#I don’t do it every time I make food but I always do it when I make bread.

[kateschi]

same book, different chapters

synopsis: an ordinary evening takes a turn when katsuki expresses what you've always known but never expected to hear.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

being with katsuki is a lesson in unspoken understanding. you knew who he is long before you started dating him—loud, brash, and not the type to share his feelings openly.

but it didn’t take long to realize there’s so much more to him than that. his love is quiet, reserved, and shown in the details:

how he pulls you out of the way of a passing car, or how he remembers the smallest things, like your favorite kind of tea or that you prefer your coffee without sugar.

and that is enough for you. mostly.

you didn’t expect him to be the kind of boyfriend who says "I love you" with ease. katsuki isn’t like that. it isn’t something you hold against him either.

but every now and then, a small part of you wonders what it would be like to hear him say it—to hear those three words slip past his lips in the same way they had from yours.

you say it first, a quiet “I love you” in the middle of a peaceful night when the world outside feels still.

his response comes in the shape of hugging you tighter, securing you in his arms. however, he doesn’t say it back, and you don’t expect him to. you don’t need him to.

still, there are times when you find yourself holding your breath, wondering if one day he’ll actually verbalize it.

it isn’t that you doubt his feelings. katsuki isn’t one to waste time on things or people he doesn’t care about.

you know how much he cares by the way he silently takes care of you, always putting you first in his own way, even when his words are rough around the edges.

it’s just that sometimes, words have a way of making things feel more real.

tonight is one of those easy evenings you cherish—one where you don’t have to think too much about anything. the two of you are in your kitchen, making dinner together, though “together” is generous.

you’re doing most of the work while katsuki stands next to you, arms crossed, casting a critical eye over everything you do.

“you’re putting too much salt,” he says, the frown on his face making you smile.

“pretty sure this is the exact amount the recipe says to use,” you reply, amused at how serious he always gets when it comes to food.

“tch, that recipe’s wrong. I could’ve made this better with my eyes closed.”

“then why don’t you?” you tease, turning your head to glance at him. his gaze is sharp as usual, but the small curve in the corner of his lips betrays him.

“maybe I’ll cook next time,” he grumbles, looking away like the very idea of giving in bothers him.

you laugh softly, enjoying the banter. this is something you love about him—how even in these simple moments, his presence fills the space with a sense of ease.

there’s no pressure to be anything other than yourselves, even when his blunt honesty clashes with your more relaxed approach.

as you stir the pot, you can’t help but let your thoughts wander back to the three words. you know katsuki isn’t the type to say things until he’s ready, and you respect that.

but part of you is curious—would it ever come naturally to him, or would it always be something unspoken between the two of you?

still, as you stand there, the warmth of his steady presence beside you, you realize that maybe you’re okay with it remaining unspoken. katsuki shows his love in ways that don’t need words to validate them.

and then, without warning, you feel his arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. you freeze for a moment, caught off-guard.

“katsuki?” you ask, your voice soft, as you lean into him instinctively.

he doesn’t answer right away, just holds you there. his touch isn’t hesitant, but it is different from the usual casual touches you’ve grown used to.

“you’re annoying sometimes,” he mutters, voice low in your ear.

you chuckle, relaxing further into his hold. “I know.”

there’s silence for a beat, and then: “but I love you anyway, idiot.”

you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. you turn your head slightly, trying to see his face, but he buries it against your neck, hiding his expression. “did you just—?”

“don’t make a big deal out of it,” he mumbles, voice suddenly gruff, though you can hear the embarrassment beneath the words.

a smile breaks across your face, warmth spreading through your chest. you didn’t expect it, but that makes it all the more special. he isn’t saying it because the moment demands it.

he isn’t saying it because you’re waiting. he says it because he wants to, because he feels it.

“I’m not,” you reply, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably as your happiness bubbles up in your voice. “but…I love you too.”

you feel his grip tighten around you and a kiss pressed to your shoulder.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[kizzer55555]

Alternative idea. They are chasing Danny ‘the betrayer’ down and as they follow the leads and clues and leftovers of where he’s been, they start slowly piecing together the mystery of who Danny is and why he’s doing this. And they find out just how deep the betrayal went. Because it was the Justice league that made the first move.

They finally catch up with him and he’s decoding something and he just snaps at them to leave him alone. He’s cold, not even acknowledging at them, this is nothing like the Danny they knew. They try to talk to him and when that doesn't work it breaks out into a battle. But Danny knows all their moves and weaknesses and they don’t know the first thing about his limits. He’s ruthless and efficient, not showing the barest hint of emotion on his face like this battle against his ‘friends’ means nothing to him. He doesn’t even have to reveal his powers. And once they are all completly immobile he whispers “I never wanted to hurt you.” Someone scoffs. “You have a funny way of showing that.” Danny rolls his eyes. “It’s your own fault. You really should have seen this coming.”

“Oh really?” A hero speaks, venom dripping with every word. “Is it really that easy to betray your friends? To betray the ones you trust?”

Danny just laughs without any emotion behind it. “Trust? Nah, I never trusted you. Let me tell you something, when my home town was invaded, we called the Justice league. But they never came. When we were besieged every. Single. Day. By monsters and demons and entitled government agents that had no regard for casualties, they never came. Do you know what it’s like? To always have to look at the sky in case something comes down a snatch you? To hide behind a trash can or alley wall and pray that skin peeling cyborg will pass you by? To be scared of the very food you eat wondering if it was poisoned or the meat was going to attack you? To wake up realize no one is moving and wonder if your friends and family will ever wake up again? We called over and over but they never came. So we had to find our own way to fight back. We had to build weapons to protect ourselves and our children. We had to fight tooth and nail just to make it to tommorow and finally, finally we figured out a system. We managed to push them back enough to breathe. And it was only then that your people arrived.

You abandoned my town to face their death. You took me from my home. You locked up my family and tortured them.” By now, Danny was screaming and crying. His eyes looked absolutely devastated. “How…can you possibly ask me to trust you after that?”

Danny doesn’t even explain himself and his reasoning. That’s how little he thinks of the heroes. He doesn’t care if what they think he’s doing is right or wrong or if it’s justified. Some think he’s doing some sort of master plan to take over the world rather than just rescuing his parents which makes even more devastating to them when they find out what he’s actually doing.

It’s a race against time and by the end, Waller launches a strike against the heroes and it ends up being Danny that built a counter solution to the anti super weapons. He still doesn’t care about them but he was a protector at heart. He always will be. He just didn’t need someone’s ‘permission’ to do so. When he finally frees his parents (possibly dragging in the help of his classmates for a break out) they stand and Waller says that they’ve lost as they are surrounded, no weapons, and all the heroes/former villains powerless because of machines specifically designed against them. And that’ when Danny looks her right in the eyes and says that there’s one thing he forgot to mention.

He has powers too.

Danny held up a large sign from the background like a man at an airport as thier leader, Robin, gave his report to this "Justice League". The first sign said, "Help! I'm surrounded by daddy issues!" Earning a laugh from someone off camera. He then pulled the next card out from behind the first one.

"Can you send air fresheners? It smells like teen angst in here"

This one got a cackle from someone on the Justice League side of things. Score. No one here really wants to laugh. They're all edgelords and Danny is suffering. He didn't really want to be here, but things in Amity had ended in a way he never expected.

Both he and his parents had been arrested.

Not by his worlds government, mind you, but by the government of another Earth. This Earth that he was currently on to be more accurate. Who knew that so much of the stuff he and his parents had been doing was super illegal and wouldn't ya know it? He was in the middle of doing something really sketchy looking in his parents lab when the feds busted in.

Thankfully, the Justice League presented him with a deal: they take him out of Juvie and the reformation program he was in, and in return, he joins a team of former teen/child villains and anti-heros.

Figuring he had nothing to lose at this point he agreed.

He was not expecting to be surrounded by angry angsty teens. His fault really. He should have known better. Thankfully it seems like nobody knows about Phantom and he'd like to keep it that way.

Psaro was his calm in the storm. The other boy was proud and almost as arrogant as Robin, but he had been proven to be very kind and reliable. If Danny ever needed advice or if Robin was getting a bit too much, he could just knock of Psaros door.

The last time Robin had a fit and was starting a fight with someone, Mr. Pointy ears stepped up and told Robin that his outburst was undignified, especially for someone of a higher class like Robin seems to be presenting himself as. He also said something about there being a big difference between a king and a tyrant, but Danny had been trying to rush Robin's victim to the medway and didn't hear all of the convo.

Psaro was some kind of half demon prince who was also from another world. He didn't have a superhero name yet, but the program was brand new, and to be fair, Danny didn't officially have one either.

Some lady called Raven was supposed to be coming in to help Psaro and convince him to embrace his human half and help him with magic and...something about a curse? What did Danny get himself into???

[kairoot]

TOUCH STARVED ────── 엔하이픈

ׂ ִ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗀𝖿 — 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝑓𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧，𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 — 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁，𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌，𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀，𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀．

ℒ𝑎𝑛𝑖 𝒮𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑠．── 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁－𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗒 🤷🏽‍♀️ 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽．．𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌，𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌，＆ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽！

⊹ HEESEUNG．．won’t be that surprised when he realizes that you’re always craving his touch. the way you lean into him more when his arms are wrapped around you. or when you hold onto him a little longer if he’s hugging you. he always has his hands on you in some type of way.

when you’re shopping around in the mall, his hands are always placed on your lower back or his chest touching your back when he’s peeking over your shoulder to see what you’re looking at.

he’s very observant so he knows whenever you want to be close to him.

“c’mere,” heeseung whispered, patting the spot beside him in your bed. you walked over to your side, sliding underneath the blanket to lay next to him.

he pulled you closer to him, hand immediately sliding underneath your shirt to rest against your waist. you felt your face heat up at the contact, wondering how he knew you wanted to be close to him.

your favorite film played on the tv as you and heeseung settled into bed for the evening. his hand moved under your shirt, caressing your skin softly.

you caught yourself throwing your leg across him, scooting in close enough to nearly suffocate him. you turned toward him, planting kisses all over his face.

he chuckled lightly, “ ‘m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.”

you ignored him, continuing to place your kisses everywhere until you reached his lips, pecking them softly.

⊹ JAY．．is very attentive and will notice right away. he always keeps his hand on you, especially when you’re in public. i don’t think he’s a super touchy person but he does hold your hand a lot and plants kisses on the back of it when he feels like it.

he also has a habit of resting his hand on your leg while he’s driving, which makes you blush every time.

or even when you’re cooking dinner instead of him and he’ll come behind you, resting his hands on your hips and pull you close.

“smells good,” he said, burying his face in your neck.

“i’m making your favorite.” you smiled softly, continuing to stir in ingredients for the meal.

“ ‘m talking about you.” he said, inhaling slowly, taking in your scent. you blushed faintly, leaning into his chest as you continued to cook supper.

he placed a small kiss on the side of your neck, hugging you tighter when he noticed you shuffling closer to him. you felt your heart skip a beat when his hands tightened on your waist, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

“don’t burn the food or we might have to skip dinner,” he whispered playfully, placing another kiss right below your ear.

⊹ JAKE．．is already a touchy person, in my opinion. but when he sees your touch-starved nature, he thinks it’s adorable. now you both can’t keep your hands to yourself and he loves that you have the same love language as him.

he’s definitely touching you 24/7. when you’re sleeping, his arm is thrown across you. when you’re brushing your teeth together, his hands is resting on your side. or if you’re reading and he’s on his phone, he’s probably resting his hand on your lower back, rubbing circles there.

and you always end up in his lap, no matter what you’re doing. whenever you’re sitting on top of him, he feels like he doesn’t know where to put his hands. he just loves having you close to him. but he knows you like it just as much as he does which is why he likes to tease you about it.

“couldn’t stay away from me, huh?” he murmurs so only you could hear him in the quiet room. jake had invited his friends over for a movie night but you didn’t care about them being in the same room. you just wanted to be close to him.

you roll your eyes, causing him to chuckle softly as he planted soft kisses along your shoulder, one of his hands coming to run up and down your back.

“i’m just messin’ with you, baby. i love having you near me, you know that.” he whispered a little too close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

⊹ SUNGHOON．．is not a huge fan of pda, but when you’re in private, he can’t resist you. how you grab his hand and put it back on your waist when he walks away from a hug. or when you pull him in closer for another kiss.

there’s some teasing touches here and there cause he likes to mess with you.

but when you’re out in public, he’s much more reserved. his hand will hold yours, fingers intertwining in a quiet, protective gesture, but that’s about the extent of it. he likes to be close to you, but he respects the boundaries of the world around you both. he’ll often stand behind you, his presence a constant shield that lets you feel safe and loved without needing to flaunt it.

that doesn’t mean he minds the way you touch him, though. if anything, it’s the little moments of affection that he adores. the way you play with the hem of his shirt when you’re sitting close, or how your hand often finds its way to his leg when you’re watching a movie. and the kisses—you give them often, like it’s your way of showing him just how much you care. he absolutely doesn’t mind. in fact, he looks forward to them, counting on them as a form of comfort in his day.

“how was your day today?” he asks softly, his fingers stroking your hair, the rhythm slow and soothing as you cuddle against him. you shift closer to him, a smile tugging at your lips as you enjoy the warmth of his embrace.

“it was pretty good. especially since i got to come home to you,” you murmur, your voice light with affection.

he hums in contentment, his hand now rubbing your arm, the motion almost protective, like he’s holding onto you even when he’s not touching you. the space between you closes as he shifts, giving you more room to nestle against him, and you do, fitting perfectly against his side.

“best part of my day, too,” he admits, his voice thick with quiet emotion. he sighs, content, his hand finding its place on your back, fingers tracing the outline of your spine. with you this close, he feels a sense of peace he can’t quite explain, but he doesn’t need to. you’re here, and that’s all that matters to him.

⊹ SUNOO．．would be incredibly affectionate with you but he’s also another teasing one. he gets excited when you lean into him, wanting him to pull you in or caress you in some type of way.

when you’re alone, he’s all over you, giving you the kisses you want. he also finds subtle ways to touch you— his hand brushing against yours under the table, fingers tracing over your skin when he’s close. or leaning in a little too close when you’re talking, his breath grazing your ear just to see the way you react.

he might wrap his arms wrap his arms around your waist suddenly or press kisses to your collarbone, lips lingering just a moment longer than expected to make your heart race.

his playful side would come out when he sees your reactions— maybe a little blush or the way you shiver when his fingers graze your skin.

he also loves giving you the biggest hugs when you’re like this, not letting you go until you’ve completely melted into him.

“babe, you can let go of me now..” you mumbled into his chest, your arms still wrapped around him since he wouldn’t let go of you.

“don’t you wanna stay like this for a little longer, baby?” he asked, stroking your hair gently.

⊹ JUNGWON．．would be a bit reserved at first but once he sees how much you want to be closer to him, he opens his arms— literally.

when you’re alone, he’s likely to be very affectionate in small but meaningful ways. he’d start by holding your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours whenever you’re close. his touch would be calm, steady, like he’s checking in with you, making sure you’re okay with the closeness.

he might rest his hand on your shoulder or gently pull you into a hug, the embrace lingering as if he never wants to let go. his kisses would be soft but frequent, always searching for new ways to show you that he’s there for you, whether it’s a gentle kiss on your forehead or one that lingers for a moment

jungwon would also be playful with his touch, especially once he noticed how much you crave it. he might give your arm a light squeeze when he’s teasing you or playfully nudge you, his fingers brushing against your skin as he does.

his teasing would have a softness to it, never overbearing, always with a hint of affection. he’d enjoy seeing the way you react to his touches—the way your body relaxes when he’s close or how you melt when he presses a kiss to your cheek.

⊹ NI-KI．．would be a little shy at first (but would never admit that). he wouldn’t really know how to react other than being flustered. then it turned into something he teased you about. but he also realized that he loves being in close contact with you.

when you're alone, ni-ki would likely be all over you, wanting to make up for the affection he feels you're missing. his touches would be possessive in the sweetest way, like he just can't help but want to pull you closer. his hands would always be on you— grabbing your waist, holding your hand, resting on the small of your back, or playfully brushing his fingers over your skin.

his kisses would be deep and slow, lingering a little longer each time, as though he never wants to let you go. he might even tease you with kisses, pulling away just when you need them the most, only to lean back in, smirking when he catches the longing in your eyes.

he likes placing small butterfly kisses all over your face, making you whine about how you wanted a real kiss.

he definitely hugs you from the back a lot, only cause he likes the height difference and he loves hugging you. or when you’re studying, he’ll have his hand resting on your knee, rubbing gently as you work.

when you cuddle him, he pulls you on top of him sometimes, knowing that you love being super close to him.

“comfortable?” he’d mumble into your neck, playfully nipping at your skin, his hands resting on your waist.

you nodded, snuggling into him further, not planning on moving for a while.

