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thewinter-eden · 22 days ago

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You Live Like This?

images are mine (except middle chan pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Chan's ATE pcs are my inspo this time.

Series master list PART 2 INFO

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes, one shot summary: home invader!Chris breaks into your home one night to rob you blind, only to realize you’re too poor to rob.

warnings: knives, threatening behavior, mention of rape (nothing in actuality), mention of murder (nothing in actuality), light violence (no harm), swearing, mentions of Carry-On (Netflix), mentions of cheating, fear, terrified but exhausted reader, attempted kiss (no force), satirical plotline. chan fluff.

word count: 5k

Your fingers are curled around the handle of the pot on the stove when you hear it. The slightest click, the faintest ruffle of air. It’s a familiar sound, the gentle push of your front door closing when you’re trying to be quiet.

You freeze, heart pounding, and try to mentally walk yourself back through the past couple of hours. You’d come home from work, still reeling from the latest verbal onslaught from your (former) boss, and kicked the door shut behind you. Had it closed? Had it latched?

It hadn’t.

It must not have.

One of the dogs must have just pushed it closed.

You push the pot off the burner and turn the stove off, smoothing your hands down the front of your sweats. Baited breath, shoulders tensed, you cross the kitchen and poke your head into the entryway, peering through the shadows. You have every light in the chilly house off except for the kitchen, because you’re finally settling down to watch a long awaited film, and you like to set the scene with a dark house.

But that means your entryway is pitch black, and to your slowly adjusting eyes, the coatrack looks like a person’s silhouette.

Before you can convince yourself otherwise, your hand snaps out and hits the light switch.

Flickering yellow light floods the small hall, revealing nothing but your coatrack, the tiny side table that bears the weight of your house keys and the mail, and your kicked off work heels, still laying messily on the inside rug.

Your eyes flick to the other doorway in the hall, the one leading to your living room, but it’s still dark and quiet, so you flick the lights back off.

Dinner is a painfully cheap meal of instant ramen with an egg cracked on top and half a sausage chopped up into the noodles. You don’t bother plating it, rather setting the sauce pan that it cooked in onto a large oven mitt on the table, right next to that damn cardboard filing box.

Retrieving a pair of chopsticks, you settle into your chair and stir the noodles through the eggy broth, unable to stop the heavy sigh the swirls steam directly into your face. Cheap ramen is going to make many appearances in the next couple of months.

It’s not the heat or the spice that brings tears to your eyes as you fight down a mouthful, but rather the weight of your last few days. And, to top it all off, the email from the real estate office that you found waiting for you when you got home a few hours ago, haphazardly dropping the final straw on the proverbial camel’s back.

There’s a thump from your living room, and then the rattle of your dog’s favorite bell toy rolling across the floor.

You grab a napkin and dab your lips, reaching for your bottled water. “Mira,” Your voice fills the empty house. Your oldest dog, thirteen, likes to use the obnoxious rattling of that toy to inform you that you’ve forgotten her dinner time. “Bring it here, Mira.”

The next series of noises makes your heart stop.

The sound of both of your dogs jumping off your bed upstairs, and the absolute elephant stampede of them skittering down the stairs.

Your eyes slide to the dark living room doorway, mind racing as Mira and Pip come skating across the kitchen floor, both trembling excitedly at the prospect of dinner.

You’re out of your chair in a second, ramen forgotten, tripping over both dogs in your lurch for the living room. Your hand reaches through the doorway and slaps the light switch, illuminating the room. Your tv is on, paused where you left it at the opening title of the movie you’re about to watch, but your eyes are pinned to the furniture—the couch and recliner, which both face away from you.

Mira and Pip are swarming around your legs, unbothered by whatever has captured your attention, their wet noses bumping your hips and hands. They want food, and they’re not impressed by how distracted you are, and you know it’s only a matter of time before they’re confiscating the rest of your ramen.

A rush of confidence hits you out of nowhere and you surge into the living room, turning to face down the furniture.

Both empty.

The dog toy is on the floor under the coffee table, innocently silent.

It’s close enough under the lip of the table that you realize it must have been teetering on the edge and finally fallen off just in time to mess with your head.

The breath you let out is loud enough to stir the dogs up again, and Pip snags the hem of your sweater playfully.

“Alright, alright.” Your fright is forgotten as you lead your girls into the laundry room, lowering your voice to try to calm their steadily rising excitement. “Here’s your food, quit your nagging.” You ruffle their ears affectionately and step out, closing them into the laundry room to eat.

They don’t steal from each other, but Pip likes to run between the laundry room and the living room between bites, zooming down the hall and bouncing off the couch, too hyper to chill and eat unless you lock her into the room.

You return to your half-eaten ramen and realize that you’re not hungry.

A second passes as you contemplate dumping the rest of it into the trash, but you decide against it. God knows if you’re going to be able to manage dinners like this in the coming weeks, and you can’t bring yourself to waste the food you have.

But just as you’re sitting down, you hear a creak.

You know that creak.

You know your house.

It’s the fourth step of your staircase, the creak that sounds when you put your weight on the left edge.

The chopsticks fall out of your hand. “Hello?” Your voice booms before you’ve realized you’ve released it, and your eyes skate your countertops. There’s an immersion blender in it’s stand next to your toaster, and it’s heavier than the bamboo spoon that sits next to it, so you grab the handheld appliance.

“Hello?” You don’t really mean to say it again, but you can’t think of anything else to say. What, like a murderer is going to respond? Like they’re going to say, ‘it’s just me, looking for a place to hide in your bedroom!’

You flip every light switch that you pass between your kitchen and the stairs, the cold plastic of the blender pressing painfully into the bones of your hand. You’re holding it so tight that it’s trembling.

There’s no one on the stairs.

As you make your way up, you experimentally put your food to the left edge of the fourth step. Maybe you’d heard wrong. Maybe your brain was messing with you. But as you sink your weight down, that same old creak groans from the wood like it’s mocking you.

Heart hammering, plummeting to the rock bottom of your stomach, you bolt up the rest of the stairs. If someone’s in your house, you’re not just going to give them time to hide by creeping slowly up your own staircase.

Your entire house illuminates in your wake, until there’s not a single shadow left. You poke your head into every room—your room, the guest room, the bathrooms, even the linen closet.

There’s no one.

You lower your battle blender and sag against the wall in relief.

It’s the stress. Burning the candle at both ends for the past week and unsuccessfully attempting to roll with the numerous unprovoked punches has got your brain all strung out and playing tricks on you.

One by one, the lights in your cold house shut off as you double back on yourself and return to the kitchen.

No more interruptions.

You’ll eat the rest of your (now cold) dinner, wash your chopsticks and your sauce pan, and then you’ll settle into your recliner with a cup of cocoa and finally watch that movie.

The noodles are mushy in your mouth, the egg rubbery.

A ragged, frustrated sob scrapes past your teeth as you hunch over the pan.

You’re so busy trying to convince yourself that your dinner isn’t gross, that the noodles don’t look like the worms from that horror movie you watched last week, that you really shouldn’t throw it on the floor and cry, that you don’t even notice the soft footsteps of the man entering your kitchen behind you.

You don’t notice the kitchen knife that glints in his hand, or the way his eyes alight on your cellphone where you abandoned it on the counter.

You don’t notice him slip it into his pocket and settle his eyes on you.

In fact, you don’t notice him at all until his breath is on your ear, returning your greeting from earlier. “Hello.”

Both chopsticks fly out of your hand as you dive away from the voice in your ear. The shriek you utter deafens you, and the table scrapes the floor when you try to use it to push yourself away.

Hands clamp down on your arms, immobilizing you completely.

There’s a moment where your brain blanks out, and then it’s filling with answers and questions. You’re trying to cope, all whilst being held down in your own kitchen. Maybe it’s your friend from work? Maybe it’s Woosung, but would he really come back like this? Maybe it’s your neighbor—anything to manifest an answer other than the truth.

There’s a stranger in your kitchen.

There’s a stranger in your house.

His grip tightens as you thrash and scream, and suddenly you’re yanked back against your chairback and his mouth is pressed to your ear again.

“Stop screaming.”

That’s when you see the knife. It’s in the corner of your eye, reflecting light from your overhead onto your face, and you realize that he’s holding your left arm with a thumb and two fingers because the other two are gripping a blade from your knife block.

You have a damn knife block.

Why the hell did you run upstairs with an immersion blender when you have a block full of knives?

Your mouth clamps shut.

The grip on your arms loosen and your chair is suddenly being jerked away from the table.

You use the second of freedom to bolt out of your seat, arms reaching for the counter where you’d left your phone.

It isn’t there.

Before you can redirect your efforts to searching for a weapon, a hand grips your wrist and spins you around so forcefully that your shoulder twinges.

You see him now.

He looms over you, and he’s everything you’ve ever feared finding in the dark shadows of your house. His broad shoulders are cloaked in a huge black hoodie, black gloves covering his hands, a mask covering his mouth and nose and his hood drowning the rest of his face in darkness.

In the next second, the man swathed in darkness lunges at you and you crumple, screaming.

Your knees hit the floor with a painful crack, your arms whipping up to protect your face, but then he’s on you, impossibly fast.

“I told you to stop screaming.”

He wrenches your arms around behind your back, and you feel something rough wrap around your wrists—a kitchen towel binding your hands together.

When your hands are secured behind your back, his gloved hand claps over your mouth, the movement crushing you back against his chest.

Terror claws at your heart. Every muscle in your body trembles as the man pants against you and your eyes squeeze shut.

He’s going to kill you.

Or he’s going to rape you.

Or he’s going to rape you and then kill you.

“Are you going to shut up?” His voice rasps in your ear, his fingers still pressing harshly into your face.

You nod.

He waits before he lets go, as though testing the tension in your body, and then his hand falls away and he pushes you off of his chest.

The man rises and moves away from you, leaving you to sag against the kitchen cabinets as a swell of emotion leaves your body in a rush. He’s left you on the tile floor, not bothering to even look at you once he’s back on his feet.

You pull your legs under you to sit cross-legged, curiosity suddenly overwhelming the fear that has you in a vice.

He’s at your table, ignoring your pot of ramen and the cardboard box, gloved fingers picking up your laptop and flipping it over to see the manufacturer’s stickers. Then he slides the laptop into the backpack slung across his shoulders and your heart sinks for what feels like the hundredth time.

When he turns to your expensive Nikon camera next, you can’t help but let your head droop in defeat.

Of course you’re being robbed.

After everything this week already, why not?

Might as well put the icing on the cake and steal everything you own.

You almost hope he decides to kill you on his way out, so at least then you don’t have to think about waking up tomorrow with nothing at all to your name.

After sliding the professional grade camera gently into his bag, the intruder turns on his heel to reach for your purse hanging on the back of one of your chairs, and his eyes fall on your dejected form.

Shoulders slumped, head bowed, tears free falling to plop a little mascara-swirled splatter pattern into your white socks.

He puts the knife down and snatches up the purse.

A second later, though, he’s looking at you again.

He’s seen your entire house. He knows you’re struggling—from the empty living room with nothing but old furniture and a TV from 2018, to your bedroom with your empty jewelry box, to the entryway table stacked high with unpaid bills, to the empty driveway and lack of car keys—literally the only thing he’s going to get away with tonight is your relatively nice laptop (last year’s model) and the camera that probably costs the same as a new motorcycle.

Your empty house is so pathetic that he almost feels bad for taking the two electronics.

They’re literally all you have, if he doesn’t count the Walmart-brand clothing hanging in your closet and the dirty fast food uniform crumpled in the floor of your bedroom.

From where you sit on the floor, you take in a deep breath, sniffle once, and close your eyes.

A fresh round of tears splash down on your socks.

“Are you…okay?” He doesn’t know why he asks, or why he thinks he’ll get any answer other than some insult regarding his assault on your person, but he can’t help it.

Your body sways like his words have had a physical impact. “Of course I’m not fucking okay.” You hiss, and turn your head away from him.

He unzips your wallet and thumbs through the bills. There’s not a lot of money, and you don’t have any credit cards. “I could be the last person you ever talk to,” He says absently, and he’s joking, but you don’t know that. “You might as well get it all out now.”

He hears your head smack into the kitchen cabinet just before it all comes out in a devastated wail. “I just wanted to watch this stupid movie. I’ve been waiting for two weeks for it to come out so I could watch it with Woosung—”

Your boyfriend, he assumes.

“But two days ago he decided to fuck my best friend instead—”

Your ex boyfriend, he corrects himself.

“And then I got laid off because my boss found out that three quarters of his workforce is going to try to get unionized, and I already wasn’t getting paid enough to pay my bills so I had to get a second job in fast food even though I had to sell my car and the realtor is coming to look at the house tomorrow—”

He cuts you off mid-sob. “Which movie?”

You blink, stunned. “What?”

He’s now leaning against your table, fingers playing with the edge of the cardboard box that he now realizes is full of the contents of your desk, still unpacked because you clearly had to go collect your things earlier today. His backpack is on the table next to your pot of ramen, your purse still hanging on your chair with your wallet still inside.

Between the hood and the face mask, you see his eyebrows lift. “Which movie have you been waiting for?”

Your face screws up in confusion, tears and snot dripping off your chin, and your eyes dart to the living room. “It…it’s called Carry-On. On Netflix.”

The man follows your gaze, thinking for a long second, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Alright, sure. I’m down.”

Fear and confusion battle it out in your chest until you’re sure you’re having a stroke. He wants to watch a movie with you? In the middle of his robbery? “I can’t watch a movie with you.”

His face swings back around to you. “Why not?”

He sounds so genuinely curious (and a little bit offended) that you have to remind yourself to stop gaping at him.

“Because…you…you’re robbing me.” Gaze darting significantly to his backpack full of the only remnants of your livelihood, you find yourself having an even harder time understanding this turn of events than you had when he first appeared behind you.

The man lets out a scoff, head canting back as though you’ve cracked a joke. “And you’re an expert on robbing procedure?” A huffs a short laugh and tosses his hood off with a quick swipe of his hand.

Dark curls burst into view.

As he reaches for his face mask, your feet kick out on reflex and you’re suddenly fighting the stiffness in your spine to wildly turn your body away from him. Dozens of episodes of the true crime podcast you listen to every day come to mind, ringing through your skull at the implication of seeing this man’s face, and the fear sets in like a poison. “No, please don’t take your mask off—I swear I won’t report any of this—you don’t have to kill me—”

He cuts off your desperate pleas abruptly. “Babygirl, shut up and go push play.”

The completely unexpected pet name, combined with the feeling of him releasing your hands from the dish towel binding has you falling utterly still, mouth silent. His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and pull your head around, and you’re faced with a young man and his dimpled smile that grins at you like you’re his best friend.

It’s weird. It’s all wrong.

“What are you going to do to me?” You whisper, edging as slowly as you can out of his grasp.

You can’t see his knife anywhere, but that doesn’t mean that this man with his huge shoulders and massive hands can’t crush you without the use of a weapon.

“I’m going to force you to watch a movie with me.”

Your face blanches at his choice of words and he leans back, exasperated. “Not like that. Go into the living room. You got any more of that?” He nods to the cocoa packet on your counter, next to the hot water kettle.

His hands on your elbows bring you to your feet, and you point shakily to the drawer beneath the counter. “In the drawer.”

The next thing you know, you’re sitting on the couch with a mug of cocoa, your robber sitting on the other end with his own cup, and you can’t even process the scenes on the TV in front of you. You’ve been wanting to watch this stupid movie for two full weeks, and now you don’t even acknowledge it.

Your limbs are as stiff as steel, your heart pounding obnoxiously in your ears, your body leaning as far away from the man who’s introduced himself as Chris as possible. Your eyes are pinned on him, memorizing the slope of his nose and the cut of his jaw and the curve of his eyes.

You tell yourself it’s to get a description for the police, but as the movie goes on and he just keeps to himself and comments on the scenes, you start to relax. It takes half an hour, but you finally allow yourself to move enough to take a sip from the cocoa in your hands.

It warms your insides, fighting against the chill of your house, and lowers your defenses ever so slightly.

Suddenly, Chris notices your eyes on him and he looks at you, one eyebrow quirked. “You don’t like the movie?”

You don’t even remember what you’re watching.

“Are you going to take my TV?”

His eyes disappear into crescents as his face breaks into a smile. “Babygirl, your TV is shit.”

There’s that pet name again.

Heat floods into your cheeks but you tell yourself it’s because he’s identified the fact that you haven’t been able to afford to replace your ancient television, even though the apps frequently crash. He’s going to kill you later when Netflix crashes and you have to get up and unplug the TV for ten seconds to make it work again.

