscreen, he still didn’t look the way you remembered either. No longer was he the scrawny boy you grew up with, the one you messed around in fields with, the one you read books with, the one you cried with and slept beside and walked beside and lived beside. Before you stood a weathered man, sharp in his handsomeness, pointed in every one of his features, guarded by an army of layers yet wearing more emotions than suited him. He had a few tattoos creeping up the side of his neck, the onyx ink shining in contrast to his pale skin.

The one thing that remained the same was the utter heartbreak spelled out in his eyes. It was the same as when he saw you last, only perhaps worse.

No, it was decidedly worse. When the stormy greys landed on your face, flitting about so rapidly that you were unsure how he could even see, lips parting ever so slightly, whatever tormented him settled in deeper. He looked inconsolable.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. As if he didn’t know what to say, as if there were no words.

His attention was abruptly shifted over to Bella when she clapped her hands together in mirth. “Isn’t this exciting!” she exclaimed, looking back and forth between you. “Aren’t you going to hug in greeting? Aren’t you going to ki–”

“Bellatrix.” Sirius spoke through gritted teeth, all of his pain schooled away in favour of a burning fire when he faced her. His voice was so much deeper than you remembered, so much hoarser. “Get lost. This is a meeting between mentor and tribute.”

“Oh, this is hardly a meeting or classified in any way, Siri. Just–”

He cut her off once more. “I won’t tell you again.” He eyed her with a severe glare. “Leave us. Now.”

It looked like Bellatrix wanted to fight him on it, but after looking between you three more times, she evidently decided she had gotten enough out of this endeavour. “You’re too serious, Black,” she said with a giggle. “Don’t bite her face off, you dog, she needs it for the interviews.”

She seemed to all but float out of the room, but closed the door behind her with a loud bang. You kept your head craned sideways, eyes burning a hole through the door where she left, leering. 

The silence in the room felt more deafening than the volume of the plaza had. You had no idea what to say – this was nothing like what you could have imagined.

You and Sirius, alone in a room. Something you had craved more than words could explain, but that you now backed away from with every fibre of your being.

“Princess.” Sirius breathed the word out like he had been choking on it. Before you had the time to turn your head fully back towards him, he had swept you up into a bone-crushing hug. “Y/N,” he whispered into your neck, almost reverently. 

A minute ago you were walking down the hallways with an awful stranger, and now you were embraced by someone who, despite everything, was painfully known to you. It did not compute in your mind, everything was whirring and screeching, and unlike what he once could, Sirius did not quiet the noises.

He almost did, though. Just almost. With his arms around your back, fingers splaying around your ribs, with your nose shoved against his neck as he cradled you, his scent taking over your senses, you could almost fall into it. Could almost fall into him. Your Sirius.

He smelled the same.

You reared backwards out of his touch, back hitting the wall as you stumbled. Your eyes felt wide, almost like a cornered animal, your lips parted as you stared at him. You realised you were breathing heavily. If he was startled by you ripping away from him, his face didn’t show it.

Studying his face now gave you a wave of deja vu so strong, it almost made you dizzy. There was no way you could communicate anything effectively at the minute.

“Sirius, what the fuck?!” 

You hadn’t meant for your voice to be so loud, but not even that drew a reaction from him. Kicking yourself off the wall, you walked past him – leaving a large amount of space between you – dragging your fingers through your hair as you did so. You began a sentence multiple times, but no coherent word came out. “Why are you here? What just happened?” you ended up whispering, feeling pathetic at how close to a whimper it was. “Who–” You stopped. That was a sentence you did not have it in you to complete. 

Who are you?

When you turned around to face him, you found that he had followed after you, keeping a respectable distance but still within arm’s reach, as if he couldn’t allow you to get further than that. For the first time since you stepped into the town square, tears began to fight to well in your eyes. Sirius didn’t look away from them.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper, insistent and imploring. “Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” You choked out, wrapping your arms around your stomach, not much unlike you had during his Reaping. Sirius’ gaze flitted down to your arms before moving back up, and it was as if you could see the memory playing across his irises.

He heaved a deep breath before rubbing his hands up and down his own face. When he lowered them, he gave you a look of defeat.

“I– let’s start over again,” he said then. He gave you a rueful smile. “Hi, princess.”

You looked at him, uncertain of whether you should start crying or laughing. You settled on a scowl in between. “I’m not sure you get to call me that anymore.” You looked away from his face as you said it, unwilling to see his reaction. “But sure. Hi, Sirius.”

When you dared a glance at him, he had his lips pressed together and a look of remorse in his eyes. You hated that you could still read him like this, for more than one reason.

“I was roughhoused onto the train last night. Told that I was to be the mentor of these games, whether I’d like to or not, no more information.” He said, as if that explained anything.

You couldn’t help the bite in your reply. “Am I meant to feel sorry for you? I was just given a death sentence. And now I have to face my ex best friend who I haven't seen in five years. This is some awful joke.”

This time you didn’t avert your gaze, the simmer within you for once bursting into a flame, however short-lived, and you got to witness how his face jerked backwards as if you had slapped him. In some way, you kind of had.

Your anger was not mirrored in his expression, but a form of determination took over his face as he spoke. “You weren’t. You weren’t.” 

“What?” you asked dumbly, yet uncaring of sounding it.

Sirius stepped towards you, gingerly taking your hands into his own. His touch burned, the new awkwardness of the gesture burned. “You weren’t given a death sentence. I wasn’t and you weren’t. I bloody swear to you, Y/N, you will make it through these games.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from his touch, but you managed to at least not lean into it. There was a dangerous gloss coated over his grey eyes when you met them with your own, and for a second you got lost in them. Your voice cracked as you asked, “Why?”

Sirius let out a humourless laugh and suddenly brought you back into a hug, as if he just couldn’t help himself. Your hands were trapped between you in an embrace with one of his, but he rested his forehead against your temple and seemingly breathed you in.

“I am so, so sorry you have to ask that, princess. I’m so sorry, but I had to go.”

You shivered in his hold. These were words that you dreamed of – but had they not been nightmares? You shook your head but made no other move to remove yourself.

"It's been five years, you know? I'm not sure we even know each other at this point."

Sirius' answer was immediate. "I know you." He pressed his forehead firmer against you. "I know you."

The emotion in his voice rendered you speechless.

He pulled backwards without releasing you from the embrace, leaning away just enough to catch your gaze with his. It felt like the floor was giving way beneath you. His hand on your back travelled up to your cheek. “I'm sorry for it all. Always. And I’m sorry for calling you princess when you just asked me not to,” he added with a hint of the sheepish smile you once loved.

You opened and closed your mouth, absolutely dumbfounded, and he just stared at you patiently. Warmly. Desperately. 

“Sirius–”

You were cut off by the door swinging open once more, causing Sirius to physically spring away from you, suddenly putting multiple metres between you at the sign of new guests. You almost stumbled at the change in positions, and you saw his hand twitch when he cast a glance your way, as if it ached to steady you.

“Now that the lovers have had their private greeting, maybe it’s time to include the other tribute in your strategies, Siri? Or are we just going to let itty bitty Peter die at the cornucopia?”

Bellatrix’s high pitched voice pierced through your ears, and you felt a mountain of guilt fall on top of you when your eyes fell on Peter cowering behind her, his eyes flitting wildly between you and Sirius. In your whirlwind of emotion, you had almost forgotten that he was as doomed as you were.

One glance to your right showed you that Sirius had no idea Peter had been reaped too. His brows furrowed and his lips fell into a decidedly downturned frown. “What– no, Pete,” he breathed out, arms falling to his sides.

“Hi, Sirius,” Peter squeaked, seemingly uncertain about what their dynamic was now, but relieved at at least being acknowledged.

Sirius stepped forward and physically nudged Bellatrix to the side as he pulled Peter in for his own hug. The sight stung in a way you couldn't communicate.

Over Sirius’ back, Bellatrix was grinning at you wickedly.

“Seems like you three have a conundrum or two to work through for us, don’t you?” Barty said cheerily as he emerged from behind Peter, clapping his hands down on his shoulders and making the younger boy jump in fear.

Bellatrix laughed as if that was just the funniest joke, and all but skipped up to you to tug at your cheek while turning to look at Sirius’ face that became increasingly stony at the sight of Bellatrix’s hands on you.

“Don’t you, Siri?” she pushed, giggling in a nearly maniacal manner. “Luckily, the Capitol is still far off. Gives you just loads of time to catch up, yeah?”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Mission: Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Poly 141 x Reader

Warnings: very fluffy

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, I wrote this because it’s my birthday today! I hope you enjoy while I go celebrate my 21st birthday lol

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The morning started off strangely. The barracks were unusually quiet for once. Normally, Soap would be blaring music way too early, and Price would have already dropped by with the day’s schedule. Even Ghost’s usual ominous presence was notably absent.

You wandered into the mess hall, hoping for some semblance of normalcy. Instead, you found Gaz sitting alone at a table, looking a little too focused on his bowl of cereal. He glanced up at you, and his eyes widened slightly before he plastered on a forced smile.

“Morning!” he said, voice a little too chipper.

You raised an eyebrow, grabbing a cup of coffee. “Alright, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he said, shoveling cereal into his mouth at an alarming rate. “Why would anything be going on?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Am not.”

“You *are.*”

Gaz swallowed his mouthful, clearly trying to come up with an excuse. “I, uh… have to check on something. See you later!” He bolted out of the room, leaving his half-eaten cereal behind.

You stared after him, frowning. “Weirder than usual.”

The odd behavior continued throughout the morning. You caught glimpses of Soap and Gaz whispering in the hallway, only for them to scatter like guilty schoolboys when you approached.

At one point, you spotted Price standing outside one of the supply closets, looking extremely suspicious with a clipboard in hand.

“Morning, Captain,” you greeted, trying to sound casual.

“Ah, good morning,” he replied, quickly stepping in front of the door like he was guarding state secrets.

“What are you up to?”

“Inventory,” he said, a little too quickly.

“Inventory? On a day off?”

He nodded, clearing his throat. “Someone’s got to keep things running smoothly.”

Before you could press further, a loud crash echoed from inside the closet. Price winced.

“What was that?” you asked, trying to peer around him.

“Rats,” he said firmly. “Big ones. Best stay clear.”

“Right…”

You narrowed your eyes but let it slide—for now.

Later, you walked past the lounge and heard Soap’s voice through the slightly ajar door.

“I’m telling you, it’s gonna fall apart if we don’t secure it better!”

“Just hold it steady,” Ghost grumbled, sounding annoyed. “And keep your bloody voice down.”

You pushed the door open. “What’s going to fall apart?”

Soap froze, standing on a chair with a roll of tape in one hand and what looked like a string of lights in the other. Ghost stood below him, glaring up at you.

“Ah… nothing!” Soap said, hopping down so fast he nearly tripped. “Just fixing… stuff. Lights. Base maintenance, you know?”

Ghost crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

“Shouldn’t *you*?” you shot back, your suspicion growing.

Soap laughed nervously, stepping in front of whatever they’d been working on. “Right, well, we’re all very busy, so… off you go!” He practically shoved you out of the room, closing the door behind you.

If you weren’t suspicious before, you definitely were now.

By the time evening rolled around, you’d given up trying to figure out what was going on. Whatever the boys were up to, they clearly weren’t going to tell you. You were in your quarters, considering calling it an early night, when there was a knock at your door.

“Come in,” you called, and Soap appeared, grinning from ear to ear.

“Evening, birthday star!”

You frowned. “Johnny, what—”

“No questions!” he interrupted, holding up a blindfold.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He stepped forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Trust me, you’ll love it. Now, blindfold on!”

You sighed but let him tie it on. “If this is some kind of prank…”

“It’s not!” he promised, taking your hand and leading you out into the hall.

You could hear the others talking in hushed tones as Soap guided you through the base.

“Did you fix the lights?” Gaz whispered.

“They’re fine,” Ghost muttered.

“They better be,” Price said gruffly. “We’ve got one shot at this.”

“Guys?” you called out, trying to lift the blindfold.

“Oi, no peeking!” Soap scolded, swatting your hand away.

You stumbled a little as Soap hurried you along. At one point, you heard something crash, followed by Ghost’s irritated, “Bloody hell, Johnny…”

“Oops,” Soap muttered, pulling you faster.

Finally, you stopped. “Alright,” Soap said, his voice full of barely contained excitement. “Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!” He pulled off the blindfold.

The common room had been completely transformed. String lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the space. Balloons in your favorite colors floated in the corners, and a table in the center held a slightly lopsided but lovingly decorated cake. A banner stretched across the back wall, reading “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” in uneven letters.

“Surprise!” the team shouted, though Soap’s voice was easily the loudest.

You stared, overwhelmed. “What… you guys…”

Gaz grinned, holding up a small wrapped box. “We’ve been planning this for weeks.”

Price stepped forward, his expression soft. “Couldn’t let the day pass without doing something special.”

Ghost stood off to the side, arms crossed, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile in his eyes. “Happy birthday, love.”

The evening unfolded into a blur of laughter and warmth. Soap and Gaz led a chaotic karaoke session, their voices so off-key you couldn’t stop laughing. Price told embarrassing stories about everyone, his dry humor making even Ghost crack a smirk.

Ghost, for his part, stayed close, quietly ensuring you always had a drink or a plate of food. He didn’t say much, but his presence was steady and comforting.

At one point, Soap dragged you into the center of the room for a dance, spinning you around so wildly you nearly tripped. “Best birthday ever, aye?” he asked, grinning.

“Absolutely,” you said, laughing as he twirled you again.

Later, as the night wound down, you sat on the couch surrounded by the boys. Gaz leaned against your side, Soap had an arm draped around your shoulders, and Price sat nearby, his hand resting lightly on your knee. Ghost stood behind you, his hand briefly brushing your shoulder.

“You mean a lot to us,” Price said softly. “More than you probably realize.”

“You’re stuck with us now,” Soap added, grinning.

“Where you go, we go,” Gaz said firmly.

Ghost’s voice was quiet but steady. “Happy birthday, love. You deserve this.”

You looked at them, your heart full. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys, but… thank you. For everything.”

Soap clinked his glass against yours. “Here’s to many more birthdays together!”

And from the way they all looked at you, you knew they meant it.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[becca-e-barnes]

The Study

Not only is this the start of my 'Moving In' series, I'm also calling it my birthday piece! I turn 24 on Tuesday and I'm trying hard not to think about the fact I'm overdue a quarter-life crisis.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.7K (oops)

Warnings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky, sub! reader, spanking, use of a vibrator, forced orgasms, kinda Dom vibes but totally consensual, degradation, safe word system but safe word not used, pet names

Summary: Bucky spends the weekend at your new house and you take him on a tour.

Minors, do not interact

Turning the key in the front door still feels odd. One of the very first changes you made to the house was installing a new locking mechanism on both doors and it hasn't had a chance to stiffen up yet.

The smell of paint is starting to dissipate but it hits you hardest when you open the front door. The hallway was one of the last areas of the house to be redecorated so the smell seems to be most noticeable right at the door.

"Damn, this place is deceptive." Bucky's remark makes you smile to yourself while you hang your jacket up. "It's a whole lot bigger on the inside than I thought."

"It surprised me too. All of the rooms are a nice size."

The house had ticked so many boxes for you. More than two bedrooms in a quiet development, a low maintenance garden, off road parking, a downstairs bathroom and the whole house has plenty of potential. The plan isn't to live here forever, after all. It should be easy enough for you to sell when you decide to move on.

You flick a few lights on in the hallway and toss your keys into the bowl on the hall table before you turn your attention back to Bucky standing in your living room. Despite the fact you hadn't removed your own shoes, he's taken his off, leaving them neatly at the doorway of the living room beside his travel bag.

He's respectful of your space; he always has been but it's nice to just have him in your space. It's nice to have him be part of it.

He walks slowly around the little living room, looking at the few ornaments and picture frames you'd collected. "That's cute." He's looking at a picture of you and your best friend, sitting on the floor of your old kitchen, laughing yourselves to tears over the fact your Christmas tree was three inches tall and cut out from the back of a cereal box. The photo brings a smile to your face every time you see it.

"Are you hungry? You've had a long day." You move over behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his clothes while he looks at your pictures on the fireplace. He's had to travel for a few hours just to get here so you imagine he's bound to want something.

"I'm okay for now." You nod at his response, taking in the fact he's actually standing in your home.

The time you have with him is limited. That's how this works but for just less than two days, he's yours. After that, he'll go back home so you've learned to make the most of the time you have with him.

"Help yourself to whatever you like. Kitchen is down the hall." You don't even really want to move but you can't stand like this forever.

He turns in your arms so he's facing you and captures your lips in his. It's a soft, slow, gentle kiss; the kind you've been dreaming of since you last saw him. You need him to feel exactly how much you've missed him without having to tell him.

The kiss lasts for minutes, far beyond its natural end but neither of you care.

After what feels like forever, your lips part but your foreheads stay pressed together, both of you determined not to pull away.

"I still haven't gotten the grand tour." He's got the most beautiful eyes and they're locked on yours to the point that you'd almost forgotten he's never been here before. "But I want to start in your favourite room."

"Well, the study is my favourite. I converted one of the bedrooms into an office space."

"Show me."

You don't protest. Instead you head out of the living room and up the stairs to the furthest end of the hallway, with Bucky following closely behind you.

"These all used to be built-in storage units around a headboard for a bed. I took all the doors off the cabinets and made it into shelving." You'd turned the room into a space that you love. The walls are painted a light shade of cream with houseplants lined up between books on the shelves. Instead of storage around a headboard, you now have book shelves, arching around your desk. The other side of the room has a sofa that converts into a bed for extra guests and there's a beanbag in the corner by the window to read on.

"I see why it's your favourite. Odd mix of books here though." Bucky's eyes flick over the titles, ranging from your collection of political figures' autobiographies, the 'Diary of an Oxygen Thief' trilogy, the selection of books providing commentary on the criminal justice system and a good few classics.

"It is. But I like this room. It'll be cosy in winter once I get some fairy lights and nice and bright in summer. Somewhere to unwind." You're thinking out loud as you reach up to close the window and that's when you feel Bucky step behind you.

"I think we should celebrate." Bucky’s voice is low, his lips trailing up the side of your neck, heading towards the spot just behind your ear that he's always loved to kiss.

"I think..." He stops briefly on his path, taking a second to inhale deeply, determined to slow down. "I think we should make love in every room of your new house this weekend."

Fuck.

"Are you sure you're up for that? Because I can really stretch it out. I'm not sure how we're going to make it work in the pantry or the downstairs bathroom but I'm happy to try."

"Your 'pantry' is a cupboard." Bucky's breath is hot on your neck, and you feel his lips have curled into a smile.

"I know. You promised every room though." You can't help but tease him, although you're half serious. It's not your fault that you're keen. Not when he's kissing down your neck like that and holding your waist so your back is flush against him.

"You're a handful." You feel his fingertips graze the bare skin of your waist and you remember how nice it is to just be touched the way he touches you.

"I might be a handful but I can promise if I have my way, after you leave here on Sunday, you won't even be able to think about cumming again until Thursday at the very earliest."

"Jesus, that's one hell of a promise." He turns you around to face him and you notice his eyes are damn near twinkling with excitement.

You've got all weekend together; there's no need to rush but you can't help the overwhelming need to feel him sliding into you. That's when you feel closest to him and it's the closeness you're craving more than anything.

Your hand cups the side of his face, your thumb tracing across his freshly shaved jawline and you allow yourselves a second to just be together.

He smells familiar. The heat of his body against yours makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe.

"I want to start with you though. I brought you a little something." He kisses your lips gently and smooths a hand down over your hair before he retreats downstairs to the bag that he'd brought a few changes of clothes in.

He returns with a small cardboard box with the tape on one end already cut.

"I didn't have time to wrap it. It arrived last minute." You're so busy trying to get into the box that you hadn't even noticed.

Inside the box are a few instruction manuals, a thin white cord and a black satin pouch. Inside the pouch is a neon pink toy that's thicker at each end, narrow in the middle and nicely curved.

"I've already charged it and paired it to my phone. This end slips inside you." He points to the thicker end, studying your face to make sure you're okay with this.

And why wouldn't you be? This is pretty damn close to a dream come true.

"Remember what you said last time I saw you? You wanted me to spank you. Maybe we should take it a little further." He's always been hesitant to do anything that would hurt you and that fact is the very reason you want him to. You know how much he wants to protect you and knowing he cares about you has you convinced that he's the right person to explore this with.

"Please." You whisper, beyond excited at the thought of getting everything you've begged him for. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking about you bent over this desk with this inside you and we'll start off with a couple of light taps to that pretty ass." He presses the button on the narrow part of the toy and it give a short buzz, coming to life in his hands.

Fuck, you're into this man. You're into his hesitation just as much as you're into his willingness to try something new.

"Traffic light safe word system. 'Red' and I'll stop, 'amber' and I'll give you a break, 'green' to keep going." He wants to be fully sure you know you're in control here, not that you ever had any doubt.

You nod and stretch up on your tiptoes to kiss him, this time with as much passion as you can manage. Your hands run through his hair while his trail over your body, your tongue flicking gently against his.

Just being around this man makes you wet, not that you'd ever admit that to him. Even the thought of him has you throbbing with arousal so now that he's here in front of you, your whole body feels like it's buzzing.

He touches you like he can't get enough. He can't get you close enough and it's beyond thrilling to be the subject of his need.

It's almost embarrassing that you get yourself worked up so easily but from the hungry look in his eyes when you undo the button of your jeans, he doesn't seem to mind.