★ ★ ★

💌 : might delete ts cause im half asleep lolololol (it’s almost 5am)

( ✉️ ) — 𝓣𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @elysianiki @mmygnolia @nshmuras @who-tf-soddhi — send an ask to join

( 📺 ) — 𝓝𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤: @k-films @en-diaries

[chleem]

Is it casual now?/extra II

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: “Baby, no attachments.” yet, you’re at his childhood home, laughing with his parents, bonding with his siblings. 

Genre: situation-ship, smut, fluff, angst,

Warnings: swearing, sex, light read, etc

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

⋆.˚ official one shot, extra I

♡⸝⸝ "fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Where you going?”

You ask, as Drew stands up. The warmth of his hands caressing your thighs is gone, now running through his hair. “Bathroom,” he mumbles, barely meeting your eyes. He walks off, without another glance back at the table. 

His sour mood is evident, by not only you, but all of your friends. 

To be fair, he didn’t even want to come tonight. He pleaded desperately for you to stay in with him, offering things to you that was ridiculous. Such as, doing your laundry for a month (he doesn’t even do his own). 

But you haven’t hung out with all your friends in a long time, and you missed them. So, tonight was non-negotiable with Drew. 

And he gave up with trying to reason with you, hence, why he decided to join you here, at the nice restaurant. He didn’t even make an effort to engage nicely with them, chuckling under his breath at random times and answering questions with short answers. Whenever you were talking, he would purposely distract you by touching you under the table, making it awkward for you and your friends. 

Drew knows your friends don’t like him; that’s why he’s sour. That’s also why he shows up to these hangouts, just to rub it in their faces. 

“Why did you invite him?” Lucy groans, after Drew was out of eye sight. Your five other friends of this group nod too, all letting out groans of frustration. “Hello, earth to y/n, we. Don’t. Like. Him.”

“He insisted on joining,” you shrug, forcing a smile. 

“Um, you could’ve insisted on him not joining,” Janet, another friend adds on. 

Your friend group was filled with weird people with different opinions, but one thing they’ve collectively agreed on was: they hate Drew. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but that was the only way to describe their feelings towards Drew. 

They’ve expressed it a lot of times, so it’s become numb to you. 

“Are you guys finally together though?” Gary asks, sitting beside you. 

Oh. Every time they see you, they ask this question. 

“Of course not,” Lucy answers for you, sending you a cocky grin. One you always disliked, because it made you feel small. “Classmates, huh?”

“A really bad label,” Stacy adds on. Yeah, as if you didn’t already know. 

Great. Now it’s just your whole friend group judging you for being with Drew. Again. The last thing you needed from them.

“I visited his parents,” you aggressively say, stabbing into your food. Hopefully that will convince them Drew is a better person that what they think, right?

Wrong. They all ‘tsk’ in a disappointed manner, shaking their heads. “And…still classmates?”

“Well, he said I was his best friend,” you stuff the food in your mouth, “To his family.”

“He probably had to,” Josh speaks up this time, “and wow, is that the first time he called you his friend?” 

You don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice, and you send him a glare. He raises his hands in defense, the table laughs. 

You don’t find the humor in this situation. Why were they so judgmental towards the relationship with Drew? It’s not like he’s the biggest jackass ever. You’ve seen every side there is to Drew, they just don’t know him like you do. “Can you guys cut it off?” You say, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. 

“We’re just joking,” Janet laughs, glancing around, “besides, we’re worried for you.”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, sending her an unappreciative smile, “‘worried’ for me?”

“Yes, he’s obviously not… well, in love with you,” Janet continues, “we don’t want you with someone who clearly doesn’t care for you.”

“He cares for me,” you defend, furrowing your eyebrows at them. You look around the table, seeing your friends glance down at their food, afraid to meet your eyes. “He cares for me.”

“Sure he does,” Stacy bitterly agrees with you. That tone pisses you off. “Maybe privately, he does, but what about in public? Starting off with the most basic, labels.”

You hate how right your friends are. As rude and mean they’re being, deep down, you know they’re right. The ‘no attachments’ thing is bullshit, especially when nothing about the two of you is casual. 

Five, no close to six months, nothing about that is causal. 

“That…doesn’t matter,” you murmur. Wrong; it mattered a lot, to everyone and to you. You just hated to admit you weren’t as chill or casual as Drew was, how he made everything romantic seem friendly with you. 

When you look around, everyone is now staring at you pitifully. 

You didn’t like that. That pity stare. There’s nothing to be pity of. Bunch of people around the world right now might be having situation-ships too. Nothing to pity. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Yeah. That’s what you keep brainwashing yourself to believe. 

‘The girl that he bangs on his couch’. Yeah. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Your phone on the table lights up, and it reads bathroom. now. 

Drew. “Um, excuse me,” you stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom. 

As you slowly get up and walk away, your friends weren’t very careful with the volume of their voice. You hear one of them calling you a loser, still hanging around just for a good dick to suck. 

That must be Janet. Her lonely ass must be jealous. 

But part of you knew she wasn’t wrong. You were a loser. The biggest loser to exist. The loser of losers, if that even is a thing. 

Casual. Your friends succeeded once again, in making you doubt everything with Drew. 

——

“Really boring, right?”

Drew pulls you in by the waist, a lazy smile on his lips as he stares down at you. He leans against the sink, making you stand between his legs. 

This restaurant had two bathrooms, each with their own sink inside. So, Drew took full advantage of that. 

“Hmm,” you hum carelessly. You didn’t want agree with him; you tried to make this evening nice, but his attitude towards your friends just weren’t helping. You keep your gaze around the collar of his jacket, not wanting to meet his eyes. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, playfulness still hinted in his words. His hand rub circles around your waist, as he tries to make eye contact with you, bending his head down to your level. 

You advert your gaze even more, now focusing on the bracelet around his wrist. Now that you think about it, he always has this on, since the day you got it for him. 

Was that casual to do? To keep the bracelet on at all times. 

“Look at me, would you?” Drew’s tone turns serious, and he pinches the side of your waist harshly.

You flinch, finally looking up at him. You meet his blue eyes, a mix of concern and something else that you can’t read. His raised eyebrows tell you that he wants you to talk, to tell him what’s on your mind. 

Should you? But, where do you even start? With his attitude tonight, or with your friend’s comments? Or with this whole casual thing, which is basically the beginning to it all.

Your lips pout on its own, resting your hands around his wrist. “That was uncalled for,” you murmur, looking down at his bracelet again. 

“What was?” Drew’s pinch one your waist is more soft this time, wanting to get the words out of you. 

“Doing that,” you say, playing with his chained bracelet. Shit. You’re gonna say it. You’re gonna call him out for his behavior. “Being rude to my friends.”

A scoff escapes Drew. He then brings his hand up to your face, forcing you to look up at him. Like second nature, you lean your face into the palm of his hand, waiting for him to explain himself. “Babe, your friends were the rude ones.”

The feeling inside your stomach is indescribable. The nickname sends you butterflies, but the words that follow don't. 

“How?” You ask, crossing your arms.  

He licks his lips, squinting his eyes at you. “It was so fucking obvious.”

“Was it?” 

“Yes- yes, it was,” Drew straightens his posture, taking his hands off you. The warmth of him is gone, now with the presence of a man trying to explain his reasonable case of being bratty. “They asked loaded questions to me this whole night.”

You furrow your eyebrows, thinking hard to the stuff they asked Drew. Shit. They were. Your friends didn’t even trying to hide their discontent with him tonight. 

“They hate me,” he adds on, “C’mon, I leave the table for like, a few minutes, and they talked shit, right?”

The way he looks at you; he challenges you to disagree with him. But you couldn’t; he was right. Your friends hate him, making you constantly doubt whatever this was with Drew. 

“Wasn’t all shit,” you lie, sending him the smallest smile ever. 

Drew makes the ‘tsk’ sound, shaking his head as he gives you a tired smile. “What they say then?” He asks, leaning back against the sink again. 

His eyes look at you in anticipation, biting down on his lips. 

You do not want to tell him what they said. It was rude, and although it was about Drew, it affected you more than it should have. The seeds of doubt are always planted by your friends, they never put you at ease with this relationship. 

You give him a lazy smile, snaking your arms around his neck. You lean in close to him, a seductive look in your eyes. “Does it matter? They talk shit, all they ever do.”

Drew’s lips slightly part, and he glances quickly down at your lips. A smile appears, “I see what you’re doing. You’re distracting me.”

You shrug lightly, before planting a small kiss on his jaw. “Is it working?”

You hear a chuckle escape from him, and his hand wraps around the back of your head. His eyes keep bouncing between your lips and eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear, “annoyingly so, you minx.”

Without another comment, Drew kisses you, soft and slow. 

You return the kiss, escalating into a whole make-out session. 

You hate how your body reacts to him; feeling a pool of wetness form between your legs. Fuck. 

Something pokes against your lower stomach, and you pull away from Drew. You glance down; he’s erected. “Shit,” you curse, as his hands slide down your body. He squeezes your ass, burying his face into your neck as he breathes the skin there. 

“I…I can’t go back to the table like this,” he murmurs, referring to his erection. 

You watch as his back rises and falls, through the sink mirror. Even with this thick white jacket he has on, you can tell his breathing has sped up. Your lips form a straight line, running your hands through his short hair. 

In the bathroom? Right in the middle of dinner? It was highly inappropriate. 

Wrapping your hands around his face, you pull him up to meet his eyes. He looks at you pleadingly, lips parted with drool on the corner of his lips. 

Fuck. How is one suppose to say no to that look? He looked as if he physically needed you; needed you to calm the… ‘growing’ in his pants. 

“Ten minutes,” you tell him, which immediately lights the spark in his eyes. He looks like a puppy! You smile at that thought, as he straightens himself, switching your positions. 

“Ten minutes? Enough for two rounds,” he teases, lifting you to sit on the sink. 

“No! One round,” you say, which gets cut off by Drew kissing you again. As much fun as two rounds sound, the longer you linger in here, the more obvious it is that the two of you are fucking. 

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs to stand between them. His hands move fast into your dress, slipping your underwear off. The cold surface of the sink hits your thighs and pussy, adding to the heat growing within you. 

Drew trails his kisses down your neck, as your hands work on undoing his belt. 

You moan when he sucks on the sweet-spot around your neck, the belt dropping onto the floor with a hard thud. “Drew…” you moan out, messy hands tugging his hair as he continues to form hickeys around your neck. 

You want to run your hands around his stomach, chest, abs. But the jacket he has on prevents that, being zipped up the whole way. This jacket looked great on him, but would look better on the floor. 

Your hands fidget with the zipper, tugging with no luck of it moving. 

Drew pulls away from your neck, a chuckle escaping, “babe, gently.”

His hands overlaps yours, guiding you to pull the jacket zipper down. It reveals that he isn’t wearing anything inside; a feast to your eyes. “Is that why you refused to take this off?” You ask, referring to before the dinner started.

“I was invited last minute,” he shrugs the jacket off, as if it wasn’t his fault for the improvised outfit. 

“Right, but you weren’t invited,” you remind him, when he insisted on joining you when you were leaving, throwing on a random outfit nearby. You were busy putting your heels on, so you couldn’t see the moment when he got dressed. You didn’t even know he owned a jacket like this. 

“Mmhm,” his mind was elsewhere, attaching his lips to yours again. Sloppy and more lustful this time, as your hands wander around his body. It’s hot under your touch; his abs flexing as you run your hands over them. 

His hand grips onto your thigh, before moving closer to your heat. 

When the warmth of his fingers hit your pussy, you moan loudly into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, “we’re in public, babe.”

The tip of your ears heat up too, from the embarrassment and realization that you’re in public, most likely having people hear you from the other side of the door. “Sorry,” you murmur, burying your face into his neck. 

Drew sticks two fingers into your hole, and starts thrusting at a faster speed than usual. Your breathing becomes uneven, as you try to tone down your moans. 

Drew wasn’t having it easy either, as you hear low grunts escaping him. “Fuck,” he curses, adding another digit, “you’re tight tonight.”

“Just fuck me already,” you manage to say, hands gripping on his biceps. Surely, this was enough foreplay, right? 

He chuckles again, this time at your impatience. He pulls his fingers out of you, his hands going to the back pocket of his jeans. 

The familiar gold packaging comes out, and his hands skillfully rip them open. 

“…couldn’t put on a shirt but bought a condom with you?” Laughter escapes you, as you watch him unzip his pants. 

He glances up at you, and when he sees you smiling ear-to-ear, he can’t help but match you, “wasn’t gonna show up totally unprepared, right?”

You laugh again; what an unbelievable guy. “Shirt’s optional but condom a must. Got it.”

Drew lets his pants and boxers hang around his knees, his cock standing proud. The sight immediately wipes the smile off your lips, gulping as you imagine it stuffed inside you. 

“The chances of fucking you wherever and whenever is high,” Drew says, wrapping the condom around his dick. 

He looks up at you, seeing your gaze fixed on his hard cock. A smirk helps themselves to his lips, as his hands tug on your waist. An idea flashes in his mind as he looks over your shoulder, at the big sink mirror. 

“Get off,” his voice brings you back, looking at him with confused eyes now. “C’mon, trust me.”

You let him bring you back onto the ground, before flipping you over. You see both your reflections in the mirror, your back hitting his chest, his dick poking your upper ass. 

When you meet his eyes through the mirror, you understand where this was going. 

“Watch yourself while I destroy your fucking pussy, hmm?”

Oh. Oh. Was it possible to be turned on by words? 

Drew lifts up your dress, revealing your wet core. You hold onto the sink for support, grip getting tighter when you feel Drew’s tip against your entrance. 

Then, he slips in, going deep until it’s completely nestled inside you. 

“Fuck,” you moan, glancing up at Drew. He sends you a smirk, enjoying this too. His hand goes to your stomach, and he lifts you backward, resting against his chest again. 

“Grip my hair, and keep your eyes open, alright?” His voice drops low, one hand moving to knead your breasts. 

You nod, bringing your hands behind you; one tugging gently around his hair, another around his arm that’s supporting you. 

He starts to thrust into you, rather roughly and fast. “Shit,” you moan, the sensation sending you to outer space. With his thick cock slamming into you, his hands roaming your body, your hands running through his short hair, it feels euphoric. 

Your eyes can barely stay open, as you look at the reflection in the mirror. Drew leaves a trail of sloppy kisses along your shoulder, which sends goosebumps to your skin. 

You watch as one of his hand slips between your thighs, starting to massage your pussy. “Fuck,” you moan, louder than you should be. You couldn’t help it, the pleasure was extraordinary. 

He kisses your earlobe, “i’know baby, but keep it down, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” it barely comes out, as the thrusts and massages to your core intensifies. The familiar knot in your stomach forms, informing you that you’re close. “Drew…”

His pace doesn’t stop, and when you lean your head back on his shoulder, he goes harder, “close?”

You nod with any energy left, and Drew uses his free hand to lift your face up again. He kisses your cheek, “use your words.”

You flutter your eyes open, looking at the two of you in the mirror. It was extremely hot, to see Drew filling you up, his hands all around you. The mirror starts to fog up a little, with all the grunting and pressure filling in here. 

“I’m coming,” you force out, and meet Drew’s gaze in the mirror. His blue eyes meet yours, seething with lust. 

You clench around him, your hand going around Drew’s, which is massaging your pussy. He stops massaging, and he intertwines your hands together. The stickiness doesn’t bother you; why should it?

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts to your g-spot growing sloppy. 

You tilt your head sideways, and you give him a quick kiss, which sends you over the edge. Your orgasm explodes inside of you, cum dripping out and over Drew’s cock. 

Body giving up, you lean completely against Drew, as he helps himself to his. His cock twitches, and you feel the familiar hot liquid filling up. 

Both of you are breathing heavily, euphoria radiating off your bodies. Fuck. This might just be one of the best fucks you’ve had with Drew. But in a public restroom? Who would’ve thought. 

“You’re so hot,” he compliments, before planting a small kiss on the side of your face. 

You giggle at that stupid comment, looking at him through the mirror; He’s got a playful smile on his lips, looking at you with smitten eyes. “You’re great with your words.”

He chuckles, his hands tapping against the side of your waist, signaling you to move. You use the energy left inside of you, helping him slip out. Leaning against the sink, you watch as Drew grabs tissues to wipe your core, then throwing his condom away. 

After that, he grabs your underwear on the floor. You get yourself dressed, him doing the same thing. 

“Look, only…only seven minutes passed,” Drew comments with a sly smile on his lips, showing you his watch. 

You roll your eyes, your lips betraying you by forming a smile. “Cocky much?” 

He puts his jacket back on, the last piece of clothing. “Well, you've definitely enjoyed the taste of it.”

You hit his chest playfully, his remark sending butterflies to your stomach. He laughs, zipping his jacket only halfway. Your eyebrows furrow at his exposed chest that pierces through the top; and you reach for the zipper. 

Drew stays in place, and you feel his gaze on the top of your head, his hot breath hitting you. You ignore the tension that pulls; when you’re done, you pat his chest, “all done, buddy.”

“‘Buddy’?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, eyes squinting down at you. 