Oh, God, he might actually kill you.

But he just goes back to commenting on the movie. “I can’t look at her without thinking Disney channel.”

You’re thinking about his backpack in the kitchen, wondering if you can get up and steal your stuff back and hide it without him noticing. You wonder where your phone went, if you left it on the bus or if you actually did leave it on the counter—which means Chris has it.

The knife he grabbed from your block is probably on the table, too. You could hide it, or take it for yourself. You just have to tell him you want a drink from the kitchen and get up—

You have a drink. It’s the cocoa he made for you.

Maybe he poisoned it? Roofied it?

But you watched him make it. You already know it’s safe.

“Did you see him in the Kingsman movies?” He asks, and your eyes flick to the screen.

You nod absently, humming a noncommittal yes as you sip from your cup.

Chris cups his own mug in both hands, his focus never leaving the TV screen. “I can’t take Jason Bateman seriously after Identity Thief.”

You’re so confused you could cry. “Why are you doing this?” You burst out, tears flooding your eyes again. “You attacked me and tried to rob me and now you’re drinking my cocoa and watching my Netflix?”

His gaze swings to you again, eyes wide with surprise. He watches you, huddled in the corner of your own couch with your knees crushed to your chest, literally shaking from head to toe, and his features soften into a smile. “I can’t do it,” He admits.

You sniffle, blinking at him.

“It’d be like that scene from the Disney Robin Hood, when the sheriff takes the kid’s birthday money. God, I still can’t watch that without tearing up.” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling in remembrance and then looks back at you, his lips cutely pursed.

No, not cutely.

This man tried to rob you.

He’s not cute.

“So, you’re not robbing me?”

He shakes his head with a shrug. “Nah. But don’t worry about it, your neighbors have some good shit. I’ll hit them next week, as per my original plan. And I was never going to hurt you, by the way. That’s way too high profile for me. I like to skate under the radar.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, miming his skating under the radar. After a moment, he brings his mug to his lips and muttered, “Boy did I fail tonight.”

You let your feet drop to the floor, turning to face him as some of the tension releases from your muscles. “Don’t do that—you can’t do that. Don’t rob my neighbors.”

He raises an eyebrow at you over the lip of his cup. “I will rob your entire neighborhood before I put on a uniform like the one you’ve got upstairs.”

You gasp, the creak on your stairs returning to mind. “I knew it—you were upstairs!”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. And I was soooo scared of you and your stirrer stick thing. Thanks for putting your dogs away for me—made my snooping much easier.”

You’ve forgotten about your girls, but they can wait. “It’s an immersion blender.” You snap. “And I could have blended the hell out of you.”

He fakes a shiver and makes a mocking noise of fear. “You sure we shouldn’t be watching a horror movie?”

“My life is a horror movie.” You shoot back, smacking your mug down on the side table. Returning to your earlier point, you turn back to him and almost find yourself leaning closer. “Please don’t rob my neighborhood, Chris. The people next door have me over for dinner on Sundays and the family down the street helps me with the yard work and home repairs.”

After a moment, he relents with a thoughtful nod. “Alright fine, I’ll rob your ex then.”

You can’t help the wicked pleasure that brings you. “I suppose that’s alright. I have his address in my phone somewhere.” Your eyebrows lift as you say it, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

Chris gives a little jump, like he’d totally forgotten, and then digs in the pockets of his joggers. “Oh, right. Here. I’m hoping you won’t call the cops now that we have a pact.” He bobs his eyebrows at you.

You take your phone from him and roll your eyes, finally settling into your couch with little concern for the danger from earlier. “Scare him like you scared me and we have a deal.” You can just imagine Woosung huddled in some corner of his apartment, screaming his rotten little heart out while Chris looms over him with a knife. “But, like, don’t kill him.”

Chris deflates a little, like he’d been interested in trying something new, but he jabs out a hand anyway. “Deal.”

You clap your hand into his and find yourself smiling.

When you don’t pull away immediately, Chris searches your face with soft eyes. “He really fucked you up, didn’t he?”

The memory from a few days ago, finding your boyfriend of two years in your bed with your best friend comes crashing back down on you. You’re so busy fighting the rush of tears that you don’t notice that your playful handshake has turned into Chris cradling your hand in his. “He said it was a mistake.” You sniffle and turn your eyes to the TV.

Chris gives your hand a squeeze. “Me thinking I could find anything worth stealing in this house was a mistake.” He grins widely when you take the bait and slap his chest with your free hand.

It’s way flirtier than you were intending.

“He’s an asshole.” Chris says, and it helps.

“Yeah.” You agree. “They both are. You are, too, kinda.”

Chris gapes at you, actually offended. “I’m the only one who showed up for you this week, how can you say that?”

“You also tied me up and held me at knifepoint, which is definitely asshole behavior.” You realize your hand is still in his, and you pull away, but your shocked smile doesn’t leave your face.

How is this happening? This man broke into your house and you’re sitting on your couch, watching a movie and flirting with him? You must be insane.

You’re so deeply lost in your mind, questioning your own sanity, that you don’t notice how close he’s leaning to you until his breath hits your ear.

It’s a parallel of earlier, but this time the heat his closeness carries is an entirely different sort.

Your heart pounds wildly in your throat and you lean away, gawking at him. “Woah, pump the brakes, Klepto.”

He falls back against your couch, a defeated smile curling his lips as he laughs at himself. “I thought we were having a moment?”

“I’m not kissing you after you broke into my house.” You refute weakly, crossing your arms over your chest. You have to do something to put distance between the two of you, because the way Chris is looking at you is putting a fluttering sensation in the pit of your stomach.

“Babygirl, the only broke in here is you.”

Your jaw hits the floor. The third use of that damn pet name is getting to you. “I can’t believe I’m being poverty shamed by the guy who steals stuff for a living.”

He practically squeaks with laughter, the movie finally forgotten. “If I go outside and knock, can I kiss you then?” Chris leans in close again, but lets himself be shoved away by your hand on his chest.

“Why don’t you try it?” Your cheeks are on fire.

Chris sighs, abandoning his efforts and leans back into his own space. “You’re not going to let me back in, are you?”

The movie fills the silence. You’re finally comfortable enough that you want to ask if you can put it back to the beginning and watch it over again, but you don’t.

It feels like only moments later that you’re being gently shaken awake, a hard warmth under your cheek.

“You’re falling asleep on me babygirl. Why don’t you go to bed?” Chris’s voice asks, and you realize you’re slumped over on his shoulder.

This man broke into your house, attacked you in your kitchen, all but called you pathetically broke, and now you’ve fallen asleep on him.

Your life is utterly wrecked.

“Don’t have a bed. I sleep here.” You mumble.

Chris freezes. “What?”

He was upstairs earlier, looking for valuables. How did he miss a detail like that?

“Sold my bedroom set,” You say. “Bought groceries and paid the mortgage. I sleep on the couch.”

Chris is suddenly scooting out from under you, carefully lowering your head to rest on the couch pillow. “Alright, go to sleep then. I’ll turn the heater on before I go, where’s your thermostat?” He smooths a hand over your hair, glancing around the walls.

“I had my heating turned off,” You explain sleepily. “Just blankets.”

Chris can’t believe he tried to rob you, and he further can’t believe how much it bothers him that you can’t afford basic necessities. “Babygirl, you can’t live like this.”

You’re already asleep.

When you wake up in the morning, huddled on the couch under an obnoxious pile of blankets, you find your laptop and your camera on the kitchen table, and Chris’s phone number scrawled onto a sticky note on your coffee table.

‘Had a great time last night. Coffee later? Also, text me your ex’s address. - Chris.’

PART 2 INFO

Hope you guys liked it! Comments make my day :)

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella

#skz #horror #stray kids #fanfic #bang chan #bang chan x reader #chan #chan x reader #bang chan fluff #crack #stray kids crack #skz crack #bangchan #christopher bang

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kumkaniudaku · 15 days ago

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Me and Your Mama

Summary: Terry and Patrice learn more about their love through life changing news on New Year’s Eve.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4,436

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy

Recommended Reading: Spoiled, Caught

Author's Note: We're at the end of Ficmas! Thanks for all the requests sprinkled in the middle. This has been a fun little ride and hope you feel fulfilled at the end of this one. Stay safe this New Year's Eve. See you in 2025.

Several mornings passed between Christmas, New Year's Eve, and their five-hour drive up north with no attempt to confirm Patrice's suspicion. She'd purposely avoided all conversation about it, preferring to push the thought to the back of her mind until she and Terry could no longer tiptoe around the growing elephant in the room.

Moments after luggage was rolled into their downtown D.C. hotel room, the pair braced themselves for punishing winds and bitter cold in search of the nearest convenience store to pick up comfort snacks and three different pregnancy tests. Terry did the honors of selecting what he thought were the best options based on his research, while Patrice forced herself to take an interest in potato chips and snack cakes a few aisles over.

She couldn't bring herself to engage. Talking about it, whatever it was, would make the dreams more real. And if what she dreamed wasn't true, she didn't know how she could pretend that all was well while her heart chipped and shattered inside her chest. So, she stayed away and let Terry put on his brave face for the both of them.

In the bright convenience store nearly empty as people prepared for a night out to celebrate the incoming new year, they felt like children caught doing something wrong instead of an adult couple on the precipice of discovering what the rest of their lives could look like.

Terry mumbled through passive small talk with the smiling cashier, staying just vague enough in his answers to avoid the glaring topic of the day before ushering Patrice out of the automated sliding doors and back toward their home for the next few nights.

Once they returned, neither of them spoke. Patrice slowly unpacked plastic bags filled with items, leaving the slender white boxes for last.

She drug a fingernail across the box on top, then looked at Terry, who couldn't take his eyes off her. "I think I'm gonna pee by myself if that's okay."

"That's cool," he answered, offering support with a weak smile. "I'll be out here if you need me."

Most of Patrice's time in the bathroom was spent staring at her reflection in the mirror. She slowly lifted the hem of her thick, cashmere sweater to examine her stomach, twisting side to side for the best angle. Nothing of note. The small bump that did exist was no different than any other day. At least, that's what she told herself as she ran her fingers along the slight curve.

Unfolded instructions littered the bathroom counter, each saying a variation of the same thing: Pee, wait, have a minor panic attack, then check the results. Or something like that. Patrice's eyes were starting to cross from information overload.

On the other side of the door, Terry stared out of the large bedroom window at nothing in particular as thoughts quickly ran in and out of his brain. He'd never considered being anybody's dad unless Patrice was on the other side of the fantasy. Maybe once or twice when other partners brought it up, but nothing concrete. Nothing this real, nothing that felt this right.

Sure, it was quick. And sure, it was probably not a great idea to introduce a child into a relationship that was only recently recognized by the state as a legal union. Any boy, girl, or otherwise would be dropped into a marriage not much older than them and cared for by two humans still trying to understand life. But they'd be loved. They'd be showered in affection from sun up to sun down. He had no doubt about it. What greater joy than to hold a child that was half him and half the woman he loved with every fiber of his being?

But he was only one part of the equation. Ultimately, Patrice was the deciding factor. Patrice and a collection of three pregnancy tests two minutes away from unveiling their fate.

The toilet flushing made Terry blink back into reality from daydreams of diaper changes and kindergarten graduations. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window's faultless glass before turning in enough time to see Patrice poke her head out of the bathroom for his attention.

She fiddled with her fingers and rocked on her heels. "You can come in if you want."

He nodded, careful not to appear too eager or unconcerned, and moved to join her for the wait.

The soft click of the door closing sealed them into the room together. Terry silently shuffled into the room past Patrice to sit on the closed toilet lid and nervously ran his palm down the back of his head. He took a deep breath before looking over at Patrice, who'd gone back to obsessing over how her stomach looked beneath her clothes.

"Hey," he spoke in a sweet, low tenor to avoid startling her. She looked over, eyes shining from suppressed tears, and found him looking at her with round doe eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. "Come here, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. To Patrice's soul, the word felt like warm chicken soup on a winter evening. She could never question how Terry felt about her. He'd been there to offer comfort through a tumultuous, frightening week. Feeling his large hands grip her waist to pull her between his legs grounded her in the right there and then. Regardless of the results, he'd still be around to kiss away the bad times and laugh with her through the good.

Patrice lightly placed her cold hands on his face while he looked up at her, waiting for anything she decided to say.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "What if it's negative?"

"Well. We'll go out and drink champagne all night like we planned. I hate the taste on its own but know I'll love it on your lips when we kiss at midnight. Then we move on. Maybe have a conversation that we should've had a long time ago on the drive home."

"And if it's positive?"

Terry took a deep breath, allowing the words to come out in a mind-clearing huff. "We skip the champagne and keep the kiss. But we have to celebrate either way, baby. Time's gonna pass no matter what."

For all his mixed bag of positive and negative traits, Terry's sneaky optimism was Patrice's favorite. A short, airy laugh came through Patrice's nostrils as she tossed her head back and groaned.

"You're always so sure of things and I'm sitting here about to throw up my lunch."

Terry rubbed his hands up and down the back of her legs with a smile. "I'm not sure of shit, really," he laughed. "I just know that we'll be alright in the end. This Gunny I was close with told me everything goes back to baseline. Don't sweat the bullshit in between. So, that's what I'm doing. Waiting it out."

"That doesn't scare you? The waiting?"

"Sometimes." A quick glance down convinced him to slowly lift Patrice's sweater with one hand and hold it in place while he pressed feather-soft kisses across her abdomen. Kisses for her? Kisses for who he hoped lived inside? He didn't know. But he spoke against the area to communicate with whoever would listen. "But waiting always brought me something better than what I had. How could I not trust the process when I have the result standing right in front of me?"

A rush of emotions broke the levees holding Patrice's tears back, sending a wet stream sliding down her hot cheeks. Terry wiped her face with the back of his hand in silence, the gentleness in his care working double time to soothe whatever thoughts and feelings were coming forward for her.

When the short bout of crying had ceased, and she was left with nothing but her husband, a timer ticking down to mere seconds and a looming result hanging over their heads, Patrice ran her thumb along Terry's cheek and smiled down at him.

"I love you more than I ever thought I could, but we gotta slow down, Terrence. I'm worn out."

Terry answered her joke with a low chuckle that bounced his shoulders and spread his smile wide. "I'm with you, baby. That should be our New Year's resolution."

"Either that or finally getting around to that budget we've been talking about. Might have to add a baby fund line item."

"We got it. Don't worry." Terry assured before kissing the inside of her wrist. "Whatever happens, we're okay. Gimme a kiss."

Sweet affection in the face of potentially life-altering change offered some sense of normalcy as they allowed the world to turn into abstract concepts with shared, tender smooches.

They'd almost forgotten what brought them into the bathroom until the harsh trill of Patrice's phone timer ripped through space and time, again placing them smack dab in the middle of the present.

When Terry reached to grab one of the tests after silencing the noise, Patrice jolted forward to grab his wrist. "Okay, wait!" she panted. "I-I'll grab one, and you'll grab one. Then we'll do the third one together. Does that make sense?"

"Alright. Which one do you want?"

"I don't fuckin' know! Choose for me! I can't do this, TJ!"

Terry wore a crooked smile as he calmly plucked two tests from their containers and placed the digital option into Patrice's palm face down. He took the analog test and covered the result with his thumb before swallowing the lump in his throat.

A deep breath rushed through parted lips. "Turn it over on three. One, two…"

Three never came for Patrice. Even after Terry had uttered the number and turned his test over slowly, Patrice kept her eyes closed, waiting for him to spill the beans. She couldn't bring herself to verify on her own accord. He'd have to be her eyes and ears.

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds, making the wait agonizing until Terry broke the seal.

"Treecey," he called out. "Please look with me. I need you to see."

A deep breath helped her blink her way back into clear eyesight. She didn't look at Terry or try to peek at the pink test in his hand. Instead, she flipped her test over with trembling fingers and stared at the small digital screen displaying a single word.

"Oh –" was all she managed to choke out before looking up at Terry's beaming smile and tear-soaked face. "Does yours say –?"

"Two lines, baby. Two!"

Disbelief gave way to unadulterated shock. "Oh. My. God. Look at the other one!"

"You have to do it with me!"

Another countdown as they held on to the final test together preceded an excited flip and harmonizing reactions that could only be described as happy sobs.

Patrice rocked Terry in a tight embrace while he clung to her, crying into her sweater's soft fabric more than he'd cried in years. An avalanche of emotions wrapped in disbelief that he'd been immeasurably blessed after his year started with so much strife. His losses came with gains ten times above what he could ask or think.