You step out of your jeans and panties and Bucky helps you out of your top and bra, leaving you naked in your study.

"Look at you." Bucky sounds like he's almost in awe, no matter how many times he's seen you naked.

He kisses you again, matching the same passion he'd had earlier, trailing his hands over your soft, warm skin until his fingers are nestled between your thighs.

"Fuck, you're soaked." His fingertips trail between the folds of your sex, gathering the wetness he's responsible for. "Good girls don't get this wet at the thought of being spanked. You know that, don't you?"

You're almost too turned on to even respond to him. "Bend over. I want to see how well you take your toy."

You do as you're told, bending over your desk while Bucky drops to his knees behind you to slip the toy inside you. You feel him trail the thicker end of the toy against your slick cunt, gathering enough wetness to let it slip inside you comfortably.

Within a minute, the toy comes to life inside you and there's no way to stifle the moan that catches in your throat.

Not only is the internal part vibrating at a low, delightful buzz, the other end is pressed right to your clit and is stimulating it at the same strength.

"Did I say you could make a sound?" Bucky quizzes, sounding harsher than ever and when he gets no response, his hand comes down on your ass with so much force that it makes you yelp.

It was a hell of a spank and you can feel heat blooming under the skin of your left cheek, quickly followed by another spank to the right.

"For the record, you can make as much noise as you need to. But only because I've told you that you can. You see the difference?"

You force yourself not to nod and it has the effect you were hoping for. Two more harsh, painful spanks are delivered, one to each cheek, the same as before.

You don't know if you imagined it but the toy inside you feels stronger. You can't be sure if you're just focusing on the pleasure over the pain or if Bucky really has turned it up.

"Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" He needs to know you're enjoying this because a little part of him is surprised at just how much he's into it. He gets to control both your pleasure and your pain because you want him to and the trust alone is enough to get him off.

"Feels amazing, fuck. Making such a mess." Stringing sentences together isn't easy but you swear you're about to cum already. Your nipples rub delightfully against the wooden desk and you swear every sensation is heightened.

"I wish you could see the mess you're making. Looks fucking delicious." He turns the toy up ever so slightly but that's enough to send you spiralling, gripping the edge of the desk as pleasure ripples through your entire body.

You can do nothing but sob, cumming relentlessly because he's refused to turn the toy down. Even after you're done, he keeps it at the same intensity, moving on like nothing happened.

"You say the sluttiest things. That promise of yours to totally drain me. Who says shit like that? So fucking filthy."

"I mean it. I want every drop of cum you can give me. And then more." You know saying something like that will earn you another spank and it does.

"You're not just acting like a slut. You are a slut. You spend your life hiding it from everyone else but you can't hide it from me." A shiver runs down your spine. You almost feel like you've been caught. Like he's figured you out and now you have nothing left to hide. "Say it."

It's a clear instruction but saying it makes it real.

Your hesitation earns you another sharp spank, heat prickling both your face and your ass at the same time.

"Don't make me tell you twice." For someone hesitant to slip into a dominant role, he's absolutely nailing it.

"I'm your slut." Your voice is less steady than you would've hoped but the words at clear at the very least.

"My slut?" He almost sounds like he can't believe what he heard.

"Yours. Your slut." You repeat, wishing you could see his face.

"Oh sweetheart, that's cute." He means it too. He turns the toy up as a reward and even though it's only at half its full strength, you can't help but cum again, pleading your way through another blinding orgasm.

"Such a good girl for me. That's it. Cum nice and hard. Give that slutty little pussy what it needs." He lands one more harsh spank on your ass and you swear it only makes you cum harder, to the point that your legs are shaking.

But all of a sudden, the sensation stops completely.

"B-Bucky?" You ask, turning around to look at him, wondering if something went wrong.

"Don't want to wear you out, sweetheart. I think that'll do for now." You agree that it's probably a good place to stop and you have no problem taking the toy out for a while.

He pulls you in close, resting your head on his chest, letting you catch your breath while he holds you and kisses your forehead.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice is soft, hoping that you'll tell him the truth.

"No. It was perfect." You smile, capturing his lips in yours, hoping to relieve some of his fear. You're almost giddy with excitment. It truly was everything you needed and you fully intend to thank him for it before the weekend is over.

"Good. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would." He's back to the gentle, tender touches that you're so used to from him and it's a blessing that he can flick so effortlessly between both personas.

"How about we order in and stick a movie on?" He suggests, kissing the tip of your nose. "Go put on something comfortable. I'll find a takeout."

[ilovechuuy4]

S/O gifting Chuuya a puppy for his birthday? ≧◡≦

I Was Meant For You, Baby. Being With You Makes the Flame Burn Good. ✧٭*꙳

Warnings; none other than thicker paragraphs

Description; Giving your boyfriend a pet for his birthday!

A/N; Sorry if this took so long! I wanted 2 wait till chuuyas birthday since it isn't too far from nikolai's! Hope you enjoy!! Also I was flooded out my house (literally) so please bare with me! (HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY BEAUTIFUL BEST WIFE!1!1!1!!1!2?2?2?2?1!1!1!1!) (F/N is friends name)

You glance at the clock on the wall, 5:23PM a nice Sunday evening on the 28th of April. You had a day until Chuuyas birthday but you already knew what you were getting for his present, that's why you were sitting in a pet adoption center right now. There were dogs barking, cats meowing and other animals noises. Needlessly to say, it was loud.

You were waiting for a specific dog to come out. It was the perfect one for Chuuya. You waited a bit longer until you saw the door open that led to the animals and there runs a puppy, it was a golden retriever. The puppy's coat was this bright shiny golden blonde with these soft brown eyes. Maybe the energy of the dog was different from chuuya's but surely it'll mix well no matter what.

The golden dog's tail was wagging frantically as the employee let go of the small leash, letting the dog go as it jumped in your lap, licking at your face. You laugh softly, running your nails in the coat of the new fluffy companion.

You reach into your pocket and grab your wallet and take out the money; paying the employee. They take the money with a soft nod and fill somethings out before letting you go. You had to keep the dog at a friends house for only a day since chuuya's birthday wasn't until the next day.

You drop the entergetic animal off at F/N apartment for the day while you not only go shopping for a cake but for the puppy too. You make your way to the closest store, making your way to the small bakery built inside. You talk to the baker who was at the front, telling her exactly what you want and what time I'd be picked up, around 3pm tomorrow; Monday, April 29th. You watched as she jotted the details down and she nodded. "Alright ma'am/sir, that'll be around $20 (around 335 in pesos and 3,086 in Japanese yen.) tomorrow when you pick it up." The kind woman said with a thankful smile.

Once you pre-ordered, you scurry off through the market, grabbing chuuya a new fedora to add to his collection along with a nice red wine. You then make your way to the pet isle. There was a lot but you got the essentials; dog food, specifically wet food since it was only a puppy, chew toys, treats, bowls etc. Then you walk your way to check out spending around a good $150(23,197 yen or 2,557 Pecos) you sigh, the hat was pretty expensive, it was around 80-90 USD. You rub the back of your neck as you leave the store, bags in hand.

You drive home, entering the house but keeping the bags in trunk of your car. Once you are inside the house, slipping off your shoes and coat, you are met with a slightly upset blue eyed man, your boyfriend. His arms crossed over his narrow chest, his bright blue irises dangerously showing his mood of anger. "Where were you? You're usually home hours before I am, but I'm here hours before you are home?" Chuuya questions, he was very serious.

"Well I was uhm.." You stamppered, you couldn't make up a good enough excuse. "I was at my friends house, F/N? them?" You said, rubbing the back of your neck. You were obviously lying, nothing could get past the ginger even if you tried. "I won't push, doll. But you gotta tell me when you won't be home. I was worried." He stated, he never pushed you to tell him where you were, he wanted to it come out naturally with no force, he didn't like trying to push answers out, it felt odd to him.

Chuuya walked forward and embraced you, holding you close, hands holding your hips. "Let's go order some food and watch a movie, yeah?" Chuuya recommended, gently grazing your lips with his. You smile and nod as you follow him to the couch. The night grew and the both of y'all became tired. "Let's go to bed, darlin'." He said, gently lifting your to red body off the couch and into yalls shared bedroo, laying you don't and slipping under the covers with you.

As the night wore and the day grew you shirt confortably in the bed, waking up with a yawn. It was 2pm, Chuuya had let you sleep in since you were out so late last night doing god knows what (or at least he didn't know what you were doing.) You yawn, stretching your bones as they pop and crack, the sounds sending shivers down your spine. You yawn onces more before getting out of bed.

You scurry around the bedroom, taking a shower, drying your hair and putting on your clothes you were going to wear to pick up and cake and the puppy. Nothing big, something simple. You grab your bag with your wallet and walk out the house, getting into your car and driving to the same store. You were only a couple minutes early but that was always a good thing as you walked to the bakery section. The same lady greets you with a welcoming smile as he walks to the back, bringing back the cake.

The cake with a simple French vanilla. Thick, swirly dollops of icing, boarding around the top and bottom. The bottom layered with dark chocolate shavings, those also layered at the top on top of the swirls of icing. In black icing, a neat, swirly cursive wrote; "Happy birthday Chuuya." You take out your wallet to pay the kind lady with a smile before taking your card back and walking out the store.

Once leaving the store, you stop by F/N house and pick up the fluffy compainion. It was jumping around, barking and other nonsense in the back seat of the car as you pull up to your house. You reach back, putting the leash on the collar and helping the puppy out the car. It runs inside the house as you squat down to feed it, pouring the food into the bowl in the back room where you sadly had to keep the cute golden for a few minutes more before your boyfriend came home.

You put the fedora and red wine in a small bag and stuff it with tissue paper. You gently place it on the marbled counter top as you take out the cake from the fridge and placing it beside the gift bag. Before you knew it, you heard the rustingly of keys and the front door unlocking, the hinges on the door squeeking as it opened, and there behold your beautiful boyfriend.

"Doll, I'm home. How ar-" his sentence cut off, his eyes going to the gift and cake, a smile spreading on his face as he looked at you. "You know, you shouldn't have?" He said with a chuckle, walking towards you and wrapping you in a hug, hands going around your waist. "I uhm.. I have another gift for you." You said with a nervous giggle before you could say anything else there was barking in the back ground, making chuuyas eyes widen.

"You got a dog?! Where?" Chuuya exclaimed, his eyes wide but he seemed excited. You gently pull away from Chuuya, scurrying to the room the dog was confined in, opening the door. You watched as the puppy hopped and jumped, running around before going to the taken aback chuuya. His eyes widden in gleam as he squats down to pet it was a smile.

"You really got a fuckin' dog?" He said unbelieved, running his hand down the dogs thick coat of fur. "I mean yeah. I know you wanted one so, what do you wanna name her?" You ask with a smile. "Princess." He said, he was straightforward with it and he meant it, this dog's name was gonna be princess and you were well aware it was going to be spoiled like one.

"Mhm alright, princess it is." You say with a slight laugh. You watch as Chuuya stands up and walks over to you hugging you tight. "You don't know how much you; and this. means to me, darlin'. I love you so much." He murmurs softly, kissing your lips slowly, Princess directly between yalls legs.

[sleepyangelkami]

BLOODY NOSE s.harrington

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.6K

STEVE HARRINGTON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - your clumsy self was used to running into things and hurting yourself, so much so that you practically couldn't even feel the pain anymore. however, a little blood was enough to scare you. thankfully, steve is there to clean your bloody mess up.

 ☆ WARNINGS - blood, kinda gorey, clumsy!reader, ditzy!reader, crybaby!reader (the reader's a lot of things, okay??), worrying, anxiety, mention of knife?, attentive!steve, pre-established relationship, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

clumsy was your middle name, at least it should be.

you can't recall the last time you'd gone a full week without falling over and skidding your knee or banging your head into the pole you were walking towards. something about hurting yourself came so easy to you. perhaps it was because you were a buzzing ball of energy and no cones would stand in your way.

and steve harrington couldn't have you any other way.

allthough, he'd love if you'd actually look where you were going, he didn't really mind shutting the cupboards after you to make sure you didn't hit your head or switch off the gas when you were finished baking so you didn't light the house on fire, or even snatching your arm and forcing you to one side of the street so you didn't walk straight into the pole right in front of you.

however, sometimes he truly did wish you wouldn't be so clumsy.

as cute as it was, he couldn't deny that he was a worrier. a worrier until his last breath. your every move had him on his tip toes, making him turn grey in his prime and forcing the wrinkled lines on his forehead.

there was no denying that steve was sort of alike a mother to everyone he let into his life. a father? no, no. a mother. which was sort of odd, seeing as he was also your boyfriend.

often times you were strolling into family video with another bruise or scratch. you didn't mind though, because there was no blood. truthfully, steve was always much more worried than you were, trying to hold your leg still as he patched a plaster on it.

you were always swinging your dangling legs across those tables.

as time progressed, so did your relationship.

steve supposed that he never stopped being worried, he just began being prepared. plasters in his pockets, always watching you with a close eye.

until he wasn't.

it was late in the afternoon, a chopping knife in your hand. you were cutting up some fruits, wooden chopping board soaked in many different colours due to the juices that fell from them. steve knew how you loved your snacks in the evening, especially fruit, you had this awful craving for them. perhaps it was due to the dehydration you had when you constantly forgot to drink water. usually, steve had to follow you around with a water bottle.

usually, this was steve's task.

he didn't often leave you alone with a knife. actually, come to think about it he never left you alone with a knife. he knew that the outcome would not be as blissful as one would imagine.

even now, after you'd begged to cut up your own fruit. you'd told him that you were a lady, not a toddler. he had to agree. and as nervous as he was, he sat by the counter. his eyes were strained on your hands, chopping up the fruit.

the knife slid from each piece of fruit, you grasping the little chunks and tossing them in a bowl. "you want any?" you questioned, back sort of turned to him as you sliced the pear.

"no, honey, i'm okay―" smiling at you before realising he was smiling at you meaning your face was turned away from the fruit. "eyes on the fruit, sweetheart." though there was obvious worry laced in his tone, his own throat clenching at the mere thought of you practically slicing your hand off.

honestly? it wasn't too far fetched with what you'd done in the past.

steve watched as you dropped the knife a little too carelessly onto the chopping board before sweeping the bowl into your hands. he'd breathed out a sigh of relief, thankful the worrying and bubbling anxiety of you slicing a limb off was over.

unfortunately, that feeling of relief? yeah, it didn't last too long.

"See that wasn't so hard―" before he could so much as utter out a word of caution, much too wrapped up in the whole knife business, the open cabinet drawer was hitting you right in the face, a loud "ow!" falling from your lips.

"shit." instantly standing from his seat, making his way over towards you.

holding your hand up to your face, you uttered the muffled words. "'m okay, i jus―" turning to place the bowl of fruit onto the counter before "ow!" slapping your face against the same cabinet drawer.

"jesus christ." panic evident in his voice. "just―just don't move, okay?" perhaps that was the best idea, seeing as you moving would possibly result in loosing some form of a limb.

truthfully, it didn't hurt that much.

there was a stinging pain in your nose but you'd felt that familliar feeling many times before. it was almost as if your body had grown numb to the pain. perhaps that was why it was so easy to keep repeating the same mistakes, your body simply didn't care enough to stop.

you said ow due to the pressure though also because you deemed it was sort of necessary. you hit something, you shout "ow" right?

you felt him before you could hear him. "you okay? c'mere, baby, show me a look." the bowl of fruit was discarded on the counter top while one of hands moved to shove the cupboard press closed so you were in a safe proximity, tossing the end of the knife over and tipping it into the sink, out of reach.

finally, his hands came down to your own wrists, gently maneuvering them away from your face so he could take a look at your nose. "'m okay." you quickly quipped, knowing you'd endured much worse than a little bang against some wood. "really, it doesn't hurt that bad." did it even hurt at all? perhaps the feeling of hurt hadn't truly settled in.

steve didn't listen, tipping your head back by his finger against your chin. "doesn't hurt that bad?" you nodded though your head stung a little just by doing so. "yeah, well you're bleeding."

he should have known not to utter those words.

almost instantly, he turned to grab some of the kitchen paper that had been placed on the table, using the roll to grab a couple sheets, knowing you were too far from the bathroom.

bleeding?

the word kept repeating in your head and suddenly you felt dizzy. perhaps it was the hit of the cabinet drawer against your head or maybe it was the way you pushed your hand up to your nose, gazing down at the red crimson that painted your delicate skin.

why did your nose suddenly hurt so bad?

perhaps it was the anxiety building up in your cluttered chest. whatever it was, you could feel stinging in your eyes now, not from any physical pain but instead the pretty silhouette of tears that danced in your waterline, all glossy.

steve took notice of your glassy eyes before you could utter a word. "hey, hey, wh's wrong? does it hurt?" you nodded your head in agreement, despite the dizziness, despite the fact that you didn't know if it was all that entirely true.

he placed the kitchen paper against your nose ever so gently, featherlight. "i didn't... i didn't mean to." your voice came out breathless, sort of wobbly as if you really were going to cry.

steve felt his heart ache a little at that. "no, no, i know you didn't, hey." his large hand moved it's way towards your waist, soothing the skin gently. however, he was suddenly aware of your glance cast down on your hand, covered in a little of the blood from your nose. "hey, c'mon, pretty girl, 's just a little blood, no biggie, okay?"

once again, you nodded as a response, sniffing slightly.

"stupid." you mumbled through the tissue held against your nose, stumping the bleeding. it caused the word to come out muffled, practically unheard.

"you're not stupid." he gushed. "it was an accident, it happens."

however this time, you shook your head. "no, not me." his brows pinched together a little, taking the napkin from your nose, dried blood at the base of your nose. "the stupid cabinet door." grouching like a child.

he couldn't help but grin at you, wiping the dried blood from the bottom of your nose. "yeah, stupid cabinet door." he agreed, thankful your fear of blood didn't last too long.

you see, if it was any other situation, you probably would have cried.

but when steve stood so close to you, the scent of him enveloping you, arms practically encaging you. there was something about it that made the world stop, that made you realise a little blood wasn't all that bad. hey, you got attention from the world's best boyfriend, right?

surely, that had to count for something.

half an hour passed, you laid on the couch with a pack of frozen peas against your already bruising nose while leaning against steve's arm. he used his other one to hold a fork, feeding you the chopped up fruit. "better?" he mumbled, unable to catch your eye when you were so engrossed in the tv in front of you.

practically dazed by the animation, you managed to nod your head. "better." mumbling back, barely uttering the whole word.

steve couldn't help but roll his eyes upon realising how much special treatment he was giving you. truthfully, he was thankful you were okay but there was only one thing on his mind. "never lettin' you cut fruit again." murmuring practically to himself.

however, you heard. you snapped your head up, dodging the strawberry with a shocked look on your face. "what why?" he stared at you with a little shock. "i didn't even get cut!"

he rolled his eyes, shoving the strawberry through your lips. "just eat your fruit."

main masterlist/steve's masterlist

[gretavanmoon]

Valor - Troubadour

Pairing: Daniel x OC

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: Cursin', Smokin', Drinkin'. Angst: Mention of Struggle and Poverty, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Weapons, Mentions of Murder and Death, Allusions to Shady Activities, Mention of Police, Concealing a Fugitive. Smut: Flirting, Kissing, Unprotected Sex.

Hey everyone! Thanks for being here! Was really missing the Valor world (what's new) and decided to satiate my needs with a little Danny spin-off. This story picks up just a few months after Chapter 14 ends and before the Epilogue, when Danny has decided to busk around the Midwest in search of fulfilling his musical heart and hitting the open road on his motorcycle. This Danny side-quest story will only be a few parts, but hope you enjoy the ride!

Big thanks to my bestie & cowriter @gretavangroupie for all the edits and wonderful idea inputs <333

Read Valor Ch. 14 here

Read the Epilogue here

TOPEKA, KANSAS

DANNY

“Cheapest bottled you got, please. From the back of the cooler,” I yell over the crowd as I pull off my hat, raking the back of my sleeve across my forehead to clear away the dripping sweat threatening to fall into my eyes. I’m tired and my voice is a barely-there rasp, but these past few weeks have had me flying on auto-pilot, running on fumes and the new high of performing on stage with a live band, just like I’ve always dreamed of doing. The bar we’re in tonight is crowded and full of loud-mouthed drunks, but honestly, I feel frighteningly right at home. 

Glass beer signs line the walls and the pool tables are barely lit and in desperate need of some new bulbs. The faded green felt is tattered and torn, and the cues have seen better days. I can tell that every cent this place makes is not going to the upkeep of the building, that's for damn sure. The walls are dripping with nicotine and and the floors are sticky with spilled beer and god knows what else. Truly, feels just like Canaries, a place I thought I’d never see the likes of again.

The bartender furrows her brow at me as she turns toward the cooler, obviously thrown off by my odd request. As she slowly leans down, I can’t help but let my eyes rake over her backside, hardly covered by the ripped and cutoff Levi shorts hugging her hips and thighs. She pulls her hair to the side as she bends lower at the waist, reaching as far back as she can to get to the furthest beer. She’s bent completely in half, and I have to calm myself with a full breath of air to keep my thoughts from getting the best of me. It’s been a while, sue me.

I snicker to myself as I pop a few peanuts from the bar bowl into my mouth, satisfied that she fell right into my trap. 

Oldest trick in the book. 

Finally she pops up, returning shortly after with a frosty brown bottle in her hand. She unscrews the lid, tossing it against the wall at the end of the bar before it falls into the waiting trash can below it. 