You send him a soft smile, seeing him glance down at your lips. “What?”

“Call me buddy one more time,” his hands wrap around your waist, and he leans closer to you, “and you’ll get it.”

His dirty and challenging tone sends shivers down your spine, something you find yourself liking a bit too much. The pit of your stomach yells at you at how hypocritical Drew was being right now, but you ignore it. 

And just because it’s fun, you lean into his ear, and whisper, “best buddy ever.”

Tickles are sent to the side of your body, making you jump and melt into his arms. You laugh uncontrollably; Drew knew you were ticklish, using it to his full advantage. 

“Stop! Stop!” You yell between laughter, your legs ready to give up. 

“Don’t call me that then,” he stops tickling you, grip on you tight to make sure you don’t fall. He kisses the tears of laughter from the corner of your eyes, “I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You glance down at his lips, and he does the same to yours. 

Drew gives you the look; he wants to kiss you. 

And you let him, closing your eyes and feeling his lips against yours. 

Is it still casual if you kissed me like it’s the last time you ever will? You hate how this thought appears in your mind again, haunting you. 

You pull away, the pressure of it getting overwhelming. “Let’s head back, yeah?”

“We have to?” His eyes stay glued to your lips. “You know, We could…we could just leave.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “no!”

“Say you got plans tomorrow morning,” he shrugs, “I’ll say it for you, if you can’t-”

You cross your arms, looking up at him. “Why would I leave early?”

Drew parts his lips, and he brings his hand up to your elbow. He rubs the area there in soft circles, a playful look in his eyes, “…grab some froyo?”

You drop your arms, looking at him disappointedly. When he saw that, he hurriedly adds, “and I got errands to run. Really.”

You contemplate in your mind about this; ditching this dinner to hang out privately with Drew? Yeah, that sounded like something fun. It must be better than staying awkwardly, having your friends judge Drew. 

Casual. Casual, casual, casual. Some casual froyo with Drew, and maybe ending up with sex in his dorm room. 

Yeah. Seemed like things people whose ‘casual’ would do. 

“Fine. You’re treating me though,” you unlock the door, walking out the bathroom. 

“I always treat you,” you hear him murmur behind you, following closely behind as you two walk back to the table. 

You interrupt the conversation they’re having, grabbing your purse from your seat. They look at your questionably, before their gaze lands sourly on Drew behind you. “i’ve got something, tomorrow morning, so we’re heading off,” you try sounding apologetic, “sorry to leave this early.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Lucy glances between the two of you, “text us when you get home.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize again, before your friends wave goodbye to you. You don’t miss the hateful looks they leave on Drew, as they tell you to take care until the next time you guys meet. 

After that, you and Drew leave the restaurant, letting the doorman do his job of getting a taxi. 

A warmth around your hand catches you by surprise; Drew holds your hand, pulling you closer to him. You look down at the holding of hands; then back up at him. He’s staring down at his phone, scrolling through his insta feed. 

Holding hands. Something very casual to do, apparently. 

“What are you watching?” You ask, leaning on his shoulder. 

He laughs, showing you the screen. It’s a video of a monkey pointing towards the glass, which has different play-doughs lined along it. 

You don’t get the humor in it, but you smile, because it makes Drew smile. 

The two of you stand there, watching different posts on his phone until the taxi arrives. 

Your mind finds it strange how ‘casual’ you two are. 

Because, in the bottom of your heart, you weren’t so sure if this was casual anymore. Along the way, the lines of ‘no attachment’ seemed to have blurred. Blurred to the point of no return. 

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

word count: 4.1k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: goddamn, i would fall for this toxic relationship too T_T

sry for not posting lately, i got very busy lately! i promise you, flashing lights 6 & not a big deal pt4 is coming sooooon. but hope you enjoyed this extra, and also, thx for blowing up the halloween special, was NOT expecting that. thank you sm! your lovely comments inspire me to write these fics!

btw, watched obx s4, and the ending broke me T_T like tffff

[ashasdiary]

Bodyguard

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader Synopsis: Geto finds out you’re being harassed at work. CW: harassment, established relationship, protective!geto, angry!geto, Geto beats him up, a little angst, fluff, brief suggestiveness WC: 1.9k A/N: no one look at me I’m trying to cope 😵‍💫

It started very innocently. Just small chats here and there, in the work kitchen, passing by through the hallways, in the elevators. Then the chats became a bit longer. You initially thought your coworker Daniel was just being attentive, asking about you, showing genuine interest in what you had to say. To be sometimes expected from a work colleague. 

But you realised his intentions early on. So you made it a point each time he asked your plans to mention your boyfriend, Geto, just to make sure he was aware that you were not interested. 

That didn’t stop him. 

Every time he passed by your desk, he’d pat your shoulder and mouth a small ‘hi’. Initially, it wasn’t concerning, because it was minor, just him saying hi in greeting. But the more time passed, the longer his touches on your shoulder, and the more agitated you got. 

He’d join you, uninvited, while you had your lunch. Offering him a polite smile, you wouldn’t say anything as he’d sit near to you in the work kitchen. 

“Whatcha got?” He asked once. 

“Just a sandwich,” you reply, mouth full, not caring about manners in that moment. Because he had eyes. Why ask stupid questions? 

“Oh, nice. Healthy,” he nods, opening up his food container, “You always have healthy stuff.”

You blink a few times, thinking what the hell, keeping tabs on my lunch? He begins to eat and you hum, kind of dismissively, “Yeah.”

You continue to eat your sandwich in silence, looking at your phone, hoping he’ll leave you in peace. Ha! Why would he? 

“What did you get up to on the weekend?” He asks and you glance up at him, giving a tight lipped smile. 

“Had a day out with my boyfriend, we did a hike and then saw a new movie…not much else,” you say. 

“Ah, hikes are great. I hope it was a good movie. It’s nice having a companion, but I’m so particular about who I keep around…it’s why I can’t find anyone decent,” he responds, and you chew on your lip, feeling a bit unnerved by the trajectory of the conversation. 

His phone rings then, and you thank the stars for the interruption. You stand up then as he takes it and you say something about your lunch break finishing before you dash out of there. 

Geto had noticed you’d been a bit down recently, but he didn’t want to push you to talk about it because he knew that there wasn’t always a reason for being down. Moods fluctuate, something he could personally understand completely. Instead, he ups his affection to you, making sure you feel loved, and seen, and safe. Which you always do. 

That week, it continued. 

Fucking hell, was he persistent. More touches; the shoulder taps had become shoulder squeezes. More questions. More attention.

At the very least you were thankful you weren’t working in the same team or even in the same department. But still, it was starting to affect you. You’d feel anxious as it approached the time that he’d come into work. You’d feel anxious when you heard his footsteps. 

Your coworker who sat beside you noticed it too. “He’s so weird…what’s his problem?” She comments, then her voice softens when she looks at you being tense, “hey…you okay?”

“Not really…” you whisper to her, voice wavering. 

She looks concerned, “Tell HR. I’ve seen what he’s been doing, every day, it’s creepy.”

“But I don’t want to cause trouble,” you find yourself saying, and you trail off as you hear yourself. It sounds ridiculous and you know it. 

Your colleague says your name, “Come on. It’s not. Do not sacrifice your comfort. Go tell them…or do you want me to?” She asks. 

Deliberating for a moment, you then shake your head and inhale deeply, “I will.”

After having a conversation with HR, it all happens very fast. Within 3 hours, Daniel is being escorted out of the building having been fired. 

You feel sick to your stomach, because you hadn’t wanted to cause such a drastic consequence. But as the day goes on, you are reassured that it was a completely justified decision. 

It’s when you’re on the way home that you get a text from an unknown number, angrily asking what he’d done to deserve that and that you should watch your back. 

When you go home to Geto that day, you walk through the door and burst into tears, all of your built up emotions being let out. He’s quick to envelope you in his arms tightly and hold you against the warmth of his chest. 

“Hey, sweetheart…shh…I’ve got you, it’s okay…come sit down,” he says to you, in a soft, hushed voice as he guides you to the couch. You sit on his lap, face buried in his neck as you sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“Tell me what’s going on, honey,” he prompts, rubbing your back in soothing circles, “talk to me.”

So you tell him everything. Every instance, every encounter, every inappropriate conversation. And then the text. You notice that as you’d been explaining, he’d stiffened, his gaze had turned ice cold. 

He utters your name, gently pushing your hair behind your ear as you look at him, “You should have told me the minute this began…” he sighs softly, “Maybe take some time off work. And if you don’t want to do that, I’m going to take you to and from there. Okay? Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.” 

The conviction in his tone is a safety blanket to you and you bury yourself against him, whispering a thank you and an I love you. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. You’re safe, always,” he kisses your hair and holds you for the rest of the evening. 

You’d debated taking time off, but you knew that would only postpone your fear. So you go to work as usual, but with the safety of Geto’s company. 

He had suggested driving you to and from, but you knew the traffic in the city was awful which would be quite long. So he commutes with you. Four trips he makes each day, just to ensure that you are safe. 

His presence alone was enough but knowing that he’d never let anything happen to you, that he was there only to protect you, makes you feel very much at ease. 

You’re pressed up against each other on the train a couple of weeks later and he grins at you, snaking his arm around your waist. “Up close and personal, huh,” you murmur to him. 

“Not close enough,” he teases you with a wink and you flick his chin with a laugh. 

“Sugu, you might as well just come and work at the same company with all these trips you’re making,” you say as you walk hand in hand from the station to your work building. 

He chuckles, “While that would be fun, working in the same place as you, I think that they might end up firing me too for inappropriate touching,” he jokes and you laugh at this. 

He smiles to himself at the sound of your laugh, happy to see that you’re not feeling so anxious or sensitive anymore and can laugh at jokes about it.

“You’d always want to get me alone,” you tease.

“Oh, yeah. Every chance I get,” he squeezes your hand as you approach the building. 

You head inside together and you let go of his hand, readying your keycard to swipe through the security gate several meters away, and you’re about to bid each other goodbye when you stop in your tracks. Geto looks to you in question and he follows your gaze to where Daniel is stood outside the security gate, waiting. 

He didn’t know what Daniel looked like of course, but he is quick to put two and two together. At the same time, Daniel sees you. You tremble slightly as you see the look on his face as he storms over, somehow not making note of the giant 6’3 man stood beside you. 

Geto quickly approaches, and he grabs Daniel by the collar, lifting him easily off the floor. “You have some nerve coming here again…I ought to teach you a fucking lesson,” Geto seethes. 

Daniel is completely taken aback, turning into a spluttering mess as he grabs onto Geto’s arm that was holding him up, “I— I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know you! Put me down!”

Geto’s brows furrowed deeply, his blood boiling, “You sly piece of shit, you deserve what’s coming,” Geto says through clenched teeth, and throws Daniel across the shiny floor. He slides a few yards before coming to a stop. He curls into a ball as Geto angrily approaches him, crouching down and pulling his head back by his hair. 

“You think this is funny? Showing up to your old workplace just to harass someone again?” Geto raises his voice. 

“N-no, I didn’t—” Daniel quivers, but Geto’s not hearing it. 

“Like hell you didn’t,” Geto bites back, then performs a jujutsu technique that has the man being catapulted against the wall so forcefully that it cracks.  

Daniel is knocked out cold. You cover your mouth in shock before you rush over to Geto’s side and hold onto his arm, “Sugu…”

At the same time, security guards rush over to both Geto and Daniel and police had been called as well. The security guard recognises you but says to Geto, “Sir, police have been called. We ask for your cooperation.”

“You don’t want me to leave the premises?” Geto asks coolly, swiping some sweat off his cheek with his thumb. 

“No, sir,” the security guard gestures for Geto to follow him and waits for him to do so. 

You look at Geto helplessly. “Sugu, I’m sorry—” you begin and he frowns. 

“Why’re you sorry? This isn’t your fault. I acted in your defence. He was clearly coming at you,” he says, his eyes searching yours, placing his hands on your arms and caressing them gently. You relax a little bit. He’s right, of course. 

“They can charge me but if any, it’s likely they’ll be dropped. There’s CCTV here, and the security guards,” he looks over to the security guard stood waiting beside you both and speaks directly to him, “were clearly negligent in carrying out their jobs to allow someone who’d been fired for harassment back into the building again.”

The guard swallows thickly. You try to hide your smile at how Geto’s handling this, it’s admirable to see. 

“There’s no problem for me, I’ll happily cooperate and give my statement to the police. The evidence is right there,” Geto says to you and nods his head to the CCTV cameras overhead. 

“Can I come with you?” You ask, and he outstretches his arm. 

“They’ll probably want a statement from you too. It’s best if you did,” he says and you both walk with the security guard to the side. 

Police arrive, take statements, and evidence of the CCTV. They determine there’s no charges. You head back home with Suguru and take the day off. 

He’d made your favourite meal for lunch, and as you’re curled up together on the couch eating and watching TV, you kiss his cheek. “It’s sweet having you as my bodyguard.”

“I like being it too,” he replies and glances over to you with a tender gaze, feeling content that he’s the one to protect you and keep you safe. 

“Does this mean we can do bodyguard role play in the bedroom?” You say and he coughs, almost choking on his food. 

You laugh quietly and pat his back as he says your name, “Now that, I didn’t expect.”

“Is that a yes?” You grin as he sips on his drink, eyeing you over the rim.

He sets his glass down and smirks, “It certainly is.”

Do not copy or translate my work. © ashasdiary, all rights reserved. Divider by cafekitsune

[hardlyinteresting]

love's never lost when perspective is earned

Jake Seresin x Reader

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.” Peter Pan, J.M Barrie

Peter by Taylor Swift S P E Y S I D E by Bon Iver Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov Smother by Daughter

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, Parentification of eldest siblings, bad first date experience, gets a little spicy towards the end (no smut), (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please)

This one shot was written for @arcane-vagabond Fairy Tale writing challenge with the inspiration of Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, and the use of the word Scintilla.

Word Count: 6.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

She remembers that summer wrapped in a golden glow. Back when hot, humid days were spent bathed in the sun’s vivid orange. Their fingers were sticky with jammy pie fillings, stolen from his mama’s kitchen. Cold water from the garden hose always tasted better after a day of chasing themselves around the properties. 

What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jake had asked her as they lay in the grass behind his house. 

“I haven't decided yet,” she told him matter of factly, “But, I’m gonna have a nice house, and I’m going to go far away from here”. 

“I'm gonna be a pilot,” Jake said, “And I’ll fly wherever I want”.

She knew he was entirely serious, even as a little boy he’d never failed to accomplish what he put his mind to. The gentle waiver is his voice as his statement teetered around the edges of his true feelings and fears. “I wish I could fly away,” She told him, watching the clouds shift across the bright blue sky above them. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you with me,” Jake promised. And back then, a promise had felt like enough. 

They were seven; her shins were always bruised from climbing trees and tackling the Seresin boy during their daily football scrambles; his cheeks were always sunburnt, and he lied every time his mother asked if he had put sunscreen on. In many ways, she thinks those two months running after Jake Seresin had been both the peak and the plateau of her childhood wonder. 

September meant returning to school; finishing supper and homework before being allowed out to play, and with the autumnal turn crept in early sunsets and earlier curfews. In November, her stepdad moved in, and her mother told her to expect a little brother in the spring. The days of scraped knees and make-believe slipped away before the winter frost set in. 

When he thinks about her now, he pictures her laughing like she did when they were ten years old. He misses the days when she had the freedom to forget herself. 

At ten years old Jake Seresin couldn’t understand why his friend wasn’t as fun as she used to be. He watched from his kitchen window as she sat on the front porch with her little brother, settling next to her and feeding him from tiny jars of baby food. At a distance, it'd be easy to mistake her for any other girl playing make-believe with one of her dolls. But Jackson wasn't a doll, he was fussy and gassy, and he needed to be fed and put down for his naps before she had a moment of spare time to spend with her pal Jake. 

Her little brother had been followed by a new baby girl two years later. Tire marks on the dirt driveway highlighted where her stepfather’s truck should have been most days. Jackson had finally gone down for a nap but Olivia had been teething and her wailing could be heard from a mile away. 

“What do you want to do today?” Jake asked her as he made his way up her porch steps to sit next to her on the stoop. “I want to fly away,” she told him. 

Without a second thought, he grabbed her hand as he took off running, down the stairs, across the lawn and into the field behind the house. The long grass tickled at their ribs as they ran as fast as possible, their arms outstretched on either side of them. 

Circling, and jumping, hooting and hollering they made their way across the flat land with boisterous laughter bubbling from their lips. By the time they stumbled to a stop at the fence line their breath came to them in quiet gasps, their cheeks warmed by the exertion of their activity. 

The sound of his pulse fell in time with her carefree giggles as she twirled around mimicking some kind of bird. Had it not been for the physical boundary of the wire fence he thinks they could have kept running forever, the promise of freedom they didn’t yet understand beneath their wings. In that moment he knew he’d chase that feeling for the rest of his life. 