His wife brushed tears from her already stained face before kissing the crown of his head and repeating, "You're gonna be a daddy, Pooh. You're gonna be a daddy!"

Emotions distorted his deep voice. "Swear?"

"Swear, baby. You're gonna be a daddy."

He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, not caring who he disturbed. Then, he'd run down the hallways, through the lobby's doors, out into the cold D.C. air, and holler to anyone who would listen that his wife, the girl he fell in love with before he could legally drink, was carrying a child that might look just like him someday.

But he couldn't get past sharing the excitement seemingly gushing out of his pores with the only other person who could understand his joy. He chose to lift Patrice up in the air as he stood tall, spinning her in a slow circle before gingerly placing her back on her feet and pressing his forehead against hers.

"What the fuck," he laughed as he tickled her sides, causing her to giggle back. "I'm having a baby. With my baby!"

"I guess I couldn't beat teen pregnancy. My parents are going to be so disappointed in me."

"Stop it." The thought of his parents sitting in their living room without a clue that their firstborn was miles away receiving such big news flipped on a light bulb in Terry's head. "Our parents! Should we call? We should call them now. Do you wanna do a group FaceTime or like a conference call or what?"

Patrice watched Terry fumble around his pockets for his phone until he came up empty-handed and reached for hers. She pushed the device further away and shook her head. "Nuh-uh. Can we just…enjoy the news by ourselves tonight. I want it to be our secret a little longer. Is that okay?"

"Of course, Piggy. Whatever you want. I'm sorry, I just - shit. This is insane. You have a baby in there. Should we tell them we're a party of three tonight at dinner?"

"No," Patrice laughed, finding his unbridled excitement adorable. "If they cancel this reservation because you playin', me and you might have a problem, Daddy."

Terry bit his lip and lowered his head to kiss at her neck. "Damn, I love hearing you say that. Say it again."

By the time they were approaching a swanky steakhouse on Patrice's long list of places to visit, she'd called him Daddy so much in jest that she almost told the hostess that that was the name on their reservation.

Pockets of quiet conversation held over candlelight and crisp white tablecloths greeted them as they were led through the dimly lit restaurant to the table for the evening. Terry moved to pull out a chair for Patrice, but she stopped him with a kind smile.

"I'm gonna run to the restroom. Mommy bladder is starting early. Order something cute for me?"

Her joke made Terry smile like a little boy until she was out of his sight and safely inside the ladies' room.

Romantic jazz music oozing out of speakers concealed inside the walls like smooth red wine gave Patrice time to replay the day in her head, unable to contain the elation on her face as she washed her hands at the sink.

Another woman, tall like a model and beautifully sepia-toned, applied lipstick in the mirror and noticed how she tried but failed to stop grinning. She smiled at Patrice before speaking. "You're glowing," she complimented. "I need whatever you've got going on tonight."

Patrice chewed the inside of her cheek after a bashful thank you. She wanted to keep the words in and pleaded with herself to walk out of the restroom and return to Terry without uttering another word.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted, unable to fight the urge. "My husband and I – he's the tall one out there waiting on me – we just found out that I'm pregnant. We were best friends over a decade ago, and I still can't believe we're married. Now, there's a baby inside me with half his DNA. I'm having a baby with Terry Richmond. Oh my God." The realization of her social blunder hit her like an 18-wheeler. "And I just told a stranger all my business. I am so sorry!"

"No, no! That's incredible, girl! Can I hug you?"

Patrice didn't know why she obliged, but she did, allowing herself to sink into this woman's arms like she was an old friend and not someone whose name she didn't know. The woman rubbed her back and squeezed tight before pulling away.

"Congratulations, sis. Happy Holidays."

While Patrice received well wishes on the other side of the establishment, Terry gave his full attention to the cocktail menu as a server attempted to provide recommendations.

"That one is a crowd favorite," the young man pointed out. "Is she a rum lover? It comes with top shelf Appleton Estate if so."

Terry chuckled to himself. "She is, but she can't have any right now. We just found out she's pregnant before we got here." Further explanation caught in his throat. He didn't mean to offer up their secret. Excited Terry had done the talking, not calm and reserved Terry.

He watched with wide eyes and an internal scolding rattling around the container of his mind as the server smiled and jotted a note on his pad. "First, congratulations! I'll note that to the staff and see if we can't do something special for you and your beautiful date. Second, no worries at all. We can turn that one into a mocktail and not lose too many of the flavor notes."

"Thanks," Terry breathed out. "Hey, can you make sure you don't tell her I said that? It was supposed to be a secret."

"Our lips are sealed, Mr. Richmond. Consider it a little something extra to celebrate the new year."

Terry made a mental note to leave a handsome tip behind as Patrice reappeared from her time away. Her smile hypnotized him until she was close enough to remind him about her chair. He scrambled to his feet to take care of his duty, nervously pushing her to the table as if this were their first date.

When he was back in his seat, he watched her survey the room and menu, taking in each of her features.

High cheekbones passed down from a long line of majestic women. Soft, mahogany skin that mesmerized him in golden hour light every evening. Dark, expressive eyes that told the story of her inner thoughts, even when she tried to hide. Full lips he couldn't resist. The total package. Everything he hoped for was wrapped in one person.

Terry sat across from her, smitten. His grin showcased all of his teeth and then some while she scanned the appetizers for something to satiate her peckishness.

Prolonged silence made Patrice glance up and then double-take when she noticed Terry's one-sided staring contest. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Just trying to remember how you looked on the second most important night of our lives."

Sudden bashfulness sent heat rushing to her face. "The third," Patrice corrected with a smile. "Don't leave out New Orleans."

Terry chuckled at the memory. "Baby, the sun was barely in the sky when you decided to disturb the whole third floor."

"It was time to wake up anyway. That's what's wrong with the world now."

Jokes and discussions about the possibility of dessert before dinner dominated the conversation until their server returned with two drinks meant to loosen their lips and hips for the evening. A subtle wink between Terry and the server communicated all he needed to know without tipping off Patrice as she excitedly watched beautifully decorated glasses hit the table.

"To our first night out as Mom and Dad," Terry toasted, prompting Patrice to raise her glass.

Mom and Dad—parents to be—two bodies forming one in a few months—a culmination of thousands of experiences leading them to a fate written before they were born. The concept sounded so foreign yet so familiar.

Patrice dabbed at misty eyes, sniffling out a breathy, "To Mommy and Daddy."

Glasses softly clinked before she joined Terry in a long sip and starry-eyed gazes across the table to officially kick off a night of celebration.

Or so they'd hoped. Full bellies caught up with exhausted minds and bodies once silver forks hit clean porcelain plates well before their planned 10 p.m. exit. They tried to negotiate the next move with each other: a little walk for digestion, maybe a minute to listen to street performers play go-go renditions of oldies their parents would enjoy, perhaps another dessert to keep the mood high.

All of their suggestions paled in comparison to hearing the mechanical whir of the hotel's lock precede the door swinging open to a warm room. There were no crowds trying to cram their bodies onto a rooftop brimming with eager folks anticipating good fortune as the clock flipped forward on a new year. There was only each other and the comfort of familiarity.

Bottles of Sprite from the downstairs market acted like expensive bottles of bubbly poured into scavenged plastic cups next to a collection of fatty snacks, and cell phones switched to silent mode to avoid distractions.

Terry and Patrice two-stepped hand in hand to jams playing from the television broadcast, dressed down in comfortable clothes and sporting ever-growing smiles.

Under warm lamplight, Terry held Patrice's hand over her head to help her spin like a wind-up ballerina before pulling her close. "What were you doing last year around this time?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," she groaned, a sour look making her frown momentarily. "I was in a bathroom stall breaking up with my ex. Then Phee got us so drunk that we ended up blacked out before the countdown. I still don't know how we got back to her house or why we were cuddled up in her bed like that."

"Sounds like the kind of chaos you three get into when you're unsupervised."

"Whatever." Patrice laughed before making her fingers dance across Terry's broad shoulders. "What about you? What were you doing?"

Terry let a wry smile creep across his face. "Alone and sleeping. I didn't think there was much to look forward to, and I had to work in the morning anyway. Don't even think I turned the TV on."

The thought of Terry sleeping in on the night handpicked for blind optimism drew a sympathetic look from Patrice. "We both had a rough go at it, huh?"

"I don't know, mine was pretty chill. You were the one missing chunks of time." Patrice took faux offense at his joke, slapping across his chest before they let off laughs that slowly dissipated into a comfortable silence.

Terry rested his head atop Patrice's, his mind taking a winding road back to the beginning while she hummed a made-up tune to herself.

"Fifth-period Forensics with Mr. Turner. Junior year. You were wearing little strawberries crocheted on a pink sweater and your hair in a high ponytail. Kind of like tonight."

Patrice looked up and tilted her head in confusion. "What?"

"That's the moment I fell in love with you. I'd always liked you, but that's the moment I realized that I loved you," he clarified. "I spent so much time denying it, tiptoeing around how I felt and trying to find you in other women long after we were done, but I kept coming back to you acing that pop quiz in a pink strawberry sweater."

Patrice chuckled and smiled, recalling the time when her feelings blossomed beyond butterflies in her tummy at the mention of his name into a full-bodied, ever-present yearning for his heart.

Terry waited expectantly, longing to know if there was a moment for Patrice – if her love had a spark that rocked her world the way she did so long ago for him.

Flashes of bright light and distant cheering cut in just as Patrice seemed ready to confess, stealing her attention for a second too long.

She gasped like a child on Christmas morning. "Look, baby! We can see the fireworks from here." Patrice tugged Terry along, all two hundred plus pounds of him yielding to her will slowly but surely.

He had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Bright flashes of light turning into whimsical bursts kept him captivated as the clock ticked down the final minutes of the year. He slowly embraced her from behind, needing to feel her warmth combined with his for comfort. Patrice watched in content silence, smiling to herself while Terry watched the show unfold from the reflection in her glasses.

Two minutes left. Two minutes to cap off a whirlwind 365 days and march triumphantly into a new slate. Two minutes to release long-forgotten truths buried in the recesses of Patrice's mind. She leaned back against Terry and craned her neck to admire him from her vantage point.

A jawline fit for a man meant to be showcased to the world. Piercing eyes that shifted and changed with his emotions. Skin marked with blemishes telling countless stories – some he'd share and others that would follow him to the other side. Full pink lips that talked her through good, bad, and intimate times. All the features that might grace a child not yet named and growing in her womb.

"Senior prom night. You told me you loved me, and I said it back because I always said it back. But, that time, it felt different. It wasn't like sayin' it to my parents or my friends or the stray cat Mama let us feed. A different part of my heart meant it. That was the first moment."

Terry looked down at her, smirking and silently encouraging her to continue. She turned in his arms and then took hold of his ears to rub gentle circles against them.

One minute left. Seconds dwindling. She continued. "The second time was today. And I hope there's a third, a fourth, and one hundred more to come. I never want to stop falling in love with you, TJ."

Terry squeezed her a little tighter as if she might vaporize and blow away if he didn't hold on for dear life. "Yeah, me too," He whispered, drawing closer to her lips. "Never."

Faint voices shouting a countdown in unison floated through empty streets and up to the 10th floor to surround a couple preparing to embark on a new journey.

“Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

An excited buzzing, nearly perceptible by touch, sparked across the city. Heartfelt 'I love you's' shared as one breath passed between Terry and Patrice just before they connected lips and tongues.

“Six…five…four…”

Colors painted their bodies from the window, bathing them in light one last time from January to December. A final salute from the Most High.

"Three…two…one! Happy New Year!"

Endless possibilities coated in an extra dose of magic felt real for the first time in forever. A lover's embrace carried hope and a promise. They'd start anew in lockstep the way the stars intended, with an extra set of fingers and toes to usher through life at some point in the future.

But, for a moment, Terry and Patrice stood suspended in time, drunk off the taste of each other, ushering in the new year the only way they knew how.

Together.

———————————

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#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #ficmas

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lightseoul · 2 years ago

Text

you're losing me

synopsis. bakugou proposes to you. you give him an unexpected response.

cw. gn!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged up (28 yrs old), some cussing

word count. 2.5k words

“Where is everybody?”

You ask as you look around the barren restaurant, which, on most days, is jampacked with high-profile customers. How Bakugou was able to get you both a table is beyond you.

“Don’t mind ‘em,” he says before dipping down to finish the rest of his soup. “They’re just a bunch of extras anyway.”

You merely hum in response.

A moment passes with the both of you finishing your appetizers when a question dawns on you.

“By the way,” you start, “what’s the occasion, Kats?”

At that, he frowns. “What, you’re saying I can’t treat my partner whenever I feel like it?”

You snort. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that we don’t usually opt for extremely overpriced restaurants.”

You gesture to your evening gown and his suit. “We don’t usually dress up either.”

“Yeah, well. Just go with it, okay?”

You stare at him for a beat before deciding to let it go.

“Okay.”

You’re down to the last bite of your dessert when Bakugou clears his throat. You look up, only to be met with the familiar expression of nervousness decorating his features.

It’s how he looked at you back when he first asked you out three years ago.

“You alright?” you ask.

He nods, “Peachy. Just need to tell you something.”

Almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace. You brace yourself for bad news.

“What is it?”

At your query, Bakugou suddenly stands up and circles your table, stopping right in front of you.

And before you could even comprehend what’s happening, he’s already on one knee, holding a small velvet box.

“Y/N.”

At the mention of your name, your heart doubles up its pace.

He continues, but your head is pulsing and your ears throbbing so loudly that you can barely make out the speech he’s currently giving you. You feel lightheaded, as well as the tears welling up in your eyes, clouding your vision.

He sounds uncharacteristically shy when he finally says, “Will you marry me?”

That’s the last thing you hear before you black out.

You’re met with a blinding white light when you come to.

You strain to sit up in order to look around, the movement causing Bakugou, who is on a stool beside your bed, to stir awake.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Take it easy.”

Robbed of all words, you nod, taking heed and slowly lifting yourself up into a seated position.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“The nearest hospital from the restaurant,” he explains. “You fainted.”

“Seriously?”

He nods, face stern. “Thankfully I was able to catch you before your head could hit the ground. We just need to run a few more tests before you get cleared for discharge.”

And with that, the elephant in the room remains as evident as ever.

“Look, Kats,” you start, “about earlier—”

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he cuts you off. “Come on, let’s get you ready for discharge.”

You barely catch him before he goes to work the next day.

Bakugou’s not a morning person—you found out about that a week into dating him when you noticed how curt his messages were in the mornings—yet he’s now up at 6:24 AM, darting in and out of the rooms in your shared apartment, getting ready for the day.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s rushing to leave.

“You’re awake,” you say lamely as you enter the living room.

He grunts in response, attention directed to the duffel bag he always brings to the office on patrol days.

You want to ask him why he’s up this early, but ultimately decide against it. Instead, you say: “Did you pack your lunch already?”

“Yeah,” he gestures to his bag, “It’s in here.”

“Okay.”

You stand awkwardly by the door as you watch him zip his bag and adjust his civilian clothes that would be swapped in for his winter costume later.

He then walks up to you and presses a kiss on your forehead—so tentatively it makes you ache.

Since when did he get so hesitant with you?

“I’ll go then,” he announces.

And before you know it, the front door shuts, his perfume leaving a nostalgic fragrance in its trail.

Only then do you realize that I love you’s were not exchanged.

The days after are unremarkably the same.

He’s been getting up extra early so that by the time you wake up, he’s already on his way to the agency.

On top of that, he’s starting to work overtime now, too.

Lately, he’s been arriving home as late as almost midnight.

You try to wait up for him—you really do—but with your own work to get to the following mornings, you just couldn’t sustain that arrangement.

And so you rarely see him.

But to your relief, despite everything that’s gone wrong with Bakugou since the night he proposed, you still fall on the same bed at the end of the day.

Albeit his back is turned against you. Still, you’re grateful. There’s a certain comfort that blankets you whenever you’re near Bakugou, and that hasn’t changed one bit.

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you mirror him, your back now facing his.

Which is why you don’t notice it until you hear a gasp.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at Bakugou, who’s now sitting upright, chest heaving.

Quickly, you rouse yourself, facing him. “What’s wrong?”

He inhales deeply as his eyes dart towards you, beads of sweat now decorating his forehead.

“Nightmare,” he croaks.

At that, you grab his ice-cold hands, squeezing them in yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A beat passes before he reluctantly shakes his head. “It’s just the usual.”

The usual. Being held hostage by that monster, getting kidnapped, being responsible for All Might’s—

“It doesn’t matter if it’s new or not,” you retort, squeezing his hands again in an attempt to anchor him to reality. “I’m here to listen, alright?”