“Just realized why you asked for one from the back of the cooler. You think I’m some kinda sleaze, or somethin’?” she asks, leaning her elbows down on the bar with just enough force to squeeze her tits together. Her hand is still damp from handling the icy bottle, and I watch as she gently rakes her fingertips across her collarbone. Hm… I am no stranger to her type.

I lift the bottle to my waiting lips and take a long pull, never breaking eye contact with her. Finally I swallow, leaning onto my own elbows to meet her challenging gaze. 

“Beer’s coldest back there. You think I want somethin’ warm after sweatin’ like a hog up there on stage all night?” I ask. “It’s goddamned hot in here.”

She scoffs and her eyes roll, standing back up straight as her expression tells me she is already over my shit. Still she looks at me, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, the faded words on her shirt barely legible anymore. “Just cause you play a little guitar don’t mean you can get whatever the hell ya want here,” she bites, her eyes now seething and sexy. 

I growl a little beneath my breath, flashing her a glance of my teeth. “Well it fuckin’ worked, didn’t it? I gave you a show, only fair you give me a little one, too…” I reply audaciously. 

“Fuck off, prick. ‘Fore I bar you,” she says, fighting back a smile. 

I stand and smile too, pulling a few bucks from my back pocket to lay on the sticky bar top. 

Her lips purse, “Band’s got a tab, you ain’t gotta pay now,” she explains, effectively ignoring the other patrons who are now nearly begging for the attention that she won’t stop giving to me. 

I bite my bottom lip as I squint my eyes at her. “I don’t like owin’ people. I’ll pay as I drink,” I insist as I take another swig off the top of my beer. “Unless of course, my money’s no good here?”

I watch her snap back in surprise as the music from the house band begins to swell from the stage behind me. Her tongue pokes through her lips as she blows the bright pink gum in her mouth into a bubble, eyeing me as it inflates and pops, and she pulls it back between her teeth. 

She slams her palm onto the money and swipes it from the bar top, spinning quickly as she heads to the cash register. 

“Danny, my man! Kickin’ ass and takin’ names!” Suddenly I feel the harsh palm of my new band mate Shawn grip across my neck, shaking me from side to side. He’s drunk already, but that’s to be expected of a front man who would rather chug a fifth of warm Jack Daniel’s before a show than warm his vocals up during sound check. “Hell of a fuckin’ set. Who the hell taught you how to pick a guitar, huh? The devil himself?”

I smirk a little, unable and unwilling to tell Shawn that yes, the devil was definitely with me for all the years I sat quietly in my room with my guitar, drowning out all the noise around me with whatever sound I could get to come from the damned thing. My foster parents, Ace… the revving of Valor’s engine all the nights that Jake suffered trying to fix her. 

“Just practice, I guess,” I yell back in his ear as he stumbles into me. “Practice and patience.” I’d never tell him the skill was born of necessity. He didn’t need to know that much. 

“Well, m’glad we found you on the side of the road when we did. You got more talent in your baby toe than Rog had in his entire fuckin’ body, man,” Shawn slurs, his own cocktail splashing onto my shirt as he speaks. “I mean that.”

I give him a curt smile and nod as he disappears back into the crowd, an elongated arm and pointed finger trained on me as he falls away. 

I couldn’t be more thankful for him and the other guys; they’d stumbled across me busking outside a little string of bars outside of Memphis right after we burned Ace’s down and I’d decided to hit the road on Ruby. I needed some space, I needed some freedom. And I needed the open fuckin’ road so badly I could hardly stand it. So that’s just what I did.

It was strange at first, being away from Jake and away from Joslyn after they were all I’d known for the majority of my life, but I knew deep down that if I didn’t go, if I didn’t leave, I’d get stuck right back where I’d started from in that goddamned town, running from the law and all the demons I’d decided to collect on the way. 

I knew Jake needed Y/N, and they needed to start a life together in privacy. I didn’t fuckin’ like it, bouncing from cheap motel to cheap motel, but after some time, I got over myself and my needs and began to rely on the road, and the sound of my tires spinning across it. I grew to love the feeling of a guitar in my hand more than the feeling of a socket wrench. And I began to like the sound of a loud, cheering audience more than the sound of a tuned-up Mustang engine. I reckon part of that is due to Y/N’s encouragement, getting me over my own fear of performing.

But that ain’t to say that I didn’t miss mechanicin’ a little. 

This band was full of miscreants just like myself, who had gathered together after realizing their talents and how much better they’d be if they meshed together. Their old guitarist, Rog was good, but he just didn’t have it in him, from what I understand. I didn’t want to settle down with a band, and honestly I’m still tossing around if it’s a good idea or not, but the money is alright. And sleeping in a shitty van beats sleeping under a tarp on a sidewalk or roach infested motel. Not that I am above that now.  

“Cowboy, your change?” I hear the bartender’s voice interrupt my thoughts, pulling me back into the headspace of the crowd and the chaos. 

“Nah, s’yours,” I reply to her, giving her a wink as she fights off another sweet smile, chomping on her gum again as she makes a point to give me a full up-down. 

Cowboy. I don’t like that. 

I’m far from a fuckin’ cowboy. Don’t think I’ve ever even mounted a horse in my life. I guess if I’m gonna continue to wear this cowboy hat, I’d better get used to the nickname. 

And if she’s gonna keep lookin’ at me like that all night, I’ll let her call me whatever the hell she wants. 

—

I drape the hat from a hook hanging on the motel room wall, making good on my new knowledge to never lay it down. I’d fallen asleep on a park bench one night a month or so ago with my guitar case open in front of me, and I’d woken up to the dirty old hat laying right in the center of it. Underneath it was the rip off the edge of a piece of receipt paper, some chicken scratch handwriting across the bottom of it: “Looks like you need this more than I do”, was all it read. 

I didn’t bother cleaning it, or trying in earnest to return it to its rightful owner, because they were right. A hat in the heat of the Kansas sun was like a godsend. It’s a pale beige straw with a camel brown leather strip, and I have to admit, it fits me like a glove. I made a mental note that day to take it with me wherever I go, and to always be thankful to the nameless stranger who had left it for me. Though it’s not my style, I still wear it with pride.

“Hat looks good on you, Cowboy. Sure you don’t wanna leave it on?” She smiles from her place on the bed. 

Yeah, I’d brought the bartender home with me, obviously, after we’d shared plenty of back-and-forth banter with one another between the few sets our band played tonight. She’d managed to get me pretty drunk after the last set, sliding me a double shot of whiskey on the house after I insisted on tipping her for every beer I’d ordered. 

I’d splurged on a king-sized bed tonight, forgoing joining the rest of the guys exploring the little Kansas town we’d found ourselves in. And I’m glad I did. The bartender, Sherry, I’d learned, is sprawled out in a red lace getup, making herself comfortable on the scratchy brown felt blankets and over starched sheets. She’s definitely fuckin’ sexy, and she’s easy to talk to, and I knew I’d made the right decision for the night when she didn’t actually get mad at me for my advances on her at the bar. She seems like just my kinda lover. 

I rip my t-shirt over my head and toss it onto the floor behind me before clicking off the lamp on the nightstand beside us. My mind is still swirling from the adrenaline of the crowd and the feeling of the music we make, and from the intoxication I’d put onto myself. Fuckin’ whiskey.

At the last second I change my mind, grabbing the hat from the hook before I crawl toward her on the bed, hand over knee as I place it directly on top of her head. 

“Yeah, I’m sure, think it would look better on you, anyhow,” I say, pressing it down a little to make it fit snugly on her. She giggles, reaching up to tilt the brim of it back to get a better look at me in the dim light reflecting from the cracked bathroom door. 

“You tryin’ to tell me somethin’, Cowboy?” she says, pushing me by the shoulders to lie back into the pillows. “Tryin’ to tell me what you want, tonight?”

She thrusts one of her legs over my waist, straddling me fully as she lets one hand drift across my ink-covered torso while the other readjusts the hat on her head. Fuck, she really is fine as hell. Has a different look to her than most of the women back in Joslyn. A little grittier, a little more confident in herself. My hands immediately grip her thick thighs as I lick my lips, glad she picked up on my insinuation. 

“I’ll take whatever you wanna give me, baby…” I say as my hips buck up into her, her bright red nails digging with a little force into my chest. My eyes blur from my drunkenness, but I can feel my heart racing with anticipation for whatever the night is about to bring me. The TV behind her is blasting late night MTV videos, Peter Gabriel, Dire Straits, ZZ Top… the light casting the silhouette of her perfect figure right in front of my face. Her tits are sitting perfectly in the lace, and I find myself slipping quickly into the feral mindlessness of foreplay. I reach my hand up to free her breast from the confines, gripping her left cup to rip it down. 

I feel my mouth salivating as her perfect nipple perks up, and I feel no shame in taking it all in my hand. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous baby…” I praise her, my filter nearly completely gone. I squeeze at it a few times before sitting up to take her in my mouth, bringing my tongue harshly across her nipple. Her head dips back at the contact as she sits down a little harder on me, grinding her hips a little and looking for friction. 

“Fuck, Cowboy, we’re really gonna get into this?” she asks, her hips already circling on my hardening dick. 

I hum onto her, making her hiss between her teeth. “Mmmhm, unless you want me to take you back home…”

“No no, no…” she urges, shaking her head side to side as it falls back, and I free her other breast, taking it into my mouth as well. “I’m good here.” 

Her nails dig into me a little bit more, showing me that if we want this night to keep going how it is, I need to get myself together. She huffs a loud breath as she sits back, unbuckling my leather belt as her hands start to hastily shake. Her head tilts down and she looks at me again under the brim of the cowboy hat, her bottom lip sucking in and out of her mouth. 

“You need a hand?” I ask, offering my help with the belt and button. She nods a little, and we work together to pull my pants and underwear all the way off. My dick springs free as she drops my pants to the floor and I can hardly decipher the string of words and obscenities that fall from her gorgeous red lips. She leans down, and without any warning at all, takes me all the way into her mouth. 

My head falls back in surprise as my hips act on their own, pressing themselves to get me deeper into her throat. “Oh, shit, Sherry baby…” My hands find hers, and I give them a tight squeeze to let her know that I’m okay with going forward. Not that I really had any say so, anyway. Her tongue glides across the length of my cock, already begging for more as she pays special attention to the tip. Her red lipstick makes for a sinful visual, even in the partial darkness. 

The air in the room is already starting to heat, heavy with the smell of lust mixed with cigarettes and bad decisions. I thought maybe I’d change when I left Joslyn, and I did, in many ways. But goddamnit if I didn’t keep the same fuckin’ love for my vices. Cheap beer, rolled smokes, and women. All shapes and sizes, all makes and models, fuck. I’ll never fuckin’ grow up, and I’m not sorry for it. And now I’ve added a whole new love to my roster- playing the ever-loving fuck out of a guitar. 

“You wanna look at me, or not?” Sherry breaks my train of thoughts after she pops her lips off the tip of my dick. 

I take a deep breath, watching as her hand takes the place of her mouth, slowly and languidly gliding her grip up and down the length of it. “Whatcha mean, baby?”

She crawls up on me, placing one hand on either side of my head. She leans down, placing the tiniest peck on my lips. “Reverse, or…” 

“Oh…” I breathe, my body begging for more of her touch, anything at all, anywhere. “Can I pick both?”

She laughs a true laugh, displaying a dimple in her cheek, crawling back down the bed and stepping off the end of it. Her thumbs hook in the side straps of her thong, and she slowly sways her hips from side to side, pulling it slowly down her legs. She shimmies free of it before turning around, bending at the waist as she gives me quite the show yet again, just like I’d tricked her into doing at the bar. 

“Fuck… bring yourself over here…” I beg of her again, holding my two middle fingers up to beckon her. My entire body is writhing with want, and I can feel myself already teetering on the edge of pleading. She does as I ask, her bottom half completely uncovered now as she crawls up on me once again, before turning herself around backwards. Yes, baby. 

She glances at me over her shoulder before taking me in her hand again, working me up to where she wants me. She uses the utmost care in making sure I’m there again. She’s still flawless in the blue light of the TV as “Every Breath You Take” by the Police pops on behind her.

“Ugh, god I hate this song,” she complains quietly, and I barely hear her over the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. I’m too blissed out with the visual of her ass grinding against me to even register what she’d said. 

“It’s so…whiney…” she complains again, her hand still working me. Her hand feels buttery soft against my cock, and I have to stop my stomach muscles from tightening in on themselves. God, I could already fuckin’ bust. “M’sorry Cowboy, I gotta turn this shit off. I can’t concentrate.” 

“Damn, whatcha got against Sting?” I chuckle, a little miffed that she’s hopping off me to reach for the television knob. She twists it once, and I huff an aggravated breath as the news pops on. 

It’s fuzzy and the picture is blurred, but I guess it appeases her more than the music did. She takes her position again as she grips my dick in her hand, leaning down just a little bit to take me in her mouth again. My hands knead at her ass as we pick right back up where we started from. My teeth are biting hard into my bottom lip, stifling the noise I want to let fly. “Goddamnit, Sher-“

Now, Sherry isn’t the first woman I’ve fallen victim to since leaving Joslyn, and she most definitely won’t be the last. Sometimes I think back on my time with Y/N, and how things had progressed so quickly with her before I got my head on straight and realized that I was moving in a direction my moral compass didn’t need to point. And when I realized my brother was madly in love with her. 

Things had felt good with her during that time, and honestly, I thank her for it. Though we only spent a fraction of time together, she gave me a taste of what it felt like to truly care for someone in that regard, and she let me know that maybe my heart is big enough to love someone other than just Jake and Bubba. Watching her and Jake together taught me more than they ever even knew, showed me that with the right counterpart, even lungs full of cigarette smoke and hearts full of resentment can turn on a dime, and reciprocate a love they’d never even known before. 

Love?

Nah, I never felt love for her. At least I don’t think I did. I did feel serious enough to want to change my life for her, that much was true. But thankfully I caught myself before I started to tumble. She helped me learn that I am capable of doing it, I can be that man for the right woman, if and when the time comes. 

But that time isn’t now, and that woman isn’t Sherry. 

“Fuck me, baby… god yes…” I groan into the thick air as Sherry finally sits all the way down on me, taking me fully inside her with one swift motion. I huff a fast breath through my gritted teeth, sitting up a little to get a better view of her. I grip her hips as she starts to rise up and down, getting a rhythm together as she starts to bounce. 

Her hands move from in front of her on the bed, and one reaches back and grips her left ass  cheek while the other holds on tight to my hat on her head. She feels like fucking heaven, silky sweet and velvety as she switches between backward thrusts. “How’s that, Cowboy? Feel good, baby?” she asks, her voice breathy as I watch her ass bounce against my thighs. She twists her head around to look at me with an eyebrow perked as she awaits my answer.

“Yeah… fuckin’ tight, baby, s’ perfect…” I could say more, but she switches herself up and hops to balance on just her feet, giving herself more space to ride me. She balances perfectly without the help of her hands, and somehow, the sight of her fucking just the tip makes me want to let it all go right there. Her wetness is dripping down on me, and it takes everything in me not to grab her hips and pull her all the way down again. But the show is just too damn good. I’m impressed, I really am, and I wonder if she does this with every victim at the bar that she flirts her way home with.

Ah, who gives a fuck. I’m her choice for the night just as she is mine. 

This view has me throbbing inside her, and for a second I don’t know what to do with my hands. She starts slowly swirling her hips, her hands balanced on her knees as she works me to near perfection. “You’re gorgeous baby, keep it right there…” I groan, my entire body starting to burn with need. I bring my open palm across her ass, eliciting a high pitched squeal from her, followed by a devious laugh. Somehow, I knew she would like that and the visual of my red handprint on her skin pushes me even further.  

I grab her hips and pull her down onto me, and I swear she feels even better than she did before. She falls back down to her knees into the position she was in before, still gyrating back onto me. I move my legs and sit up on my own knees, pressing a hand to her back as she leans down to all fours. I press deeper into her now, nearing myself closer and closer to the edge with this new angle. I feel rabid now, wanting to have all of her that I can in what I know will be this short span of time. 

“Ssss, fuck…” she grits, her voice a near whine now as I begin pounding into her ruthlessly. Her walls are fluttering around me violently, and I realize now that I never even told her my name. 

“Yes… yes…” She arches her back as she bucks her ass onto me, spreading her knees apart on the bed below and pressing her face into the mattress. “Harder, Cowboy, please…”

The hat is still hanging on for dear life as the room around me loses its shape, and all I can think about is the vicious sound of our bodies smacking together. I’m sure the neighbors are enjoying the sound of the headboard rattling against the wall, but I truly couldn’t care less. I’m trying to be careful not to leave bruises on her hip bones, but given the way the night has gone, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, anyway. 

Without warning, I feel her hand reach between her own legs, gripping my balls firmly in her hand, and giving them a few tight squeezes. The sensation has me mindblown and my knees weaken, like she knows exactly where my weakest spot is without me even telling her. 

“Fuck, you’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” I ask, my hips moving at an ungodly pace as she continues to squeeze. I’m not sure if she wants me to cum faster, or if she really just wants to give me a show. For this to be the first night the two of us have met, she’s really uncaring of any of her manners. 

“Mmhm…” her breath is heavy, pitiful and wanting as I continue my relentlessness. “Just want you to feel…good, baby…” she whines through the thick blankets on the bed. Her hands are gripped tightly into them now, as she holds herself in this position. 

I take a fistful of her hair in my hand tightly at the root, and pull her up to me. My sweat-covered chest is pressed against her back, and I grab one of her tits with my free hand. I stay buried deep inside her, and I can feel both our pulses raging through us as we catch our breath. “Sexy, Sherry…” I breathe into her ear. Her hips start looking for friction, and she begins grinding them back onto my cock again, slow and ragged as I know she’s getting near the finish line. 

She falls onto her hands again and I feel us both begin to reach that point, and the muscles in our bodies start to shake and tremble. My eyes blur over as I wait to hear the sweet noises fall from her lips, but instead I’m met with another sound. 

“Cowboy…” she says, her voice stern. But I barely hear her as I concentrate on my own pleasure. “Cowboy!” she repeats even louder, but I continue to drown her out, not letting up on pounding into her. 

“DANIEL?” she yells, quickly pulling herself away from me and hopping across the hotel room.

“What, what? What’s wrong Sherry?” I ask, suddenly surprised and confused. She rips a sheet from the bed and covers herself with it, and I notice that her eyes are blown out with fear. She cowers in the corner as her eyes dart back and forth, searching for her clothes. I’m completely confused, and a little blindsided as my body tries to figure out what it should be doing.

“You– I, it’s you!” She points to the TV as the picture flashes across the screen. All I see is the face of a news anchorman, reading something off the papers in his hands. 

I stand from the bed and walk closer to it, watching as he continues to read. “Sher, it’s just the news, what do you–”

“Get away from me!” she cries, stepping back harshly into the wall. “Don’t touch me!” She suddenly seems as if she is a trapped animal, searching for her escape.

I instinctively walk toward her. “Sherry, what in the world?! I’m sorry if I–”

“Stop! Don’t come any closer! You fucking liar!” Her eyes are wide and terrified as she looks at the television again, and I’m nearly frozen in place as I try to piece together the past few seconds. I look from her to the TV again, and the picture is staticy and fuzzy. I back away from her and adjust the antenna, watching as the picture clears a bit. I turn up the volume and listen to the anchorman speak. I feel my legs hit the back of the bed and I sit down harshly, waiting to see what in the fuck Sherry saw for myself. 

“Authorities are asking for the public’s assistance in locating these men, as they are believed to be armed and likely dangerous. It is positively believed that they are directly responsible for the death of a man in Joslyn, Missouri, by means of murder by arson. Both men fled the town shortly after the incident, and are believed to be living separately, or traveling on the run.” My hand shoots to my mouth as I watch in complete terror as a sketch of mine and Jake’s faces cover the TV screen. “Authorities are just now building a solid case, and need your help in finding these men. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please call the telephone number at the bottom of your screen.”

I feel the blood drain from my body as I take the first breath I have in nearly a minute, and I feel myself going into a state of shock. 

What… the fuck…

I feel Sherry’s body rush toward me as she drops the sheet that was covering her to pick up the clothing she had strewn across the dingy carpeted floor. “I gotta get out of here…” she rushes, her hands shaking. 

“Sherry, listen to me. I can explain-”

“Explain? Explain what?! That you’re a murderer?!” she screams, and I watch as fearful tears begin to well in her eyes. She hastily pulls her shirt over her head and I listen to her breathing pick up as she tries to calm herself. 

“I’m not a murderer, Sherry! Listen to me! I swear you have no reason to be afraid of me…I–I just let me talk, please…” I beg her, my voice rising with the temperature of my skin. 

“Stop. Shut up. I’m getting away from you, and I’m callin’ the police,” she says through a completely shaken voice as she steps back into her shorts. I can tell she is in complete self-protection mode. 

What in the fuck is going on? How did this happen?

My heart rate starts to rise as everything hits me… the sketch of my face on the screen, Jake’s face… armed and dangerous, wanted for murder by arson… My head is spinning with confusion, with worry, with the sudden want to run, myself. I think about Jake, and about Y/N, and how I haven’t spoken to them in a few days. Do they know? Where is Bubba, are he and Geraldine okay?

It’s then that I realize I can’t let Sherry go, I can’t let her call. 

“Sherry, stop. Can you just listen to me for a second?” I ask again, grabbing her by the shoulders with as little force as possible. She tries to pry herself away, so I switch gears, knowing that if she isn’t going to listen, I have to use another tactic. “You do not need to get into this, this goes a lot deeper than it looks on the surface, Sherry. Please. I’m not a monster. I swear to god, I’m not.”