At sixteen she felt more like a substitute parent than she did a teenage girl. Her mind and her soul had aged beyond her years and stayed wrapped in a youthful vessel. School had become an escape from the responsibility she felt at home. While Olivia and Jackson clambered onto the school bus excited for first and second grade, she climbed into the passenger seat of Jake Seresin’s restored F-150. Each morning he'd pass her a wrapped sandwich made in his kitchen with his mother's fresh-baked bread. A replacement for the meal he knew she sacrificed to divide the last of the breakfast cereal between her siblings. He filled her with servings of farm butter and homemade jam, or ham and cheese. Their silent dialogue in brushing their knuckles during the exchange, as he always chose to ignore how she saved half for her lunch later in the day. 

Pulling into the parking lot at school she had been keenly aware of the way the other girls looked at her as she walked hand in hand with Jake; the glares shot her way when he kissed her cheek as they parted ways to head to their classes.

Their jealousy rolled off them in waves, and she heard how they spoke about her in the locker room after gym class. Whispers about his gorgeous green eyes and boyish charm. What could the hottest guy in school possibly want from the strange girl in her secondhand clothes and studious persona? Surely he'd have more fun with a girl who wanted to party. 

It was true. In the span of one summer, he'd grown 6 inches, towering over her now. His shoulders broadened. The lanky awkward limbed boy she'd known in her childhood grew stronger and more defined as he learned better how to pull his weight on his family’s farm. His masculine stature and maturity softened only by his flushed cheeks, and childlike grin. 

And yes, he snuck beers from his father’s garage fridge and did handstands for ovations at parties hosted by the school football team. An absolute joy to be around. To know Jake Seresin was to love Jake Seresin, but didn't know him the way she did.

 They didn't know he was terrified of thunderstorms until he was 12. They weren't there when he split his pants open trying to climb over a fence when they were 9. They had never had the privilege of listening to him read aloud from all his books about aircraft; his 11-year-old fingers tracing the letters as he sounded out the big words, the fear of being held back in 5th grade hanging over his head. 

They had never held him as he tore into himself. The golden boy, raised in the shadow of an older brother who hadn’t lived long enough for him to remember; so deeply loved, but not enough to fill the ache in his parent’s hearts. 

No one in those school halls would ever be able to tell the difference between his happiest days, and the smirk he plastered on always aiming to be better than what he believed himself to be. 

He was so stubborn and far more clever than he ever let himself sound; she scolded him almost daily as he tried to shrug off his homework. “You'll need math and science if you ever want to fly a jet,” she would remind him, accepting the glass of sweet tea he offered her. Their textbooks and notes would lay spread across his kitchen table while Jackson and Olivia occupied themselves with blank paper and wax crayons, offering Jake scribbled drawings of airplanes, “wow! That's amazing, thank you,” he'd say every time. 

She hadn't asked Jake to worm his way into her soul, and yet even now she knows some part of her soul belongs deeply to him. Their games of tag had slowly become time spent talking about their parents and watching the clouds; their hands intertwined between them as they listened to each other's dreams and desires for the future. 

And on the nights when his life just didn’t seem to fit quite right, he’d tap on her window, willing her to join him in the bed of his truck a couple of miles from their homes; and she’d remind him who he was. The bright boy with a heart of gold, and a laugh that reminded her of everything good in the world. She’d rest her head on his chest, his fingertips tracing aimless shapes across her back, as she convinced him he was more than a collection of hand-me-down dreams. 

His eighteenth birthday crept up to him before passing in a blur of candlelight and buttercream icing. His mother cried in the kitchen when she excused herself to ‘take care of the dishes’. His father clapped him on the shoulder. Their two sets of hazel-green eyes met as the older man offered a nod.  The action itself did not speak to a relationship of closeness or specific affection, but still, it managed to convey a message of approval, apology, and love too difficult to speak. 

She had knocked on the door shortly after dinner had been cleared from the table, the remaining half of his birthday cake being ushered into the refrigerator under a cling wrap film. Shivering in the night air, her hands clutched a package of brown paper with a shiny blue ribbon, his name scribbled in her careful writing. Quickly, he’d pulled her into the house greeting her with a kiss as deeply passionate as she deserved. “Happy birthday,” she’d whispered, pressing the gift she’d brought into his hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he’d told her. “I wanted to,” she insisted. With steady hands, he unwrapped the box. His question was silent, but the shocked expression on his face must’ve conveyed enough for her to be able to answer him anyway. “It’s the one from the antique store,” she grinned, “Mister Abbot let me pay for it in instalments”. He tipped the brass nautical compass into the palm of his hand, staid in his evaluation of both the physical and emotional weight of the gift. “This is too much,” he spoke after a moment. 

Her eyes went wide, her smile dropping. “I love it,” he was immediate in his attempt at reassurance, “but, you’re saving for school. I don’t want you spending your money on me, darlin’”. He tried to pass the compass back to her, a woebegone ponderosity settling in his stomach at the very idea of rejecting any part of her. Insistent, yet patient, she curled her finger over his. The digits were so much smaller than his own, cracked and raw from washing dishes and cleaning tables at the local diner. The painful reminder of how hard she’d been working to climb her way out of her own life. “I want you to keep it. Selfishly,” she said, “I want you to always be able to find your way back to me”. How could he have argued with that? 

Politely, she’d popped into the kitchen to see his mama, accepting a Tupperware of cake slices to take home for the kids to enjoy. His father met them at the door as Jake shrugged on his denim jacket. “Where are you kids off to?” he asked out of curiosity more than any concern. “Just going for a drive,” Jake told him, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Don’t let him get you into any trouble, ya hear?” he warned her with a teasing grin, the humour evident in his voice. “Yes sir,” she had agreed easily, knowing Mr Seresin’s penchant for faux sternness in the moments between his genuine stoicism. Seemly satisfied to see her smile grow, he had turned to Jake with an immediate pivot back to his natural sternness, “You make sure you get her home at a reasonable time. It’s a school night”. Jake’s compliance echoed her own, with no room for jest, “Yes sir”. 

Parked in their usual spot, at the edge of a cleared field he wrapped layers of blankets around her shoulders, before settling down next to her. Their biggest dreams breathed between them and the night stars. “I love you,” he said. The statement was resolute, and immovable in its honesty. “I love you too, Jake,” she told him. Her words were spoken like a promise she desperately wanted to keep. 

“When we graduate, I'll drive us across the country,” he tells her, “I'll buy us a house. You can go to school and I'll fly”. 

“It’s a nice dream, baby,” she says. 

Their drive home is silent. 

She spent her nineteenth birthday sleeping in his childhood bedroom. He hadn't been home in months but the sheet still smelt like him. She scraped her knees climbing up the trellis to his window, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She’d laughed to herself examining the superficial wounds, enjoying the familiar bite of nostalgia. Memories of her childhood long since passed left tears at the corners of her eyes. Near manic laughter faded into a melancholy exhaustion. 

Her eyes focused on the small book collection Jake had managed over the years. They had all been perfectly aligned in their homes on his bookshelf; set in alphabetical order by author. His need for structure despite his free spirit had been amusing until it became mildly concerning. Routine, crafted to satisfy the need to stay completely distracted from an overwhelm of feelings he had always been sure he didn’t have the capacity to express. The hope in her heart had always been that he might learn to hone his particular brand of presentiment. He’d always been so rough-and-tumble, so hard to worry after; determined to never let the mask slip as he raced through life with a smile. 

1400 miles away she ached to be beside him; so lonely in her knowledge of him. She worked to comfort herself by tracing the titles on the spines of the books he’d left behind. Over and over. Over and over. With blurring vision and an unfocused mind, she slipped into a well-deserved sleep. The sun streamed so gently through the window of Jake’s room. A touch of light tugging her from her slummer had been a welcome change from the jarring wake-up call she had at home. Two siblings who had yet to figure out how to make themselves breakfast without bickering or clattering plates. The smell of fresh coffee and pancake batter wafted up from downstairs. 

The bedroom door squeaked as she opened it, and underfoot the floorboards in the old farmhouse creaked, each step down the staircase punctuated with the sonance of more than a hundred years of life. In the Seresin house, the noises reminded her of the generations who had come and gone, it was easy to imagine the lives that had been lived within the walls. Across the yard, the similar shifts and groans of her childhood home echoed like ghostly calls; the whispers warning of a life liable to be wasted if she stuck around. 

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Mrs Seresin smiled, setting an extra spot at the kitchen table. His mother had always been the kindest person she’d known. Despite the undisputable reality that her son’s girlfriend had all but broken into her home, she welcomed her with open arms, asking if she wanted blueberries in her pancakes. 

The longer they went without mentioning the elephant in the room the easier it became for her to slouch a bit in her seat, appreciating each bite of the breakfast that had been offered to her. Nineteen years of being in rooms out of necessity rather than desire had made it difficult to trust other’s interest in her well-being.

 Feeling her shoulders drop in relief left her feeling something like a stray cat brought in to shelter from the storm; glad to accept Mrs Seresin’s kindness, but uneasy all the same. She had grown used to being weary of tenderness and generosity; always waiting to hear the conditions of the beneficence. 

Sipping her coffee, Mrs Seresin smiled over the lip of the mug. “If you want to stay a little longer, you could help me go through some of Jake’s old clothes. Some of them would probably fit Jackson now”. Her words reached like an olive branch across the table, and for a moment she understood that perhaps the older woman wasn’t just benevolent for the sake of it, not on this day at least. With her only living child out of the house she had been lonely in her need to mother someone, and glad just for the company as unorthodox as the circumstances may have been. She’d been glad to learn that some glint of selfishness lingered in everyone, and in a strange turn, it only made her trust the woman more. 

She hadn't expected a pile of folded sweatshirts to make her cry, and yet in a blink of an eye, she found herself sobbing. A flicker of hurt rushed through her with the realization that some things will always matter more to her than they do to anyone else. Just another piece of clothing to Jake, another part of her task for the day to his mother. But she was holding the world in her hands. 

She remembers that sweatshirt well, red and worn out by time, always just a bit too tight in the shoulders, the seams stretching at the sleeves. He was wearing it the night he picked her up from her first date.

Bobby Dunbar had been two years older than her, and had no idea of the meaning of the word ‘no'. She left him alone in the movie theatre after he'd tried to creep a hand up her skirt for the second time. With a quick call from the closest payphone, Jake was on his way to pick her up without questions. 

Together, they drove out of town and past their homes the sun dipping down below the seemingly endless horizon. Overhead the stars had begun to make themselves appreciable against the backdrop of the darkening sky. Parked, they lay in the bed of the truck looking up at the sky ahead. He took care to trace the constellations for her, naming them as he went. In the meantime, her fingertips copied the shapes with invisible lines across his chest. The well-loved red sweatshirt was soft beneath her cheek. 

He kissed her for the first time that night. Not her first kiss, but the first one that mattered. Jake always had this ability to make her world stop spinning, even if just for a moment. Sitting on the edge of his bed sobbing into the sweater she wanted nothing more than to be near him, to hear him tell her everything was going to work out for them in the end.

“I got my scholarship,” she told Mrs. Seresin, “I'll start in the fall, and I'll be able to live on campus”. 

“That's amazing news sweetheart,” her affirmation, so much like her son’s. 

“It's a lot farther for Jake to drive. I won't be here to check on Jackson and Olivia. My mo--”

“They'll be alright. It's high time you live your dream, honey”. 

At nineteen years old, she struggled to understand that sometimes the beginning feels like the end. A pit growing in her stomach, she clutched the bags of hand-me-down clothes as she headed home. The sky above was dotted with the same stars Jake had taught her about years ago, she stood still for a moment trying to remember the feel of his lips, or the comfort of his hand in hers, but only felt the cool evening breeze.

Twenty-one felt like wearing a costume. Joining the Navy. Getting good grades. Helping on the farm whenever he had an ounce of free time. Being a good son, being a good boyfriend. He was playing dress-up in a life that wasn’t built for him, and yet he found himself so desperate to play the part. 

The first few months away had been excruciating. Most nights he chugged Pepto-Bismol before going to bed, hoping that the tearing feeling in his chest was just heartburn, and not just his soul stretching across four states. It had been the longest they’d ever been separated; smashing the previous record of the one week he spent with his aunt and uncle when he was ten. 

He won’t blame her for the divide that grew between them, but he knows that the ache in his chest cracked into a chasm sometime after she moved onto her college campus. 

The commute to see her was longer, his back was stiff, and his eyes were tired after driving hours, and crisscrossing state lines. The time they spent together was almost exclusively spent sleeping or skipping around their desperate need to return to what they once were, all while refusing to give up their dreams.

 Two years into her degree he was exhausted. On base, his bed was assembled for practicality, not for comfort. Hard, uneven mattress and nights spent cold beneath the covers without the warmth of her body tucked against him. His bunkmates all snored, and the hustle and bustle of those still working during his allotted sleeping hours kept his mind alert even as his body dosed. In her dorm room, her duvet was plush and cozy, her pillows smelt like her shampoo, and she snuggled as close to him as physically possible on the nights he managed to make it to her. But her roommate was nosy and made it almost impossible for him to love on his girlfriend. Unable to touch her as freely as he yearned to-- and even worse, unable to speak as freely as he needed to, his feelings threatened to choke him. Lost without the level of communication that had become their life preserver for years, he felt as though he was drowning. 

At twenty one he asked his father for his grandmother’s engagement ring. A family heirloom he’d always known he’d propose with one day. He would make good on the promises he made. They would get married and he’d buy them a house-- he had already managed to save quite a bit. It was not a lack of love that broke them, but perhaps an excess of it. A shared desperation to do more, and be better; both of them hell-bent on clawing their way out of the ruts they’d found themselves stuck in. And with so much to prove it had been impossible to climb without letting go of each other. 

He was down on one knee when his heart was ripped from his chest. For a moment he felt it was impossible to breathe. His mind was silent, too stunned to think and too confused to speak. She was still shaking her head when he finally found the strength to look up at her again. “No,” she said. “I thought--”

“I’m sorry-- I can’t. I won’t. It’s not fair,” she told him. Certainly not fair, he thought desperate to understand. But when had life ever been fair? “I can’t,” she repeated. He watched, hopeless, as she shrunk in on herself. The bright, brilliant girl he’d spent more than half his life loving shied away from him, hiding behind a shame he couldn’t find a source for.

As he slowly made his way back to his feet, with the ring box shoved back into his coat pocket, she spoke again. “I think it would be better if we spent some time apart”. That he had not been expecting, and the words nearly had him keeling over; a brutal blow that knocked the air from his lungs. He found himself helpless, unable to do anything but nod. All his fight sat on the tip of his tongue, pinched between his teeth, betrayed by his pain, and misunderstanding. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. For anything. For everything. But the words never came out. “I’m sorry,” she wept as she ushered him out of her dorm room. 

With one hand, and no force he held the door frame for a moment, one last longing look at the girl he knew he’d love forever. “One day we’ll be enough for each other again”. He hoped that was true. 

She carries a spark of regret in her chest, it grows when she thinks of him, and it shrinks when she remembers she freed him too. She thinks now that her denial of Jake Seresin may have been hasty. Fifteen years older, and with more perspective than she had at twenty-one, she thinks their lives could have been different if she had been brave enough to talk things out. 

Her fear of stagnation had been her only motivation for so much of her life. His proposal had been on the surface a desperate attempt to cling to a bond they had begun to outgrow. And while his intentions at their core had been pure, getting married would not have saved their relationship. She had only begun to live for herself, and he still didn’t understand that his life was his own. Their marriage would have only served as a new way to masquerade and play pretend; years of running away from the fears that kept them both up at night. He would have grown to resent her inability to live without planning, and she would have hated his unintended absenteeism. Being married would not have kept his side of the bed warm, nor would it have given him any new ability to quell her anxieties. 

She still thinks of him often. From her apartment on a clear day her view of the sky seems to span for miles and miles. She pictures him up there, carving through the clouds with the dedication and precision she’s always known he’d be capable of. She imagines him happy, living his dream. She hopes he’s proud of himself, and she prays that he knows that she’s proud of him too. 

Sometimes, she lets herself wonder if he ever settled down; offered his grandmother’s ring and his heart on his sleeve to some other lucky girl. She’s tried to move on herself a few times, but never made it close to feeling like she was in love. The last guy had been a year ago now, he was nice enough, handsome, had a good job, and a good sense of humour. On paper he was flawless. He’d take her out for dinner, and walk her to her door. Sometimes he spent the night. He bought her flowers, and held her hand. But on one too many occasions she felt inexplicably lonely sitting next to him. He complained that she wasn’t any fun. She struggled to explain the sense of responsibility she’d never been able to shake. She asked him about his dreams. He never seemed to have any. 

And so the hint of any spark that had been there fizzled away into nothing. 