Bakugou hesitates for a second before nodding, a pained expression written across his face.

He starts to lean in closer, probably to drop his head at the crook of your neck like he usually does when plagued with nightmares, before hesitating and leaning back.

“Okay.”

The next morning, you wake up not only to an empty bed, but an empty house.

Still half asleep, you trudge your way toward the kitchen, where a bento box is sitting on the island. On top of it is a sticky note that reads:

Going out w the guys after shift. Don’t wait up.

Your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to see Bakugou for the day.

Still, maybe he needs this night out.

You wouldn’t want to spend time with the person who rejected you either.

With a heavy heart, you get ready for the day yourself.

Work is the least of your concerns this morning, but you figure you have to go. You could use some distraction to take your mind off your crumbling relationship.

You’re in your bed reading that non-fiction you’ve been putting off for a while now when your phone rings.

You reach for your phone, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Kirishima’s caller ID.

Huh.

You press the green button after a few seconds of letting it ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N!” a cheery voice greets you. “This is Kirishima.”

“Hey, Ei,” you start, weirdly nervous. “How are you and the rest of the squad?”

“Actually, that’s why I called you. Can you pick Bakugou up? He’s so drunk.”

Your Katsuki? Drunk?

For some reason, the idea of talking to a drunk Bakugou, who also happens to be the bluntest version of himself, elicits an unpleasant feeling in your gut.

“Really?” you ask, voice small. “How much did he drink?”

“Not a lot, but the alcohol percentage of the ones he downed are pretty high.”

When you don’t respond for a while, he pipes up with: “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Kirishima sounds unsure when he asks, “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yes, Ei.” No, Ei. I inadvertently rejected his marriage proposal.

“Okay, that’s good to hear,” he starts. “It’s just that he barely mentioned you when he was still sober—which is a rare occurrence, if you only knew. He only started calling for you when he was three glasses in.”

Despite yourself, your stomach flips in delight. He’s still thinking about me, you think to yourself.

“Anyway, as I was saying, are you good to fetch him?”

“Yes,” you stand up and grab for your keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

You’re situating the car in your designated parking space when Bakugou finally stirs awake.

Once you’re parked, you turn off the engine before you reach over the console to unfasten his seatbelt. Yours follows shortly after.

You look at him, whose eyes are still closed.

“We’re here, Kats.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes shoot open and he examines his environment, alarmed. Once he catches sight of you, though, he visibly relaxes.

Only to straighten up in his seat, stiff and unable to look you in the eye.

“You didn’t have to, uh,” he stammers, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. “Get me. You didn’t have to get me.”

You shoot him a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, eyes trained on your car’s windshield.

A moment passes before he speaks again.

“My mom made me do it, you know.”

You stare at his side profile. “Made you do what?”

“Propose to you.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head, almost in disagreement. “The old hag really wants me to get married. I told her we didn’t have to get married because we’re happy the way things are and that shit is just for formality. Told me I’d be missing out on you wearing a wedding dress.”

You snort, “That’s what convinced you to ask me?”

He grins. “Nah. I just realized I wanted to get married if it was to you.”

Before you can even react, Bakugou shifts in his seat, breaking eye contact.

“It was stupid of me, though.”

Your stomach drops in anticipatory dread. “Stupid of you to what?”

He chuckles, although he seems anything but happy. “Was stupid of me to think someone like you would say yes to someone like me.

“I—” he stutters, “I wouldn’t marry me either.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs, “Just…who the fuck do I think am, proposing to you? I was a horrible person who fucked things up so many times growing up. Maybe this is karma biting me back in the ass.”

“Katsuki.”

“You can do way be—”

“Katsuki!”

He jerks his head to face you, bewildered and eyes glassy.

You reach over the console to hold his scarred hand, staring him down.

“Look at me.”

He does so.

“You’re not that person anymore, alright?” You squeeze his hand, “Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Under the intensity of your gaze, Bakugou can only nod in affirmation before you engulf him in your first hug in what feels like weeks.

“Come on,” you say when you finally part, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Bakugou sleeps like a baby by your side that night. Meanwhile, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

He thinks you don’t want to marry him.

Your heart aches at the very thought of him grappling with the most false of all statements.

You want to marry him, you really do, but all your fears suddenly rose to the surface and enveloped you the second he went on one knee.

And that’s what you’re planning to confess to him tonight.

You wait, wrapped in the thickest jacket you own, seated on the bench for Bakugou to come. You left him a note alongside his bento box earlier this morning—a note that says to meet you at the indicated address.

Lost in your thoughts and in your internal monologue, you startle when somebody sits next to you.

You look to your right, only to see Bakugou in his thickest jacket, a gray beanie covering his ash blonde locks, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Do you remember this place?” you ask, voice quiet.

He scoffs, “Of course I do, dumbass.”

At that, you chuckle. “This is where we had our first date.”

He grunts in agreement. He doesn’t say anything after that.

A few seconds pass before he finally pipes up with: “So why did you bring me here?”

Your heart’s pace quickens at the query.

You gulp, although your voice still ends up shaky. “I wanted to apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

You shake your head, “You don’t understand.”

He chuckles, that same one that translates to anything but happiness. “I think I do. You don’t want to marry me, I get it.”

“No,” you say, voice louder. “I want to marry you.”

At your admission, Bakugou turns to look you in the eye. The hopeful expression on his face is staggering, you want to curl up into a ball and cry. “What?”

“I said,” you repeat, “I want to marry you.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Then why have you been acting like you don’t?”

At his question, you can’t help but clench your eyes closed. This is too much, you think to yourself, but you owe Bakugou the truth.

“I’m just scared, Kats. Truly. I—” you stammer, “I just can’t shake off the fear of losing you one day. And I know your capabilities and I know how hard you work. Just that—I don’t know. The fear of seeing you killed one day is paralyzing.”

Bakugou reaches out to you, and you let him wipe away the tears that are now falling down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, too,” he offers. “But I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, “I’m more scared of not being with you.”

At his confession, you can’t help but smile. “I think that’s how I feel, too.”

You rest your head on Bakugou’s shoulder, your hand in his. You stay like that for a few minutes before you pull away and turn to regard him again.

“Can we start over?” you ask, “I want to propose to you soon.”

Bakugou smirks, nothing but elation on his face. He takes your other hand and squeezes it.

“Not if I propose to you first.”

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik @beabe19

as always, reblogs, comments, and tags are appreciated <3

#as you can probably tell i did not proofread this at all #god this was a lot of work lmao #i hope you guys enjoy it <3 #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #whatever!!! it was fun okay!!!!

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garciaasfluffypen · 2 months ago

Text

take care of me (like i take care of you) pt. 2

pairing: jemily x adhd!reader word count: 2.3k warnings: reader’s kinda bratty in this one! reader is confused as to why being bratty is making them feel tingly but they like it so they keep doing it, softdom!jj begins to make an appearance, color system usage, the origin of jj refusing to be called mommy (she has a moment™️)

a/n: hi besties!! i wrote this on my phone because i can’t find my laptop charger so please excuse any sort of typos you find! thats also why the beginning of this post currently isn’t formatted like the other ones but soon as i can charge my laptop i’ll be fixing it. there will be a part three to this! i had to find a good place to end or else this would have been a beast to read lol.

ps. when i wrote this i was 100% imagining white tank top!jj and emily in the burgundy lululemon looking sweatshirt from the episode where they’re building the crib for kristy and matt ;)

you couldn’t contain your excitement as you basically tripped over your feet to run up to jj’s audi, jumping up and down in your seat as you waited for your girlfriends to join you. it was five minutes past nine and everyone was ready so naturally you ran to the car. you had been ready for two hours, but that was only because you had gotten up so early. you had everything you could possibly need in your little cross shoulder body bag and had to stop yourself from biting your fingernails to the quip in pure excitement as you waited. emily came out first, slipping you your preferred chewy necklace that was easy to hide under your shirt. as soon as the chewy end of it entered your mouth, emily’s hands reached around you and wrapped the black string around your neck. without realizing it you naturally leaned into her touch, pulling her hand toward your cheek as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt while you stared at the door leading inside the kitchen. jj came out a few minutes later, her to-go cup of coffee tucked neatly away in the crook of her arm as she started to pull up the directions to the zoo.

jj slid into the drivers seat with ease, smiling at you as she saw the way you were sitting. she grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze before placing your phone in it, chuckling lightly at the layer of blush that ended up on your cheeks as you sheepishly took it from her. your block blast game was still up on the screen as you left it on the bathroom counter when you started doing your makeup. jj started the car and reversed out the driveway, leaving you to become reimmersed in your game. before you knew it you could just start see the sign for the zoo on the water tower peeking over the houses in the distance, meaning you were just about ten minutes away.

“lovey, besides seeing the giraffes, is there anything you want to do today?”

“um… i haven’t seen the elephants in a long time.” you paused, thinking. “and also the lions, i want to see the lions too.”

“do you think we could fit in a visit to the lemurs?” jj shot a glance to you. “i quite like lemurs.”

you nodded. “we can definitely see the lemurs.”

you made a mental note to yourself that jj liked lemurs, adding it to the little box that you had in your brain with facts about your girlfriends. it was mainly filled with silly little facts that most people wouldn’t normally pay attention to, like the fact emily writes in print script or that jj only eats salt and vinegar chips when she’s high. sure, there were the obvious facts that almost everyone on the team knew, but there were ones that were just your facts. and you wanted to keep them that way.

despite being a fully grown adult, you knew deep down that things like this were needed to help heal your inner child. you didn’t have the best childhood, but you were doing your best to fix it now. you bounced anxiously on the balls of your feet as you waited for the train to take you to the back of the zoo, the wind blowing your hair all around your face as you waited. jj silently pulled you toward her and helped you pull your hair back, putting it in a single braid for you.

by the time you got to the giraffe exhibit you could barely contain your excitement, your hands balling into fits and promptly unballing themselves as you tried to combat the need to stim. your arms stiffened as you tried to hold back your energy, shaking a bit as you focused on staying still as you could. that didn’t last long, seeing as there wasn’t many people around you at the moment and your girlfriends were positioned behind you. you let your hands start flapping, doing your best to keep them close to your sides as possible. a small squeak of noise came out of your mouth as you watched the zoo keepers slowly bring out the stars of the event. the crowd around you started to grow as the people made their way up from the front of the zoo, most of them not paying you any attention and instead looking for the little baby that the zoo was celebrating.

slowly but surely the calf made it's way out of the enclosure, still a little unsteady on it's feet. you watched in awe as it made it's way around the exhibit, noting how small it was compared to it's parents. jj wrapped her arms around you from behind, intertwining her fingers with your hands and placing a kiss on your shoulder. you could tell she was standing on her tip toes to reach your shoulder and made sure to flatten your feet, considering you tended to stay on your tip toes when you got too excited about things.

“how tall do you think he is?”

“i’d guesstimate around 6 feet.” you rocked up and back down to flat feet as you spoke. “giraffes give birth standing up so they fall roughly six feet to the ground but get up on their feet within the hour.”

“you know more about giraffes than i thought.”

“i had a hyperfixation on wild animals and the care of them before i ended up in the academy. i was wanting to double major in zoology and communications before i started to look into paths to go down with a communications degree.” you turned to face jj and emily. “i was going to be an advocate for animal rights but then i started reading about the fbi and decided that would probably be a better path to go down.”

before you could continue your thoughts, the chime that sounded before the giraffe feedings sounded, signaling for everyone who had a ticket to line up. you were closer to the end, whch was fine because it meant you could watch the giraffes for longer. emily and jj made sure to take pictures of you the whole time, smiling and laughing along with you as the giraffe’s tongue tickled your hand while it ate the leaves you held out. by the time you got out of the exhibit, your stomach started to rumble and you pouted towards your girlfriends as you walked past one of the many cafés scattered around the zoo. without a word, emily pulled the three of you inside, telling you to order whatever you wanted. you ended up going for the chicken tenders and fries, knowing that the meal was something you most likely would have gotten when you came as a child. it was hard to remember if you ever came, but you presumed it was what you got because it felt right.

by the time the three of you made it to the halfway point, you started to realize your whole body was beginning to hurt. you weren’t sure if it was from physically stopping yourself from stimming in the bigger crowds, or if it was from all the walking you had done. either way, you found yourself starting to slow down a bit and start to feel like you needed a ten hour nap. it was only when you got toward the lemur exhibit when your body really started to hurt, and you unintentionally started to let it slip into your mind that you were hurting and needed to go home.

jj was the first to notice that you were starting to feel off, clocking the heaviness of your walking and the fact you had started to get a little whiney. there had been approximately three times in the five years she had known you that she had ever seen you this way. and all of those times happened when you were over exerting yourself. most of the times it was because you were stubborn, but this time it didn’t seem that way. within ten minutes you were complaining about how much your feet hurt and how you felt like you were going to die if you didn’t get to sit down within the next five minutes. emily and jj fell a few steps behind you, whispering to each other about how to go about the situation.

“do you think she’s subconsciously wanting us to.. i dunno, take control? lacey mentioned something about that at the support group on saturday.”

jj chewed at the end of her necklace. “it's possible. i’m willing to try it if you are, but the second they push back or show any signs of not going along with it i’m stopping.”

“are you going to take the lead on this?”

“if you don’t mind. we know how easily they’ll react to you, i’m curious what would happen if you didn’t say anything but i did.”

“then do it. i trust you.”

jj squeezed emily’s hand before making her way back over to where you sat on the bench, watching the zebra walk by and graze on the grass in front of you. you definitely looked worse for wear, considering the braid your hair had been in all day was beginning to come undone and you most definitely got sunburned on your shoulders at some point. jj knew you weren’t feeling well, and that you were hiding it in order to appease her and emily. it was something she had noticed multiple times throughout their time with you so far. even if you didn’t feel like doing something, you typically would put on a happy face and go through with it anyway. it hadn’t happened much, but she had started to catch it more and more.

“y/n, it’s time to go.”

“what? no!” you gasped. “we haven’t even been to the polar bears yet!”

“i know, and i know you want to finish it but i’m calling it.” jj stepped closer to you, her voice dropping. “you’re tired and need to go home and rest. i’m giving you til the count of five, and if you don’t get up and come with us to the car we won’t go to dolphin beach this weekend.”

“you wouldn’t!”

“five.”

“jayje- this isn’t fair! em-my, do something!” you whined, staring at the brunette.

“two.” jj raised an eyebrow as you refused to budge. “fine, we stay, but no beach then.”

“i’d listen to her if i were you.” emily replied. “while we haven’t truly gotten into that dynamic with you just yet, i will say that i’d be careful how much you go against her, lovey.” emily gave you a pointed look before clasping her hands together. “that being said, we use the color system. red means hard stop, yellow means i’m uncomfortable and green means go.” emily paused. “color?”

“green.”

“good. if anything changes, tell jj. i’m going to go to the ladies room, i’ll meet you up by the gates.”

emily placed a kiss on jj’s cheek and simply patted you on the shoulder before walking towards the front of the zoo, leaving you alone with the blonde. the logical part of your brain knew she was right. you were tired, your body was aching and you couldn’t walk for more than five minutes without having to sit down. but on the other hand, you were having fun poking the bear. reluctantly you got up, huffing and making a big deal of going home. you didn’t understand much about the way it was making you feel, but you knew it sent a tingle through your body seeing jj getting all worked up. it was amusing to you how red she got from you simply being a brat. and frankly, you liked it.

“you’re being unfair!”

“this attitude stops now, y/n. we’re going home.”

you bit your tongue cheekily, a glint forming in your eyes as you waited to see jj’s reaction. “mommy, you’re being mean to me.”

jj whipped her head to you, balling her hand into a fist at the side of her body. “what did you just call me?”

“… mommy?”

jj stopped walking suddenly, causing you to bump into her. “red.” she swallowed. “i’d like to talk about that later, when we’re home. not right now.”

“i’m sorry.” you looked at the ground, mortified. “it won’t happen again.”

a wave of guilt overtook your body as you two quietly walked to the front of the zoo, emily sensed some tension the second she saw you two, but knew that if she said anything you would probably start to spiral. by the time you got back to the car, all you could do was slip into the backseat and hope that jj wasn’t do mad at you that she was going to end everything. emily, albeit confused, took the front seat, trying to get an accurate read on jj. something happened while she was in the bathroom, but she couldn’t place a finger on what exactly that something was. by the time jj pulled into the driveway, the tension in the car had gotten so thick you couldn’t hold your tears back, letting them fall slowly down your cheeks as you forced yourself not to sob.