“You expect me to fuckin’ believe you? You never even told me your fuckin’ name! Daniel, is that even it?” she cries, the tears flowing down her face. 

“Yes! Yes, that is my real name. That much is true. And the other man, that’s my brother. His name is Jacob. Jake,” I explain, trying to throw sincerity into my already panicked voice. I adjust her shirt that she had pulled back over her head, straightening the fabric to cover her more. “We are from Joslyn, Missouri. And… And-”

“And you fucking killed a man!” she yells, ripping herself from my hold. “You’re insane! Are you a serial killer? Because if you are, I swear to god that you won’t leave this goddamned town in one fuckin’ piece, do you understand me?” she threatens, catching her breath. “I’ve got friends, Cowboy, friends in low fuckin’ places who would walk to the ends of the earth for me. I wouldn’t test my fuckin’ luck. All it would take is one call, and you’d be a dead man, yourself.”

I watch as she swallows, suddenly feeling a bit brave as the sexual mindset completely leaves us both. 

“I don’t doubt it, Sherry. I don’t doubt that one bit.” I swallow down my panic and sit back down, trying to diffuse the situation as best as I can. In a split second, I bargain whether or not I should tell her the whole story, the whole truth, but I know that would leave her with more questions that I fear she simply won’t care to have answered, as scared as she is. I want to be honest with her, I really do. But I also want to seem as clueless as I can so as not to make things worse. “I’m not a serial killer. I swear to god. I may look rough around the edges, and barely have a penny to my name, but I’m no killer, Sher. Swear on my life.”

She’s clutching her purse in her arms, hugging into herself with her worried facial expression tight as she takes my words into consideration. She’s listening to me…

“Back at home, my brother Jake and I were into some deep shit, some shit we didn’t want to have anything to do with, but we had no choice. Had been years upon years of never ending cycles of threats and manipulation. We had nothing, we were nothing. We weren’t saints, but we were good, honest, working men. Just tryin’ our best to survive, ya know? We uh… we were being threatened, our lives were being threatened… our home. The people we loved…” I rub a hand across my face as all the memories of just a few months ago come rushing back to my mind. Bubba, Josh… and Sam…

“It was going to end badly. It was going to be deadly in ways that we couldn’t even fathom. Along with innocent people who loved us getting caught up in it, too. These men were monsters, liars and cheats. Gave a damn for no one but themselves. So we got some help. We got some help from our own friends in low places, Sher, and they helped us to make moves to end it, get us out of the situation. And it uh… It just so happened that the man who was threatening us, the man who wanted us dead, got caught in the crossfire. He came to kill us, but ended up killing himself, instead.” I know it’s not the entire truth, and there are details that I could go on about for days, but for now, this explanation will have to do. I have to make sure she sees my side of the story. If not, it’s handcuffs. 

I feel bile rising in my throat from even disclosing this much. She shouldn’t even know that much of the story. I could have lied, I should have lied… but for some reason something deep inside me stops me from it. I’ve never been a liar in my life and I won't start now.

Sherry’s body is shaking with adrenaline, or maybe even fear, but she’s calm. “Why you tellin’ me this, Cowboy?” she whispers, pulling out a box of cigarettes from her purse. She plucks one out and lights the end, taking a long drag. Her hand shakes as her thumb and ring finger balance on her cheek, the smoke billowing around her face. 

I swallow. “Because, it’s the truth. Last thing I’m gonna do is lie to you. Don’t have any reason to.”

She takes another long puff, and I find myself envying the nicotine. “Why ain’t you lyin’ to me? You don’t even know me…”

I shake my head, pulling the sheet back over my exposed lower half. “I’ve never been one to lie. Never really got me anywhere but in trouble, anyway. I ain’t got a perfect past, Sherry, that’s the honest truth. But I’m not running from my demons, I’m running from a past that I don’t want followin’ me.”

She brings her lips into her mouth, taking another few puffs of her cigarette. I say a prayer that she’s considering my plea. It feels like hours that I stare at her just standing there, her eyes floating around the room before her cigarette is nothing but a filter. She moves to the nightstand, putting out the butt in the ashtray by the phone. She turns her back to me and blows the last puff of smoke into the air before her hand scratches the back of her head. 

“I ain’t gonna call the cops,” she admits quietly. 

I stand quickly and go to her, stopping myself from taking her in a full embrace. “Fuck, thank you thank you, Sherry. Really, I– Thank you.”

“You’ve got one hour. Get your shit, and get the fuck out of here,” she warns, crossing her arms again. “If I see you here still, it’s straight to the police. And don’t ever come back to this town, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah I get it. I won’t,” I promise as I begin working to collect my few things from the floor. She stands and watches me as I pack, and I know that she’s fighting the urge to go back on her word as her eyes move from me, to the phone, to the door, and back again. This is taking a lot from her. 

I finally have my few items shoved into my bag, and I realize that reality is once again hitting me right across the fucking face. I sit on the edge of the bed and pat the blankets, inviting Sherry to come and sit by me. She does, slowly, and with the utmost caution. 

“Why you helpin’ me?” I ask quietly. 

“Cause,” she chokes, pulling her tongue to the side of her cheek. “Feel like you’d’a done the same for me. I’ve been where you are, Cowboy. Maybe not for arson, maybe not for murder, but I’ve been there.”

I nod in understanding, extremely thankful understanding.

“And I don’t feel like you’re tellin’ me the whole story. Sounds like you and your brother have some skeletons in your closet. And I ain’t no judge, and I ain’t God. Who am I to decide what your reasonin’ was?”

I take a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for her words. I take her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips to kiss over and over. “I need you to understand that it was life or death for us. Was us or him. The cards we were dealt just happened to fall that way. We did nothin’ in cold blood, Sherry. Please believe me.”

She finally looks me in the eyes for the first time in a while. “I believe you, Daniel. I don’t fuckin’ know why, but I do. God, I’m insane for doin’ this…”

“You might be, Sher, but that’s why you and I were drawn to each other, I think,” I try to lighten the mood, and she gives me a half smile.

“Still don’t like you,” she groans, giving me a lethal side eye.

I stand and wipe my hands across my thighs. “You must like me some…” I lean down to her, letting my nose graze across hers. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. I hear her breath hitch as I watch her reason with herself on deciding to let me, or slap me. 

When she doesn’t pull away, I lick my bottom lip, gently brushing it across hers as her eyes flutter closed. My heart rate rises again as my body reacts, suddenly pulled right back into where we had just left off minutes ago. I must be fuckin’ sick in the head. 

“Fuckin’ vagabond,” she whispers, her breath hot across my lips. “Criminal…”

I laugh against her. “I ain’t none of them things, baby. Troubadour, maybe…”

I let my lips crash onto hers again, pissed at myself for being this way. Why am I this way? I need to run…I need to call Jake.

But she kisses me back, her hand immediately flying to the back of my head to pull me in closer. God, she’s just as fucked up as I am.

It’s heated and messy again as I push her back onto the bed, her nails already digging into my back as we writhe together. She moans into my mouth as I press my groin into her, making sure I’m in just the right spot. We lie like this for a few minutes, both of us knowing we’re soaking up the last bits of each other that we’re going to get.

“I ain’t lettin’ you fuck me again, Cowboy. This is just a goodbye kiss…” she breathes, her teeth nipping at my stubbled jawline. 

“You sure?” I ask as my eyes roll back. “I never got to hear you come for me…”

She laughs a guttural cry, shaking her head as she scoffs at me. “And you won’t. Not right now, at least.”

I grind between her legs again. “Thought you told me to never come back to this town?” I ask cheekily.

I pull away, looking her in the eye as she takes a quick breath to speak. “People saw me leave with you. Same people who are watchin’ the news, right now. They will recognize you. They’ll be breathin’ down my neck with interrogation on your whereabouts before the sun rises. I was a drifter once, too. Looks like I’ll just have to go back to my old ways…”

“Run with me, Sherry,” I ask before my mind can even process the thought. 

“Nah, that’s not part of the deal.” She pats my chest with her hands, signaling me to get off of her. So I stand, understanding that our time together has come to a close, and I need to make a fuckin’ break for it. “Shame, though. You’re some of the best dick that’s come through this town in a while.”

I can’t help but laugh at her as she stands from the bed along with me. “Thanks, I think.”

“Get the hell out of here, Cowboy. Go. Don’t talk to nobody, and keep your head down. Head East and don’t fuckin’ look back, ok? There’s a fueling station about twenty-five miles outside of town on Route 40. Red pumps. Stop there, they don’t think twice about drifters. Call your brother from there. Let him know you’re comin’.”

“How’re you so good at this?” I ask her, slinging my bag over my shoulder. 

She sucks her teeth as she fixes her hair and residual lipstick in the motel mirror. “Told you I was a drifter once, too. Some things are just in your blood, ya know?” She turns to me, craning her neck up as we prepare to say an actual goodbye. 

“Can I give you somethin’ to remember me by?” I ask, holding my cowboy hat out to offer to her. 

She shakes her head, taking it from my hand and placing it back on top of my curls. “No, you’re gonna need it. It’s gotten you this far…” She adjusts it on my head, brushing a few stray hairs away from my face, in an act of pure softness. “Actually, wait,” she says, brushing past me to open her purse sitting on the table. A few seconds later, she emerges with a brand new Polaroid camera in her hands. “How about a photo to remember you by?” 

I second guess it, not really wanting a perfect stranger to have her own photograph of me, but Sherry has shown me more mercy than I deserve tonight, and a photo is the least I could do. 

“Sure, why not,” I agree, adjusting the hat on my head once again. 

“Here, put these on,” she suggests, handing me my aviator sunglasses that were by her bag on the table. I oblige, feeling a little out of place, but going along with it all anyway. She pulls the camera up to her eye and positions her finger over the button, making sure I’m in the frame. “Smile for me, baby…”

I know my cheeks blush at her words, but she snaps the photo before I have the chance to make myself look ready for it. 

“Hope I didn’t break your lens,” I joke.

“Nah, it’ll be perfect. Thanks.” Her smile sends butterflies through my stomach for the third time tonight, and if things were different, I might have asked Sherry to come on the road with me for real. But I know that the issues I’m running from are bigger than anything she needs to be involved with, right now. Maybe I’ll see her again some other time, in some other smoky bar.

I grab her chin between my fingers, laying a sweet kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you around, Sherry. Thank you. Be safe out there.”

She gives me a sweet wink as she sniffs a quick tear away. “Back at ya, Cowboy.”

—

“Come on… please pick up… pick up…” I whisper into the payphone as I try to will Jake to answer on the other end. The last we spoke was about six days ago, and he and Y/N had been traveling around scoping out places to live. They’d settled in a little apartment just outside of Memphis, where I had originally planned on busking around to make some cash. I liked it there, but the winds of change kept me rolling down the road to a new nowhere.

I’d ridden into this tiny slice of highway with only my guitar on my back and my bag hooked to Ruby, and I silently thank her for carrying me this far on my journey. The guys in the band had let me put her in the cramped equipment trailer that they had luckily left unlocked when I left the motel. Careless sons of bitches, I could have easily stolen anything I wanted.

I hated leaving them without any word, but they’ll most likely see the news, and be glad that I decided to run away, anyway.

“Hello?” a gravelly voice answers.

“Jake, hey, did I wake you?” I yell anxiously into the payphone at the gas station Sherry had told me about. She had been right, the attendant never even looked at my face as I threw my gas money onto the counter.

“Yeah, it’s fuckin 4AM, what’s wrong?” he replies, his voice thick and full of sleep. “Are you OK?”

Fuck. Of course he hasn’t seen the news. 

“Ah, no not really… are you uh. Are you with Y/N?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair as I peek around the corner to make sure Ruby is still sitting where I parked her. 

I can hear him rustling on the other end of the line, finally getting his bearings. “Yeah, she’s right here, why? What’s goin’ on?”

I clear my throat nervously, “Turn on the news. Local, maybe.”

I hear him rustling around again as he pulls himself out of bed, taking a deep, shaky breath as he wakes Y/N. “Danny, I don’t like that you’re not fuckin’ tellin’ me what’s going on.”

“Just go,” I urge him, my head on a swivel. 

There’s a pause before I hear him move around and switch the television on. “You’re lucky, we just got this fuckin’ TV yesterday… Hardly know how to work the damn thing yet.” he complains.

“Just–” I bite my tongue, waiting for him to see what he will inevitably see flash across the screen very soon. There’s a pause again and I hear the faint sound of Y/N’s voice beside him.

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” he says blankly. “Oh… oh, fuck. What–”

“Just listen to it,” I say quietly, letting him listen to the whole news story. 

“That’s our fucking faces, Daniel.”

“I know. I know it is,” I begin to pace as far as the short payphone cord will let me. “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

I hear Y/N’s worried voice again. “Jake, what… they can’t do this…”

“It’s gonna be okay, baby” he reassures her, but I can hear the doubt in his voice. “Danny, where are you?”

I clear my throat again, getting my head back on straight. “Uh, just outside of Topeka. ‘Bout 25 miles. I’m headed your way.”

“Do you know my new address?” he asks, overtop of more rustling and heavy breathing.

“Yeah,” I reply, “got it memorized.”

“Well forget it. We’re going somewhere else. We can’t be here,” he says angrily. 

“Jake, but, you just–”

“Y/N, do you remember Oz’s address? Lucienda’s?” I hear him ask her, and I immediately agree that going to them might be our best shot, even though Oz is most likely still serving his time for the last circus we got ourselves into.

“Yeah, I think so…” I hear her reply. “But Jake, we can’t just leave…”

I hear subtle aggravation in his tone, but he manages to keep it at bay. “I paid ahead three months’ rent, Y/N. We’re just… gonna leave for a while.”

“Jake what the fuck are we gonna do? Turn ourselves in?” I press. 

“I–I don’t know yet. No, we just play dumb for now. We need to get to Lucienda. Talk to her. She’ll be able to protect us for a while, she’ll know what to do,” he says. 

“I’ve got my fuckin’ bike, Jake. I won’t be able to make it anywhere fast, especially not to fuckin’ Miami,” I say, suddenly a little panicked again. I pull my tin of smokes from my pocket and light the end of one. The rush of nicotine instantly fills my lungs and calms me. Well, enough for now. 

“I know you can’t,” he says, taking a breath. “We need to go back to Joslyn first.”

“Joslyn?” I practically yell into the phone. Quickly looking around. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?! That’s the last place we need to go, Jake!”

But in the back of my mind, I know he’s right. We don’t have to show our faces, just a quick in and out to hide my bike and grab the last bit of cash we ended up hiding back in Ace’s safety deposit box for emergencies. And, we have to make sure Bubba is safe. With this new surge of information, god knows whether or not Teddy’s guys have gone after him yet, looking for some type of vengeance.

“You know I’m right…” he says quietly. “How long has it been since you’ve talked to Bubba?”

I swallow, taking another drag. “Week and a half. Maybe two.” I hadn’t been traveling with the band very long, but I know that I had told Bubba of the good news of them hiring me on, so it was around the same time. The last we talked, he claimed he was safe and sound. 

“Same here,” Jake says, taking a long pause as he thinks. “Get to Joslyn, stay quiet. We’ll meet at the old house by the creek. Nobody even knows that place is there anymore. It’s our best bet.”

“Okay,” I agree, nodding my head. “You gonna call Bub? Or do you want me to?”

“I’ll call the diner. Tell Geraldine everything. She’ll tell the truth, Bubba will sugarcoat if there’s anyone fuckin’ with him.”

“True,” I agree, exhaling again. “We can’t get on a fuckin’ plane, Jake. Someone will recognize us. It’ll take us days to travel to Miami and we need to get there fast.” My mind suddenly starts to spin with all the different plans of action. None of them seem like the right one. Traveling to Miami seems like too much land to cover, but staying in Joslyn doesn’t feel right, either. 

“Then what the fuck do you suggest we do?!” he exclaims. “We ain’t got a fuckin’ home, anymore, Daniel.” I can tell he whispers that last bit into the phone. 

“I’ll meet you at the creek. We’ll make a plan from there.” I stomp my cigarette out onto the cracked pavement, my skin beginning to sweat with nerves as I glance around again. 

“Okay,” he says again through a huff of grievance.

“Bub’s okay, right Jake? He’s alright?” my voice feels hollow as the words fall. 

I can hear Jake exhale on the other end, the same rush of worry flowing through him as it runs through me. “Yeah, he’s alright. And if he’s not… If they’ve touched him again…” He’s quiet for a second, and I can almost hear his teeth gritting together. I know that the exact same thought is running through both of our minds. I haven’t seen Jake mad in a really long time, but I know it wouldn’t take much for him to snap back into his old ways, especially when it comes to Bubba.

“I’ll see you at the creek,” I say with conviction, and I hang up the phone, wholly not ready for this journey. 

—

Well, here I am. Joslyn. Dirty and run down as ever, quiet but loud at the same time. A once bustling town rich with life and aspiring men looking to provide for their families now a mess of cracked sidewalks and sunken rooftops. Failed and closed storefronts, abandoned homes… the list goes on. This place is never gonna fuckin’ change. 

It’s been a long two days’ travel coming back here, and I halfway regret not renting a vehicle to be a little more inconspicuous coming back into town. But, an unknown car rolling through Main Street might set people off all the same. 

My stomach churns with old nerves coming back to the surface again, old habits and muscle memory making me feel like my head is already on a swivel again. It’s nearing 8PM as I roll into town, so I’m careful not to hit the throttle on my bike any more than just a light idle. The last thing I need is someone hearing me and suspecting I may be back.

As the late evening sun begins to disappear from the sky, I pass by Wanda’s motel, still just as shitty and run-down as it was. Teddy’s dry cleaning building, now looking either half-alive or closed completely since he’s not around to make it look like an actual fake business now. The bank, the countless churches… and the grocery store. 

The grocery store. 

I grit my teeth as I realize that Jake, Y/N and I will need supplies and food if we’re going to be hiding out in the old cabin for a few days. I hope to god his ass thought to bring blankets and pillows, and hopefully some food. I wonder if they’ve beat me here. I have no way of knowing, besides going all the way there first to check, but then if I don’t stop, I risk spending a whole night without food or water. Or whiskey.

I quietly pull my bike into the back parking lot of the store, parking it alongside the building behind the ice cooler. My hands are already shaking, I have to admit, and as I pull the kickstand down, my eyes dash quickly to my sides to ensure no one has followed me. Just a few stray bodies here and there coming in to grab a TV dinner before retreating back to the trailer park to finish off a six-pack. The coast is seemingly clear. 

I pull a cigarette from my tin and stretch my legs, hyping myself up to go into this grocery store where nearly everyone knows my face. Or, knew my face. After a minute or two, my boot extinguishes the butt of my smoke and I take a deep breath, the finally-cooling Autumn air filling my lungs and bringing me back down to earth a bit. I grab the cowboy hat from my pack and place it diligently on my head, tucking my hair up underneath it to conceal another one of my identifying factors. I pull out my wallet to make sure I still have enough cash for some food, at least, and I step in through the glass doors. 

It looks and smells exactly the same, musty cardboard mixed with the faint scent of a floor cleaner, with the fluorescent lights overhead barely providing enough light to brighten the poorly stocked aisles. I don’t know why I expected it to be any different, we’ve only been gone a few months, though it feels like an eternity. 

I put my head down and make a mad dash down the first aisle, luckily remembering the place like the back of my hand. I grab a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a box of saltines, tossing them into a shopping basket I’d found abandoned in the aisle. “What else, what else…” I whisper to myself, ignoring the eyes of each and every person I walk by. My heart is thrumming in my chest as I pace up and down the aisles, throwing a few more cheap yet necessary items into the basket. 

When I’ve finally gotten it full, I race to the checkout line, but not before stopping and grabbing a half-pint of Early Times, a box of matches, and a bag of cut tobacco. I place my basket onto the checkout counter, keeping my head down still as I realize the clerk is someone who knows me well. Knows me very well. 

“You 18, kid? Can’t sell you this if not…” he says, his voice still just as crackled and raspy as the day I met him. He stands the whiskey bottle up on its base as I swallow my nerves down, one by one. He cranes his neck to look at me from underneath the bill of my hat. 

“Kid, hey, you got any ID on ya?” he asks again, his wrinkled hands the only thing I can focus on. Fuck. He sees my ID, he recognizes me. Recognizes me as the murderer on the loose, in the very town he ran from. My heart is pounding, how had I not thought of this? He’s never ID’d me before, but then again, he knew me. He snaps his fingers when he realizes I’m not meeting his eyes or answering him. 

I peek up gently, thankful that I’d decided to leave my sunglasses on at the last minute. “Ah, ya know, left it at home, I think. Had a long day. I don’t need the bottle,” I say, trying like hell to conceal my voice, yet keep my local accent. I push it to the side as I pull my wallet out and prepare to pay for the rest. 

“Shit,” he says under his breath. He scans the whiskey and slides it into a paper bag, slipping it in beside the rest of my items before hitting the total button on his register. “Ain’t no thing. Can tell ya hands is dirty, can’t deny a workin’ man his vices,” he grits quietly. “That’ll be $19.70,” he says a little louder now, and I feel a relief lift from my shoulders, all the sound coming back into my ears now that my heart rate isn’t flying. 

I can finally hear the muffled music coming over the speakers in the ceiling, along with the beeps of the checkout lines beside me. I pull a twenty from my wallet and graciously place it in the man’s hand. It’s funny, all the years I’ve been coming to this place, and I never learned this man’s name. He doesn’t even wear a nametag.