She tells herself she’s happier on her own and decides to keep moving forward, ignoring the cracking of her heart. She uncorks a bottle of wine, dancing alone in her kitchen, looking out at the vast evening sky and the setting sun. As much as she enjoys the view from her rental, she’s been in California long enough that it might be worth buying into the housing market. Nothing fancy, but something she can truly call her own. She’s been making good money for a while now, and her siblings have made it through college themselves. Jackson moved to New York with his sights set on being an architect. Olivia moved to Austin and became a nurse. Her mother hasn’t bothered to call in ages. Her shoulders relax without the added pressure of caring for others. For the first time in a very long time, her mind is quiet--it’s finally time to write the last chapters in her own story and stop running. 

He keeps an old photograph of her in the inside of his flight suit, right over his heart. He’s living his dream, and he won’t allow himself to forget that she’s the reason why. Driving home from base at night he passes houses much larger than the bungalow he’s been renting. He wonders where she went after she graduated, and what kind of job she has now. 

He chooses to picture her happy even at the expense of his feelings; a devoted husband coming to wrap his arms around her while she stirs a pot on the stove. A scintilla of guilt makes itself known as he grows somewhat jealous of this life he's envisioned for her. The truth is that he knows she was right for turning him down. They were too young, too naive, and too frightened. Breaking up with him may have been the first time he had seen her truly put herself first, and in hindsight, he’s glad she did. He knows he’d never have been able to live with himself if he had been what stood in the way of her making her dreams come true. It took him a while to understand the gift she had given him when she sent him away. The freedom to be the man he wanted to be, and not the man anyone else needed him to be. 

He’d fucked it up more than once along the way. At work, he had become too brash, too cocky, too full of himself. He put his walls up and wore the self-assured mask he thought people wanted to see. Unwavering confidence, and determination. His return to Top Gun had been a wake-up call. He’d been forced to adapt, to let his guard down and learn how to let people in again. And for the first time since he was a teenager he appreciated the difference between being valued and being important. The realization had come with a sense of belonging and camaraderie that he hadn’t expected but couldn't afford to forget.

In his personal life, he had failed time and time again to form long-term bonds. One-night stands didn’t hurt, but the idea of waking up next to someone left him nauseous. But the truth is he yearns for that connection. He wants to be seen. He wants to be understood. He stopped going home to visit his parents two years ago, the weight of self-placed expectation chewed through him and left him hollow; guilt filled its place. 

Last week he stood back straight, with his heart full of pride as he accepted his promotion. The new rank came with a new role, and a new more permanent position. He'd be stationed in San Diego for at least five more years. He called his mother. He booked a flight home for his next break. He started browsing real estate pages. It’s time to stop running. 

She’s only made it to a couple of open houses so far but she hasn’t been able to find anything she likes yet. Most of the houses she’s seen are out of her price range. Others have been too modern, some too outdated. 

She remembers the Seresin’s kitchen, the buttery yellow walls and linoleum tiles. Their house wasn’t flashy, nor had it been renovated anytime in 1980, but it was cozy. She can remember the smell of Mrs. Seresin’s baking. In her mind's eye, she recalls the feel of the cabinet doors that Mr. Seresin had built himself when they moved in, and his wife’s initials carved into the bottom corner of the cupboard over the sink. In every way possible they had made that ordinary farmhouse a home, and she wants the same for herself now. Like everything in her life, she decided her house has to be perfect. She’ll know it when she sees it. 

The house is a two-story craftsman, built circa 1935. The siding is a garish kind of coral colour, faded by the sun, and the trims stand out in a soft vanilla colour, chipped at the edges. She’s driving home from work when she sees the sign for the open house standing proudly on the front lawn. Without a thought she pulls over, throwing the car into park. Inside, it smells like freshly baked cookies-- a real estate trick she’s learned over the last few weeks. It’s easy to imagine a house is your own when it smells so inviting. She's come to expect this, and won't let it blind her. 

Her heels click across the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the empty house. She moves past the stairs into the surprisingly spacious living room. A large window looks out onto the quiet cul-de-sac, and the room sits bathed in the soft glow of the street lights outside. She imagines the room furnished, with soft drapery, a plush sofa, tv hung above the fireplace, and she can imagine herself unwinding here. The dining room is a fair size, and the kitchen has a sliding door that opens up to the backyard. The cabinets are brand new, and the owners have spent time renovating while staying true to the charm of the house. On the countertop, she picks up the real estate agent’s pamphlets about the home, amenities and nearby schools are listed, and she wonders if she might have the chance to raise a family here. 

Overhead the sound of steady footsteps, and a pair of heels make their way down the hall and then the stairs. “If you decide to put in an offer, do not hesitate to call, in this market the early bird gets the worm,” a woman speaks. “I appreciate it, thank you,” a man replies in a low southern drawl, “do you mind if I take a look at the backyard before I head out?” “Not at all! Take your time, I’ll be out front just getting my signs if you need anything else”. 

He’s barely stepped into the kitchen when he hears his name. “Jake?” a familiar voice wonders, her arms coming immediately to wrap around him. She hits his chest with a thud, but it does move him an inch. Her name is sighed into her hairline as he holds her close. “You made it-- all the way to California,” He smiles, pulling back to get a good look at her. She’s as gorgeous as he remembers, if not more so. Her features have sharpened over time, and he thinks her hair might be darker now, but she’s glowing. Her grin is wide and her shoulders relaxed as she reaches to trace his name and rank on his uniform. “You’re flying, Jake,” she all but whispers. He nods, his eyes softening as his hand comes to rest over hers, his heart racing beneath her palm. “Turns out I’m pretty good at it,” he jokes, and is rewarded with his favourite laugh. 

His free hand lowers to rest on her hip and she steps closer, familiarity allows them to skip out on formality. He’s missed this; a shared closeness loud enough for them to speak without saying anything. He knows her like he knows the back of his own hand, and even with years passed between them, he’s able to fill in the gaps. Her clothes are well made, and well fitted. Office wear. Her shoes leave her standing tall, reminding him of senior prom and the time they spent slow dancing. He knows what she’s overcome, and he’s never had any doubt about where she would end up. Clearly successful, and if the way her smile meets her eyes is any indicator, she’s happy too. 

In all honesty, she’s not sure who leans in first, but she knows she’s kissing Jake Seresin for the first time in fifteen years. He kisses with hesitation at first but allows himself to give in to a passion grown with time. He’s more skilled than he was the first time they kissed, and she tries her best not to flush with jealousy. His cropped hair is soft where her hand reaches up to hold at the back of his head willing him closer. 

One step at a time he backs her across the room until her back meets the wall. With fingers gripping the collar of his shirt she begs him to crowd her space. She swears he’s taller now. His shoulders are broader, his arms far more defined. He’s always been handsome but the boyish charm has been replaced by something far more deadly, and she’s convinced she’d die happy if it was him stealing her breath away. 

She melts beneath him. His hand moves across her hip, down to feel the round of her ass, before his grip tightens at the flesh of her thigh, warm in her cute little dress slacks. Neither of them bothers to suppress the moans or sighs that leave them when begins to kiss down his neck. His knee slots between her legs, thudding when it makes contact with the wall, startling them both. 

“Careful. You break it you buy it, Jake”.

“I think homeownership will be good for me,” he grins catching his breath. 

“Not if I buy it first,” she quips, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she blinks up at him. He groans, his knees weak as her smile grows. “Let’s talk it out over dinner,” He manages his counteroffer. 

***

Their house smells like chocolate chip cookies, made from the recipe Jake’s mother passed down. The window in the master bedroom offers a gorgeous view of the San Diego sky. On weekends, she wakes up to the smell of coffee brewing, and Jake sliding back into bed, his hands greedy as he pulls her from her sleep with warm kisses and the promise of breakfast if they manage to make it down the stairs. 

The floorboard creaks when he comes home at night, the weight of his day shed at the door. He greets her as if he's been gone for months even when it’s only been a few hours. And he holds as if he’ll never see her again when he returns from a deployment. 

The gentle breeze that blows through the open windows of their little home carries away their lingering anxieties, and they allow themselves to soften in each other’s presence. 

They lay in the grass in their backyard, paint smeared across their clothes, brows sweaty from a hard day's work. The siding is now a fresh, pale green, the trims glow in a soft white. Above them, the stars shine. The same stars they watched as children, and loved as teens. He watches her, enamoured, as she points to the North Star tracing her way around the night sky, recalling the stories he told her about each constellation. He wonders how many lifetimes are painted in the sky above them, how many lovers have admired the stars as they have. 

She pulls him from his thoughts, rolling to settle with her knees at either side of his hips, her left hand resting on his heart. He looks at her as if he’s in awe of her, his wedding band cold on her back as his hand slides underneath her shirt. Leaning down to kiss him she’s certain this is the life she’s always been running towards. 

[spacexgrl]

Bittersweet ! 🎀

mdni <3 pt 1

~ in which Ellie breaks up with you and you go a little crazy ~

ex! ellie williams x fem! reader , abby anderson x fem! reader

college au!

warnings: angst, break up, cheating!!, cursing, toxic behavior, smut in future chapters <3 feminine and girly reader ,not proof read!!

To say that you were nervous was an understatement, you and Ellie have been on edge ever since you moved to seattle for college. At first you weren’t going to apply for this university in particular but Ellie begged you to because she didn’t want to do this without you, there were times in your relationship where she couldn’t even breathe if you weren’t in a 2 meter radius from her. You’ve been together for almost three years now, it’s been roughly four months since you’ve moved in together and every day was hell for you since then, not because she treated you badly no..quite the opposite she did nothing, fucking nothing. You noticed her lack of impact in your relationships on a random wednesday when she left for her morning classes without saying anything , she didn’t even spare a single glance at you not even a simple hug. At first you tried not to overthink it, maybe she just didn’t get enough sleep, maybe she was stressed it was an exams week after all!! Right?? Fuck.. how wrong you were.

So you tried your best to take care of Ellie, you cooked her favorite meals, took her out to see the newest superhero movies, massaged her feet after a long day at her side job, got her some clothes she had been eyeing at a local thrift store, showered her with all your love and affection at all times!! Only that she didn’t seem to perceive your efforts at all. It’s not that she wasn’t thankful, you know her she definitely was but still… something was very different.

Every time you tried to hug her she kind off..shrugged you off, always trying to find a reason to escape your acts of love. You wanted a kiss? “Uhh sorry my lips are too chapped” “I don’t want your lipgloss on me” “actually i have to go” you could go on and on. No matter how hard you tried she always pushed you away.

A few minutes ago she texted you that she’ll be home from work soon and that you needed to talk…your heart dropped to your ass but before you suffered an anxiety attack you decided to do your nighttime routine and make yourself look presentable for your talk with Ellie.

“How the fuck did this go so wrong??” you asked yourself for the 80th time today as you stepped out of your steaming hot shower and wrapped yourself in your soft pink towel. A small laugh escaped your lips as you relived the memory of you as you showed Ellie the things you bought for the apartment, you wanted everything pink and white with a hint of leopard print and Ellie just went with it, no complaints just pure love for you and your girly things. It left a bittersweet taste on your tongue as you locked eyes with your reflection in the mirror while you worked your skin care products into your skin, you were so effortlessly beautiful one would never notice that you were in an unhappy relationship. Your skin was smooth, lips plump and glossy after applying your dior lip oil. You were a true bombshell, you thought to yourself. And damn..you were so right.

You’ve just slipped into your silky pijamas as you heard the front door creak open. You took one last glance in the mirror and fixed your hair before meeting Ellie in the kitchen. She sat by your dining table, the food you’ve warmed up for her remained untouched like almost every day. “‘m not hungry..” she mumbled, almost too quiet for you to hear so you just put the food back in the fridge. Now you’re sitting right in front of each other, in silence . No one dared to say a word, even though you expected Ellie to start the conversation. You studied her, the way she manspread on the chair, how she was fidgeting with her hands..oh her hands..god you were gonna miss them..though you haven’t felt them in months. Okay focus now.. you noticed her troubled facial expressions, she was nervous and scared to look you in the eyes. You loved her eyes so much, they definitely were your favorite shade of green.

“Ellie please” you finally spoke up, your heart raced, daring to jump out of your chest. Your voice has never been so weak, you barely made it without tearing up. The tension only thickened the more she thought about what to say, but you knew exactly what was happening.

“I’m so sorry i just..” she stumbled over her own words, finally meeting your teary eyes. Her heart ached as much as yours but she knew that it’s better this way.. “I can’t give you anything back because i.. don’t know why but i don’t want to anymore i think i’ve lost feelings for you a while ago and it’s just.. i can’t explain i’m so sorry” she swore she heard your heart shatter in the exact moment she spoke.

“is it because of your best friend? What’s her name?? Dina? Is she the reason for all of this?”

You sobbed, remembering the day Ellie introduced you to her new best friend Dina. She was so nice to you and you got along so well..until Ellie stopped bringing her to your apartment to hang out at her place instead, she claimed that they studied better that way. Yeah studying was definitely what they were doing..no wonder Ellie refused to touch you once Dina was in the picture..it all made sense to you now..fuck this bullshit

“i think i have feelings for her..i’m sorry”

Ellie couldn’t look at you anymore, shame eating her alive as she admitted to her feelings for her best friend. How could she do this to you? She felt crazy and would do anything for your forgiveness. She couldn’t stand the thought of not having you in her life anymore, even if it’s just as friends. She liked Dina and she’d ask her to be her girlfriend soon but.. you didn’t need to know that.

“wow..” you scoffed and got up from your seat, tossing her duffel bag in her face. Ellie flinched and you almost laughed at her pathetic attempt to catch the bag before it hit her.

“pack your shit then, i want you gone in the next few minutes and leave the keys. I’m sure Dina has a nice place for you to stay.”

Ellie noticed the way your eyes darkened, she knew that she was in for a ride after breaking your kind and beautiful heart…

“oh fuck”

she created a monster

…

to be continued 🎀

pt 2

[gothcsz]

part six of the neighbors series. thank you to the anon who sent this angsty prompt for getting the gears turning in my head, hehe. these two are something else, i tell ya. the miscommunication is just so... i am pushing them together forcing them to kiss at this point lol hope you guys like it 🖤 and feel free to send me more things for this little au!

javier peña x f!reader. ~2k word count. nothing too extreme to tag, it's straight up just angst and yearning.

Being with Mateo is nice, sweet even. He calls when he says he will, makes you laugh, and remembers how you take your coffee. And you really do try with him. You take interest in his hobbies, hold his hand when you’re walking down the street, and even let him take you to bed.

The sex is fine, nothing spectacular and just barely above average. Being with him is normal and safe.

But every now and then, your mind drifts to what it would be like if it was Javier in his place. You shake those thoughts off as fast as they come. If you’re going to move on, it has to be for real, not half-heartedly.

It’s a little easier to bury those feelings now that Javier is caught up in something—or someone—of his own. 

She’s over at his place constantly, her laugh sometimes drifting through the walls late at night. It feels like they’re always whispering to each other, talking until all hours, and you hate how that little spark of jealousy sits in your chest.

You catch yourself wondering what her name is, how they met, if she gets that look from him—the one that he used to give you when he’d make you laugh. 

You pass Javier in the hallway sometimes, and when he offers a half-smile and rushed, “Hey,” you return it with something tight and brief, barely meeting his gaze.

But he’s always in his own world these days, buried in work, and if he notices you distancing yourself, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he’s too distracted to care. Either way, it reinforces the choice you’ve made to keep things this way. 

Every time you pass his closed door, you tell yourself you’re doing the right thing. Him being absent is the push you need to keep stepping back, to keep looking at apartments a few neighborhoods over, just in case.

One day, Mateo notices you’re distracted during dinner, poking at your food more than eating it. 

“Querida,” he says, nudging your hand, “you alright?”

“Yeah.” You force a smile. “Just thinking about work.” You try to shake off the odd feelings you can’t seem to put to rest—the unease of Javier wrapped up in someone else and it working for him but not for you, leaving you more restless than before.

He’s become a background hum of missed chances and bad timing.

Mateo catches the shift in your expression and rests his hand on yours. “If it’s about your place, I don’t mind helping you look around. Maybe even do a little apartment tour spree together this weekend?”

His warmth stirs something in you, a pang of guilt for not giving him the part of you that’s still tucked away. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I’d like that.” 

Javier’s schedule continues to keep him out of the complex and you can’t remember the last time you saw him at the embassy.

Granted, you work in different departments but still, there was enough overlap for you to at least catch glimpses of him throughout the day. 

There’s a wall between you two—one he doesn’t even realize is there.

One evening, as you’re walking up to your door, you hear his low voice in the hallway, murmuring something to that beautiful brunette that you feel so strongly against because of your own insecurities. 

It strikes a nerve, seeing her leaned up against his door like that with Javier crowding her, his fingers tucking a strand of her curly hair behind her ear.

They don’t even notice you and that fucking stings, then you remind yourself that you’re being ridiculous and unlock your door quickly, barely giving him a second glance when he finally turns his head to acknowledge you. You just shut your door.

Later, as you sit by your window with a glass of wine, a part of you wishes you could confront him about it—how you miss having a friend even if these feelings you’ve grown for him have tainted your friendship.