“go to our room. i’m going to compose my thoughts, give us a minute to calm down, then i’ll come talk to you.”

“o-okay.”

jj waited until you got out of the car to look at emily. “i called red.”

“what happened?”

“she called me mommy. i didn’t like it. i felt… gross. it was almost… too feminine?” jj looked at emily. “i probably sound crazy but-“

“you’re allowed to not like the way it makes you feel, jay.”

“i just don’t understand why it made my skin crawl.”

“may i.. is that why you don’t like being called beautiful or pretty?”

jj’s head snapped up. “huh?”

“the feminine terms. you don’t like them.”

“not necessarily, no.”

emily nodded. “we don’t have to unravel this now, but we need to put a pin in this. the three of us need to talk about that together so we’re all on the same page.”

“you’re right. can you go check on them? i just need… i need to think about how i’m going to articulate everything.”

“of course.” emily squeezed jj’s hand. “come up when you’re ready.”

“i will. promise.”

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

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aunt-bridget · 6 months ago

Text

Night In With Aunt Bridget

It was a pleasant evening with Aunt Bridget. A few drinks with her favourite nephew and an opportunity to relax for the weekend. They laughed and joked and she sat, crossing those long, booted legs…..something that her nephew was paying close attention to.

The nephew adored his Aunt. She was the younger and glamorous sister of his frumpy, strict mother. Her dress sense was sexy and very appealing to a young man. He stirred uneasily as Aunt Bridget once again crossed her legs. She noticed his discomfort as she sipped her wine…..he in turn took a massive gulp of his drink as she asked him what the matter was.

He blurted it all out. The sissy fantasy he harboured since being a teen. The desire to wear lovely clothes, be made up and to shamefully be forced into sissy bondage and whoring. Too much drink had loosened the boy’s tongue and Aunt Bridget nodded sympathetically. You see, she knew all about his little habits. Many previous visits resulted in her panty drawer being disturbed, her shoe collection had also been touched. Her special dress up box was left open, with her range of wigs obviously taken out. Aunt Bridget loved to play all manner of games with her gentlemen friends and her wardrobe reflected those fancies.

With the nephew looking slightly dazed at how he confessed so readily, Aunt Bridget rested a perfectly manicured hand on his knee and told him to come upstairs with her. They entered her bedroom and she flung the wardrobe door open along with her panty and nylon drawer. She commanded him to pick an outfit, some underwear, heels and a wig of choice. With a trembling hand, he selected a mustard yellow sweater, short black skirt, patent heels and dark shiny nylons. She ordered him to pull on the nylons first as she knew the feeling against him would be heaven, and she was right as he then put on the pink panties he knew so well, with the strawberry blonde wig finally placed on his head.

Aunt Bridget smiled and with some help, he had an impressive rack stuffed under the sweater to go along with the rest of the ensemble. The makeup was applied and little sissy nephew was seated in front of the dressing table mirror hypnotised by his reflection.

But things weren’t going to end there were they? The bondage fantasy was now the true elephant in the room…..and dearest Aunty revealed the box hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe. Nephew had always been very curious, but the container was always locked. Aunt Bridget went to her jewellery box and found the key, slipping it into the lock and lifting the lid. The box was a haven of bondage equipment….gags, cuffs, rope, bandage wrap and tape. There were other things in there that her innocent nephew wasn’t sure of, but they would be explained soon enough.

The rope was expertly applied around his torso and legs. To nephew’s shame, his cock was bulging through the pink panties and Aunty hitched the skirt up to confirm her suspicions. She felt the offending lump and he had leaked a little through the nylons and panties. She tutted as she pulled her own panties off and balled them up. He opened his mouth without any prompting and she placed her warm, moist underwear behind his slutty red lips. The red bandage was wrapped tightly to seal the gag in place and he moaned softly, struggling against the ropes and trying to dry hump Aunty’s booted legs. Another tut was his reward as Aunt Bridget sat down on the bed and retrieved her phone.

She snapped a few pics of sissy nephew and told him that his fantasy would be a reality tonight. Aunty knew some friends who loved their games too….a charming couple who were very open minded. She made nephew watch as she sent the photos to her friends and the resulting replies. He whined at the thought of being seen like this and who knows what else. He stared down at his stiffening cock, betrayed by the thought of being a used sissy.

Aunty gently kissed his gagged mouth and produced a gleaming steel chastity cage. It seems she was more than used to dealing with these situations and she shushed the wretched slut as she called her sister. Apparently, sweet nephew will be staying over tonight.

So don’t wait up, Mother.

#cd #glam girl #caught sissy #bound #bad girl #punishment #boots #blackmail sissy #aunty

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hauntedhokage · 20 days ago

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𝓈𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇

Sylus x F!MC

word count: 1.6k

summary: After a UNICORNS holiday party, you meet up with Sylus in the most festive attire you have in your closet.

note: for @silverrings-n-prettythings, merry christmas bitch ily

Holiday parties with mandatory attendance rules were stupid.

You understood and somewhat respected the desire to reward the team for their efforts this year and give them an opportunity to relax, but requiring attendance at the event made the party less of a party and more of a team meeting. Your pre-existing plans be damned, “team bonding” was more important than the dinner reservations your partner had made. Despite how exclusive the restaurant was, how difficult it was to get those reservations - it was the party over anything and you did fear retaliatory missions should you choose to skip.

Tara had tried over the last week to get you to bring the boyfriend she’d yet to meet, seeing this as the golden opportunity to finally meet the mysterious Skye - “If that was his real name”. Every suggestion that you use your right to a plus one is shot down, but you don’t correct her on his name or the way the excitedly slipped off the morning of the party when you’d tiredly mumbled something sarcastic regarding his appearance that evening.

Her disappointment when you show up alone is almost enough to make you feel bad. Almost. But you wear your sweater, a bright red garment decorated with white snowflakes and black feathers and at the front read Santa Caws with a Grumpy Crow wearing a santa hat. Everyone could be well aware that you didn’t want to be there and would only be there long enough to be noticed before you left, but they couldn’t say that you were trying to be a buzzkill. You drank, chatted, danced, and had a merry time with your coworkers until your phone vibrated in your back pocket.

Sylus

6:04pm

Fifteen minutes, sweetie.

Sylus

6:04pm

Don’t keep me waiting.

Your exit is well timed, making sure to grab the box you were eyeing from the white elephant table on your way out in adherence to the rules. It wasn’t anything fancy or expensive, but it was necessary for you to make sure you had the last laugh against Sylus tonight.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Tara asks, speech slurred as an accusatory finger is pointed in your direction. “It’s only-“

“I still have reservations to make, Tara. I’ll see you on Monday, get home safe!”

She’s too tipsy to be able to catch you before the elevator door closes, and you lean against the wall with a sigh of relief at finally being free from that party. You were having fun, but even forty-five minutes was too long when you knew Sylus was waiting for you.

The elevator doesn’t move fast enough, the security locks take too long to register and record your credentials (and take even longer to actually unlock the doors) but it’s all worth it when you’re finally stepping out of the Hunter Association building and into the crisp winter air outside.

“That sweater is more of a crime than anything that’s ever occurred in the N109 zone.”

The pot was certainly calling the kettle black here, as Sylus was wearing a green cardigan that was obnoxious with every move he made; covered in little bells, garland, and lights that decorated the little tree shapes knitted into the fabric. Luke and Kieran certainly delivered when you’d asked for them to produce the worst thing they could find for him to wear for your date this evening. But still, even in something so heinous, Sylus’ figure was imposing as he leaned against the car that would be your chariot for the evening.

“Mine doesn’t alert everything in a five mile radius of my position when I breathe,” you retort, poking his chest and being in delight when the bells sounded in response. “But nice try.”

He only chuckles, opening the door of the vehicle for you to slide into the passenger’s seat. You set the box down at your feet as Sylus makes his way around to the driver’s seat.

You tell him about your day as he drives, answering the questions he had about the party you were at and your coworker’s - specifically Tara - suspicions regarding your dating life.

“You know, considering you run around with various pictures of me on hand and nobody has said anything, I’m sure you could’ve brought me to your work party.”

“While you’re right, I do like keeping you to myself.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m very possessive, Sylus.”

“I’m very aware, sweetie.” He winks, the action bringing a fresh heat to your cheeks as he continues. “Perhaps I want to see what happens when a kitten’s territory is threatened.”

“I’d have to be insecure to feel threatened,” you counter, smirking in your victory when he hums his approval. “Our uninterrupted time together is often limited, so if I don’t have to share your attention I’m not going to.”

“A sentiment we share, my bell.”

Your dinner is quiet, some patrons of the restaurant also dressed to match the season while others were dressed more formal to match the usual atmosphere of this restaurant. The restaurant overlooks the amusement park, treating you to a holiday light show as you eat your dinner at one of the coveted balcony tables. Despite the chill, you’re kept warm by the various fire pits going strong among the tables and you’re further warmed by Sylus’ attentive gaze as you discuss plans for the holiday and upcoming new year.

“I know you said not to worry about moving the reservation, but I do want to apologize for the inconvenience it must’ve been for you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but it actually worked out for the better because it meant I could secure this table.”

“That’s good to hear then. You should probably make next year’s reservations in advance.”

What were you saying? Making plans for a year in advance when tomorrow was barely guaranteed in your line of work? When you didn’t even know where your separate occupations would lead you? It was silly to make suggestions like that and you’re a bit embarrassed that you would try to.

“A good idea, sweetie.”

The praise has you grinning despite your embarrassment, clearly worried for no reason when he hasn’t even blinked at the suggestion. Maybe he was just as hopeful as you were for continued tomorrows that would carry you to the next holiday and every one after that?

“Let’s finish our ice cream, wouldn’t want the light maze line to get too terribly long.”

The line for the maze moves quickly, and soon you’re holding onto Sylus’ hand tightly as you move through the maze. Even with the balcony overlooking a section of the maze, the lights decorating the walls and other lost adventurers made it difficult to truly find your bearings in the structure. But you’re with Sylus and this time With him feels sacred, so you’re truly enjoying every minute with him that you have. You can’t help but think that you’d like to do this every year with him, exploring the light maze and watching the light shows while wearing ugly sweaters in the fanciest restaurant in Linkon City. The thought makes you slow down, something that Sylus definitely notices if the way he pulls you to the side is any indicator. It’s a good place to stop, not in the way of anyone else exploring the light maze and you’re grateful for the moment to be away from others as you stand at the dead end.

“You’re thinking hard, sweetie.” His observation with coupled with a hand on your cheek, and you smile up at him in an effort to assure him that you were alright. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that I’d like to spend every holiday season watching the lights here with you,” you murmur, your arms winding around his neck tightly as he leans in to lift you into his arms so he could comfortably rest his forehead against yours. His hands are warm through your jeans as they support your weight, and you feel your cheeks get even warmer at your intimate positioning in such a public space.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I get to see the lights decorating your eyes, silver bell.”

You want to argue that it’s him the lights compliment more, pale skin illuminated by the soft hues surrounding you in the light maze. Ruby red irises sparkle with the reflection of twinkling lights, the sight mesmerizing and further complimented by his soft smile as he looks at you.

“The things I’d do to you if we weren’t in the middle of an amusement park.”

“Tell the twins to set up some lights in your bedroom, you can act on it all there.” You suggest, grin stretching across your face when he lets out a hum indicating that he was satisfied with your suggestion. “Just without the jingling sweater.”

For emphasis, you flick one of the bells sitting at the collar of his cardigan, warning a chuckle from your silver haired lover before he leans in to capture your lips in a kiss.

It’s saccharine, sweeter than the ice cream you’d shared on the balcony and carrying every sentiment let unsaid between you. The lights around you only make the moment more magical, and you wish there was a camera that could capture this moment but at the same time are grateful that this would live in your memories alone.

“It seems I’ve defeated the purpose of the mistletoe you’ve had on you since you left your party.” He teases, voice a murmur against your lips as you grin.

“That’s for later tonight,” you inform, pressing your lips to his in a chaste peck. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

After all, how was he supposed to expect that it was going to go around your waist?

#sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #I will tag this better in the morning #but as long as silver reads this idgaf honestly

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tipsynight0 · 3 months ago

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Jack’s family// part one

Paring - laughing jack x female mother reader

Word count - 1.1k

Trigger warnings - stalking, infidelity, implied violence, supernatural horror, demonic clowns lmao, mentions of death involing children.

synopsis - (Y/N) picked Jack up from an old antique shop to decorate her son's nursery, unaware of the clown's growing obsession with her and her family.

Author's note - I'm branching out y'all, might be a part two of Jack killing her husband and holding her and her child hostage?? He just wants a family.

It had been ten years—ten agonizing, silent years—since Jack had last been free. He sat entombed in a dusty corner of an old antique shop, his once vibrant black-and-white box now dull, the wood cracking like an ancient relic. The jagged edges frayed with time, a reminder of the decades he’d spent as an instrument of terror, leaving a trail of broken families and dead children. And yet here he was, trapped, abandoned on a forgotten shelf, nothing more than a curiosity in the eyes of passing customers. To him, it felt like an eternity in purgatory.

Every day, the same routine. The dull chime of the shop's bell as strangers drifted in and out, oblivious to the dark history hidden in his box. He heard their idle conversations, their polite laughter—so blissfully unaware of what he could unleash. Jack sat, coiled tight in the suffocating darkness, waiting, his patience wearing thin with each passing second.

Then one day, the bell chimed, and something was different.

The air shifted as she entered the shop. Jack felt her presence immediately—a softness he hadn’t sensed in decades. The scrape of her shoes on the wooden floor was delicate, careful, and when her fingers brushed against the dust-laden surface of his box, he felt a shiver race through him. A voice, sweet and light, like a distant melody, reached his ears. "This Jack-in-the-box will be perfect for my son," she said, as if sealing Jack’s fate.

Freedom. His prison was lifted from the shelf, and as she blew the dust away, Jack could barely contain the excitement stirring within him. Finally, After all these years, he would get to play again—he would torment, terrorize, and destroy this new family. And this soft-voiced woman? She had no idea what she had invited into her life.

The gentle rumble of the car’s engine soothed Jack as he peered through the slit in his box. He watched the world pass by, noting how much it had changed. The cars, the buildings, the people—everything seemed new. But some things were always the same.

When the car stopped, she carried him inside, cradling the box as if it were precious. She placed him carefully on the dresser in the nursery—a room filled with warmth and light, a place so alien to Jack it almost made him recoil. The walls were painted with bright, cheerful stripes, circus animals danced in frames, and a mobile of tiny elephants spun slowly above the crib. The air smelled sweet, like lavender and baby powder, a scent that made Jack’s stomach twist.

For a moment, his resolve faltered. This wasn’t like the other homes. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t sterile. The love in this room was palpable, and it sickened him.

But then he saw the photograph.

A family portrait, framed and sitting on the dresser, caught his eye. The woman—his woman now—stood smiling with her son in her arms, and beside her was a man. Instinctively, Jack’s gaze darkened. He recognized that kind of man all too well. The same hollow smile, the same empty eyes that Isaac, his original owner, had worn. A man filled with deceit. A liar. A traitor. A knot of fury twisted inside Jack. This was a man who didn’t deserve his family.

The door creaked open, and Jack slipped back into his box just in time. Through the crack, he watched as she entered, holding her baby, her face glowing with maternal love. The sight of her rocking the child in her arms, singing a familiar lullaby, filled Jack with something he hadn’t felt in years—desire. Not the kind he was used to, the hunger for fear and chaos. No, this was different. He wanted her for himself.

Later, when she was gone, Jack crept out of the box, his claws tracing over the photograph. His sharp nails slowly scratched out the image of the man, carving deep grooves until his face was nothing but a blur of ruined paper. Jack’s gaze lingered on her face now—her, and the baby. A family. A perfect, broken family, waiting for him to fix.

The days passed, and Jack’s obsession grew like a cancer. He watched her through the small hole in his box, never tiring, always waiting for those quiet moments when she would slip into Lucas’s room alone. She was always alone. No husband to help. No man to protect her. Jack learned the child’s schedule by heart. He knew when Lucas woke, when he napped, when she fed him. But his favorite moments were the late nights—when she would shuffle into the room, barely awake, her robe slipping from her shoulder, her hair falling messily around her face.

Those were the moments Jack lived for.

On nights when Lucas wouldn’t stop crying, Jack found himself wanting to silence the boy himself—just to keep her all to himself. The temptation to suffocate the child with his own stuffed bear crossed his mind more than once, but Jack refrained. No, Lucas was a part of this, too. Jack could… tolerate the boy. After all, a family needed a child. And when the baby would giggle at Jack’s twisted face peering over the edge of his crib, it was almost bearable. Lucas even reached out, tugging playfully at Jack’s long nose, giggling at the black curls that draped down his shoulders. The boy didn’t fear him.