“Appreciate that, old timer. Saved me a night of sittin’ with my troubles,” I reply, avoiding his eyes again as he hands me my change. 

“Don’t we all need that,” he grumbles as he hands me my bags. “Ya know, I don’t recognize you. You from ‘round here?”

Goddamnit, goddamnit. Think.

“Uh, yeah. From up on Bolter Street. Been gone awhile, moved back to take care of my folks,” I say, clearing my throat. I used to live on Bolter Street, many many moons ago. That part isn’t a lie.

“Hmph,” he grunts, pulling a toothpick between his lips as he squints at me. “Not a lot of folk live on Bolter much anymore. Street kinda died with the town.” I can tell his tone is interrogatory, and I feel the sweat beginning to pool on my forehead. Get it together, Daniel. 

“S’why they called on me.” I nod and give him a curt smile as I begin to back away. “Have a good evenin’, sir.”

I grab the bags and tip the brim of my hat, making my way back out of the store and into the fresh air. “Fuck,” I breathe as I reach my bike. That was fuckin’ close. If it was that hard to get groceries, how in the hell are we going to do literally anything else?

I cram the bags into my side packs, uncaring if I smash the bread or not. I’m anxious, and desperately in need of a damned drink. I wish like hell I could go to Canaries’ for a beer, but who knows what state that hellhole is even in, anymore. Or if the clientele is even the same. Shit, that place used to be a haven for people like us, until it wasn’t. Until Teddy and his crew turned it into a place where you had to look over your shoulder every other second, or else you risked a cue stick across your back if you said a sly word. 

I need to make my escape, and I need to make it fast. 

I kick the stand on my bike and pull the key from my pocket, sticking it into the ignition and turning it over a few times before she starts. I plan to take as many back streets as I can to avoid going straight through town again, but that’s not as easy as it looks. Passing by the diner is going to be necessary. 

A minute or so later, I’m cruising by Louie’s Diner, the parking lot only holding two or three vehicles as opposed to the normal ten or twenty. Strange, I think to myself, and I slow down and peer in the windows a little more closely. There behind the counter is Geraldine, looking worse for wear than I had seen her in a very long time. Maybe ever, actually. My heart falls as I realize she looks nothing like herself. Her hair isn’t fixed, and her nails aren’t painted their normal bright, red color. 

I quickly glance to the end of the bar where Bubba normally sits, finding the chair to be empty. Again, my stomach falls at the realization that he isn’t there, waiting with Geraldine to finish up her dinner shift like he normally is.

Shaking my head, I concentrate my attention back onto the road in front of me as the abandoned houses begin to turn back into the forest, and the two-lane turns back into one. I snap my headlight on as I rack my brain, trying to think of where Bubba could be, if he is okay, and why Geraldine looks so down. My stomach churns with nerves at the possibilities, but I hold out hope that maybe he had just gone home for the night, and Geraldine is just tired. 

I cruise down the winding road toward the creek, trying like hell to breathe in the fresh air to calm me. I pray I don’t pass any police cars, or anyone who would recognize my bike. But as the asphalt turns to more of a rocky concrete beneath my tires, I begin to feel a little relief. Man, I could really use a fuckin’ smoke. 

I cross over the bridge and turn onto the dirt road, the same one that Jake, Ace, Bubba and I had used so many times to get to our special spot on the creek. Darkness has fallen now, and I find myself feeling a little nostalgic at the scenery. For the first time in months, I see things that I could recognize even in complete darkness, I take curves that I could turn blindfolded, and I begin to smell the scent of the murky water and mossy trees that line the creek. No matter how much I hated it, no matter how badly I wanted to run away, this will always be home. Joslyn will always be a place that lives in my heart, no matter how dusted and horrible the time I spent here was. 

I make another right turn, watching for any other vehicles to be parked and out for one last late-night fishing pole cast before the weather starts to break. When I find our spots to be empty, I gain yet another feeling of relief. The gravel turns into thick bedrock, and I use caution as I navigate Ruby down, all the way to the bridge by the swimming hole. 

I park the bike at the foot of the hillside and stand, remembering that I have a spare flashlight in my pack, equipped with brand new batteries. I dig it out and turn it on, slowly panning around to take in my surroundings again. It still looks just the same as it always did, the large leaf-covered trees leaning over the water to provide almost a storybook-like scene. But this town is anything but a storybook. The frogs and crickets know that their time is almost up, and their songs have begun to slow and their tones have become deep. Again, my nostalgia almost knocks me over. 

I push my bike over to a cluster of trees, lodging it between a few trunks out of sight of the road. I bite the flashlight between my teeth and begin pulling my bags and necessities from my side packs. My guitar suddenly feels like a burden, when for months all it was was an object of comfort. Now, it feels like something that might weigh me down the further along I go on this journey. Either way, I throw the makeshift rope case strap over my shoulder and begin lugging my things across the old bridge, straight toward the cabin. 

As I trudge through the thick mud, thankful for my high boots, the beam of my flashlight catches something reflective down the creek a bit, and I nearly drop all the bags in my hands. “Shit,” I gasp, gripping my hands onto everything more tightly. I glance over, realizing that my light had bounced off a tail light. I walk a little closer and shine the light more directly, seeing that the tail light belongs to Jake’s truck.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumble with relief, suddenly realizing that I’m not alone in the least. My best friends are just on the other side of this treeline. Not just my best friends, but my family. 

I put a little pep in my step, letting the thick pine branches pull at my sleeves as I traipse along the muddy creek bed, straight up the incline and onto the trail to the cabin. I feel excited to see them, but also in the back of my mind I know that our meeting isn’t going to be a joyous one. It’s going to be one of deciding on our next move of survival. 

After a few minutes’ hike, I’m finally to the clearing at the cabin, and what I see in front of me isn’t what I expected in the least. Instead of the old, dilapidated building I had spent many a summer in, the cabin is now more of a house, with a new roof, a repaired front porch, and even a brand new front door. What in the hell?

I see a faint light on inside, and I stop for a second, hesitating on whether or not to proceed. Is someone living here now? No, no one knows about this place except for us. And maybe a few trusted others who have caught word of it over the years. 

If it weren’t for me seeing Jake’s truck, I may have considered turning around, but just as I approach the rickety stairs of the cabin, the front door flies open, and a silhouette that isn’t Jake is standing in the doorway. 

“Daniel, my boy! You made it!”

“Bub?!” I drop my bags and the flashlight in my mouth, rushing up the stairs to greet the old man. He wraps his arms around me as I take him around his shoulders, the both of us pounding our open palms against each other’s backs. “What are you doing here? We were going to surprise you!” I say as we finally break apart. 

“Surprise? You boys ain’t as slick as you think you are…” he chuckles a raspy laugh as he replaces his cap on his head. “Practically raised ya, and ya can’t even tell an old man you’re comin’ home?”

“Ah, Bub, we were going to, but–”

“Hey you just gonna leave me hangin’ over here?!” I hear Jake’s familiar gravelly timbre fill the air as he plummets into me, almost knocking me back as his arms embrace me. The embrace of a brother. “Heyyy, brother…” I laugh, not sure of the last time Jake and I actually hugged. It’s funny, we spent so much time together for so many years, I was positive that when I left him and went my own way, I wouldn’t think twice about it. And I didn’t really, until I’d find myself needing to ask him a question only he would know the answer to, or I’d hear an old Neil Young song in a bar. It was at those times that I realized he’s the other half of me, and he always will be. We do alright being apart, but the world feels more at ease when we’re together.

We pull apart, and I catch sight of Y/N leaned in the doorway, her arms crossed across her chest as she eyes us with a sweet, familiar smile. “Well looky here, the two outlaws, themselves,” she grins, and I immediately pull her into the same embrace that I’d pulled Bubba into. She feels a little different now, not sure why, or how, just different. Her hair is longer and she’s got a suntan from the Tennessee rays. My mind hardly ever reminisces on the time we shared together, and I’m thankful for the fact that we have been able to stay good friends after our whirlwind romance. She’s as much a part of me as Jake is, now. Just in a different way. 

I feel her fingernails scratching at my back as we hug, and her voice is muffled as she tries to speak with her mouth pressed against my chest. “You two really couldn’t even manage to stay out of trouble for six months, could you?” she playfully complains. “The hell am I gonna do with ya…”

“Not even funny, Y/N,” I say, pushing at her shoulder as Jake and Bubba make their way inside the cabin with my bags in hand. We follow them in, and Bubba pulls the door closed behind me. He pulls a deadbolt, and a slide-lock, and a chain lock across the brand new door, and kicks a wooden wedge up underneath it. 

“Damn, what is this, Alcatraz?” I ask, too surprised to take a look around the place. 

“Might as well be,” Bubba says, rushing over to the windows to pull the heavy blue curtains in front of them. 

“What the hell is going on?” I ask, finally taking notice of the state of the cabin. The interior has been completely re-done, though not all brand new, it looks better than it used to. The floor is no longer caved in, and the roof has been repaired. There’s a table and chairs, and a large couch in the living area, along with two recliners. There are dishes on the shelves, and a wood stove has been installed in the corner of the kitchen. “What happened to this place?”

“Come, sit, Daniel,” Bubba beckons me, and I make my way over to the chair he has pulled out for me. Jake and Y/N follow suit, and he takes his seat last. The air in the room is heavy, and I realize that the only light is coming from three oil-burning lanterns placed around the old tables and countertops of the house. The warm flickering glow accentuates Bubba’s wrinkles, reminding me yet again that he isn’t getting any younger and that the world has continued turning. 

“I was just tellin’ these two, Danny, I took the liberty of movin’ up here ‘bout, oh, five, six weeks ago. Been trying my best to fix the place up, make it feel like home. I know you two wouldn’t care, and I know your Pops wouldn’t have cared eith–”

“Wait wait wait,” I cut him off. “Moved? What do you mean you moved?”

“I mean, I moved. All my things are here, in the back bedroom,” he responds matter-of-factly.

“What about your trailer? Your place?” I ask, my hands flattening across the dusty wooden tabletop.

Bubba licks his wrinkled lips, bringing his hand up to rub across his shaven chin. “Sold it, son. Property and all. I just… wanted away from it. Wasn’t doin’ me no good.”

“But you said right before we left that you were happy, when we asked you to come with us, you said you were fine–”

“Hell, ‘course I did, Daniel. You wouldn’ta left and gone out on your own if I’d’a told you my plans.” He pauses, clasping his hands together. “Plus, Geraldine and I separated, knew this would be a better place for me, anyway. Give me somethin’ to keep my hands busy.”

All three sets of our eyes grow ten times in size. “Bub, what?” Jake nearly yells. “You separated? Why?”

Bubba waves us off, almost like it is no big deal. “Aw, shit, boys. You know damn good and well why. After y'all left, shit fell apart even worse than it was already fallin’. After Teddy died, and his posse didn’t have a head honcho no more, they started goin’ out on their own, causin’ more trouble than they had before. Stealin’, botherin’ folk… Teddy was a piece of shit but he kept those vagrants in line, I will say.” He rubs his hand over his chin again as he adjusts his legs under the table. “Anyway, I… I didn’t feel safe… havin’ these ties with you boys, and, and the shop burnin’ down and the history we already had with Teddy. I just didn’t want Geraldine caught up in it, ya know? Didn’t want her worryin’, or worse yet bein’ a new target for them boys. She don’t deserve that. Don’t deserve it at all. Thought it best I just leave her to herself.”

“Bubba, that’s ridiculous!” Jake says, and we nod in agreement. “I–I mean, I know where you’re comin’ from, but. You two are in love, made for each other.”

“Yeah,” Y/N adds, “wouldn’t you feel safer being with her? I mean, keeping a closer eye out for her is easier when you live in town, right?” 

Now I know why Geraldine looked so down. She had just gotten dumped. 

I pull the half-pint of whiskey I had shoved in my pocket, cracking the lid and tilting it back for a few refreshing seconds. I pass it off to Jake, and he happily rips it from my hand and does the same.

Bubba grits his jaw and shakes his head and hands at us. “It was for the best, just trust me. But that’s enough about me. We need to figure out what in the hell to do about this new problem of yours.”

“What happened in town?” I ask. “After we left? Did they come after you?”

“I said enough about me, Daniel. You hard of hearin’?”

“He asked you an honest question, Bubba,” Jake says calmly. “Did they touch you again?”

Y/N’s eyes are trained downward as she doesn’t dare bring them away from staring at the table. She knows good and well that if Bubba says yes, that the two of us are going to come unglued. 

“They didn’t touch me. Tried to, few times but.” Bubba shakes his head furiously from side to side. “They don’t know I’m out here. Geraldine still brings me supplies. I try my best and make myself scarce.”

“What do you mean they tried to?” Jake demands.

“Can’t ya leave it alone, Jacob?”

“Tell me, Bubba!” he raises his voice. “What did they do?” I can see the flame of the candle light flickering in Jake’s eyes, and unfortunately, I know that look all too well. It’s the same one that’s probably in my eyes, right now. 

It’s pindrop silent in the room as we anxiously await an answer from Bubba. He’s breathing hard from his flared nostrils, and wringing his wrinkled hands together. He pulls his red handkerchief from his back pocket and pats it along his brow, and I know that if he doesn’t say something soon, I’m gonna jump out of my skin. Hard to tell what Jake would do.

Finally, Bubba looks up from his hands, swallowing hard as his voice is barely audible. “If I tell you boys, you promise not to leave this cabin?”

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[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

cw: Yandere Themes, Possessive Behavior, Gaslighting / Allusions to Gaslighting, Violence / Violent Imagery, Non-Con / Attempted Non-Con, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Themes Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Read at your own discretion! 18+ Only!

author's note: This is for the second half of anon's request! I had fun playing around with this one, too. I really enjoy writing for Overhaul! This was a prompt from "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" and can be found here . REQUESTS ARE OPEN — READ TAGS. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

PROMPT: Lily (Purity): "I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

word count: Approximately 1.4k.

You’re terrified.

The bed doesn’t offer an ounce of solace whenever you fall, whenever the back of your knees thump against its edge and it sends you catapulting throughout space and time. You feel heavy and light at the same time, lead in your mouth whenever you try to breathe, the smell of metal hearty and deafening. You bounce softly whenever the mattress catches you, but your body quakes so much that you feel like you keep going and going, and your hands are working a mile a minute to slam behind your frame to drag you back back back back back. Far away, you’re trying to leave this realm, leave the edge of the bed, trying to nestle into the bed frame, to find a way to meld into the wall and never return. But even if you could, there’s that voice whispering in the shell of your ear, reminding you that it’s futile, useless, and you’re clueless, and that it wouldn’t matter anyway because—

Kai steps closer. He stalks like a predator, staring down your frame, visage cloudy and unreadable. You’re never able to see what he’s thinking, the windows to his soul closed with midnight curtains, but there’s something flashing above his face like a halo that produces chills down your arms. He’s going to hurt you, there’s no way he isn’t, but you don’t know how, don’t want to know how. And whenever his knees start to sink on the bed so that he can begin to ascend the trek to your shuddering frame, everything around you begins to home in. Breathing becomes difficult, maybe it was never even a thing, and you’re finding that the world truly is a drain, water in a bowl hurling and vomiting, loose stones in a stomach. You get your fill, and your head hits the wall with a broad thud.

Being here is the worst thing you’ll ever experience, watching Kai draw closer and closer and closer is anything but the cherry on top. More is to come, and that’s what feels like spikes, chains whipping in the wind, the braying of a captured horse, everything knives down your flesh, flaying you alive. Your eyes are frantic whenever you glance around, whenever you try to think about yourself as not yourself, you try to figure out what would help you ground the fluttering nerves, what could let you slink away into the underbrush so that you don’t have to think about whenever Kai pauses in front of your frame and stretches a hand out. Pads of fingers are gossamer spider webs stringing through the trees, breaking in odd splinters and tickling your thigh.

“Why did you back away from me?”

He knows why. He’s tormenting you. He’s trying to find ways to gaslight your silly brain into thinking you’re the one that hurt him, that you’re the one doing something wrong, that you’re the one being a bad little child. A part of you begs to tell the truth, to watch that poised and clear expression melt off of his face into something disgusting and monstrous so that you can sneer and hate him more. You want to fight him, want to tear your head into two slices so that your teeth can shoot out of your mouth, elongate into blades so you can bite down into his temples and never let go. Thick saliva starts to puddle in your mouth whenever you think about how his warm blood would taste undulating across your tongue. Your nails clench into the bedsheets.

You’re too much of a fucking pussy to fight back though.

“I… don’t know.”

Kai’s pretty eyes narrow.

“Can’t trust you to do anything on your own then. Especially whenever you don’t even think about why you’re doing it.”

The hand on your thigh suddenly becomes an iron, instantly hot and searing your flesh, leaving a tattoo of his claim behind whenever it inches up to the juxtaposition of hip and thigh. Those teeth in your mouth grow, harder, and you feel it coming on, feel that you could really kill him if you wanted to. You could sink your fingers deep into his eyes before you pull them out like skewers, before you stick those squishy things into your mouth to taste their creamy middles. You could cough on him, could watch all of those hives appearing on his hand, his arm, his shoulder, his neck, his face grow in frequency, could throw darts onto them to pop him like a carnival balloon.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Frustration settles deep within your belly, along with the weighty sensation of acceptance. Kai seems pleased with your answer, maybe, because his fingers tap tap tap your hip before he’s on you. He’s a blur, you’re a falling leaf, and his hands are pressing down onto your collar bones so that he can shove you flat onto your back. The bed is hard now, no cushioning, and Kai’s hot, and you’re thawing, and his mouth hurts whenever he ensnares you. He’s never known how to kiss. It’s awkward, clunky. He sucks in both lips, strangely melds his mouth around them, and then he tries to find ways to flick at the flakes of pores and teeth with that juvenile tongue. He drools all over you, gross and sticky, and you can’t understand how he handles that filthy mess. He never turns his head the right way either, always too straight or too tilted, and his jaw doesn’t work correctly. It’s too mechanical, not a flow, and you just feel like you’re fulfilling an obligation whenever he kisses you.

Kai’s moaning into you, and then he rolls his hips in between the crux of your legs. He’s stony, and your eyes instantly wrench to the right, closed so tightly that it feels like you’ve pulled every single muscle in your fragile body. He’s writhing on top of you like a virgin, and there’s a part of you that feels victorious among the wreckage whenever you stew over how bad at sex he probably is, how clumsy and stupid he is, but it doesn’t make the tears spearing your eyes any less salty. They’re on fire, white flames that lick the dents in the fruits of your face, and so many of them escape, dropping onto the sheets, rivulets of watery paint, and the choked sob you breathe into Kai breaks his fantasies.

His eyes flit open with yours, only whiskers from yours, and he looks ugly and foul from this angle. It takes a beat for Kai to lean his body away from you so that he can scrutinize you. He stares and stares, and he keeps staring, and then he seems to tremble so sweetly and he almost makes a childish giggle. His shoulders pinch in together whenever he huskily whispers,

“I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

Nothing. Those are nothing words. But Kai stops, he keeps walking himself backwards, those honeycombs in his eyes are magnifying glasses into an insanity that makes you sick.

“Having sex with you whenever you’re crying wouldn’t do me any good. It wouldn’t make you stay perfect for me.”

Something is beginning to click like rockets in your head.

“If you’re crying and fighting me all of the time, I’m just going to get angry. And then I might accidentally hurt you.”

There are demons hissing into your ears, nasty nasty nasty thoughts that start to make your toes curl. It’s settling in your bones, your organs, and your eyes are widening with more and more and more fresh tears. They’re like thunderstorms down your face, and you’re soggy and gleaming with happiness. He’s so fucking ridiculous and dumb. You’re going to destroy him and manipulate the fuck out of him. You hate him so fucking much. He’s gullible in the strangest of ways and you’ve hooked your line in, and you’re going to exploit his ocean until there’s nothing left.

So you cry harder.

Kai releases more of those airy bubbles, not even chuckles, and his eyes wrinkle at the ends like stuffing paper.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’ll wait until I can’t take it, so don’t make me impatient. I want what we have to be special.”

The tears trickle into your tight mouth, juicy nectar, that stretching grin in your mind tingles, and nothing has ever tasted so sweet.

“Me too.”

[derekhighwaytf]

InstaCub

I loved the Cha Cha Room.  It was as exclusive as it was expensive, but hey that’s the price you pay when you’re a social media sensation.  Being Trey, the sexy instagram model wasn’t without its downsides, however.  The worst thing was when guys who should’ve known that someone of my caliber wouldn’t be interested in them tried to hit on me.  Sure, I fucked my fans regularly, but only the ones that shared my dedication to beauty.  I couldn’t help that I was born gorgeous.

My entourage, an aesthetically curated group of other models (all only slightly less attractive than myself) walked into the Cha Cha Room, ready to be gawked at, each of us oozing beauty and charisma. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, their eyes filled with awe, desire, and, my favorite, envy.

But amongst that sea, there was one guy that forced me to do a double take.  Doug, rounder and balder than anyone else, didn't fit the usual demographic that came to Cha Cha. It was a mystery how he must’ve slipped his way in when security wasn’t looking, because there was no chance they’d ever willingly allow someone who looked like that to enter such exclusive premises.  And, to make matters worse, when he caught me staring at his odd appearance, he began to make his way toward me, a small, devious smile playing on his lips.

"Can I buy you a drink?," he asked.  I raised an eyebrow, my lips curling into a smirk.  Sure, he was far beneath my standards, but I loved teasing my inferiors, especially when it comes with a free drink.  "Well, aren't you a sweetheart," I replied, trying to hide my disdain for his smelly, musky demeanor.