But instead, you brush it off. It’s better this way, the distance and silence. Cutting him off quietly.

You have Mateo now, and maybe in time, those feelings you’re trying to force yourself to feel for him will start to feel more real.

In the meantime, you keep Mateo close and Javier at arm’s length, praying the ache in your chest will fade into something easier to ignore.

When things with Helena spiral, Javier’s entire world dips into a darkness he struggles to fight off.

He’d been steeling himself for months, pretending that what he felt for her was just a part of the job, just another way to gather intel, to stay sharp. But things had shifted, unraveled into something he wasn’t prepared for.

She had become more than an informant; something tangible and real, someone he genuinely cared about. He should have known better than to let it get personal—mixing affection with the job, letting his heart get tangled up in a life as brutal as theirs.

It’s in the wake of this disaster that you pop into his mind again. The truth is, he’d forced you out of it completely, buried you beneath his work, his duties, his time with her.

After all, what place did someone like him, wound up in the cartel’s mess, have with someone like you? You were safe, building a life with an uppity banker, someone who could give you things Javier’s world would never allow. 

Security, stability, and something close to a normal life—things he could barely imagine anymore.

And he’d see it, too, in the way you were with Mateo. He could hear it sometimes through the walls, that light laugh of yours, the one that’d once been his to hear on a quiet afternoon or over a shared meal. Now it belonged to someone else.

Javier would watch the asshole come by, flowers in hand, gifts in his arms, looking like the kind of guy he could never be, the kind of guy you deserved.

Maybe that’s why he fell for Helena so quickly, so intensely. She was tough, resilient, unafraid of the shadows he’d cast around him. With her, he didn’t have to pretend.

They shared the same night-bound existence and he didn’t care that she was a prostitute. She understood, even when he didn’t, the danger of crossing those lines in his work, the way it weighed on him, without flinching at the blood on his hands.

But now… he’s haunted by what he should have seen coming. She’d been hurt, and every part of him feels complicit.

He couldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect himself from feeling it all in his bones, and the guilt wraps around his heart, squeezing so tight it might burst. 

The weight of it pulls him under, and he finds himself wondering how he’s going to claw his way out. His work is far from over.

He's at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon one night when he realizes just how long it's been since he’s really seen you.

The ache that realization brings feels like another knife twisting in his chest. Your bright eyes, that quirky laugh you give when he actually manages to crack you up, and the way you can turn his chaos to calm without even trying—they’ve been missing from his life for months now, and he’s feeling the loss more deeply than he wants to admit.

With sluggish, heavy steps, he staggers across his apartment until he ends up at your door. He knocks, too loudly, too long, until you swing it open, looking bleary-eyed and definitely frustrated. He’s clearly woken you up.

“Hola, cariño—”

“It’s two in the goddamn morning, Javier. ¿Qué necesitas?” 

You’ve got your arms crossed, and he blinks a few times, almost impressed with the improvement of your accent. He opens his mouth, trying to form the words, but you beat him to it, eyeing him up and down.

“Are you drunk? You reek of liquor, Peña.” Your tone is flat. “You need to go back home.”

“Te extraño,” he slurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I can’t be in there another second without feelin’ like I’m losing my damn mind.”

You’re sizing him up, at a war with yourself, and he lets his gaze wander even in his bleary state. You’re wearing that familiar robe with a slip dress underneath, and he has no idea if it helps or makes things worse. 

“Then you should probably call your girl,” you say, voice cool. “Or go upstairs and bother Murphy. I have to be up early.”

You go to close the door, but his large palm spreads against it, steadying himself. “Javier—”

“Please,” he says, voice softer. “Don’t do this. Not tonight.”

For a moment, you search his eyes, your own gaze conflicted, and then, almost begrudgingly, you sigh. “Fine,” you mutter, “but you’re out by the time I’m up for work in the morning.”

You let him in, and he feels that distance in your voice like a physical wall between you. It’s his own fault—he knows it, hates it, but here you are, standing back to let him in anyway.

He stumbles, almost falling flat on his face, and your smaller hands catch him with a muttered curse. Like he’s a child.

You steer him to the couch with an exasperated huff, and even as you help him settle, he’s not sure if it’s the liquor making his chest tighten or the fact that you’re handling him with more care than he deserves. 

You wrestle him out of his jacket, tugging it from his broad shoulders, then go for his boots.

The grunts you make in effort, the feeling of your hands on him—even if it’s just to deal with his drunk ass—makes him ache in a way that alcohol only magnifies.

His thoughts drift to places they have no business going. He’d tried to move past the want he felt for you, burying it under other bodies, other names, other distractions. But here you are in a thin slip dress under your robe and all he can think about is how it’d feel to have you moving against him, to finally let his hands roam your curves, bring you pleasure and fuck you like he’s sure no man has. Not even your goody-two-shoes of a boyfriend.

Once he’s settled on your couch, you leave, only to return a moment later with a glass of water, setting it on the coffee table with a quiet sigh. “If you need to puke, please use my bathroom,” you say flatly, “not the new couch.”

“New couch?” he mumbles, sitting up on his elbows and frowning at it. “What was wrong with the old one?”

You just shake your head, the patience gone from your expression. “Goodnight, Javi,” you say flatly, but he stops you before you leave.

“Thank you for this and I’m sorry—”

“Just stop,” you cut him off with a deep sigh. “You’re always apologizing and I don’t want to hear it. Get some rest.” And then you’re gone, the door to your room closing softly but definitively behind you.

After that night, he tries to make things go back to normal but the distance that happened during that time seems impossible to close now.

Every attempt he makes to lessen it only meets the cool edge of your guarded smile or your quick, polite excuses to cut conversations short. The silence between you has settled too deeply now, like it’s found a home where friendship used to be.

He doesn’t know what to do and you’re still stuck in your forced delusion that Mateo is what you want.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️: @persephone-girl . @almostempty . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @samanthajonees . @dontlookatme121 . @thundermartini . @dinanabuu . @cherrysugarx . @dontlookatme121 . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

[botchedsundoll]

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; christmas hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none! pure fluff

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; ho ho ho merry christmas idc if its nov its christmas time… do ppl drink on christmas? we do so idek? icl this is all like stuff i made up bcos i don’t celebrate christmas like this but wtv we roll #wesołychświąt

C. OLIVEIRA

do not let this man near the kitchen. everything that can go wrong goes WRONG

ask him to take something out the oven, he drops it. ask him to stir something in the bowl he stirs too vigorously and it goes flying all over the counters

he’s a pain. he’s distracting. constantly getting infront of you with the mistletoe, thinking he’s slick by trying to sneak in kisses. constantly sneaking bites of food whenever he thinks you’re not looking (you are, and you smack his hands away with a spoon)

one thing he’s actually good at and enjoys is cookie decorating. he’ll make little gingerbread men of you two and make them so damn detailed. makes one for jill too, though with less care and her face ends up a bit… strange

he’s THAT person which is always ringing everyone, friends and family, wishing them a merry christmas and sends them stupid gifs slavic babcias love so much (if u dont know what i mean then☹️)

LOVES the whole aspect of the christmas tree yet hates putting it together, it pisses him off to no end and half way through ends up calling you over to help him… definitely picks you up so that you can put the star on top

if he gets an ugly christmas sweater you best believe he’s wearing it for the full day, no shame

L. KENNEDY

depends which leon we’re talking about

younger leon puts in more effort, older leon genuinely can’t be fucked to do much

walks around with a trash bag when everyone’s opening presents so there’s no mess on the floor

your guys’ house is literally the christmas function. every year. mostly due to you inviting everyone round and deciding to host it, much to leon’s annoyance but he doesn’t mind THAT much since he loves you!!

definitely the best gift giver. for some damn reason he just knows what everyone wants, genuinely no explanation for it. he just does

he’s such a sweetheart, constantly asking you if you need help with anything in the kitchen or whether you need him to pop to the store for anything

he 100% sang carols when he was younger. just imagine 7 year old leon, hair gelled back, button up shirt, stood infront of the tv singing carols (lets pretend he didn’t have all that trauma okay)… get him to sing again, he might cave once he’s drunk enough with chris

on the topic of chris, something ALWAYS happens when the pair have had a few and aren’t sober any longer. something always gets broken for some reason

one year, they randomly got up and started dancing. leon went flying into the christmas tree and took it down with him.

i hc him as having a rather large sweet tooth, so he’s always down for some cookie decorating! it’s rather sloppy and they end up looking questionable most of the time, but he ends up eating half of them before he’s even fully finished decorating so that’s not much of a problem anyways

C. REDFIELD

santa. need i say more?

nag him constantly to wear a santa outfit or atleast a santa hat. he will cave eventually

DEFINITELY gets a wallet for christmas every damn year without fail, yet doesn’t even use the damn wallets

him in the kitchen helping you out is definitely… something. he doesn’t know how to measure - what the fuck is a cup?

you asked him to help you out and stuff the turkey. he walked out the kitchen.

gets claire shitty gifts on purpose but then gives her her ACTUAL gift. they’re siblings after all, he can’t help it, old habits die hard

hates decorating the outside of the house. it’s his nightmare. all the stupid lights, just no

goes CRAZY on your gift. it’s like a little reward for all the effort you go through every year, and it’s always something you wanted badly and doesn’t fail to put a smile on your face

he’s not necessarily a fan of sweet things, but hot chocolate? that’s a completely different story entirely, you end up having to send him to buy milk since he drank the whole damn carton and there’s none left by the time you get around to actually preparing for dinner

like leon, sits there with a trash bag. he gives such dad vibes i can’t stop imagining it

him and leon ultimate christmas duo after a few drinks. all of a sudden chris is in the biggest christmas spirit ever and can’t get last christmas out his head

best thing is? he’s not even too big on christmas. he actually celebrates it just because of you, what a sweetheart

[prodagustd]

surprise | myg

this is an extra chapter of the so it goes series.

—pairing: rapper!yoongi x reader

—rating: +18

—genre: established relationship, ex fwb, angst, fluff

—warnings/tags: implied smut, lots of angst, fluff, subtle talk about aborti0n, DON’T trust my poor knowledge in contraceptive methods and use condoms!! english is not my first language btw

—words: 7.6k

a/note: this is proof that if you ask me enough, I'll finish writing my wips!! it's been a long time but I finally get to post the surprise drabble I've been planning and it makes me sososo happy to come back to this couple 😭 I missed them so much I just hope you missed them as much as I did!! BTW I was planning to post this after two other drabbles, so if you read any additional information it's because this was intended to be posted after that, but i wanted to post this so badly😭 so here it is!! hehe anyway enjoy!!

A few years ago, when you and Yoongi were beginning to be a thing and you still lived with your best friend, Nayeon, while he lived alone in his big apartment, he picked up this habit of begging you to stay the night with him every time you visited, even though he knew you couldn’t. You used to say no, trying hard to ignore the way he kissed your neck and sneaked his hands under your blouse while explaining that, if you said yes, he was willing to wake up early and drive you to your first class the next day. You'd think that after the first or maybe even the second time he tried this, the effect would wear off, but you ended up agreeing every single time.

Back then everything was so new to him, he couldn’t remember the last time he liked someone that much, he didn’t know what was happening to him and why he wanted to spend every night with you, why he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Sure you were pretty, sure you were beautiful and funny, and your lips tasted like strawberries and you looked at him like one else ever did, maybe it had something to do with that, who knew? The only thing he knew was that he felt like a teenager everytime you kissed him, or every time you ran your fingers through his hair or every time you were naked under him, or on top of him, or anywhere close to him for that matter. 

It took Yoongi a few hits, ten drunk nights and way too many days to realize that you were the only thing that he needed, that the world only made sense if you were by his side. 

With time, Yoongi learned to kiss slowly, to make love slowly, to take things with ease; he learned that you were going nowhere, but there were still those moments where he felt he couldn’t get enough of you; like tonight, to be exact. 

You were sure that in the last four years of dating Yoongi you had made it clear enough that you were a city girl, and you were certain your boyfriend knew that. You loved the noise and the chaos—the people bumping into each other on the streets, the busy days and nights. It wasn’t something you planned to give up anytime soon; this was the perfect time in your life to embrace the city's hustle. You’d have plenty of time for a quiet life when you got older.

Yoongi liked the city too—he enjoyed the view from his apartment window and the convenience of ordering food at any hour of the night. But he also loved road trips and sleeping in the middle of nowhere in a tent, bonfires, fishing and swimming in lakes. Yoongi had always been into camping, but instead of planning a trip with his good old friend Seokjin, who didn’t mind sleeping in a tent and loved fishing, he invited you—someone who hated bugs and couldn’t stand the idea of walking more than three minutes to find a bathroom.

You were still trying to decide whether not being able to say no to Yoongi was a problem, but it was his last free week before going back on tour. When he looked at you with starry eyes and asked you to go on a trip with him, which included spending the last two days sleeping in a tent, you couldn’t say no.

It was only two days, you were sure you could endure not sleeping in a proper bed for that long if that made him happy, you made the effort of not complaining just for tonight, after all you only had tickets to go visit him on tour in exactly five weeks, you were going to miss him. 

It was easy not to complain when Yoongi’s plans for your last night together were exclusively romantic; he cooked for you, built a campfire and spent the rest of the night stargazing until it was too cold to be outside, and when you were inside the tent he made sure to have hot water bags under the blankets, but they were no use when he was determined to get you naked. 

Did you mention that it was still winter?

Now you were trapped in a tent with him, straddling him as he kissed you deeply and gripped your thighs, begging you to ride him against your lips. That was when you started to complain. 

You felt your whole body shivering when Yoongi’s warm hands pulled your t-shirt over your head, leaving you almost naked. You hugged your torso, attempting to cover your breasts as you sat straight on top of your boyfriend, who was comfortably laying on the sleeping bag, fully clothed. 

“Yoongi, I’m cold.” You whined.

“C’mon, it’s going to wear off” He tried to convince you, rubbing his palms over your shoulders to keep you warm. You shook your head, laying your head on his still clothed chest as he covered your bare back with the blanket. It was easy for him to say that when he was wearing sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. 

You knew that Yoongi was already missing you. He was fully aware that after tonight, he wouldn’t see you for a whole month and he wanted to make it last as long as he could, to hold you and kiss you as much as you let him. He had gotten too used to you—used to sleeping and waking up next to you, having you all to himself—but it became a problem every time he had to leave for work, it was impossible not to miss you. You still had texts, calls and FaceTime, but he was also taking into account time difference, work, and the fact that all of that wasn’t the real thing. And if you were honest, you were already missing him too. 

“What if I catch a cold?” You mumbled over his shirt. 

Yoongi kissed the top of your head, running his hands down your bare back and sending chills to your spine. How was he able to get you almost naked but you didn’t even get the chance to take off his t-shirt? “It’s not that cold.” He said, not willing to give up. 

You raised your head to look at him, frowning “Says the person who’s still fully clothed.”

He huffed, flipping you over to leave you under him. Suddenly, warmth rushed over you as you felt his body hovering over your frame. He was quick to take off his own t-shirt, trying to make you happy, but he quickly realized that maybe you were right, it was fucking cold, but he wasn’t going to back down.

“Happy now?”

“No, it’s freezing out there!” You kept complaining “Why do we have to do it without clothes? I don’t mind clothes, I actually think that doing it while being dressed is quite hot.” 

You threw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. Even though you were in fact turned on from the kissing and grinding session you had a few moments ago, you still were thinking about the logistics of fucking inside the tent. 

Yoongi scoffed, amused.  “And I actually think that you being naked is quite hot, too.” He said, sneaking his face in the crook of your neck to trail down little kisses, nibbling the skin softly. “C’mon, baby. I won’t see you for weeks, let me make love to you.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. “You had been using that excuse the whole trip.” And you’ve fallen for it every time. His plans for this trip were very simple: fishing, camping and fucking you on every opportunity he had. It was not like you were against it, it has been a long time since you and him had time only for the two of you. 

“But isn’t it true?” He gazed up, looking at you with his soft eyes, his hair falling like a curtain on his face. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

You took a second to observe the tenderness of his features, to take in the softness of his voice, and for a moment there you knew why it was so hard to say no to him, you just didn’t want to say no. 

You closed your eyes, scrunching your nose. “We are gonna make such a mess.” You whined, but he just chuckled, knowing he won.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise.” He said with a soft voice, reaching for your lips as he roamed his hands towards your chest. You didn’t exactly know how he was going to “take care of it”, but his hands were gentle, the kiss was slow and when he opened his mouth to let his tongue slip past your lips, you were too into it to keep protesting about it.

As you sat on the cold bathroom floor of the home you shared with Yoongi, you tried to remind yourself of two basic things that you hoped would stop the sinking feeling in your chest. First, three weeks without Yoongi never killed anyone, this was something you knew from experience, Yoongi’s job demanded him to travel all the time, you were used to it, or at least you were supposed to be. Second, you were an independent woman (right?). You have been an independent woman since you were eighteen when you moved to Seoul alone, since you started a new life in a new city on your own. You woke up at six am everyday, worked hard your whole shift, paid the bills every month and managed to keep your house in order every day of the week. Sure, you loved Yoongi, and he loved you, and you could never imagine a life without him, but you didn’t need him, you wanted him. He wasn’t an extension of you, you were your own person, but why did you feel like the world was about to end right now if he was not there?