But Jack's true focus was always on her.

He could see the sadness etched into her features during those quiet moments when she thought no one was watching. The loneliness. The frustration. Jack understood. He had seen the husband’s phone calls—heard the lies. The cheating, the excuses, the late nights at "work." Jack's fury boiled beneath the surface. That man didn’t deserve her. He was hurting her, breaking her spirit.

Jack wouldn’t allow it.

He had scratched the husband out of the photograph, but soon, Jack would erase him from her life entirely. He would wait for the perfect moment. And then, when the husband was gone, there would be nothing standing between Jack and his perfect family. Just him, her, and little Lucas.

Jack’s grin stretched impossibly wide. His claws twitched with anticipation. Soon, she would see. Soon, they’d be together.

They’d all be a happy family.

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leaentries · 11 months ago

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out of line | nico hischier

summary: when his girl finds the ring, it doesn’t end like he had hoped.

warnings: mostly angst, swearing, this does have a happy ending (im sorry i couldnt leave my babies in dispair)

wc: 1.9k+

a/n: i’m sorry in advance, i feel like i don’t write angst that well…but i hope you enjoy regardless

the captain’s girl masterlist

Heaviness lay in thick blankets around the room, almost like the inches of sand that covered the expanse of beach outside. Your throat felt tight at the intense gaze Nico was blazing at you. It wasn’t often the two of you fought, but it sure hurt like hell when you did.

Shuddered breaths heaved in your chest, hands pricking at your nails. It all felt like a nightmare. Except, you weren’t waking up.

Tension had been rising for days, emotions only growing as you and Nico danced around each other. You had refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room, or rather, the ring.

You loved Nico, with everything in your being, but you weren’t ready for marriage. Not yet anyway. Nico had always seemed so understanding about you choosing to wait a few more years before doing anything rash. Yet now, you weren’t so sure.

With Nico inviting you to come along for the trip during bye-week, you couldn’t have been more ecstatic. The thought of being able to spend an entire week with your boyfriend was like a breath of much needed fresh air. And it was, for the first few days.

At least until Wednesday.

❥.

Nico had gone out with some of the guys, promising to be back by 4 at the latest. Not that you minded much, getting the very nice and very expensive villa to yourself for a while was enticing.

After an hour or so in the sun, you decided to take a little break and use the giant bathtub that had been screaming your name since you had arrived. Grabbing your bag and some clothes, you made your way to the en-suite, making sure to leave the door slightly cracked, just in case Nico got home.

You turned on the faucet, making sure the water temperature was just right, before stripping yourself and sinking into the welcoming space. Closing your eyes, you sunk your body lower into the water, until it brushed against your chin with any movement. The motion of the slight waves was like a massage to your sore, sun-burnt skin.

You remained in the tub until the water ran cold and your skin began to get pruny. You pulled the drain, before carefully getting out and wrapping yourself in the closest towel. Walking over to the counter, you rummaged through your bag, trying to find your face wash, yet coming up empty handed.

You rolled your eyes, realizing you must have left it somewhere. Although, it was just a minor inconvenience, since you and Nico both used the same brand, so you weren’t worrying too much.

Squatting down to open the cabinet under the sink, you pulled out Nico’s black bag, quickly opening it to find the familiar bottle. You began to pull stuff out, before a little velvet box fell onto the tile beneath you.

Your breath caught in your throat, hoping it isn’t what you think it is. Nico knew you wanted to marry him, but not now, not during the peak of his career and your schooling. It just wasn’t what you saw for yourself. Shakily reaching down to grab the box, you stood up, scared to open it.

You almost opted to put it back, knowing that if it was an engagement ring, your relationship would never go back to the way it was. This would bring up a new wave of emotions and obstacles. It would open up a door you didn’t know if you could close.

Bracing yourself against the counter, you slowly opened the box. Gleaming back at you, in all its glory, was the most beautiful ring you could have imagined. It was the perfect ring. But this only made it hurt worse. Just picturing Nico picking out a the cut of diamond you had always wanted, or the band color, had your heart clenching with sadness.

You knew you were gonna have to talk to him about it, before he did something that neither of you would be able to walk away from unscathed.

It was the only option to save your relationship. To save Nico.

Sighing, you swiftly get dressed, placing the box back on the counter, hoping that Nico would realize you had found it. Now this may seem cowardly, but it was truly what you thought would be best. At least then, the blow would be softer than a straight out rejection.

You figured that if you prompted him to bring up the ring, the conversation would be easier. Only, he never brought it up. You could tell he knew, by the way he was so cautious with anything he did around you past 48 hours. This only caused your heartache to worsen.

Eventually, the tension came to a boiling point. Having just got home from a private dinner, you can’t help but feel as though Nico had originally planned for more to come from that picture perfect beachfront sunset. Deep down, you didn’t need to guess, you knew.

This was the night Nico was supposed to propose.

You felt conflicted as you entered the living room in silence. On one hand, you felt relieved he didn’t get down on one knee, yet on the other, you felt guilty for hoping the man you loved wouldn’t confess his undying loyalty to you. Your chest tightened with emotion.

“Can we not do this anymore?”

Nico’s voice rang out, interrupting your battling thoughts. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Not do what, Neeks?”

“Not sit here and pretend you didn’t find the ring, or that I wasn’t gonna propose to you.”

There it was. The bomb finally dropped. With those few words, the harsh truth of the situation became real. All of it did. No matter how hard you tried to remain in denial, or refuse to acknowledge it, reality always finds a way to bite back.

You bit your lip, contemplating on how to begin voicing your side, “Nico, what you need to understand is-”

He cut you off, “I do understand, Y/n. But you told me about your whole “plan” 2 years ago when we first got together.” His chest heaved with despair, “I thought you’d change your mind by now.”

“My plan? My plan was never going to change. You can’t be upset with me, when you were the one who assumed I’d say yes.”

Nico felt his heart shatter at your words, anger quickly began to boil through his veins, “Of course I’d assume you’d say yes,” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “I mean, fuck, we live together. We do everything with each other. I’m sorry for wanting to take that step with you, truly I am.”

His sarcasm didn't get lost on you. Scoffing, you turned away from him.

“Nico, you’re not listening to me-“

“What’s there to hear?” He cut you off once more, arms flaring into the air, “That you don’t want to marry me? God forbid someone actually wants to love you.”

You spin back around, tears springing to your eyes, “You are so out of line right now, Nico.”

Yet, your shaky tone did nothing to calm him.

“How am I out of line? For loving you?”

Disbelief was written all over your face. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend the intensity of it all. Nico’s harsh comments pelted through any sort of resolve you had left. Never once did you think Nico would say something like that. Especially knowing your past. It stung worse than any pain you could imagine.

“T-That’s not fair,” You quivered, “And you know it.”

Nico’s tense form deflated at your meek voice. The anger that once flowed through him like hot lava, has now receded, leaving nothing but spiky coldness and depression. He felt lost, plagued by the possibility of not spending the rest of his life with you.

He gingerly walked across the room, now standing directly parallel to you, “Why?” His voice was distant and cracking under the weight of his emotions, “Why won’t you marry me, schatzi?”

The use of the familiar nickname was enough to break you. Sobs wracked through your body, knees becoming shaky. Nico immediately engulfed you in his arms, cradling you against his chest like it was the last time he’d ever feel you. You felt Nico’s own tears fall freely, the hurt grasping you both. Heavy cries left Nico’s chest, only furthering your guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Nico!” You blubbered hopelessly, “I love you so m-much, I just,” Your sentence was cut short by the rapid hiccups in your breath.

Nico’s hands moved to gently hold your face, pulling it to meet his bloodshot eyes. His cheeks were red and puffy, wet tracks trailing down to his chin, but you knew you didn't look much better. He tried his best to calm your breathing, even through his own unsteady gasps. After a few minutes, you found yourself composed enough to continue.

“I don’t know,” You admitted weakly, “I don’t know why I don’t want to marry you, Neeks. I’m just not ready, yet.”

Nico took a second to mull over your words. He dropped his hands from your face, leaving you distraught at the possibility of him being even more upset. He quickly turned, retreating to your shared bedroom. You felt your throat squeeze, a new wave of anxiety washing over you.

Finding the courage to follow him, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs.

You made your way over to him, perching on your knees in front of his legs. He lifted his head, pain written all over his handsome features. Your body physically ached at the amount of hurt swimming in his doe eyes. You cursed yourself for being the cause of it. Nico reached out to slowly like he’d spook you if he moved too quickly. He pulled you to stadle his waist, big eyes drilling into yours.

He dropped his head in shame, “I’m sorry, schatzi.”

You swallowed thickly, having not expected an apology.

“I should have talked to you about it first. I-I just got excited when we finally started talking about the future, I thought you had changed your mind.”

You relaxed slightly, realizing he wasn’t gonna end things, “Don’t be sorry,” You rasped, voice hoarse from crying, “I should have made it clearer.”

Lifting his face, you forced him to look at you, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get married eventually, Neeks. I promise, I do. Just-,” You looked at his hopeful gaze, “Just not right now.”

He nodded slightly, understanding your words.

Your eye flickered from his eyes to his lips, before carefully placing a delicate kiss. Nico responded almost immediately, hands pulling you deeper. The kiss was slow and passionate. The days of bottled-up emotions pouring into each other's mouths. You slipped your hands into the back of his hair, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

You eventually pulled away for air, chests panting. You sat for a moment, just taking in the other’s body. Nico was the first to break the silence.

“Can you promise me something, schatzi?” Nico begged.

You nodded quickly, “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll marry me someday.” He swallowed, face falling into a serious expression.

You smiled slightly at his lingering worry. You kissed him once more as reassurance, before pulling away just enough to speak.

“I promise I’ll marry you someday, Neeks.”

#the captain’s girl au!#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier angst #njd #new jersey devils #leawrites💋

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deadhands69 · 23 days ago

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*❆ White Elephant: Jututsu Kaisen ❆*

What happens when you select their white elephant gift? *This is absolute crack and in no way did I put any consideration into where in time it occurs/what side you’re on/why all of these people/curses somehow got along well enough for a holiday gathering together. **yes, i’m very aware of how out of context the header image is

Gojo: This one is wrapped… interestingly. It doesn’t look bad by any means, the shiny white paper is just folded in a way that feels like it should defy physics. Upon opening, a small strange object falls out. You’ve never seen anything quite like it and its presence weighs heavily on you. You’re about 90% sure that thing is cursed beyond reason and there’s absolutely no way you’re bringing it home with you.

Did he just forget and pick up the first thing he saw on his desk? Absolutely.

Itadori: You selected this one because you can tell someone put so much love into wrapping it. Sure, it looks a little sloppy with the twisted ribbon and fold marks on the cute snowman printed paper, but A+ for effort. When you open it, you find a silly coffee mug filled with random odds and ends. A cute keychain. Human Earthworm action figure. And an assortment of stickers. Overall, a pretty thoughtful gift.

Todo: With the nice reusable gift bag, this one caught your eye. Worst case, you still get a cool bag. Once you open it, you peel back the layers of protective paper to find - a framed photo of Nobuko Takada. What else did you expect?

Maki steals it from you three turns later.

Geto: The wrapping is immaculate. Crisply folded dark blue paper. Symmetrical gold bow on top. 10/10. It’s perfect. Of course, you had to choose this one. Peeling back the paper and digging into the box, a small glowing ball rolls out. In what he thought would be the funniest inside joke ever (coming from someone who doesn’t joke often), Geto left the curse you had all fought together for you to keep in a nice little orb. How sweet. There’s also a religious pamphlet and invitation to his cult’s gatherings.

Jogo: The messy wrapping leaves something to be desired, but this one has a presence. When you peel back the green paper, you discover…one of sukuna’s fingers.

This does not feel like it should fit within the $25 spending limit, but whatever.

Nanami: This envelope almost went unnoticed until you saw it poking out from behind another gift. When you open it, you find a gift card for $25. Low effort but certainly useful.

Yuta: A small silver box with a cute blue bow. When you open it, you find a beautiful locket. That's from Yuta. Inside is a photo of Yuta. That's from Rika.

Maki: Green paper with a big red ribbon. This gift looks exactly like someone mimicked the most stereotypical Christmas wrapping they could manage (she did.) It’s hefty for its size. When you open it, you find a large bottle of Pinesol, a scrubbing brush, and some gloves with a note that ‘some of you need to pull your weight more around here.’

Megumi: The wrapping is nice. Simple. Minimalistic. A red paper so dark it's nearly black. When you open the box, you find an assortment of new pens, pencils, lighters, and a phone charger. He wanted to introduce a surplus to the group in the hopes that now everyone will stop stealing his. (If you can’t tell, the Zenin clan isn’t so big on Christmas.)

Nobara: The gift bag is cute. A nice bow, shiny star covered paper. Great choice. When you pull out the tissue paper and look inside, you find a hammer. Also, a holiday scented candle - gotta cover all the bases.

Panda: Crinkled snowflake print wrapping paper and a few bits of fur in the tape holding it together, but overall something really draws you to this gift. When you open it, you know immediately it’s from Panda. One of those packaged gag gifts you’ll be able to use or re-gift next year for a laugh.

Choso: This is the largest box. It's wrapped up in candy cane patterned paper with big holes stabbed through the top and sides. "Don't shake it!" he screams from across the room when you pick it up. Ripping through the already mangled paper and opening the cratered box, you find a tiny stray kitten with a cute red bow tied around its neck in place of a collar. Awwweee.

Inumaki: This one is larger than most and surprisingly well wrapped in cute santa hat Pikachu paper. When you open it, you find the absolute weirdest garden gnome you’ve ever seen. It’s wonky, in an endearing/funny way. You genuinely wonder where it came from.

How tf did he wrap it so well with only o-[SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER]

Mahito: A transfigured human. It’s not wrapped or anything. He didn’t really understand the game.

Shoko: A cute gold box with a red ribbon tied around it. It feels lightweight but you’re sure there’s something good in there. When you untie it and peel off the paper, you find a pack of cigarettes and a scribbled note that says ‘happy holidays.’

Toji: A crumpled paper bag with the top rolled over. It’s the only one left and you’re feeling adventurous. Opening it, you find a roll of toilet paper (which you return to the bathroom from which it went missing.)

***Sukuna declined to participate. He says his mere presence is a gift to all of you mortals and you’ll be lucky if he graces you with that.

In the end:

The toilet paper has been returned and Gojo confiscated the transfigured human and finger. Well, he tried to. Sukuna's mouth appeared on Yuji's hand and ate both while they were being passed across the room.

This leaves us with:

Gojo's creepy cursed object (he swears it's safe)

Yuji's cute mug/Human Earthworm nicknacks

Todo's framed idol photo (Maki is glaring daggers at you for even considering it)

Geto's curse orb and religious materials (Gojo stole this one to take it out of rotation so they might be off-limits too)

Nanami's $25 Applebees gift card

A locket with Yuta's photo glued inside

Maki's cleaning supplies

Megumi's box of frequently borrowed items (each of which have now been transformed by Mahito to look like small people)

Nobara's hammer. And candle.

Panda's gag gift (Toge is trying to hide this and not make eye contact in the hopes that you will forget it exists)

Choso's kitten that everyone is keeping away from Mahito (Megumi already named it so good luck prying it out of his hands)

Toge's quirky gnome

Shoko's cigarettes (minus the two Nanami already smoked after stealing a lighter before Mahito could transfigure it)

You have one more steal left, what are you going home with?

m.list

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backseatsoldier · 22 days ago

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Home for the Holiday

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader/You CW: Mispronunciation of Gaelic words; CUTE MUH-FEKKIN' FLUFF! Author's Note: Happy holidays to ME- and all of you! Thank you for reading and engaging. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season <3

For Christmas I decided to send myself "home". As in Scotland, the place I'd never been but that I was always drawn to. It always felt like home, so why not treat myself for the holidays, you know?

Somehow, my gift to myself led me to Fiona - the owner of the bed and breakfast I'm staying at - inviting me to her White Elephant party. I suppose the theme of the party helps. I don't know anybody attending so I just need to get a silly gift to (hopefully) make people laugh. Everything was fine and going smoothly... until now.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!"

I'm now on my knees on a snow-covered sidewalk and trying to scoop up my White Elephant gift after running directly into...

"Alright, lass?"

Fuck me... he's a local.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ok," I assure him and I reach for the goofy gift.

"Is this... a..."