As we talked and I pretended to listen, he must’ve farted at least three times, but I wanted to be nice, so I held my breath and counted the seconds till I could rejoin my way cooler group of friends.  However, when Doug began flirting, I couldn’t help it.  A chuckle bubbled up from my chest and I shook my head, saying "Doug, was it?  No amount of drinks in this club could make me think you're anything but fat, smelly, and bald."

“And what’s wrong with that?” he said earnestly.  “This is a bar for fat, smelly, bald guys after all.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.  Just as the words escaped my lips, I noticed something strange. As my eyes scanned the crowd, I realized that everyone, even my formerly flawless friends, looked just like Doug. They’d grown beards, their hair on their head was gone, and they all had guts the size of bowling balls.  I felt a chill run down my spine as I started to walk away.

“I must be in the wrong place.  I don’t belong here,” I said, just barely missing the door.  But before I could free myself from this hellhole, Doug stopped me and said, “Yes you do.  I think you fit in perfectly.”

Suddenly, my Gucci shirt felt tight around my midsection, and my once firm arms now felt doughy. As I turned to leave, a full-length mirror on the wall revealed a shocking transformation.   I reached up and where once were lush and thick chestnut locks, was now greeted the cold, bare skin of a rapidly receding hairline, retreating with alarming speed, creating an expanding dome of skin I’d never seen before.

Clumps of my hair began to detach themselves from my scalp, falling gently to the club floor. Each strand felt like a piece of my identity, a piece of Trey, falling away to reveal the bald truth underneath. I watched in frozen terror, feeling each follicle detach until all that remained was nothing but a smooth, shiny surface. I was as bald as an egg.

And then I farted.

Pffffffft.

I was disgusted with myself for only a moment, until I started to let a hearty chuckle much deeper than my old voice.

I looked in the mirror again, my face so much more different than it was ten minutes ago—familiar, but not the one I had painstakingly maintained for the world to admire. Suddenly, the world seemed to shift as a flood of memories washed over me. I wasn't Trey, the Instagram sensation. I was Tom, a twenty-something, bald, overweight man who didn’t shower, farted every five minutes, and fucked anyone who’d have me.  This was my bar and I was gonna make sure all my fellow cubs had a good time

As the rock music blared and the crowd at Tommy’s Den started to become increasingly alluring to me, I was suddenly hit with a wave of unfulfilled desire, a need for cock.  So I pulled Doug aside to the bathroom and…well you can guess what happened next.

I was Tom now, and, honestly, my life was so much better…

Pffffffffft.

[rinhaler]

I Got Your Bitch Movin'

CHAPTER SUMMARY: the morning after being stranded with Megumi. He's intent on forcing you to have fun.

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, alcohol consumption, drug consumption, infidelity, gaslighting, manipulation, paranoia.

WORDS : 7.1k

notes : five chapters left from fuwushiguro aaaaaa

       LAST CHAPTER ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

—

The morning greets you as you lay in bed between the deathly limbo of wake and sleep.

Your eyes are swollen, bleary.

Thoughts aren’t yet yours and you can’t help but wonder if you’re thinking about the dreams of the previous night you had or if you’re starting to regain your own memories.

There is a gnawing memory of feeling bitterly cold before you fell asleep. So it’s odd now that daybreak has arrived you’re practically lying in a pool of your own sweat.

Your skin is coated and your forehead is drenched.

It’s nice to be in Yuuji’s arms again, at least. His chest is bare and you’ve never felt so at home with your body held firmly against his chest. You snuggle in closer and he pulls you in tighter as you decide to go back to sleep.

Regardless of your decision, your vision is greedy.

You can’t refrain from opening up your eyes and looking at your surroundings. This isn’t your house. You left your house yesterday morning. In the car with Toji and Megumi. You went on a trip with your class.

You spent the day with Megumi.

You guys missed the bus. You went bowling. You argued. You stayed in the hotel with Megumi. With a racing heart and thrumming bass in your head, you sit upright and turn around.

You hadn’t been in the arms of your pink-haired boyfriend.

You’re cuddled up with your black-haired bully.

Fuck.

You scream. The loudest scream you ever have,

“The hell’s the matter with you?” You fall to the ground and back away from him quickly, watching him as he sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

The morning sun casts shadows on his weary body.

He looks like a demon.

Isn’t he surprised that the two of you were all cosy in bed together? He’s always so nonchalant. Your breathing slows as you try and rationalise everything in your mind. By the blaring beat in your brain and the heaviness of your limbs, you deduct that you had been drinking last night.

You don’t remember anything.

He doesn’t seem hungover.

So he’s likely as calm as he is because he does remember the details. But there’s no possible explanation that could justify why you were in bed together.

Let alone while he’s naked.

“Why are you in my bed? Did we—”

“No, we didn’t. And actually, O’Keeffe, you crawled into my bed last night because you were freezing. Nothin’ scandalous.”

“You’re lying, aren’t you? You’re naked under there. Please, Megumi, you need to tell me if I cheated on Yuuji.” you beg, hoping he’ll do the decent thing for once in his life and tell you the truth.

He shakes his head, sighing. The duvet is pulled from his body as he reveals his bottom half still in his sweatpants and underwear.

“Thank you, God.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, the receptionist wasn’t lying about the weather change for the festival. It’s boiling, so I threw my shirt off in the middle of the night.” he tells you.

You probably would have been better off sleeping alone if you knew what temperature was going to replace the chilling air last night. Two warm bodies under one blanket was never going to work out well.

He keeps staring at you; or rather, the state of you. Covered in a gross, sheen layer of stickiness and your messy hair practically glued to your forehead. You watch him roll over and pick up a carton of cigarettes, lighting one up to smoke while he falls further into his bed. A morning ritual, you suspect.

But you’re wrong.

Like every other vice, smoking for Megumi is rare. He does it when he’s worked up about something.

In this case, and all other cases as of late, you.

The fact that you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere for the foreseeable also isn’t ideal. So what’s a little nicotine to take the edge off?

“You look like shit,” he laughs, instantly feeling at ease as the cancerous smoke tars his lungs. “I got you a glass of water for the side of your bed, you forgot to bring it over.”

“I’ll be fine after a drink and my aspirin. And… a shower. Maybe more sleep, too.” you inform him. He nods, agreeing, closing his eyes as he lets his cigarette hang between his lips. “What time is it?” you ask him.

His eyes open again, unsure if he can be bothered to help you answer that question. But he rolls over again to grab his phone. 7:17am. He tosses his phone away and lies on his stomach with his cigarette holding hand resting above the ashtray on his side table.

You cannot bear the thought of being fully awake at such an ungodly time. It’s enough to make you dive into your own bed and quickly take your painkillers before lying back down. It’s stupid, you know, because really you should be using every second to your advantage to figure out how you’re going to get home. But you aren’t up to it. Tiredness and alcohol rage through your bloodstream and you know it isn’t a good idea to push yourself beyond your limits.

“More sleep… just five more minutes.”

“Fuck that, princess. I’ve set an alarm for 10.” he tells you. You turn over to face him and laugh. It sounds good. It’s still so early, you’ll be able to get plenty of things done if you wake up feeling better at that time. “Gotta call my dad again, and Gojo.”

“Where's Gerald?!” you yell sitting upright again as you search under your covers for your brand new shark plush. Megumi grunts and he throws him at you. “Ow.” you instinctively respond as he connects with your head.

He's too soft to hurt you, it's just a reflex.

“I’m so fucking tired. You’re such a loud snorer.” he laughs, raising his head slightly to take another drag of his cigarette before he sinks back into his pillow.

You roll your eyes, ignoring him. You have absolutely zero desire to waste your time arguing with him about whether or not you snore when there is valuable rest to be gained.

—

The alarm startles you as it practically screams and stabs through your nervous system. You’re all too familiar with the recognisable iPhone default alarm you’ve been conditioned to hate over the years of early morning classes.

It doesn’t scare you as much as it does Megumi, though. The poor guy shocks himself straight out of bed. You can’t help but snicker, trying to keep your volume to a minimum as you roll away and pray he can’t see the smirk forming on your face.

He gets up for the first time that morning. It’s hotter than it was at 7am. The windows need to be open, he decides. The room is stuffy and unbearable. Much like he imagines the rest of today will be if you continue to be stranded.

“Better start making some calls.” Megumi groans.

Neither of you are sure where to start. And you’re beginning to think you’re going to have to swallow your pride and let your parents cover the cost of a cab back home. The idea gets stuck in your throat like poorly swallowed medication. You can barely think about it let alone go through with it. You’re sure Megumi will try and force you again, if Toji and Gojo are unreliable for a second day in a row.

It's cute, you think, watching Megumi struggle to choose which dad he wants to call first. Having a little more understanding about his past is giving you the opportunity to really see how much he cares about Toji.

He doesn’t like him, not by a long shot. But you can see the obvious love there. The respect. The familial bond that he can’t seem to break no matter how desperately he tries to.

And that is why he calls him first.

It’s uncomfortable to watch the phone ring again and again. You suppose it is still pretty early. You aren’t sure what Toji’s sleeping pattern is like, but he hasn’t let either of you be late to class since you started carpooling. And he always seems fairly chipper in the mornings.

It could be a caffeine fix, or something even peppier he might unknowingly share in common with his son.

So, is sleeping in a valid excuse to not answer the phone? It goes to voicemail, prompting him to try again. He growls when he’s met with the same disappointing outcome.

“Fucker. He’s ignoring me, you try.” he commands. You get up in search of your phone. Who knows where it ended up last night when you were falling all over the place when you returned to the room? It’s eventually found by Megumi when he helps join the search. It was in your pants pocket in the bathroom.

He holds it up and sees your screensaver.

You and Yuuji.

It makes him scowl and sigh before he tosses it to you. His box of cigarettes begins calling his name. You watch him flop back onto his bed and light another one up. He doesn’t know why he’s so irrationally angry. He doesn’t know what’s causing him to chain smoke like a damn chimney when it’s usually just an occasional pleasure. The edge needs to be taken off somehow, and he doesn’t think he can be bothered to make you cry this early in the day.

“He’s not ignoring you. No answer to me either, must be busy.” you tell him as you press the red button and put your phone down on the side table. You see Megumi start to type so quickly his thumbs become a blur. Likely scolding Toji for being a piece of shit father, as usual.

“Shady prick,” he mutters under his breath. You decide to let it slide and ignore the comment.

There’s nothing you can say to make him see the good in his dad. The truth of it is that maybe you need to start truly seeing the bad. It’s in the flesh sharing a room with you right now.

The monster that Toji spawned and couldn’t raise efficiently. He might be sweet to you, but if he can’t be sweet to his own kids it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make him a good person, the opposite, really. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop. No need to pout, I’ll try Gojo.”

You watch his finger swipe through his hundreds of contacts as he tries to locate the relevant name. It makes you feel like a voyeur, seeing him do something so simple and human as looking for people to call.

Part of you wishes you could see his screen. Is his surrogate father named in his contacts as Gojo or dad? Or maybe something different entirely, something derogatory to fit with the playfulness of Satoru.

“Megumi! Sorry about yesterday bud, I hope you and the future Mrs. Itadori behaved yourselves. Two crazy kids sharing a hotel room, hah? Sounds like a bad soap opera.” his voice instantly grates on you and Megumi regrets putting him on loudspeaker for you both to hear. You both groan loud enough for Gojo to hear and make him laugh.

“Separate beds, Gojo. And you’re on speaker so try to act your age for once in your life.” Megumi reprimands him as if he is the parent in the situation. It takes Gojo aback slightly, but nothing to knock his trademark annoying confidence off track. “My dad isn’t answering his phone, so, you’ll have to come pick us up today.”

“As much as I love your delightful manners, I can’t. And I must say Megumi it sure sounds weird to hear you call him dad. It’s always been Toji for so long, what’s changed?”

“Slip of the tongue.” Megumi answers, immediately. You can’t tell if it’s guilt or embarrassment that has led him to correct himself to Gojo so hastily.

“You know, certain people can evoke special feelings in you. A challenging presence can make you see the good in the world and other people. Although Toji and I will never get along, I think it’s nice to hear you’re in a forgiving spirit and trying to make it work even after so many disappointments.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“I’ll admit, it hurts a little. A man who barely raised you earns the title of dad but I’m just plain ol’ Gojo.”

“I’m not having this conversation over the phone, or ever, actually. What time are you coming to get us?” Megumi puts an end to the uncomfortable conversation you almost wish you hadn’t been present for. But overall, you’re glad. Hearing him be somewhat normal with someone as goofy as Gojo is heart warming to say the least. Perhaps there is some humanity in the monster born of Toji Fushiguro, after all.

“Call me dad and I’ll tell you.”

“No.”

“Alright, fine. I’m still out of town so it’ll have to be tomorrow.” Gojo sighs. It’s a crushing blow and you can’t tell who out of the three of you is more disappointed.

Another day stuck in the hotel with Megumi.

Admittedly it hadn’t been as bad as you were expecting thus far. But there’s still time. And Megumi is flippant. His mood and aggression towards you can change in the blink of an eye.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. We’re out of town! What’s so important that you can’t drive a few extra hours to collect your stranded kid and a girl?” Megumi bites down the line. You sigh, huffing a strand of hair out of your face as you realise what you are to him. All you are to him is a girl. Not his victim. Not his classmate. A girl.

“Oh now you’re my kid, huh? Interesting. Doesn’t change anything though. I’m way out of town. As in I’m setting off tonight and I’ll be there in the morning to get you guys.”

“Hi, Gojo, it’s me. Obviously. I was just wondering what’s keeping you from setting off now and getting us tonight. I’m sure you can imagine how uncomfortable it is for me to be sharing a room with another man, a man who bullies me on a daily basis. And for Megumi to be sharing a room with… a girl, he loathes.” you speak up, Megumi rolls his eyes at your comment and opts to ignore you. He’s more intrigued to hear what Gojo has to say over putting you in your place.

“I doubt Megumi will be interested in the gory details but a man has needs. The needs just so happened to take me on a wild road trip and more attention gained than intended, not that I’m complaining.”

“Enough. Fine, Gojo. One more night but if you don’t show tomorrow we’re fucking done. Tomorrow morning, I mean it. Get us the hell out of here.” Megumi tells him sternly. You know he has the power to follow through on his words. And yet, you’re unsure if he’ll change his mind when it comes to Gojo.

“Don’t worry, Megumi. There’s only one father figure in your life who’s usually a no show, and we both know it isn’t me.”

The sound of Gojo hanging up the phone is almost deafening. A damaging melody that pricks through your veins. Megumi is visibly irritated, you’d be a fool not to see it. But it’s only because he knows he’s right. Gojo has never let him down in his life. Toji, on the other hand, only seems to let him down. It’s a bothersome truth that makes his hands begin to shake as he grips his thighs. If he wasn’t so volatile at all times, you’d comfort him. Rush to his side and take his hands in yours and tell him it’s going to be okay.

But you can’t.

Instead, you get out of bed and stand to your feet.

“I’m going in the shower,” you tell him. He watches you walk around your bed and head towards the bathroom door.

“Wait,” he speaks, forcing you to halt your actions and wait for him to continue. “I think we should go buy some festival clothes, today.”

“Why?”

“Are you dense? So we can go to the festival, obviously.”

“I keep getting into trouble when I do things with you. I don’t think it’s a good idea… I mean, you go. Call that girl and take her instead. I’ll just hang out here and work on my dissertation or something.”

“Shut up you’re not doing that. You don’t get into trouble with me, because you’re a fucking angel. You live to please everyone and be a good girl, don’t you? It’s not trouble, it’s fun. Don’t you wanna have fun? It’ll be the first time in your whole life, I’m sure.”

“See, this, is not going to work. I’ve had fun but you wouldn’t know that because you, well, you know what you are. So you’re not going to manipulate me with your little mind games into thinking I need to prove myself to you. I don’t. Now, if you don’t mind. I’d quite like to shower.”

“Fine, if that’s how you want to be. I’ll call that girl right now and go with her instead.”

“Great.”

“Yeah, great. Gonna have fun and I’ll probably bring her back here and have even more fun. You might want to figure out somewhere else to be tonight.”

His words grab your attention and he smirks at the way you pout. He promised. Even though you gave him the idea to call up the girl from the store you didn’t think he’d take it as far as to threaten to bring her back here. It’s your own fault, really, for thinking a single word that left his lips held any value.

“Don’t, you said—”

“I said? I said I wanna have fun today, so if you aren’t on board I’ll make my own fun. You’re not gettin’ in the way of my good time and if that involves me bringing a girl back to fuck, you aren’t going to stop me.” there he is, the real him.

He’s such a prick you can’t even think straight as you consider what an idiot you are time and time again. Each time there is a shred of decency in him it’s torn away moments later. A speckle of humanity replaced by a plume of toxic smoke.

“Shopping… sounds good. I’ll never turn down new clothes. So, lets have… fun.”

“Atta girl, that’s more like it.” Megumi snarls. “Hurry up O’Keeffe. Wastin’ precious time here. Gonna make today one to remember.”

—

No one brings out a worse side of you than Megumi Fushiguro. He’s seen you at your angriest and saddest. But for some reason his intentions have blossomed into something even more sinister, although it might not seem as such to your untrained eyes. He just wants to have fun, you think.

He does, but there is a brand new goal in mind.

The purity emanating off of you is just so sickening to him. Why have you got such a wholesome aura about you when he is completely and utterly rotten to the core?

Corruption.

That’s his new plan. You were closer to the truth than you knew when you accused him of getting you into trouble. Was it wrong of him to lie? Was it wrong of him to gaslight you and make you think that wasn’t anywhere near his intention? Of course.

But Megumi Fushiguro rarely gives a fuck about what is right and wrong.

He has always wanted to ruin you. The method in how has grown into something new. Easier, he suspects. There is so much trouble he can really get you into. Ruin that perfect, sweet image you try so desperately to maintain whenever you can.

He’s had enough of it.

What is there to enjoy about being the way everyone wants you to be? There’s a little devil in you, he’s certain. He’s going to do everything in his power to force it out of you.

You don’t object when he suggests waiting outside of your changing room to confer with you about your outfit choices.

He’s never felt like this before.

A rich kid.

Admittedly, the store isn’t expensive and the clothes aren’t designer. But being with you and seeing how willing you are to blow money from your parents credit card on whatever you want is making him feel like a cliché.

He wasn’t rich growing up. Toji figures throwing money at the problem that is his son is as good a way as any to earn forgiveness.

Megumi wasn’t about to object to that.

Each time you step out of the changing room there’s only one word permeating his sealed lips.

Skimpier

Skimpier

Skimpier

It’s the only thing he wants to say, but you both know he’s smarter than that. He manages to put a unique spin on the word and translate it into something more innocent. Something that will actually encourage you to obey without knowing he’s manipulating you. He hasn’t earnt that right yet. Despite having a good familiarity in such a short period of time on how to handle you, he isn’t quite where he needs to be with you yet.

Skimpier = I’m sure you can do better than that.

Skimpier = I like it, but I think the other girls here will go all out.

Skimpier = The colour is nice, but, do you really want to be shown up by me?

He’s finally satisfied when you emerge one last time from behind the curtain. It’s obvious you feel a little self conscious, though he’s confident a few compliments will get you out of your shell.

You’re substantially taller than usual given the white, lace up, platform boots you’re now wearing. It’s embarrassing to stand in front of Megumi in so little clothing. You’re essentially in a bra and panties. It’s more like a bikini, really, purple holographic material covering your intimate flesh. You found a pair of gem studded, white, fishnet tights to wear with it as well as a purple tutu. The tutu somehow makes you look even sluttier despite it adding an additional layer.

“Perfect,” Megumi grins, “Excuse me, miss? Do you have any accessories for the festival that might go with my friend's outfit?” he asks. The girl turns around and your blood runs cold when you realise it’s the girl he gave his number to yesterday. She simply scoffs and barges by one of her co-workers who looks at her incredulously. She apologises on her behalf and picks up some purple butterfly hairclips for you to wear.

“I see people wear pigtails with these clips if that helps.” the assistant tells you. Megumi raises his eyebrows and nods thinking it’s a great idea. There’s something about pigtails that for whatever reason drive him wild. Maybe it’s the idiotic innocence of them. Grown women donning them in an attempt to look youthful. There is something thrilling about the prospect of making you go off the rails and become a totally new person before Yuuji comes back from his trip.

He might not even recognise you.

“I’m not sure about this, Megumi.” you admit. He squints his eyes hoping it comes across as thoughts rather than disdain, urging you to continue. “What are you wearing?”

“Why tell you when I can show you?” Megumi grins as he steps into the changing room beside you.

You are standing for a good five minutes before you decide to steal the seat he had been sitting in. Whatever he’s picked must have a lot of accessories for him to be taking this long for him to be fully dressed. Even the sales assistant tries to keep you entertained with idle chit chat as you wait.

He emerges and you are almost lost for words. A lot of accessories was an understatement. He’s wearing ridiculous flared blue jeans and has decided to go shirtless. You had no idea what kind of body he’d been hiding beneath his clothes the entire time but you definitely weren’t expecting him to be so fucking defined. In fact, he has a similar body type to Yuuji. The reason he had taken so fucking long to get dressed is because he was covering his arms in plastic kandi bracelets. He also had a few matching necklaces on him and he is sucking on a strawberry lollipop as he leaned against the changing room door.

“Oh my… you look like a—”

“A what?”

“A slut, Megumi. You look, hah, you look like a total slut!”

“Perfect, so we match. Exactly what I wanted.” he teases back as he goes back to sucking on the lollipop. He reaches into the pocket of his new jeans and tosses another one at you.