Crying your heart out like a five year old kid, you remembered the only time you had to take a pregnancy test, and how it looked nothing like this. 

Four years ago when you and Yoongi still didn’t kiss in front of your friends, when he still thought twice before holding your hand in public but still had the nerve of sneaking in your bed. That seemed like a hundred years ago, a universe away, but no, it was not too long ago when you were stubborn and kind of irresponsible for agreeing with him as he kissed your neck and ran his hands down your thighs while asking you if it was okay for him to “pull out” that night, since both of you completely forgot about condoms. You winced at the memory, but in your defense, you were too far gone to say no, take a cold shower and kiss him goodnight. You agreed only for that night, but three weeks later you were three days late and losing your mind, the only logical thing to do was to take a pregnancy test that, of course, came negative, but to this day you couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that you felt in your stomach those minutes before the negative sign appeared, and you couldn’t forget how pale Yoongi’s face turned when you told him about it. 

And now you were there, one hand covering your face while the other held a pregnancy test—only this time, it was positive. 

The one on your hand wasn’t the only one, no. There were two other positive tests laying on the floor in front of you, and even if you wanted to not trust the results, they couldn’t be all wrong, right? The plus sign was very clear in each one of them and you were five days late. The problem was that you were on the pill, you had been on the pill for the last couple years and this never happened to you, this wasn’t something normal or a simple mistake. 

You breathed out, trying not to panic. You got up on your bare feet to look at yourself in the mirror. You were a mess, that was not a surprise at all, your face was all swollen for the amount of time you have been crying and your hair was a big nest above your head. You washed your face, attempting to remain calm and evaluating your options. You glanced at your phone resting on the sink, and an overwhelming urge to call your mother surged within you, but as you imagined how the conversation would go, you quickly realized it wouldn’t be a good idea.

Your mother was not nosy, but she could be a little dense, a bit complicated, and it was not what you needed right now. You were sure that calling her while having a mental breakdown was going to drive her crazy, and consequently, drive you crazy too.  She would want to know every single detail, date, place and hour to understand the situation better, and you would have to explain something you didn’t even understand yet. You could imagine the conversation, she would try to explain every contraceptive method like you were a teenager and ask why you didn’t use a condom, because you knew she would ask, and you didn’t want to explain to her how you went on vacation with your boyfriend to have a bunch of condomless sex, the thought alone made you want to vomit. 

Calling your mother was not an option, not only because talking to her on the phone was complicated enough, but because she was in a different city, which brought you to discard calling Nayeon too, who was on vacation with her boyfriend (yes, boyfriend, that sounded ridiculous to you, too.) 

The last option was something you couldn't even fathom doing unless you were desperate, but you know what they say, desperate times call desperate measures, so you blew your nose, brushed your hair and called the only person in this city who would come running without asking any questions, Jungkook.

Breaking the news to the person in front of you wasn’t easy, especially when the words you needed to say were as unreal as they sounded. You didn’t look much better, you spent the next thirty minutes that Jungkook took to arrive crying, as Holly, the brown fluffy dog, looked at you like you just went mad, the worst thing was that you weren’t far from it. It was difficult to keep it together when your mind refused to look at the bright side of things, when you couldn’t call your mom and Yoongi was in another country, but when Jungkook rang your bell and entered through the door, you tried your best to smile at him and act like you weren’t in the middle of a mental breakdown. 

Your act wasn’t convincing, your friend looked at you like you were about to tell him that you killed someone and you needed help to hide the body.

You would have never recur to a man other than Yoongi for this kind of situation, but you decided to trust your ten years of friendship with the man in front of you and hope that he could be of any help. 

“You are what?” Said Jungkook, standing in the middle of the living room with his eyes wide open, trying to understand the meaning of your words.

There, in your pajamas and your hands on your hips, you closed your eyes shut, sighing. “Jungkook…” You said through gritted teeth. 

“I’m serious.” He said, letting his backpack drop to the floor. “I crossed half the city to get here, are you not kidding me right now?”

“I’m serious, too!” You whined “I’m not kidding, I don’t know what to do.”

He slowly approached you, walking towards the couch to take a seat. He suddenly felt his blood pressure dropping, his stomach sinking and his mouth dry as if he was the one developing a human organism inside his body.  “Are you sure?” He murmured. “Are you not having one of those crises you had when you were a teenager? I remember that time in college when you freaked out when you thought you were pregnant because some guy-”

“Jungkook, I’m sure.” You interrupted him, already knowing the whole story, but this time it was not just you overreacting. “My period is late and I took three tests, all positive.” 

He gulped, letting the room fall silent for a few seconds as both of you contemplated what that meant. You knew he was trying his best not to freak out, so you were grateful for his reaction, at least he didn’t faint like you expected him to do, but he was still white as a sheet, trying to find a solution in his head as though you had told him he was the one who was going to be a father.

“What are we gonna do?” He said under his breath.

“What am I gonna do?” You corrected him, sitting next to him “You are supposed to help me.” 

Jungkook took one hard look at you, looking terrified. “How?”

“God, I shouldn’t have called you.” You rolled your eyes. 

“No, I mean, what do you want to do?” He said. “Did you tell Yoongi?”

“Of course not.” You replied, feeling your eyes getting teary, but still trying to hold back. 

“Do you want to… tell him?” He continued to ask. 

You sniffed “I mean, I don’t know how.” You pouted “I’m seeing him in two weeks, I don’t know if I can wait that long.” 

He threw himself back against the couch, sinking in the cushions. It was like Jungkook’s life flashed before his eyes, how come he was discussing this with you right now? He still felt like you were kids, there was no way you were pregnant right now. “How did this happen?” He murmured to himself, looking at the blank wall in front of him. 

“Is it necessary for me to explain it?” You cried, snuggling closer to him as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“Did you not use condoms?” He scolded you like he was your mother. 

You shifted your weight uneasily, eyes darting down to your socks. “We don’t… use condoms.” You cleared your throat, the words coming out hushed and hesitant. “I’m on the pill, I don’t know what happened.”

On second thought, that wasn’t something Jungkook wanted to know. It was like finding out how his parents had sex, he squirmed at the thought, shifting in his place. “Can you not call your doctor?” He suggested, his voice laced with uncertainty.

You paused, considering it. It was probably the most logical thing Jungkook could say, but you weren’t sure if your doctor could do anything about it.

“Even if I call her and tell her what's going on, it’s not like I can get a refund.” You huffed, a dry smile tugging at your lips.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well…” he began, dragging the word out. “In some way, you could get a refund.” You blinked at him, opening your eyes wide in surprise. “I mean only if you want to!”

You were so nervous you wanted to laugh. It wasn’t like the thought  didn’t cross your mind for a moment, but only when you tried to evaluate your options; if you were being honest, you couldn’t see yourself getting rid of the baby—or whatever organism had been living rent-free in your body for the past three weeks. Jungkook looked terrified that you might explode at him, especially when it seemed like you were on the verge of tears, but his question made you think, if you didn’t want to get rid of it, what was that you wanted to do?

You sank your shoulders, feeling completely lost. “That’s the problem.” You murmured “I don’t know if I want a refund.” 

Jungkook stood still for a moment, his eyes softening as he watched you. His thoughts swirled, trying to grasp the weight of your words. 

"Would Yoongi want a refund?" He asked, his tone lighter than before, but the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. Despite the attempt at humor, his eyes betrayed the concern he was masking with the joke. 

A shaky exhale left your lips, the weight of uncertainty pulling you down. “I don’t know…” Was the only thing you could say. 

“But do you know if Yoongi wanted… kids?” He said as if that was a forbidden word. “I mean, do you want them?”

It wasn’t like you didn’t know what Yoongi wanted. You sighed, suddenly remembering all those times when the idea of a family came up in conversations, between drunken thoughts, before falling asleep, at dinner with his parents and on the ride home when he apologized on his mother’s behalf when she asked when you were going to give her grandchildren. His soft eyes, his hand on your tight and the view of the future laying in front of you like a promise. The thought warmed your heart for a moment, but the truth was that there was a difference between talking about it and actually having kids.

“We’ve talked about it…” You admitted. “But we’ve never planned it, let alone now that he’s on tour.” 

Jungkook hummed, still thinking. 

“But you both agreed to have kids at some point.” He affirmed, and you just nodded. 

It was in that moment where you realized you were crying again, tears slowly falling down your cheeks as you stood in silence, contemplating the overwhelming weight of the situation. 

“Fuck, don’t cry.” Jungkook said, rushing to wrap his arms around you, he enveloped you in a tight hug. As soon as you buried your face into his chest, something inside you gave away. You began sobbing against his hoodie, the tears flowed freely and uncontrollable, unable to hold yourself back. “C’mon, it’s okay, you’re okay. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.” His voice was soft but firm, holding you tightly. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb gently wiping away a tear from your cheek, his gaze filled with nothing but concern. “You don’t need to have it all figured out right now. Let’s go step by step, okay?”

You nodded, feeling like a kid lost in the mall. “Okay, if you want to see him as soon as possible, you have to change your flight first.” He said, but you shook your head, trying not to panic. 

“He’s going to ask why.” You said, your voice hoarse “What am I going to tell him?”

He kept silent, his eyes fixed on a distant point as he was trying to come up with a solution. 

“Let’s not tell him.” He proposed.

“What do you mean let’s not tell him?”

“I’m leaving for tour next weekend, you should come with me and not tell him.” He kept going “Say that you missed him and you wanted to surprise him or some shit like that, and when you get him alone you talk to him about this.” 

Now you were reminded that Jungkook had to leave to join Yoongi on tour in just a few days, you completely forgot about that. It was not like you couldn’t get on an airplane alone, but if your friend was going to be there you were sure it would make things easier. 

You couldn’t believe it. After so many years you were there, sad and upset and still with the same idiot as a friend, willing to follow whatever plan he was going to make for you. You didn’t know if the plan actually sounded good or you were losing your mind for listening to Jungkook.

“Jungkook, Yoongi texts me all the time, he facetimes me everyday. It’s impossible to travel to another country without him noticing.”

“It’s not impossible, I’m gonna help you.” He insisted “If he texts you, you say you’re at home, if he wants to facetime you, you say you’re busy, turn off your location, it shouldn't be difficult.”

“It is difficult, what if he realizes I turned off my location?” You groaned, running your finger through your hair exasperatedly. 

“You say it stopped working or something! C’mon, I thought you were smarter than me.”

You threw yourself back against the couch, crossing your arms on your chest, it was almost comical that you were considering the idea. Your friend could sense the hesitation in every move you made, he could only hope that you agreed because his mind couldn’t come up with another idea if his life depended on it. 

“Jungkook, if he suspects anything…” You raised a finger, digging it on his chest. 

“He won’t suspect a thing,” He affirmed confidently. “When have any of my plans ever gone wrong? Never. Trust me, by the time you get back home, you’ll have already decided to name your baby after me.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your laugh and punching him in the arm playfully. The tension was still there, and you still felt an inexplicable ache in your chest that wasn’t going away anytime soon, but being there with Jungkook made you feel that this wasn’t the end of the world, nor of your life, but the beginning of it.  

Jungkook's plan wasn’t the master plan he had been bragging about the whole airplane ride, but it worked. A few days later, after a few calls and arrangements to change your flight, after another three mental breakdowns and several crying sessions in the shower, you had somehow arrived in Berlin without Yoongi suspecting a thing. You had managed to dodge facetime calls and weird questions, maybe Yoongi missed you so much that he didn’t have time to question why you couldn’t wait two more weeks to see him when you arrived at the hotel and hugged in the hall, because, if he were honest, he couldn’t wait two more weeks to see you either. 

Yoongi was happy with the surprise, you went to see his show that night and after arriving to his hotel room he made love to you like he hadn’t seen you in a year, kissing your neck, grabbing your waist, murmuring things in your ear, saying how much he loved you, how much he missed you. For a moment it was like nothing changed, the two of you sharing what happened these last three weeks tangled between sheets, laughing between kisses as you ignored why you were there in the first place. 

“You can’t keep spending time away from me.” He said, hovering over you as he left a small kiss on your lips. “I’ll keep you in my pocket if it’s necessary.” 

You sighed, knowing that you couldn’t keep this a secret for much longer, but for tonight, you’ll let it slide. 

You didn’t know when you were returning home, but you promised yourself that before leaving for the next city, you would have to break the news to Yoongi, which was becoming more difficult by the second, because if you were good at something, that was procrastinating. It was absurd, a few days ago you were crying because all you wanted to do was to have your boyfriend by your side and now you couldn’t even look him in the eye without feeling like you were about to throw up, and your mind wasn’t helping at all. All those doubts invaded your head, attempting to drive you crazy, making you believe you were not ready to tell him yet.

Three days later, when you finished the last show in Berlin, Jungkook gave you a knowing look as you were leaving the arena holding Yoongi’s hand. He knew that you haven’t said a thing to Yoongi yet, he was all over you like he was your mother, asking you if you were okay, if you needed anything, when you were going to tell Yoongi, it almost made you regret telling him, but you knew he was right. 

A night was all you needed, just one night to gather your thoughts and practice what you were going to say. You couldn’t keep declining glasses of wine forever,  you could only hope no one noticed how weird you were acting, how sensitive you were since you stepped foot out the plane. Time was running out; you knew that when Yoongi invited you to an after-party before the whole crew left Berlin. Instead of telling him the truth, you simply said you weren’t in the mood to go, hoping that your time alone would help to gather enough courage to confess.

You weren’t trying to keep Yoongi with you, you told him a million times that he should go without you and that there was no problem with it. You hid under the blanket and hugged your body, watching him change his shirt into a black tee. He ran his finger through his hair in an attempt to tame it, looking at himself into the mirror and stealing a glance towards your reflection. He knew you too well not to notice the sad expression on your face as you scrolled through your phone, searching for a Disney movie to watch while he was out. He turned around, approaching the bed and kneeling beside you to catch your eyes. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” He asked once again.

“Yeah, I just need one night.” You said, which was true. You needed a few more moments to finish fighting with your own thoughts. 

“But are you okay?” He continued to ask, cupping your jaw in his palm.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” The words came out of your mouth with more emotion than you intended to, he couldn’t ignore it. 

“I don’t know… You look like you want me to stay.”

There was a beat of silence in the room. The sweetness of his voice broke your heart into a million pieces. You couldn’t say yes and make him stay just because you were feeling down and you really had no problem with him leaving, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him no either. You were full of contradictions, wanting to be alone but wanting to be with him at the same time, something in your chest pulled, wanting him close. 

“What makes you think that?” You murmured, fighting the urge to cry. God, you were too sensitive.

“Mmm… The Disney movie kinda gives you away.”

You huffled, playing with the fingers of his hands without looking at him. “I don’t want to ruin your fun… You should go, I mean it.”

He scoffed “You won’t, there’s going to be a bunch of parties until the tour ends, this one is nothing.”

“They’ll miss you…”

“You’ll miss me, too.”

“But do you want to stay, though?” You asked him a whisper. 

“Of course I want to… But you have to let me choose the movie.” He warned, automatically making you giggle.

Letting Yoongi choose the movie was the worst decision you have made in the last week so far, but you felt grateful he couldn’t see you as he hugged your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, because as the ending of Inside Out approached, you were sure you were about to cry. 

When you arrived at the airport you promised yourself not to cry anymore, not in front of Yoongi at least, but your body was full of emotions you didn’t even know you could feel. It was certain that you’ve always been a sensitive person, you cried at the drop of a hat, Yoongi was familiar with that, but now it was impossible to stop it. 

You’d stopped paying attention to the screen entirely; one by one, your darkest thoughts crept in, pressing heavily on your chest. The feelings you’d tried so hard to bury rose up, churning uneasily in your stomach, and when you least expected it, tears began to fall down your cheeks.

A sob escaped from your lips at the same time the main character began to cry, making your boyfriend shift in his place. 

“Are you crying?” Yoongi suddenly asked, softly grabbing your shoulder to turn you around. He looked at your face, at first amused, thinking you were crying because of the movie. But his expression softened when he saw the sadness in your eyes and the damp lashes heavy with tears. You covered your face, unable to hold back, and the sobs came harder, each one swallowing the words you couldn’t say. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He reached for your arms, attempting to pull them away from your face, but you turned away, burying your face in the pillow.

“Nothing,” You lied, desperate to avoid this conversation again. “I’m just… emotional, I don’t know.” Your voice cracked, hoarse, as the emotions you were trying to hide slipped through.

Yoongi was confused, but mostly worried. You had been weird since the day you arrived, he would be a fool not to notice. 