Before he can finish his question, I'm desperately shoving the joke gift - a Highland Cow tail butt plug with a pretty Christmas bow attached to the end - back in the bag. Why couldn't it have been in a discreet box?!

"It's for a White Elephant party," I say quickly once it's back in the bag.

Finally, I look up.

Oh, he's... painfully pretty. That just makes this worse.

"What about this guy?" he asks with a lopsided smile as he holds out the Highland cow plushie I bought myself.

"He's... for me," I say quietly and gently take the plushie back, tucking him into the top of the bag.

"Got a theme going there, lass," he chuckles.

"Figured... it might make my life a bit easier to stick to some kind of theme, y'know?" I offer softly and stand, hugging the bag to my chest.

"You sure you're alright? Didn't hurt yourself or the coo when you fell? And I'm sorry too. I wasn't paying attention."

I shake my head quickly.

"No, no I'm ok. So is the, uh, cow," I tell reassure him with a small smile and brush some snow off the cow's fuzzy head. "I should, um, get going. I'm sorry, again. And... nollag kridel."

"Nollaig Chridheil, lass," he chuckles knowingly.

"Oh my god," I whisper as my head falls and my eyes go wide. I didn't even pronounce it correctly! Without another word, I turn quickly and fast-walk away.

"You made it!" Fiona exclaims and throws her arms around my shoulders. "Get in here," she says as she pulls me into her house. It's literally just a private entrance to the bed and breakfast.

Within a few moments I'm in the building, my (wrapped) gift is under Fiona's tree, and a cute elf hat has been placed on my head. Fiona gently sets me on the couch next to- oh, no. Nonononono-

"Oh, so you're the surprise guest Fi was raving about," Painfully Pretty laughs loudly as I beg whatever higher power for a black hole to swallow me up.

"Yeah," I give an awkward laugh, "that's me. I guess."

"You two know each other?" Fiona says as she hands me a hot chocolate.

"We bumped into each other yesterday in town. And the Highland coo," he chuckles.

I should have wrapped the cow. I should have wrapped the cow. I should have-

"Oh, that adorable plushie you walked in with? I was wondering where you got 'im. Cute little Christmas sweater and all," Fiona laughs - very similarly to Painfully Pretty.

Conversation shifts off of me and to other guests who are still arriving by the minute. Soon enough, Fiona's living room is packed full of people and one dog. His name is Riley and we made fast friends. I, admittedly, have been hiding in the corner hanging out with him most of the party so far.

"Time for gifts! Johnny, help me get these piled in the center of the room," Fiona demands of Painfully Pretty. Apparently his name is Johnny.

Once all of the gifts are piled where Fiona wants them, we all migrate to the surrounding furniture. She gives us the rundown for how the gift exhcange works and we all begin drawing numbers from a Santa hat. When it's my turn, I grab a random gift and begin opening it.

It's a... Highland cow in a holiday dress and crown.

"Aw! Now your other guy's got a friend," Fiona announces excitedly.

I smile softly at the plushie and smooth out her dress.

"Yeah, I guess he does," I agree and smile at her.

"You should name them," Johnny suggests with a soft look in his eyes.

"I think I will," I nod and smile at him.

When the exchanges comes to an end, Johnny lingers in the living room with me.

"I was hoping you'd be the one to choose her," he says quietly. "Was worried she would be chosen and unappreciated until Fiona dragged you in here."

"You... brought her?" I ask, looking up from the plushie in question.

Johnny nods with a gentle smile.

"Glad the lad won't be lonely this Christmas. It was nice to meet you, officially," he says softly, lopsided smile lighting up his face.

"It was nice to meet you too, Johnny. Thank you for Christy." With a small smile, I hold up the plushie and tap it's nose to the end of his.

"Nollaig Chridheil."

"Yeah, I'm not trying to say that again," I insist with a giggle.

He laughs loudly.

"Why not? It was so cute when you said it last time."

I can feel my face warm at his words and his smirk.

This year's Christmas gift to me might turn out better than I originally expected.

Scottish Gaelic Translations (per Google Translate, apologies if incorrect!)

Nollaig Chridheil - Merry Christmas

CoD Christmas (Meet) Cuties Masterlist

#backseat soldier #rhi_writing_adventures #call of duty #cod #john soap mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #christmas #christmas gift

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help-me-im-in-the-fandom · 4 months ago

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When you stare into the Abyss: The Beginning of Robin

Bruce never thought he’d have a child, perhaps after his Mission was done, after Gotham was cleaned of the worst of crime and the worst of the worst were behind bars and receiving treatment.

It was a laughable thought, that Bruce would ever manage to clean the corruption out of Gotham, that he would ever be able to pull out the black tar of insanity and crime within his lifetime.

Then Bruce sees a boy watch as his parents die, he sees this small child at the exact same age as he was going through the exact same thing, and it hurts.

Brucie Wayne leaves the circus, but Batman arrives at the crime scene, he wants justice, wants to make sure it was an accident and nothing more, even if for his own heart.

Little Richard Grayson is missing, that’s the first thing he hears, and it scares him. So he joins the search and finds the young boy hidden in one of the Elephant tents. His red, yellow and green Leotard is stained with blood, and it makes Bruce heart ache.

He isn’t scared to see the hulking creature that is Batman, no, this tiny boys is full of rage, of hurt and pain and the need to fight. He screams into Batman’s suit and then collapses into a crying mess on his clawed arms.

He brings the small boy back to the police, even when they watch his non-human form with fear and disgust. He hands the young boy off to be placed with his new guardians and tries to focus on the case.

It isn’t until the next day that he learns the eight year old wasn’t sent to a foster family or even a shelter, but to a juvenile detention center.

There is no family, no will or any instructions on where to place the boy, and the circus doesn’t have the means to fight for the right to keep him, they leave town within the next day.

It’s spur of the moment, born of anger and depression and knowing exactly what that poor boy was going through. Except he didn’t have and Alfred, have the Wayne fortune to keep him safe and cozy inside a huge mansion to cry himself to sleep in.

A few bribes and a lot of money later, and Richard ‘call me Dick’ Grayson is now the Ward of Gotham’s richest bachelor.

The boy is full of energy and the need to play, and Bruce finds himself expanding the gym just to place practice trapeze equipment so he’s got somewhere to let out his energy, beside being a Trapaze artist was in his blood, and Bruce would never try to take it away from him.

But there is rage there too, and after Alfred finds him with a dislocated thumb and bloody knuckles Bruce ends up teaching him how to throw a punch, then how to kick box, then on and on he teaches this boy who soaks up the lessons like a sponge.

It’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but it works. It turns this grieving and depressed child into a happy and cheerful one, it helps in the best way Bruce knows how.

Then, whoops, Dick follows Alfred into the Batcave and realizes just exactly what’s going on, because Bruce is only halfway into the Batman ensemble and it’s very obvious.

Bruce still hasn’t been able to find Tony Zucco, the man who rigged the Grayson’s to fall. He has tried, so hard, but the lowlife had bunkered down as soon as Batman took to the scene.

Dick yells and screams at Bruce for hiding the secret, then for not being able to catch his parents murderer. He fights Bruce, with the intent to hurt. Bruce regrets teaching how to fight just a little bit, and is very thankful he has a cup on already.

Eventually, after a very long and painful conversation, Dick understands why Bruce hid as he did.

It takes two days before he decides if Bruce can be a crime-fighting Vigelante so can he. Bruce refuses and tells him maybe when he’s older, more trained it might be possible but he is not allowing him to fight crime as a child.

It takes him smuggling into the Batmobile for the fifth time, and almost getting himself caught by a criminal that Bruce realizes that he can’t stop him no matter how hard he tries. Because along with all the tricks the circus and Bruce have taught him, he is a little devil of a child.

So Bruce decides, fine, he can join him on patrol, but only after he goes through this very specific and absolutely grueling training program, keeps his grades above a B+ and after he designs and perfects his own cryptid suit to Bruce’s liking.

Bruce was hoping his endless hoops and almost impossible expectations would make Dick back down, nope, if anything it made him even worse.

He goes through the training with a smile on his face and a continued need to learn, even when Bruce makes him learn how to do college level chemistry, how to code and make back doors and viruses, even when he makes him sit through three hour long lectures on how to tell blood splatters apart.

He excels at school as well, going above and beyond with A+ across the board except for in English, which is understandable since it’s not Dicks first language.

He decides on his mother’s nickname for his new name, Robin, but he also chooses the Grayson colors for his suit, red yellow and green.

Robin looks more like a hummingbird, especially since Dick wanted both stilts and wings on his costume. Bruce actually welcomes the bonding activity of making the prosthetic bird feet that are fully functional, and would never stop Divk from his dream of flying, even if it’s more like paragliding.

Dick even creates his own style of fighting in the suit, flashy and playful but also deadly brutal. Sometimes Bruce forgets how quickly his ward can go from cheery and playful to downright brutal, but honestly he’s proud of his kid, even if this is probably the most concerning father-son bonding excercise ever

And thus, Robin was born and Gotham gained a new cryptid.

#batman #batpham #dc #bruce wayne #cryptid batfam #dp #batman and robin #dick grayson

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sweetsweetjellybean · 1 year ago

Text

A night out with friends turns into a surprise welcome home party for the man who broke your heart, Eddie Munson.

Masterlist Listen to Scar Tissue Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago, with flashbacks at the beginning of each chapter. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:5162. Beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Have a good day,” your mother calls out as you shut the front door to the gray clapboard-sided home that your parents had fallen in love with the moment they laid eyes on it. You hadn’t even gotten past the front steps before she appears in the doorway, pulling her purple terry-cloth robe tighter around her shoulders as she calls you back. “You don’t have to come right home after school,” she tells you, pressing a few folded bills into your hand, “Go out with your friends. Have some fun.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You muster up a smile, shoving the bills into the front pocket of your Levi's, certain they will end up in the ceramic pink elephant bank that sits atop your dresser, just like the money she gave you last week. She watches you walk down the steps, giving you a wave before she turns away, shutting the door behind her.

She tries her best, but she doesn't understand that friendships in the seventh grade aren't made as easily as they were in kindergarten, and you can't tell her that in the six weeks you've been enrolled at Hawkins Middle School, not a soul has spoken to you unless asked to by a teacher.

This was the life that your parents had chosen, a career that demanded constant relocation and upheaval. "It's an adventure," they'd tell you as your things were being packed into boxes. But the older you got, it felt less like an adventure and more like a test. A test to prove yourself over and over. There’s a phrase your mom has uttered so often over the years, that it's surprising it's not embroidered on the throw pillows. Bloom where you're planted. But here, in this town, you're only a weed in the garden.

Hawkins isn't any worse or better than any of the other ten places you've lived in the last seven years, but these kids have been together since birth and aren't eager to welcome newcomers into the flock. Pouring your efforts into being confident and friendly, projecting a cool and unbothered facade, the constant exposure has left you empty. The mask is too heavy, and you’ve been wearing it far too long. If this were one of the comics you kept in the box under your bed, you'd be discovering your superpower–Invisibility. They don't see you here, and maybe they never would.

The edges of folded bills in your pocket press into the meat of your thigh. Adding them to your total should give you enough for the new Elastica CD. With a bit of luck, you might be able to talk your dad into driving you to Tower Records in Indianapolis this weekend. A few houses away, the battered front door of a small yellow cape opens with a click and thud, drawing your attention. The house was more run-down than the others on this street. The grass was left to grow a little longer before being mowed, and a few nights a week, you could hear the yelling coming from inside before seeing the slow flash of lights of a cruiser parked in front.

A boy with curly shoulder-length hair bounds out from inside the house, slinging on his worn backpack as he hits the sidewalk.

Right on time this morning.

The scuff of your white Doc Martens falls in step with the crunch of his black Converse hitting the pavement. The chain running from his back pocket to his hip sways with his movements. It’s more of a determined bounce than a walk. Your eyes stay trained on the frayed holes of his Jansport, corners of textbooks and papers pushing through. You keep waiting for physics to kick in and the thing to give way entirely.

“Quit following me.”

His voice floats over his shoulder, shattering the quiet of the morning. Your head swivels from side to side, looking for whoever he is speaking to. His body turns until he’s walking backward, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack, casting his expectant brown eyes on you.

“Me?” You ask, touching your chipped painted fingernails to your chest.

“You’ve been following me for weeks, and it’s creepy.”

“I’m not following you,” you say incredulously, “We’re just going to the same place.”

“Well, walk on the other side of the street or something,” he says, turning back around, continuing on his way like he assumes you’ll comply.

“No.”

Your defiance comes out flat and solid, drawing a line, sick of him and this whole town.

“Yes,” the word comes back without a glance, utterly unbothered by your show of determination.

“No,” you repeat louder, your eyebrows pulling together in a scowl, “If you don’t like it, you walk over there.”

“I was here first.”

“Seriously?” The anger in your chest turns to heat, rising up your neck and settling in your face. Your mouth opens, ready to unleash the venom sitting on the tip of your tongue when he stops walking.

“Might as well walk beside me then.”

Surprise melts the words in your mouth as your feet carry you forward until you’re close enough to see the freckles covering his nose. His eyes stay forward as his stride lines up with yours, moving forward at a more relaxed pace. A light breeze rustles the leaves of the Maples lining the street. The sound of your footsteps is interrupted by the occasional passing car.

“You’re in seventh, right? You got Schnider?” He asks, his eyes darting to your face.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking down at your boots.

"Bad luck. She's a real bitch. I had her last year."

Answering with a shrug, you risk a look back at him. Long eyelashes framing big doe eyes, a sweet face he tries to hide with a hard shell. He wears a mask, too.

Your brain’s on overload for the rest of the day—thoughts of the boy coloring away the hours like a secret, overanalyzing every bit of your interaction. When the shrill sound of the final bell rings, you join the current of students, gathering your belongings and exiting the building in a wave.

The fresh air is a welcome escape from the stuffy classroom as you cross behind the school past the football field, heading toward the path through the woods where the boy is lingering just beyond the gate, digging through his pack but coming up with nothing like maybe he had been waiting. Without a word, he falls into step beside you. When you look at him, this time, he meets your eyes. The sunlight flickers through the swaying leaves as your footsteps resonate through the trees as you continue together.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," his voice cuts the quiet air when you reach the front steps of his house, his tone revealing a hint of uncertainty.

"I'll be headed the same way," you answer.

He turns away from you, pausing with his foot on the top step, looking up at his house before looking back at you.

"I'm Eddie, by the way," he offers, his cheeks pinking at the vulnerability his words carry.

"I know," you respond, a small smile gracing your lips as you continue home.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," you mutter, tucking your phone into your clutch and bolting up the marble steps to the second floor of the Kimpton Grey Hotel. Composing yourself as you pass through the lobby and open the double doors into Vol.39. The bar exudes timeless elegance with its dim, warm light shining on the dark-wood accents. Vintage jazz playing through hidden speakers, sounding like smoke and liquor. Everything here is steeped in leather, old money, and sophistication. It's no surprise that Nancy chose it.

"You're late," Nancy says flatly, no amusement in the blue eyes framed by the blunt cut of her black, sleek hair as she glances at her watch with disapproval.

"Sorry." You slide into the open seat on the tufted couch across from her, adjusting the material of your dark emerald midi skirt so the slit wouldn't be showing off too much thigh, "There was traffic." It definitely wasn’t the extra half hour you spent with your feet up on your desk at Stax listening to the new release from Band of Horses.

"This is Chicago. There's always traffic," she counters, keeping her voice low enough that it doesn't travel past the lit bookshelves lined with leather-bound encyclopedias framing the seating area that your friends are currently occupying. "That's why I gave you a time a week ago. So you could plan ahead."

"She’s in a mood," Argyle says from the corner of his mouth, his hair falling around him like a curtain as he leans closer from the velvet upholstered club chair beside you.

"Where's Steve?" Nancy demands, setting down her crystal tumbler on the gray marble table in the center of the space.

"He's not here?" you ask, scanning the bar. "It was Robin’s turn to watch him."

"Me?" Robin exhales from the other end of the couch she shares with Nancy.

"You're his best friend," you point out with a quirk of your brow.

"Yeah, but you're his–"

"I don't know why I bother to organize nights out for all of us if no one is going to be on time," Nancy cuts off Robin, huffing as she crosses her slender arms over her chest.

"It will be fine, Nance," Johnathan reassures, coming back from the bar carrying a flight of martinis he sets down in the center of the table. "Just relax. Everyone's going to be here in plenty of time." He takes the seat beside her, comforting her with his arm around her shoulder.

Nancy and Johnathan have been on again-off again since she left Hawkins for school in Boston. Rekindling their relationship when she moved to Chicago and accepted a position at Spectrum Media, where she still works as their vice-president of content strategy.