“The fashion here is wild,” you say as you begin unwrapping the plastic packaging on your lolly, “is it a town choice or just for the festival? It’s very rave-y.” you ask the clerk. She nods, completely agreeing with you as soon as the words leave your mouth.

“Yeah, um, to be honest a lot of people are against the festival now. It started as quite a sweet wholesome event but it’s turned into a more youth focused event. An excuse to get drunk and mess around, really. So yeah, it’s pretty much a big rave nowadays.” she explains.

Your eyes find Megumi’s and he’s immediately raising his eyebrows in quick succession when they meet. Trouble. You know it and he knows it.

But, as she said, this is a youth focused event. Megumi and yourself definitely qualify. He holds out his hand for you to shake; an agreement under the phrase ‘I’ll wear mine if you wear yours’. And honestly, you don’t see the harm if you both look so stupid.

The pair of you receive an array of disapproving looks as you sit and wiggle on the check out desks while the cashiers scan the items you’re wearing. You don’t particularly feel proud that you raise your leg for the man to scan your boots and more or less flash him your new bikini bottoms. Megumi spends far too long getting each individual bracelet and necklace scanned. But by the end of it all, they aren’t disappointed when you give them each a hefty tip courtesy of your credit cards.

“You’re dumb with money.” Megumi tells you.

“Look who’s talking!”

“You’ve always had money, but you’re still a little shopping addict. It’s new to me, I’m having fun.”

“Well I’m trying to have fun too. Wasn’t that what you wanted today?”

“You got me there,” he chuckles to himself. “I was thinking of something else fun we could do.”

Before you can answer, he’s pulling you into a fast food restaurant and holding your hand as the two of you run upstairs. He scans the area to make sure no one is around and drags you into the toilets. He shoves you against the sinks and lifts you up onto the edge.

Your heart is pounding.

It’s intense and heated and you feel like you’re being manhandled by Yuuji when he’s worked up after a shitty day at school. You wonder if he’s thinking about the time he pressed his lips against yours at your parents house.

He wonders if you’re thinking the same.

Your chest is heaving and your eyes are vibrating. He watches as your vision alternates between his eyes and his mouth. Your mind is spinning and you’re under the weight of too many heavy emotions you can’t think straight. But despite all of that, you wouldn’t do this to Yuuji, would you?

He helps answer the question as he backs away from you a little and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. You’re starting to worry he’s about to pull a condom out. But it turns out to be worse than that.

“This is fun.” he tells you, dangling a bag of cocaine in front of your face. He laughs at the slither of saliva that bulges down your throat as you gulp heartily. He knows you’ve never done drugs before. Other than when he spiked you, obviously. He could have laced the coke with anything. He’s playing the long game with you, you think. You shake your head, telling him you want nothing to do with the white powder.

“I don’t feel comfortable doing that, with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fucking scared. Of drugs and you. I don’t know where I stand with you Megumi and I am too naïve and trusting to keep falling for your little tricks and schemes.”

“You think I did something to this?”

“I—”

“C’mere,” he mutters. He shoves your torso back until your head hits off the mirrored wall behind you. You gasp as he pries your knees apart, opening your legs. You quickly slam them shut but it’s a waste of time. He opens them again and gives you a warning look. “Hold still, and watch.” he commands.

He tips some of the coke onto your thigh and uses his pinkie finger to move it into a straight line. You look at him intently as he holds his right nostril with a finger and lowers his face down to the drug on your leg. It’s impossible not to stare as a raven head of hair moves further up your thigh and towards your cunt. He tilts his head, insisting that you hold eye contact with him as he consumes every last speck of coke onto his tongue.

You’re breathless by the end of it. But it isn’t the end. He shoves his little finger into your mouth to lick the remaining residue off him. He’s proven it isn’t laced, at least. Still though, there’s no fucking reason that you needed to obey.

A fucking people pleaser through and through.

“Good girl,” he praises and coos as you hum around his finger, “it’s good, isn’t it? Wanna try it properly?” he asks. You’re hesitant. You know it isn’t right. You know Toji will kick his ass when he finds out he even suggested it let alone pressured you into it. But what can you say? You succumb to his will, nodding meekly and agreeing to his ridiculous stupid idea.

“How do I— I’ve changed my mind this is stupid. I feel stupid. Fuck, Megumi, I really hate you. You’re making me feel like a fucking loser as if it’s cool to do drugs, it isn’t. I don’t—”

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, I know it’s your first time I don’t think you’re stupid. ‘m gonna pour it out. I think you should lick it up instead of snorting it like me, don’t think you’ll like it.” his words soothe you a little and your fucking fluttering eyelashes are the picture of perfect innocence.

God he’s excited to see what a mess you’ll be when you’re high together. He helps you down off the sink and trades places with you. He pulls his necklaces over his head and puts them down before leaning backwards and dusting coke between his pecks. “Use your tongue.” he instructs.

You reluctantly lean closer to him and stick your tongue out. Your big eyes are looking up at him for guidance, like he’s some kind of expert. To you, he is. He nods, spurring you on. Finally your tongue connects with his body. His eyelids shake a little as he tries to concentrate on keeping them open. You got a little further than you’re meant to, finishing off by lightly kissing his collarbone. He teased you, it’s only fair that you tease him back.

“I’ll be okay, won’t I?” you ask him. He jumps down and holds your shoulders, bending over a little so he can look directly into your eyes.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ fly, babe.”

—

He isn’t wrong. You practically fly from the bathroom all of the way to the parade together. The pair of you are laughing the entire way, not quite sure what's so funny. You order a few shots of vodka together to enjoy while you wait for the floats to come down the street.

The atmosphere is surreal. Mostly teenagers and people in their early twenties standing in the streets dancing to the head hammering techno music that was drilling into your heads. Once you're bored of vodka shots you moved onto jäger bombs, and by the time you're good and drunk your high wears off.

It doesn’t stop either of you from having a good time though. You interact with a few other party goers and don’t bother to learn each other’s names. The music and good times are enough for all of you.

You aren’t sure what has come over you, but you decide to join the parade. You run into the road and begin dancing. Eventually, you're invited to dance atop one of the floats.

Megumi’s stomach hurts from laughing as he watches you shake your ass and dance with the other girls on the float. If either of you were in your right minds, you’d likely be discussing how unbelievable it is that such a tiny coastal town has such a huge festival every year.

It’s a tourist attraction, a lot of other people are from out of town, like yourselves. Hence the fully booked hotels and the droves of people equally as intoxicated and high on life.

Megumi walks alongside the parade float, making sure not to lose you. You point him out to the girls you’re dancing with, each of them having no shame in telling you what a handsome boyfriend you have. He doesn’t hear them say it. And for once, you hold your tongue. You aren’t sure why you aren’t objecting to him being your boyfriend like you normally do.

Maybe it’s because you’re drunk, or because he’s actually being nice to you and taking care of you for a change. Maybe while you're under the influence he has more potential as a boyfriend, something you'd never admit to while sober.

The sky is changing from bright blue to burning orange and pink before your eyes. You decide you’ve had enough of dancing and ask Megumi to help you down. He looks so different under such a romantic sky. The warm colours adding life to his pale face. He is handsome, the girls weren’t wrong. His problem is that he has such an ugly soul.

And yet, this weekend, you think there’s a chance such a horrid interior could be fixed.

He pulls you back into the crowd and over to the outdoor bar for more shots. The two of you are disappointed when you’re told the bar is closing for the day. How are you supposed to carry on getting black out drunk now?

“The party is raging on by the beach, friends. Fire pit, tiki bar, dance floors. Start heading down and you’ll find what you’re looking for.” the bartender informs you both. Megumi thanks him and takes your hand to guide you down to the beach.

It’s like a hive-mind as everyone has the same idea. Everyone walking in unison down to the beach to get served and continue the evening. You make it there fairly ahead of everyone else, but thankfully there’s a multitude of tiki bars set up to serve people their alcohol. Once you ingest another five vodka shots, this time with gummy bears, you head over to one of the dance floors.

You and Megumi stand apart as you dance on your own but watch each other’s moves. He’s impressed by the way you shake your hips and drop it low, the lack of confidence in your outfit seeming to now be a thing of the past as you parade yourself around as if you own the place. You watch him pause for a moment, snacking on one of his bracelets.

“I didn’t know they were edible!” you yell at him. He nods, pulling you nearer to him by your wrist and holding his arm up to you. Like him, you begin to nibble on the candy as you both simply change which foot your putting the most pressure on in time with the music.

“I think I want to have some more fun,” he tells you. You watch him pull his wallet out of his back pocket again and you assume he’s searching for more coke. You’re a little surprised when you see him take out a little yellow pill with a smiley face on it. He settles it on his tongue and sticks it out at you before swallowing.

“W-What was, ‘sat?” you slur, curious about what he just ingested.

“E, baby,” he tells you. “Wanna try?” he cranes his head to line his mouth up with your ear, shouting so that you can hear him over the boisterous music.

Well, if he is having some, you have to follow suit.

You’re matching his amount of drinks and drug consumption so far. You can’t let yourself down and fall behind now. At least – that is the rationale your drunken and dissolving mind has decided.

You nod and squint your eyes at him. Like it’s obvious that you want a try. He takes another pill from his wallet. This time it’s pink with a little heart in the centre. He puts it on his tongue and sticks it out for you to take. You hold out your hand, hoping he will put it there instead, but he doesn’t budge.

“Give it to me.” you order, but he shakes his head.

“’ake it.” he replies, speaking as best he can with the pill comfortably on his tongue. You reach your fingers up to grab it but it quickly withdraws into his mouth. You repeat this another three times before you huff in annoyance and exhaustion. He sticks his tongue out even further, wiggling it around like you’re a horse with a carrot dangling in front of your face.

And you’re a fool, because you submit.

You lean forward and he catches your hips in his hands as your lips make contact with his. He pushes the ecstasy pill from his tongue to yours and it practically slides down your throat. That should have been the end of it.

But of course, it isn’t. You can justify it all you like by telling yourself you’re drunk. You aren’t in your right mind and God dammit you’re missing Yuuji. But those are just excuses.

And excuses won't cut it, because unlike at your parents manor, you aren’t pushing him away. You’re melting into him. He pulls your body flush against his and you wrap your arms around his neck. Your tongues are so soft against one another as they dance together, and you have no idea why, but you start smiling into it.

Probably the drugs.

He laughs into your mouth when he feels your smile, pulling away and kissing your forehead. You’re feeling the music more than you had been, more than you ever have in your life. You feel him spin you around so your back is to his chest. His arms are tight around you as you sway in time with the music. He rests his head on top of yours and can feel his jaw tightening and moving.

You push off of him a little and begin grind your ass against him. His arm comes over your shoulder and you feel his fingers trace delicately atop your breast. It doesn’t bother you, though. You don’t stop dancing or moving on him. It makes you laugh when you remember how hard he was last night just when you were laying in bed together. You’re fully rubbing onto him now and you can only imagine how hard he’s trying to stop himself from getting an erection.

You have no idea.

Similarly to Megumi, your jaw begins to clench and swing as the effects of the E start coming over you more.

Megumi thinks he’s in love with you, whispering it every chance he gets into your hair. You don’t pay it any mind, though, knowing you’ll both have forgotten about it come morning. Maybe the pills make him happier, nicer.

He feels an intense desire to be lovely.

Positively overwhelmed with a dire need the show anyone who’ll listen to him how much he loves them. He even catches eyes with the bartender for a moment and considers telling him how much he loves him.

You feel paranoid when you can’t control how your jaw is aching and moving on it’s own. All eyes are on you, you think, as you look stupid and can’t get a hold of what your face is doing. Why is everyone looking at you? Tears begin to free fall. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re meant to be happy, to be in ecstasy. You’re panicking. It’s too much.

It’s too fucking much.

“Megumi—” you turn, facing him and allowing him to see how blown to hell your pupils are and how watery your eyes and cheeks are.

“Woah, what happened?” he asks, cupping your face and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“I wanna go, I wanna go please. I can’t. Megumi I can’t—”

“Yeah, fuck. Okay.” he tells you.

Soon enough he’s holding your hand tight as he wades through the crowds of people. He keeps looking back to make sure you’re alright, his heart breaking a little each time he sees you sniffle or do a little hiccupping sob. He isn’t sure if it would be a better idea to walk to the hotel or try and get a taxi. It isn’t too far, he’s sure you’ll manage.

It’s a miracle you aren’t both frozen over like Jack Nicholson in the end of The Shining. You aren’t exactly dressed well for the chill bite of the night time air. You don’t think either of you could have chosen skimpier clothing if you tried.

“Take me home, Megumi—”

“I will, sweetheart, ‘m gonna get us home. Love you baby, alright? We’ll be home real soon.”

—

© 2024 rinhaler

—

[justastraymoa]

ADVENTURES WITH CHEESE EXTENDED EDITION PT 10

Im lost. Hopelessly lost with a cat in a bag on my shoulder looking at me like I am the dumbest person on the planet. And honestly, I feel like I am right now.

How do I go out for a simple walk around the neighborhood with my cat and get lost for hours. And my phone is dying on top of it all!

There is no way I could call the boys. I would never live it down. And I mean never. Plus how were they supposed to help me if I didn’t even know where I was? I couldn’t even find a street sign to give me a hint of where I was.

And im tired, hungry, have no more water, and didn’t bring any money because it was supposed to be a short walk. Only I could get myself into situations like this.

If I use my phone to get a map up, I will kill the battery and I didn’t think to pull a map up earlier when I had more battery, because why would I do that? Why would I be smart enough to do that?

Honestly when I get back to the apartment, I am just never going to leave it again. It wasn’t worth it and I am apparently too dumb to go out on my own anyways. Maybe I could flag down a police officer or something if I see one. They may be able to at least put me in the right direction if they wouldn’t give me a courtesy ride because of Cheese.

When I finally saw the boys, it was almost completely dark. The streetlights were already on and no one was walking around anymore. I was so relieved I felt my stupid eyes start to stupidly tear up. Stupid.

Binnie walked up to me and wrapped his arms around my head so I could hide my face in his chest while the emotions passed. I held onto him tightly. Someone tugged Cheese away from me at some point, most likely Lino. And there were several rubs and pats as we stood there.

“Lets get your dumb ass home.” Lino sighed. I just nodded, thankful yet again for all 4 of them. And for the terrible circumstances that lead me to meeting and befriending them in the first place.

Once at home I was deposited directly into a chair and a large glass of ice water was placed in front of me. I drank a few gulps before forcing myself to slow down so I didn’t get sick. That would be the perfect end to this perfect night. Praying over the porcelain bowl because I drank too much water too fast.

I was lucky enough to work from home most of the time. The occasional meeting forced me to go in and work trips, but 90% of the time I spent working from my bedroom or the living room couch or the dining table. Kind of wherever I felt like sitting and a lot of the times I sat at all places throughout the day, just for a change of scenery.

The boys worked from home occasionally, when they could. I always knew when one of them was home because Cheese would abandon me for someone else. Always excited to have someone new to cuddle and bug all day. Also, he knew the boys would give him treats. I was the strict parent in this relationship. But he was still a mama’s boy at heart, so I was okay with it.

Today it was Bin who was working from home. From the dining table by the sounds of it. I could hear him talking to both himself and Cheese. And could also hear the occasional thump of something falling as Cheese was a turd because Bin wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Spoiled child that he is.

I stayed at my desk, both relieved to not be bothered and distracted by Cheese and lonely because Cheese was not here cuddling and distracting me. It was an odd combination. I would probably join Bin at the dining table later just to not feel so lonely. However, for now I had 30 emails on a crisis that popped up overnight that needed attending to.

I laughed out loud as I heard Bin go into Linos room and start to look around for the sling bag. He must be desperate enough to risk Linos wrath.

“I can lend you my makeshift sling. It works just fine!” I called.

“He cant just gatekeep all the good stuff and expect to get away with it! It’s the principle of the thing!” He called back. There was a crash as something was knocked over.

“He is going to kill you for going through his stuff!”

“He wouldn’t.”

I raised my eyebrows and waited for that to sink into Bins head.

“You will save me right. He is a softie for you.” I eventually heard him say.

I scoffed doubtful that Lino was a ‘softie’ for anyone. Except maybe his cats. He was soft for them. Humans though, me included, he was not soft for. “I will try.” I promised nothing more.

Later that night, hours after everyone had gone to bed for the night, there was a high pitched scream that tore me from my peace.

On instinct I ran from the room. Bins door was open and I could see Lino standing over his bed with a very creepy, very psychotic smile on his face in the dark room. The only light source from the hallway nightlight.

(A/N: I picture something like this look)

“I see you went into my room.” Lino stated lowly, face not losing an inch of psychotic.

My body sagged as I realized what had happened. Lino was getting his revenge. In a very Lino way.

“Im sorry.” Bin said lowly.

Beside me Chan laughed quietly. “He spent all evening trying to figure out how to get back at him for tearing the room apart.”

Hyune didn’t even look like he woke up, let alone looked to see why Bin had screamed like a little girl in the middle of the night.

I rolled my eyes and went back to bed, pulling Cheese closer to rub my face on his soft fur and hear his purring as I drifted off.

A/N: And here we are with part 10. Honestly every time I do another one of these I have so much fun but I also wonder how the heck this even happened. How the heck did I turn a bunch of random pinterest cats into Cheese and create a whole ass cat. And all because I love black cats and have had several of my own that vie for the braincell of orange cats on occasion.

Anyways enjoy! See you next time

Skz + pets masterlist

Taglist: @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor

[sequinsmile-x]

One Last Souvenir From My Trip to Your Shores

“Come on, Derek, it’s my job and Aaron knows that. And it’s not the first time I’ve had to flirt with an unsub. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with the guy.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, putting the coffee pot down with more force than necessary, “It wouldn’t be the first time you did that either.” 

A thoughtless and unkind comment from someone she's always considered a friend makes Emily feel like she's right back at the start.

-x-

Hi friends,

Well, this one has got away from in a way that a fic hasn't in a LONG time. This was meant to be a one shot, and then a long one shot, and then I got to what should be the halfway point and almost 6k words in and I knew I had to turn it into two parts.

This was inspired by a comment on an older fic of mine where Derek brings up Emily's brand mark scar, and a post from @ friendsbuffays on twitter.

Part two will be up early next week.

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 5.8k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily yawns as she waits for her tea to be ready, groaning as she rolls her neck, an ache she couldn’t quite shift pulling in it as she tries to wake her body up before she leaves for work. She rubs it and smiles when she hears thundering footsteps in the hallway, and she raises her eyebrow as Jack runs to the kitchen. 

“Morning, Emmy.” 

“Good morning, Jack,” she says, wrapping her arms around him as he hugs her. She pushes his hair back from his face and raises her eyebrow at him, “I seem to remember your Dad having a rule about no running in the apartment.” 

Jack smiles sheepishly at her, “Sorry, Emmy. I was just excited to see you.” 

She hums and leans down to kiss his forehead, “I know, sweetie, but we don’t want you to hurt yourself,” she squeezes him closer again, “Now, eat your breakfast. I poured you some cereal.” 

His eyes go wide with excitement as he sits at the kitchen counter, “Lucky Charms?” 

She shakes her head, “That’s a weekend cereal and we both know it,” she smiles and pours milk into the bowl in front of him, “Do you want some juice?” 

He nods, his response muffled around a mouthful of Cheerios “Apple.”

“Apple, please,” Aaron says as he walks into the room, earning an eye roll from his girlfriend and a nod from his son.

“Sorry,” Jack corrects himself, “Apple juice, please Emmy.” 

“Coming right up,” she says, reaching into the fridge to get some for him. She smiles as Aaron wraps his arms around her from behind and she leans into him, turning her head to capture his lips in a kiss, “He’s already the most polite kid in the world, honey,” she says, kissing him again, “You can let the odd thing slip by.” 

“Force of habit,” he says, and he kisses her again and she pours Jack a cup of juice, smiling at him when he continues to eat like he’d never been fed before in his life. She rubs at her neck again and Aaron furrows his brow, “Is your neck still bothering you?”

She nods, “I think it’s your pillows,” she says, scrunching her nose up as she admits it, “It doesn’t happen when we sleep at mine.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says as he presses his hand against her neck, his thumb rubbing away some of the ache there. She rolls her eyes at him lovingly and grabs his hand, making a point of kissing his knuckles before she lets it go. 

“It’s not your fault,” she says, smiling as she wraps her arms around his waist, “Plus, overall your bed is better than mine anyway.”

He furrows his brow, “You have a top of the line mattress that probably cost more than I earned in a year at my first job,” he says, smiling when she does, “And Egyptian cotton sheets.” 

“While that may be true,” she says, leaning in to kiss his cheek, “Your bed has you in it more often than mine does. Making it a much better bed.” 

He’s about to respond, to say he feels the same, when Jack’s spoon rattles in his bowl, “Finished!” 

“Okay buddy, go brush your teeth and then it’s almost time for school.” Aaron smiles and turns to look at his son. Jack nods and starts to run away, coming to a stop as he turns to look at them, an apologetic smile on his face as he makes a point of walking at a normal pace as he carries on. Aaron looks at Emily with a soft and fond smile, “That look was all you. He never used to do it before you started spending more time with him.”

She hums and laughs, “Well, looks like I’m a great influence on both of my Hotchner boys.” 

“Yes, you are,” he leans in to kiss her, his lips barely brushing hers before his phone rings in his pocket. He smiles apologetically at her and pulls his phone out of his pocket, barely acknowledging Penelope’s name on his screen before he answers, “Hotchner.” 