"Plenty of time for what?" You ask, leaning forward to choose a martini, picking the Astoria with a knot of lemon.

"There's a mystery guest," Robin says, wriggling her brows and hooking her thumb towards Nancy. “Full of surprises, isn't she?”

"Where's Flora tonight?" You ask Robin, noticing she is without an escort.

"Flora?" She asks, picking up a drink for herself, "That was over a week ago." She dismisses her with a wave of the hand before running it through her wavy blonde streaked locks, "Sadly, she left for a goat herding commune in Sacramento. I've been seeing someone new, a painter named Taylor. She's on exhibit at Magnolia. Her florals are really dreamy." She bites an olive off the end of her toothpick, sighing.

Smiling around the lip of your glass, you shake your head. Robin works as an exhibit coordinator for Magnolia Gallery in Wicker Park, falling in and out of love with artists as quickly as she sells their pieces. You give her credit, she's having fun.

"Did you text him?" Nancy asks, her lips twisting with impatience. The tense clench of her jaw has you setting down your drink and reaching for your clutch with no arguments. "Do you know how hard it was to get this reservation?"

"Then why are we here?" Argyle complains, gesturing around the room while he slumps back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with the other. "You know I own like six bars, right? No reservations required."

"But then you'd be working," Nancy explains, as Argyle smoothes out his handlebar mustache.

"I'm always working, babe," Argyle says with a smirk, looking the part of a restaurateur and music promoter in his shiny flat-front trousers and short-sleeved silk shirt.

Argyle is a new friend - meaning not from Hawkins. The California transplant, whose family owns a chain of successful pizza restaurants, has breathed new life into the Chicago music scene. Booking up-and-coming acts as well as big names into his bars and venues all across the city. He's a good friend to have, especially in your line of work–a music journalist for Stax the city's premiere music, arts, and culture magazine.

“He’s on his way,” you inform them, setting your phone face down on the table before settling back on the couch.

“On his way or leaving now?” Nancy shakes her head, knowing with Steve it’s probably the latter. “Why didn’t you ride with him?” She asks, turning toward Jonathan.

“I wasn’t in the office today. I was on a shoot,” he says, pulling his arm away from her and setting his drink down harder than necessary, his patience with her at an end.

Jonathan, like you and Steve, works for the conglomerate Second City Media. Nancy likes to think that she permits the three of you to work for her competitor, but Steve had already gotten his foot in the door, securing himself an entry-level position at Metro Sports division before she was even out of grad school. Jonathan had been doing alright freelancing as a photographer, but when Nancy started at Spectrum, Second City recognized their competitor would wind up with an edge and hired him on as full-time staff. Everyone knows it's better for their relationship not to be working in the same place, especially with Nancy as his boss.

“Give us some clues about this mystery guest,” Robin interjects to lower the temperature between the couple, which is ready to boil over.

"Okay, I'm here." Steve comes from behind you, his voice alerting you to his arrival before you see him. His tie is already missing, the first three buttons of his starched shirt undone beneath his midnight blue suit, and his hair tousled from a day of running his hands through.

"Really, Steve? You couldn't be on time just this once?" Nancy scolds him, rolling her eyes.

"Meeting ran late. You know how it is," he leans down to kiss her cheek,"Or maybe you don't. I heard things are a bit slow over there at Spectrum," he teases, earning a smirk from Johnathan.

Steve worked his way up from the sports division to chief content officer for Second City Media. The position puts him just shy of the power Nancy holds at Spectrum, fueling the pair's competitive and ambitious nature until their bickering often drives everyone else crazy.

"Steve," Robin draws his attention before Nancy gets the chance to respond, "About tomorrow–"

"Just a minute, Robin. I haven't gotten to kiss my beautiful wife hello." He steps over Argyle's legs and gives the man a quick handshake in greeting before sitting next to you on the sofa.

"I'm not your wife yet, handsome," you tell him as his strong hands cup your cheeks, tipping your head up toward him.

"But it sounds good, doesn't it?" He asks before soft lips close over yours, his thumb pressing on your chin, asking for access to deepen the kiss beyond the line that's appropriate in front of company.

"Niiiice," Argyle hums as the others snicker. Steve takes a hand off your cheek, holding it in front of you to block some of their views as his mouth moves hotly over yours.

"God, you two are sickening," Nancy's remark is probably accompanied by an eye roll, but you're too occupied to notice as you tighten your grip on the front of Steve's shirt, drawing him nearer.

Four of his fingers curl down, giving Nance a one-fingered message as he continues to kiss you until he's had his fill. Breaking away with a gentle peck. "How was your day today, Ace? Did you write me a Pulitzer?"

"You ask me that every day."

Despite teasing you, he wouldn't be surprised if you had what it takes. That's how much he believes in you. He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips to place a kiss next to the glittering diamond he put on your hand a little over two years ago.

"Excuse you." Robin climbs over Argyle's legs that are still stretched out in front of him, taking up all the space between the chairs and the table, and walks over to the couch, squeezing her way onto the sofa between you and Steve, "Best friend privileges." She winks before launching into a conversation about the next exhibit she's putting together.

"You two crazy kids set a date yet?" Argyle asks at a volume higher than you'd prefer. Raising your index finger to your lips, eyebrows drawing together as your eyes flick over to Steve.

"I'm just making sure my invite didn't get lost in the mail," he says, sipping his drink. "I love weddings, man—all those tiny little versions of regular-sized food. Maybe I should open a restaurant like that, where everything is tiny. Tiny little kebabs and tiki drinks with tiny little umbrellas. I don't know what's taking you so long. You need to make an honest man out of him." His voice grows louder at the end of his sentence, earning him another look from you, a distraction that diverts Steve's attention from his conversation.

The waitress chooses that moment to appear, saving you from another conversation about setting a wedding date. It's not that you don't want to marry him–you do. Someday. Decisiveness has never been your strong suit, along with dressing up in big puffy dresses that look like frosting and being on display for everyone you have ever known and their plus ones.

While Steve squints down at the drink menu, fondness warms you like the opening notes of your favorite song. Reaching across Robin, you tap his chest. He looks over at you as he pulls a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and slides them on his nose.

Your lips move without sound–I love you.

You too, he mouths back. His mossy eyes softening as he smiles just for you.

You're happy. Why change a thing?

“I’ll have an old-fashioned. Top shelf. Please,” Steve tells the waitress after she had gone around taking orders for small plates to share and more cocktails from the others. “Another Martini?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yes, please. An Astoria,” you tell her as she finishes scribbling everything down on her pad and heads off toward the bar to put in your orders.

“The ladies?” You tip your head at Robin, who nods, getting up to follow you. Steve squeezes your hand as you walk by as he continues his conversation with Nancy about the effectiveness of paywalls on digital content.

“God, she’s in rare form,” Robin comments as you enter the empty ladies' room, each of you closing yourself into a stall.

“Are she and Jonathan fighting again?” You ask once you’ve finished up and moved to the sink to wash your hands. The echo of your voices bouncing off the black and white hexagon tiles.

“When aren’t they fighting?” She pulls a few paper towels from the machine bolted to the wall and drys her hands. “It’s like foreplay for them at this point.”

You laugh, checking under your eyes for make-up smears. “Any ideas about this mystery guest?”

“No idea.” She tugs the brass handle of the door open, and you follow her back into the bar. “Maybe her brother?”

“That would be nice,” you say, your boot heels tapping on the dark chevron floors, “He just got married, right?”

“So young, practically still a baby,” she tuts, her head shaking from side to side.

“Robin, he’s not that-”

Robin's hand clamps onto your forearm, a squeal escaping her mouth as excitement radiates through her. She bounces on her toes, leaving you in her wake. Whoever elicited such a reaction is being blocked by Steve and Jonathan. When she gracefully maneuvers past them, you catch a fleeting glimpse of dark curls before the two men shift back into place, obscuring your view once more. The clinking of glasses and chatter from the other patrons swells in your ears. Your feet carry you forward, curiosity resonating like the reverb of a guitar. Steve feels you coming up behind him and shifts to the side. Without warning, rich chocolate eyes are locked onto yours. Eyes you haven’t seen in eleven years when he left you a mixtape instead of a goodbye. The eyes of the man that shattered your heart into so many pieces, all the edges are still sharp.

“Hey, doll.”

The breath trapped in your lungs forms a suffocating bubble, its dull, aching pressure stifling any movement in or out, causing your body to lock in protest. You're tugged forward, unable to fight it, until your body collides with his. The faint but familiar scent of him embraces you, lingering beneath the spicy notes of expensive cologne. Triggering a flood of a hundred painful memories, like songs you’ve overplayed and can’t bear to hear again. They jar your instincts into overriding the shock, compelling you to push him away. Eddie's solid frame absorbs the force. To your relief, the others haven't noticed as you retreat to your seat. Your trembling hand raises your martini to your lips, taking larger swallows than you normally would, but nothing with this situation is normal.

"Desperate times," you mutter under your breath, tipping back your glass. By the time everyone has settled back into their seats, your martini glass stands drained, the lingering taste of its contents bittersweet on your tongue.

Steve directs the waitress to bring another drink for you and a double Mescal for Eddie. The others' voices are a distant buzz in your ears, but their words don't breach the barrier of your thoughts. The chords playing in your mind are more discernible now. Their lyrics printed onto the faded photographs of a boy that you struggle to reconcile as the man before you. He's older, but you are too. His long hair is much shorter, the dark curls a richer brown pushed away from his face. A few lines grace the corners of his eyes and forehead–a reminder of the life he's lived without you.

Steve's comforting hand wraps around your shoulders while the other finds a home sliding between the soft skin where your legs are crossed, exposed by the high slit of your skirt. Eddie's eyes are on you, his stare focused on Steve's big hand covering half your thigh. Your left hand moves on top of Steve's, adjusting to make sure the sparkling rock on your finger gleams with brilliance in the soft, ambient light.

"Well, this is a blast from the past," Robin notes, her voice full of whimsy as she dangles her cocktail glass between two fingers, swaying it gently like a pendulum.

"Aren't you all glad I forced you to come out?" Nancy quips, much more relaxed now that her plan has come to fruition.

"You did good, love," Johnathan murmurs. His fingers tangling with hers before giving her a quick peck.

"Absolutely. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Steve agrees, "How long has it been, dude? Three, four years?"

"Yeah, I think that was the last time you were in L.A." Eddie scratches at his chin, covered with just enough scruff to almost be a beard.

Steve keeps in touch with Eddie? Had he told you when you hadn't been paying attention to him, your mind wandering with the words you would write for other people's songs?

"Now, I know that I told you only old friends," Nancy says, angling herself towards the plaid upholstered chair that Eddie occupies. "But Argyle knows all the local talent, and I thought he'd be a good connection to have since you're moving here."

"What?" You ask, as if a sudden vacuum has just sucked the air from the room.

"You're moving here?" Robin's eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of all her friends in the same city. She was the original connection that brought you together all those years ago.

"When you say here. You mean Hawkins, right? You're moving back to Hawkins," you clarify.

"No. I mean here. I'm moving to Chicago," Eddie says, leaning back into his chair, his long legs spread in his tailored black suit, the black v-neck underneath giving off a laid-back California vibe. "I told those corporate studio fucks I was done. I'm opening my own place to record music that's actually good, not just the kind that will sell. I'm surprised you don't know all this, doll. Isn't it supposed to be your job or something?"

“Fu–”

"Why Chicago?" Jonathan asks, cutting you off before you let loose a very appropriate response to his question, "Why not stay in L.A. or New York. Aren't there music scenes bigger than here?"

Eddie tips his head to the side, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "You know, L.A.'s lost its charm for me. Too many fake people made out of plastic. And, well, Wayne's not getting any younger. Thought it's about time to be closer, you know?"

“You'd be much closer in Hawkins. Bet you could find a place downtown real cheap. You should go look there.” You cross your arms over your chest, drawing a line in the sand.

“Hawkins doesn’t really scream rock ‘n’ roll, and I already got a place, but thanks,” he says, unconcerned as ever by your tone.

“Look at you two,” Robin says, clapping her hands, “Just like old times, back to your usual banter." Her mischievous grin widens, "Remember when she had that massive crush on you, Eddie? You’d stroll into Musicland during our shift, and she’d follow you around with those big heart eyes.”

Your ears ring as heat rushes up to your neck to your cheeks,the whole world spinning. Eddie looks down, swirling the remnants of gold liquid in his crystal-cut glass.

“You’re exaggerating, Robin,” you sputter, reaching for your drink, hiding behind the lip of the glass, “We were just friends. And it couldn’t have been too major. I don’t even remember it.”

“Oh, come on,” she protests, “Everybody knew.”

"I didn't," Steve's voice cuts through her teasing, leaving an awkward stillness in its wake. The distant sounds of high-pitched laughter and the faint scrape of utensils against plates fill the void. Your friends exchange uncomfortable glances, even though there was no malice in his tone.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, though,” his smile puts everyone at ease. “Right, Ace?” His head dips, brushing your lips in confirmation. You nod as he continues, “Robin, remember when we both went on dates with the same girl. What was her name? Brenda.” His fingers snap with the recollection.

“That’s right, Brenda! Brenda Mackenzie!” Robin laughs and begins to regale the group with the story.

When you lift your eyes, Eddie’s stare remains fixed on you, amusement replaced with an intensity you can’t read. An unfinished sentence or lyric. Words hanging between you like a question that you can't answer—one that you don’t want to.

“I’m going for another drink,” you say to Steve, picking up your empty glass.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks, brows drawing together.

“No, I’m okay,” you tell him with a plastered-on smile, “You want anything?”

He shakes his head no. “I let my car service go early. I’ll drive us home in your car.”

With gentle fingers, you sweep aside a stray lock of hair that's draped across his forehead, planting a tender kiss on his lips before making your way to the bar.

There is a soft creak of the leather as you seat yourself on a high stool in front of the polished wood bar. A bartender with an easy smile takes your order and leaves, giving you a much needed moment alone. Your lungs expand and contract without releasing any tension. You study your reflection in the mirror behind the rows of brightly lit bottles. If you could rewind the tape to a few hours ago, you'd have happily stayed in your office. Calling Nancy tomorrow to grovel for forgiveness for messing up her plans. But you can’t and the song plays on. It’s always the music that hurts the worst.

You release an audible sigh, your breath escaping through parted lips, as he settles onto the stool beside you. With a casual tap of his rings against the bar, he signals for the bartender, raising a single finger, his tongue peeks out, grazing his bottom lip as he gestures toward his empty glass.

"What’s the matter, doll? You really that unhappy to see me?" Eddie drawls, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"It’s been eleven years, Eddie. Sorry I’m not organizing a parade." You settle back into your seat, glancing around as if you're bored.

The bartender lowers his eyes as they deliver your drinks and wisely retreats to the far end of the establishment.

"I didn’t come here to fight," Eddie replies, his tone softening. He shifts his weight slightly on the stool, one arm resting casually on the counter, the glint of a gold chain around his neck catching the dim light.

"Then why are you here?" Your eyes narrow as your fingers trace the condensation on the side of the full glass.

"A fresh start. To build something of my own." He looks at you with determination, his dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bar lights.

"Then build it somewhere else," you respond curtly, your words laced with frustration. You pick up your drink and down half of it in one go, the chilled liquid leaving a slight burn as it slides down your throat. Setting the glass back down, you turn to leave.

He stops you with a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist, his touch causing your pulse to quicken beneath his fingertips. "There are some things I want to say to you. Let me take you to lunch unless Harrington has got you on too short of a leash."

You pull your wrist back, the feel of his touch lingering like smoke in the air. "Whatever you have to say has waited this long, try again in another decade. Unless you're dying."

"Would it make a difference if I was?" He meets your gaze with amusement playing on his lips.

"Let me think about it… nope." Your reply is quick and sharp, meant to cut.

"I know you're mad–"

"No. Mad would imply some kind of emotional attachment. What I feel is indifference. In case you don't know the definition, that means nothing at all." Your voice stays cool and detached as you hop off the stool. "It's a big city, Eddie. There's no reason we have to see each other again."

"We'll have to see about that," he smirks.

"Have a nice life," you say a final goodbye to your past and turn away, walking in the direction of Steve when he stops you with one more question.

"Did you listen to it? The tape, did you ever listen?"

The lie comes without hesitation.

“No.”

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Read Song 2. here

AN: I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. If you have a song that you think Eddie would have recorded on the mixtape send it to me in an ask and it might be included. Anything before 2001. I'd love to hear from you. Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated.

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