“Good morning, Hotch. We’ve had a call from the police department in Worcester, Massachusetts asking for assistance. A third victim has been found this morning and they believe it’s all the same killer. So he’s-”

“Officially a serial killer now,” Aaron says, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Okay, we might as well meet at the jet as soon as we can. Could you-”

“Let the pilots know, inform the airstrip and the rest of the team?”

He smiles, “Thanks, Garcia.” 

“Do you need me to tell Emily?” She asks, clearing her throat, and he can picture the smile on her face, “Or do you have that covered,” she clears her throat again, “Sir?” 

He looks at Emily and her smile lets him know she’d heard their friend and he can’t help but smile too, “Yes, I have that covered.” 

They’d been together for three months, but the team had only known about them for two weeks. It was still new to their friends, still fresh in a way that made everything he and Emily did of interest to them. He and Emily had settled into it now, had found their place in each other’s lives and they loved each other. They’d said as much - exchanged the three little words that carried more meaning now than they ever felt like they had before - and despite it still being early days he saw everything with her. Saw her in every corner of his future. 

“Excellent. Give her my love and I’ll speak to you when you’re all on the jet.” 

“Thanks, Garcia.” He says, and Emily smiles at him as he hangs up and she kisses his cheek, her hand on his back as she tries to seep out the tension she can feel building there, “It’s going to be an interesting few days.”

“We’ve been to work since we told them,” she says, “Apart from a few comments from Derek and the matching heart mugs Penelope left on our desks they’ve been fine.” 

“It’s the first case we’ve worked though.”

She hums and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her lips together as he tugs her closer, his arms wrapping around her automatically, “Think of it this way, we can arrive at the jet together because we no longer have to pretend we didn’t spend the night together, and you’ll no longer have to sneak out of my room at the crack of dawn so the others don’t see you.” 

He smiles at that, and it makes her heart swell in her chest, love for him filling the gap she thinks might have been made for him and his son, “Well I do love a lie in when you’re in bed with me.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and stamps her lips against his, “Come on, we’ll get that son of yours to school and we might have just enough time to get coffee on the way to the jet.” 

He kisses her and squeezes her hip, tapping his fingers against her skin as they slip under her shirt. Three short taps that had become a code of sorts that they exchanged when others were around. Fingers tapped against hands as a file was passed over, or a shoulder when a coffee was slipped in front of the other. A way of saying three words when they couldn’t actually say them. 

It’ll be alright. 

I’m right here. 

I love you. 

“I love you too,” she says, capturing his reply in a kiss, “Now let’s get going.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

She throws him a look over her shoulder as she steps away, “Don’t call me ma’am.” 

___

“Our guy has a type.” 

Emily hums at Dave’s comment, flicking through the images on the tablet in front of her, trying to see past her similarities to the victims as she tries to focus on the crime scenes, “All of them were dumped in alleys.” 

“Which would suggest the unsub considers them disposable once he’s done with them,” Derek adds, flashing a look at her before he looks down at his tablet, his own recognition of her similarity to the victims obvious, “I wonder if they look like someone in his life? His mother? An ex maybe.” 

“My money is on his mother,” JJ says, settling into the bench seat next to Spencer, her tablet sandwiched between her arm and a cup of coffee from the galley in hand, “These guys always seem to have mommy issues.” 

Aaron slips into the seat next to Emily and places two cups on the table - a cup of tea for her and a cup of coffee for him. She smiles as he reaches into his pocket to pull out two Splenda packets, packets she knows he must have brought from home because they were never in the galley, and he slides them over to her, a sparkle in his eyes just for her when they briefly meet hers. She squeezes his thigh in silent thanks under the table, and it’s only when she looks over the table at Derek and Dave to find them staring at them that she realises they’ve all gone quiet. It had happened when they’d boarded the jet too, and Emily would guess that they’d all watched them get out of the same car back at Quantio’s runway with the same level of interest as they had now. 

“He is allowed to make me a cup of tea you know,” she says, rolling her eyes at them all, and she lowers her voice to a whisper as if it was a conspiracy, “He is my boyfriend.” 

Aaron sighs next to her, “Em.”

The use of a nickname in itself draws a smile out of JJ and Emily shrugs, her smile slightly mischievous as she rips open the packets of Splenda and pours them into her tea, “What? They were staring, and I thought we were past the zoo exhibit stage of it all.” 

“It’s just nice to see you both happy, that’s all,” JJ says and Emily finds her smile getting wider as she looks at her friend. The topic of her and Aaron’s relationship was first on the list at the most recent girls with JJ and Penelope, and whilst she dodged answering the questions she knew would embarrass Aaron she gave them an insight into their life together that they didn’t have before. 

“Thank you, JJ,” Aaron says before he clears his throat and reaches for his tablet, “Now, what have we learned so far?” 

She knows the moment he sees what the rest of them already have, how he freezes for a second, something so brief she knows only she has picked up on it, when he flicks onto the photos of the victims. She reaches out for him under the table again, her hand on his thigh as she taps three times against his leg, saying what she couldn’t with the others around them. He places his hand over hers and squeezes, a silent thank you before he removes his hand again. 

When they land, Aaron asks her to go with Derek to speak to the family of the first victim whilst the rest of the team split off between going straight to the precinct and seeing the most recent crime scene. She almost argues with him about it, since Derek had been standoffish at best with her ever since they told the team about their relationship, but she stops herself, well aware it would likely only add fuel to the fire. 

She rolls her eyes as she watches Derek get into the driver's seat by force of habit but she doesn’t say anything, deciding it wasn’t a battle worth fighting. She blows out a breath as she climbs into the passenger seat and clips her seatbelt into place, and then she turns to look at him, furrowing her brow when she just finds him looking at her. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks, and he clears his throat before he starts the car. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Her frown deepens, “With this case?” 

He laughs humourlessly at her obvious attempt to change the conversation's direction, her attempt to give him a chance to not ask the question they both know he’s really asking. “With Hotch.” 

She sighs and presses her lips together, her teeth clenched as she suppresses the anger she feels rolling through her. “Yes,” she says, her voice measured and steady, “I’m sure.” 

“I just don’t see it,” Derek replies as he drives, “You’re too different. He’s so serious and you’re…” 

He drifts off and she stares at him, her gaze burning into his side as he drives, “And I’m what?” 

He sighs, “You’re just not.” 

Her anger is replaced by a fierce type of protectiveness that only Aaron and Jack can bring out in her even though she tells herself Derek doesn’t mean anything by it. She would have once thought Aaron was terminally serious too before she knew it was a mask he wore to protect himself. He was so much more than the front he put on for the world, so intelligent and kind and soft in a way she never wanted to live without again. She liked to think that’s what made them work as well as they did, they both hid behind a mask they’d learnt to wear since they were children. Their parents were as different as their childhoods had been, but they’d handed them those masks nonetheless, one switched together with violence and indifference and the other with expectations that could never be met. 

She forces a smile that she hopes will bring the conversation to an end, her expression as fierce as she would allow it to be in the current setting, and she clears her throat.

“We’re more alike than you might think.” 

___

After two days of working on the case, they have a suspect, but only circumstantial evidence. Ever since the jet they’d been talking around the fact she looked a little too much like the victims, and no one was willing to bring it up. It starts to drive her crazy because she’s sure if she wasn’t dating Aaron someone would have suggested what felt inevitable by now - that she was used as bait to get a confession out of the guy, or at least help get them more evidence than they had. 

It’s why she suggests it herself. Why she pushes past the rolling nausea in her gut at the thought of it and shakes her head when Aaron tries to suggest they try something else first. Mostly, she thinks she brings it up first so he doesn’t have to, so he isn’t the one asking her to do something they both know she struggles more with now than she used to, the scars Ian left behind burning with a phantom itch as they all agree it’s the best idea they have. 

She goes to get a coffee, sure it could do no harm to her already shaky nerves, but she’s beaten to it by Derek. She smiles tightly at him as she approaches the kitchenette, “Can I have some of that?” 

“I thought you were off coffee,” he says, and she nods, her lips pressed together as she leans against the counter. 

“I am, mostly. But it’s going to be a long day so I need all the help I can get.” 

He sighs, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” 

She nods, unsure of who she’s trying to reassure - him or herself, “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.”

For some reason, it seems to be the wrong thing to say. The look he’d given her in the car the other day flashes across his face and he scoffs, shaking his head as he finally pours his coffee.

“And Hotch doesn’t mind you flirting with another guy?” He asks, his tone one that she recognised. He was agitated, annoyed at something or someone, but she wasn’t entirely sure why. 

“He may be my boyfriend but he isn’t my owner. This isn’t the 1950s,” Emily forces a chuckle and swallows thickly, desperate to brush his behaviour under the carpet until they were home and she could get her head around it a little more. “Come on, Derek, it’s my job and Aaron knows that. And it’s not the first time I’ve had to flirt with an unsub. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with the guy.”

He scoffs and shakes his head, putting the coffee pot down with more force than necessary, “It wouldn’t be the first time you did that either.” 

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of her lungs as well as the room around her while his words sink in. Her chest feels hollowed out and it collapses in on itself, giving way under the weight of the insult from a man she would have once considered her closest friend. 

She thinks he must be shocked by what he’s said too, because his shoulders go tight and he freezes, his eyes wide as she steps back from him as if she’s taken a physical blow. She breathes out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she shakes her head at him. It all falls into place. His overcorrection when she came home from Paris. His attitude towards her relationship with Aaron. 

“Forget the coffee,” she says, turning to leave, and it seems to break him out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. 

“Wait, Em-”

“No,” she says, louder than she means to be, drawing attention from Aaron and the rest of the team, and she blows out a shaky breath, “You don’t just get to say something like that and pretend you didn’t.” 

She walks away, her eyes burning with tears she won’t allow herself to shed, and she doesn’t have to turn around to know Aaron is following her. She finds an empty hallway ending in a supply closet and she walks into it, her hand immediately against a shelf as she supports herself. She closes her eyes and then looks up, desperately trying to make sure she doesn’t cry, and she waits for the door to close behind her. It’s a small closet, so she can feel Aaron standing behind her, the comfort she so desperately wanted just out of reach. She knew she couldn’t have it yet, knew that if she collapsed into him like she wanted to she would never pick herself back up in time. She blows out a breath and turns to look at him, and his visible concern only deepens when he sees how upset she is. 

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

She shakes her head and swallows thickly, “I can’t…not here.” 

He furrows his brow and he plays over what he’d seen in his head again, brief glances of a conversation she was having with Derek before he heard her shouting at him. Her voice raised in a way it rarely was with someone she cared about. He steps towards her and she steps backwards, her back colliding with the shelving unit behind her, and he stops. 

“Em-”

“Aaron, please,” she says, reaching out and linking her hand through his, drawing whatever strength she can from him through the simple touch of his palm against hers, “Not here. When we get home. Please.” 

He nods, despite everything in him screaming to know what is wrong right now, the ever-increasing feeling that he needed to tell Derek off burning in his gut, “What can I do?” 

“Don’t put me with Derek for the rest of the case?” She asks, sure it’s overstepping, that she’s taking big, leaping bounds over the line they’d drawn between their personal and professional lives. But he nods without second thought, like he’d give her the world if she asked for it right now, and she loves him for it, “And don’t talk to him about it either. Just…I’ll tell you when we get home.” 

Aaron nods and squeezes her hand, letting his thumb run over the back of her hand to stop himself from pulling her into a hug he knows she wants but won’t let him give her right now, “Whatever you need.” 

She smiles tightly, Derek’s words on a loop in her head that she can’t escape from, and now all she can think about is if Aaron had ever thought that way too. If he’d ever looked at her and seen her past decisions written all over her skin like some of them literally were. 

The thought breaks her heart, and makes it hard to let go of his hand, even when Dave knocks on the supply closet door and tells them it’s time to go.

___

He takes her request to not be with Derek for the rest of the case seriously. Once the case is over, once she’s managed to get a confession out of the man they’d known all along was the unsub, Aaron makes sure she’s sat with just him on the jet home. Any attempt Derek makes to speak to her is blocked by either her or Aaron, even though he still doesn’t know what’s wrong. When they land she still seems sad, subdued, and it makes Aaron want to demand an answer from Derek but he knows Emily wouldn’t thank him for it. So he waits. He waits and sits by her side and provides whatever comfort she’ll accept from him and when she lets him carry his bag to the car without question it only makes him worry more. 

“Jack will stay with Jess tonight, right?” She asks and he nods, reaching out to put his hand on her thigh as she does up her seatbelt. 

“Yes, it’s too late to go get him now. Shall we go to yours?” He suggests, only shifting his focus away from her to turn the engine on, “Save your neck from a night with my pillows.”

She chuckles and nods, her real smile flashing across her face, “My main complaint about my bed is you not being in it, so if you’re there it’s perfect.” 

“Your place it is,” he says, squeezing her thigh again and she doesn’t think she’s ever loved someone more when he doesn’t say anything else, when he doesn’t push or ask questions as he drives them to her place. He doesn’t ask anything when they get to her apartment or as they get changed out of the clothes they’d worn a few hours too long either. He waits her out, doesn’t try and push her into anything and it makes her want to talk to him about it even more than she had all day. 

She feels heavy when she sinks onto the couch wearing an old t-shirt of Aaron’s and a pair of leggings. Her heart feels heavy as it sinks into her stomach, the weight of Derek’s words, the weight of what he clearly thought of her, making it hard to breathe. 

“I ordered from that pizza place you like,” Aaron asks, and she looks up at him, the sight of him in sweats and a t-shirt enough to spark warmth in her belly no matter how brief. 

“Thanks, honey,” she says, offering out her hand to him, “Come sit with me for a bit.” 

He does it without question, rounding the couch to sit next to her, making a point of leaving some space between them when she doesn’t immediately lean into him like she usually would. His resolve starts to shake, cracks appearing throughout it as the need to know what had upset her starts to break free. 

“Sweetheart-”

“Derek said something earlier,” she says, her eyebrows furrowed as she turns so she’s facing him, her side pressed against the couch as she focuses on a loose thread sticking out of the back of it, “He…” 

He waits for a few seconds before he says anything, but when she doesn’t carry on he prompts her, his hands in his lap so he doesn’t reach out for her, “What did he say, Em?” 

“We were talking about what I did today, and he asked if you minded if that I had to flirt with another guy,” she presses her lips together and blows out a breath, “And I joked that it wasn’t like I was sleeping with someone else. And then…” she shakes her head and chokes on a sound she can’t name, everything she’d been feeling all day stuck in her throat, “And then he said it wouldn’t be first time I’d done it.” 

Aaron was used to anger. He’d grown up around it, had learned the feeling of it and the repercussions before he truly understood what it was. It’s familiar as it burns through him, his jaw drawn tight with it and his hands in fists in his lap as he tries and fails to contain it. 

“I’ll kill him.” 

She smiles softly at him and picks at the thread on the couch as she shakes her head, “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Aaron. I need…this. You,” her smile turns sad, “And what good would you be to me if you were in prison for killing our friend.” 

He hums, biting back a comment that he didn’t feel very friendly towards Derek right now. He remembers a conversation he’d had with Dave not long after Emily’s funeral, the older man’s lips loosened by whiskey and grief as he told Aaron everything Derek had said in Emily’s old place when she was going after Ian by herself. Derek had always been quick to anger, quick to judgment before he had the whole story, and it made Aaron angry even then when Emily had simply been his friend. 

She deserved more than judgment and condemnation from someone who had never had to make the choices she’d made. 

“I guess I just never thought it bothered him like that,” she says out loud, more to herself than to Aaron, but she sees something flash across his face, something he can’t hide from her, and she frowns, “What?” 

He sighs, sure it would do no good to tell her, “Em-”

“Please tell me.” 

He swallows thickly and nods, “When you were missing and you went after Ian by yourself we were trying to follow your tracks. When Dave and Derek were at your place looking for information, Derek said…some things about your relationship with Ian.”

She huffs out a humourless laugh, “Because I had sex with him?” 

Aaron nods, “Yes.” 

She shakes her head and wipes a stray tear from her cheek at his honesty that was as brutal as it was loving. 

“Does it…” she trails off, the question she isn’t sure she wants the answer to dying on her tongue, the taste of it bitter as she swallows thickly. She hugs her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, desperately trying to cover herself up even though she’s dressed. Even though Aaron has seen her naked countless times already. Even though every time he touched her he did it with such reverence that it made her ache, a gentleness to it that she doesn’t think she’d ever experienced before him. 

The first night they slept together she hadn’t thought about what he might think of her sleeping with Ian. He’d only crossed her mind as Aaron undressed her and the scars he’d left behind were slowly revealed, places where her skin had healed but she hadn’t yet on display for the first person other than her or a medical professional. Aaron had simply kissed her scars, the sensation strange and half numb, and moved on as if they were just another part of her, a point of interest on the landscape of her body in amongst a dozen others. She’d never worried about this, never thought about what he would think about the choices she’d made before she even knew him, but now it’s all she can think about. Derek’s thoughtless and unkind comment rolling around her head and destroying everything else in its wake.

“Does it what, sweetheart?” Aaron asks, purposely not reaching out for her, his hand twitching in his lap as he actively reminds himself to respect the boundary she has put between them. She’d already had so many things taken from her by other people, so many decisions made about her life without her consent and he wasn’t going to do it anymore than he already had. 

“Does it…bother you?” She asks, looking up at him, her jaw set so tightly he thinks it might shatter, as if she’s preparing for what she’s already convinced herself will be his answer, “That I had sex with Ian? Does it bother you?”

She regrets asking the moment she sees hurt flash in his eyes, something he tries and fails to hide from her as quickly as it happens. She couldn’t remember when she started to be able to read him like he was an open book. It went beyond the skills she had for her job, beyond things she’d learnt to read about other people’s behaviour. It was as if everything about him was written on paper only she could see, as if she’d been made to read it and learn all there was to know about him. She knew he could do the same with her, that he knew her better than anyone ever had and the thought no longer scared her. 

She wanted to be known by him for the rest of her life. 

“Em,” he breathes out, her name like a prayer as he silently begs her to believe him, “I promise you that it doesn’t bother me.” 

She looks up at him, unaware her gaze has drifted again, and she furrows her brow, the heartbreak she’d been preparing herself for halting so quickly it makes her breathless, “It doesn’t?” 

He shakes his head and turns his hand so his palm is facing upwards, offering it out to her - his comfort - and leaving her the choice of if she wants it. She grabs his hand, presses her palm against his larger one, and tangles their fingers together, the spaces between his seemingly made for hers. 

“It doesn’t,” he says, his voice soft but firm, a perfect example of the contradictions that made up the beautiful man she was in love with. All of his softness wrapped up in a tough exterior she couldn’t believe she once couldn’t see through. 

“Why?” She chokes out, unaware she was going to speak at all, her throat tight with everything she hadn’t expected to feel when she first woke up that morning. 

It makes him angrier at Derek than he already was, makes a protective streak he’s sure she wouldn’t thank him for burn through him, forcing his grip on her hand to tighten. He shifts closer to her, his side pressed against hers and his arm around her shoulders, and she sinks against him, seeking out the comfort he knows she doesn’t know how to ask for yet and that he will always have waiting for her. 

“Because there is nothing you could do that would make me any less in awe of you and your bravery,” he says as he kisses her temple, and the gasp she lets out is something he feels rather than hears. He wants to take away all the hurt everyone has ever caused her but he knows he can’t, just like she couldn’t take away all of his, but he can do this. He could hold her and see her through it all, be her port in a storm until the water was calm again. “And besides, we all have exes.” 

She laughs, the reaction he’d been hoping for, and it surprises her. Makes her chest ache as it pushes itself past ribs that weren’t expecting it. She looks up at him, her smile shaking and her eyebrow raised, and she’s somehow more in love with him than she was just a few moments ago. 

“Yeah, but they aren’t all terrorists, honey.” 

“I think that depends on who you ask,” his smile turns mischievous, and he winks at her, a wryness to his voice that she would never have expected from him when they first met. He leans in and kisses her, and it’s what makes it finally sink in, what makes her believe him with all her heart because he kisses her just like he always has. He rests his forehead against hers as he pulls back, “I mean it, Em. It doesn’t matter to me. It never has, it never will.”

“I love you,” she says, cupping his cheek to drag him in for a kiss, hoping he doesn’t taste the relief on her tongue and mistake it for a lack of trust in him. 

“I love you too,” he replies, stamping a kiss against her lips that is interrupted by a knock on the door, “That will be the pizza. I’ll get it,” he kisses her cheek, the salt of her tears catching on his lips, “Why don’t you go wash your face? You’ll feel better for it.” 

“Thank you,” she says, squeezing his hand and hoping he knows she’s thanking him for more than just the pizza, but for the way he loves her and for just being him. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he replies as he squeezes her hand back. There’s another knock on the door and he shakes his head as he stands up, “That pizza boy who has a crush on you just halved his tip with his impatience.” 

She chuckles as she stands and heads towards the bathroom, “He doesn’t have a crush on me.”

He hums to himself as he grabs his wallet from the table, “He absolutely does,” he mutters, distracted by getting the correct money and the paused conversation with Emily, well aware the upset caused by Derek wasn’t healed by his reassurances that he didn’t feel the same way. He pulls the door open without looking, a note already offered out in his hand, “It’s $20 in total, right?” 

“Hotch?” 

He looks up, his grip on the money tightened by the anger he hadn’t tampered down as successfully as he thought he had when it all comes rushing back as soon as his eyes meet those of the man who had upset the woman he loves. 

“Morgan, what the hell are you doing here?”