He turned the light of the lamp on the nightstand, illuminating the room with a soft orange light and turned the tv off. 

“Hey, look at me.” He softly said, brushing your hair with his fingers, it only made you want to cry harder. “I know something’s up, I’m not a dummy.” 

You turned to him, hitting him with the most heartbreaking sight he could witness, your face soaked in tears, nose and eyes red as you pouted at him. What was so wrong to make you cry like that?

“What do you know?” Was the only thing you could say, daring to be upset at him when he hadn't done anything wrong. 

He frowned at your tone. “Well, I know that you suddenly came here two weeks earlier just because. You are weird, you almost don’t eat, your suitcase is almost untouched like you’re going to leave anytime soon, you look… sad? I don’t know, baby, you tell me.”

You kept silent for a second, wiping the tears with the sleeve of your t-shirt. Uncomfortable, you sat in the bed, taking a deep breath as your mind completely blanked. You didn’t realize yet, but there was no way to get out of this one.

Contrary to popular belief, your boyfriend was kind of a dummy. You confirmed it when he decided to say the following words. 

“Is it because of Lily?” He said, making you dart your eyes at him. “You don’t like her being here? 

You couldn’t blame Yoongi for not understanding why you were crying, but the suggestion that you were jealous of one of his coworkers made you want to punch him. Lily was one of the new producers at Yoongi’s label, and a few months ago, Yoongi had noticed that you were starting to feel uneasy about the amount of time she was spending with him, which led him to realize that you were beginning to feel unexpectedly jealous of her. Yes, that was a whole deal back then, but it was water under the bridge now; the fact that she was touring with him and the boys didn’t faze you. The idea that he thought you were crying because of her was ridiculous. 

“Yoongi, are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not.” He defended himself. “The last time I saw you we were fine, but now you’re here crying and I don’t have a clue what I did wrong.”

Suddenly, you felt your heart sink. He hadn’t done anything wrong; it was you who was an emotional wreck, struggling to keep your feelings in check. A wave of guilt washed over you for the mess you’d just created, convinced there must have been ways to prevent all this conflict. But now, all you could do was sit there, tangled in the aftermath of your own emotions.

You sighed, defeated. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” You said “And it’s not about Lily, I couldn’t care less about that… It’s just that- … Yoongi…”

“Baby…” He said in the same tone as you, “What is it?”

As Yoongi’s gentle question hung in the air, you felt a knot tighten in your chest. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, you glanced away, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, buying time as your thoughts spiraled. “Yoongi, my period is late.” You confessed, observing Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his brows lifting in surprise as he tried to understand what he just heard. “It’s been a week now, I don’t know what happened. I tried to wait, but I had to take a test”

 “A test?” he asked, voice low, surprise flickering in his eyes.

“A pregnancy test, Yoongi.” You said, trying not to roll your eyes. “I took three damn tests.”

“And what-... what happened?” He asked, his voice unsteady, eyes fixed on yours.

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thick with unspoken fears and questions. A quiet stillness settled between you both, there was a weight to the silence, stretching out the seconds as you waited for whatever words would come next.

“I mean, guess what happened,” you whispered. Before you could finish the sentence, you got up and reached for the zipper on your suitcase pocket. Your hand closed around the large object, and you felt his eyes on the back of your neck, following you as you moved around the hotel room. Returning to the bed, you sat down and handed him the pregnancy test.

Yoongi didn’t know anything about pregnancy tests—he’d never needed to. He’d always been careful, using protection with every girl he’d been with, including you, until things had started to get serious. So no, he wasn’t familiar with the variety of pregnancy tests out there. But now, here he was, staring at a white stick with a tiny screen, showing a clear positive sign, which could only mean one thing.

Yoongi’s hands trembled slightly as he held the pregnancy test, his gaze locked onto the tiny screen, staring at it for a moment, speechless. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough that he thought you might hear it. Now everything made sense, how you said you were nauseous in the morning, each time you refused to drink wine, how you looked like you were about to cry when you saw a stroller with twins this afternoon at the park. How could he not notice?

You pressed your lips together, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up once more. A small, shaky hiccup escaped your lips, breaking the silence and snapping him out of his daze. “No, no, no,” He murmured urgently, setting the test aside and pulling you close, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist as you buried your face in your hands, trying to hold back the tears. “Hey, there’s no reason to cry,” He whispered, gently guiding your face up, his fingers lifting your chin as he coaxed your hands away. “C’mon, look at me.” His voice was soft, reassuring, his gaze full of warmth and understanding.

“I don’t know how it happened.” You blurted out, your voice shaking with uncertainty.

“That doesn’t matter now, why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, you could tell he was trying to remain calm by the soft tone of his voice, but his face had gone as white as paper, like he’d just seen a ghost.

“I arranged the flight to see you as soon as possible, but... I was scared. I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t,” you admitted, your words barely a whisper.

“Baby, you don’t have to be scared, okay? You can tell me anything.” He assured you, his hand gently squeezing yours. But the uneasy feeling in your stomach refused to go away.

“I know, but… we haven’t planned for this,” you murmured, glancing down. “It just… came out of nowhere.”

“Well, it didn’t exactly come out of nowhere. These things can happen,” he said gently, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You groaned, burying your face in his chest.

“But it wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whined, your voice muffled against him. “I didn’t expect this at all. I was drowning in work when I found out. I’m stressed, I’m lost, I don’t know what to do… and I miss my mom.” The words tumbled out in a frantic ramble, and you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the soft laugh he let slip.

“You miss your mom?” he asked softly, careful not to upset you further.

“Yes!” you cried, voice cracking. “I feel like a kid lost in the supermarket.”

He shook his head gently and brushed away your tears with his thumbs, pulling you closer. “Baby…” he began, his tone soothing.

“Yoongi…” you whispered, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His expression was still worried, but the warmth in his eyes was reassuring.

“You’re right, we didn’t plan this. But we’ve talked about it before, and you have options. Whatever you choose, I’ll be right here beside you, no matter what. You know that, don’t you?” He searched your eyes for confirmation, and you nodded, feeling the ache in your chest begin to ease.

As his words sank in, a new wave of emotions stirred inside you. The weight of worry and loneliness began to ease, replaced by a warmth that softened the ache in your chest.

“But… what do you think?” you asked softly. You knew that whatever you decided would ultimately be your choice only, but you needed to know what was going on in his mind.

He sighed, a hint of hesitation in his expression. “I mean… we’re not sixteen, baby. We’re adults, we’re about to buy a house together, and we love each other.”

“Well, those are just facts,” you replied, searching his face. “What I mean is… do you want this, now?”

It was hard for Yoongi to believe you were really asking this. There you were, sitting on his lap with swollen eyes and a red nose from crying, asking him if he wanted to start a family with you—as if that hadn’t been his dream all along. Of course he felt like the life he had been living was going to completely change from now on. It was terrifying, but he couldn’t help but feel excited at the same time. 

“I've always wanted it, are you serious?” He laughed, the sound light but filled with disbelief. “And I only want it with you, haven’t I made it clear enough?”

Those were the main differences between the two of you: while he was calm, always taking a moment to think before acting, you were emotional and, more often than not, let your feelings take control of your actions. It was only in that moment that you realized how irrational you’d been. There wasn’t a world where Yoongi didn’t want this, and there certainly wasn’t a world where you didn’t want it either.

“I want it, too,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you fought back tears.

“Then why are you crying, huh?” he asked gently, squeezing your face in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Because...” you said, struggling to catch your breath. “Maybe you didn’t think it was the right time... You’re on tour right now.”

He frowned, his expression softening with concern. “I won’t be on tour forever...”

“I know, but... we’re not married. What would your parents think?”

He let out a laugh, clearly unable to believe that was a real concern of yours. “You’re not seriously thinking about my parents right now, are you?”

“How could I not?” you said, raising your eyebrows. “What if they force us to marry? God, I don’t want to be one of those couples who only marry because the girl is suddenly pregnant!”

He laughed even harder, shaking his head. “Oh my god, baby, no one’s forcing us to do anything!” He grinned, clearly finding your worry amusing. “If we ever get married, it won’t be because anyone pressured me. Trust me.” He paused, happy to see that the worried expression abandoned your face. “Besides, my parents love you, you have no idea how happy they’ll be once they know. Married or not.”

“Yoongi, it can’t be that simple.” 

“But it is.”

You sighed, feeling like all the mess you’d made was for nothing—and thank God it was. You’d been so caught up in your own despair that you hadn’t realized everything in your life was falling into place for this to happen. Yoongi was right. You were about to move into a bigger home, you had your job, Yoongi had his, and you loved each other. You've always wanted it, this was the perfect moment for this to happen. Why had you been so worried? 

“You’re right, it is.” You finally admitted, letting your body rest against him. 

Yoongi laughed, gently grabbing you by your hips and laying you on the bed, kissing you softly. “You don’t have to worry, baby, not with me.”

“I know.” You breathed out, feeling like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. “But I am-… I’m so scared. How am I gonna have a baby? It sounds crazy.”

“Of course it does, it is.” He said “I’m terrified, too, but we’re together, right? Nothing bad can happen if we have each other.”

You nodded, feeling your chest unclench. “I guess you're right,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I just... needed to hear you say it.”

Yoongi smiled, leaning down to steal another kiss from you, this time deeper, longer. “I love you, baby, don’t you know that?”

You brushed your nose against his, nodding. “I love you, too, bubba.”

“C’mon, baby, stop crying.” He said, making you laugh. 

[holidayinhell]

Interview

CWs: references to noncon, violence

1. Would you rather - Rope or Chains?

R: Rope.

W: Chains, dear god, chains any day. Ropes fucking burn.

2. If Whumpee had multiple Whumpers, who is their favourite? For Whumpers, which Whumpee was your favourite?

R: Yeah, I’ve got a favorite. A couple years back I had a Whumpee who fought me at every turn. He'd throw his food at me, cuss me out, and try to attack me. One time he scratched absolute shit outta my arms. Anyways, I got tired of his shitty attitude and decided to kill him. I didn't keep it a secret, I told him he was gonna die. But when I went in to do it, he changed completely. No more screaming, no spark in his eye. He got quiet. Heh, he got all lovey dovey with me even. You know, lots of people say they’ll do anything if only you’ll spare their life. I never did cash in on that promise, but on this Whumpee, I put it to the fucking test. Heh. He let me do whatever I wanted to him. Depraved, horrible things, that would make the most degenerate man blush. Heh, and even though he was crying through most of it, he still pretended to like everything I did to him. And god. You should’ve seen his eyes when I told him I was still gonna kill him. That look. I think about it still.

W: I can’t. glances over at Whumper. Next question please.

3: In your opinion, what is the best way to train a pet?

R: Humans are fickle fucking beasts. You have to break down someone’s pride in order to train them. I start off with food deprivation, that usually helps me gauge what kind of fight I’m in for.

W: Positive reinforcement has always worked for me… I’ve only ever had a pet bearded dragon though.

4: Broken ribs or bullet wound? 

R: Both.

W: These questions are uncomfortable to answer. But, uh, bullet wound I guess. Assuming it didn’t graze any organs.

5: Preferred type of gag? 

R: I like a fabric gag. Or a simple piece of duct tape. Sometimes they come off and I get to squeeze a little scream out of Whumpee, and then I put a fresh one right back on. I kinda like the cycle of it.

W: I don’t have a preference… none? I guess the metal bit one isn't the worst of them. It hurts my teeth but at least I can still kinda breathe.

6: Burned or stabbed?

R: Stabbed.

W: Stabbed, I guess?

7: Favourite stress position? 

R: An old-fashioned hogtie. I guess I’m unimaginative but I don’t get too crazy into the BDSM shit. Who has the patience for that?

W: Uhh.. just, handcuffs behind my back. Something relatively comfortable.

8: Have you given or received any Brands? What do they signify?

R: Heh. No. Never been branded. I certainly have had my fun branding Whumpee though.

W: I… have two… Uhm. One on my chest that, thank Christ, is almost all the way healed. It said, uh, swine. The other one is on my back, it’s a lot worse. I don’t know what it says but I can feel it so it’s um, it’s here to stay, I guess.

R: It says Nice Try. Remember?

W: Not really.

R: From your second half-hearted escape attempt. Didn't realize you forgot. But I did hit you pretty fucking hard that night.

9: Broken arm or broken leg? 

R: Leg.

W: Arm. A million times, arm.

10: How did you get here? Why are you the way that you are?

R: I live here. Far as I know, I’ve always been 'like this'-- whatever the hell that means. And I don’t see a problem with it. We’re all free to do as we like, so that’s what I fucking do.

W: I dunno. I, I was outside, it was dark and I think it was raining…yeah… heading home from the bar. I didn’t drink that much. I didn’t live that far, either, so the rain wasn’t a problem. I remember falling down and then… I woke up here. And I’ve been here ever since.

11: What is your biggest regret?

R: I wish this Whumpee could’ve learned a thing or two from my defiant Whumpee in the second question you asked. I wanna get my dick sucked like that every fucking night.

W: Regrets... yeah, I've got a few. One stands out. It was late at night, Whumper didn't tie me up. I snuck out of my cell and I made it to the steps. Almost to the top, nearly all the way out. The door was unlocked and cracked open a little, I thought I could make a run for it and—

R: —I was waiting for you at the top. Heh. I wanted to see if you'd run, and you sure tried to. Not so much after that, though.

12: Is there a line you won’t cross? For Whumpee, what do you most fear Whumper might do?

R: A line I wouldn’t cross? Uhhh…. No. No, I don’t think so. I’ll cross any fucking line. turns to Whumpee, grinning. So what are you afraid of, Whumpee?

W: I, um. Does he really have to be here when I answer these questions?

R: Tell them, Whumpee.

W: Can I whisper it to you? (he’s already done so much to me, so fucking much… it’s dumb but I don’t want him to shave my head.)

R: smirks. You know I heard that.

13: What lessons have you taken away from your experience?

R: Everything has been the same old, same old for me. Guess this Whumpee’s lasted longer than the rest of ‘em. He’s coming up on a year soon. Kind of impressive he’s stuck around this long and hasn’t given me a reason to kill him yet.

W: I don’t know. I do what I’m told so I can eat. I take it day by day. I guess the lesson I’ve learned is that abandoning pride is the only way to survive…

14: Whip or cane?

R: Whip.

W: Yeah. Whip.

R: Didn’t expect you to say that. Noted.

15: Drugged or coherent?

R: Depends on the situation. Drugging them is useful for transport but I don’t much like it when they’re too dazed to understand what’s happening. Sometimes they fall asleep, too.

W: Drug me any fucking day. I don’t care. I’ll take whatever you have.

16: What are your true, honest feelings about each other? Is there some part of you that cares for the other at all?

R: Sometimes I like to touch him. He’s warm and it’s funny when he tries to squirm away. Plus I like it when he begs me to stop. But do I care about him? …eh. Sure, sorta. He’s my plaything.

W: Erm. Thanks, I guess. For me… Whumper is the reason I’m here. I guess I’m appreciative for the food… but he does hurt me. A lot. Constantly.

R: You're very welcome.

17: What is your favourite thing about the other? A personality trait, a physical feature, anything

R: He’s got pretty hair. A kind of pretty face, too. Yeah, almost like a girl. Heh. And he makes good sounds when he’s screaming.

W: Ah. Fuck. I really don’t know how to answer this…

R: Come on. What’s your favorite part?

W: Um. Well, I'll say this: Whumper is smart. Scary smart. I don’t think anyone would ever imagine how smart. I don’t know. I don’t. It’s… terrifying.

18: Do you have relationships outside of each other? Friends, family - if yes, do they know about Whumpee? Do they care?

R: Yes, yes, and no.

W: I have a half sister in, uh, Arkansas. We’re not close, obviously… used to have friends I guess, but it’s been a long time since I saw them…

19: What other hobbies do/did you have?

R: Video games. 

W: I used to play saxophone. A lifetime ago.

20: For Whumper, is there any chance you’ll let Whumpee go? For Whumpee, have you ever thought about life after you’re free?

R: No. Sorry. Realistically, it doesn’t make sense to ‘let him go.’

W: I, uh, I used to think about it. I don't anymore… like he said.. realistically it doesn’t make any sense.

R: Mm. Good answer, Whumpee.

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

this interview uses the questions from Character Ask Game post by @inhurtandincomfort !! thanks homie!

((more Whump))

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part Four)

Ledger!Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of blood

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Summary: More sessions pass and while you learn more about the Joker, the pull you feel towards him grows stronger. Yet this time, it feels like everything is starting to change...

Previous part: Part 3

Notes: We back, and things are really picking up this time. Hope this distracts everyone who might be going through a tough time right now. <3 Things really pick up in this one, and I'm already excited to drop the next part lol. Have fun with this one!

With every session your infatuation for the Joker only grows.

At first, you tell yourself it comes from your want (well, need) for him to progress, both for the sake of actually seeing him healed and for the sake of your survival. Then eventually, you think it comes from the fact that his mind truly is incomprehensible, and you want to know what’s going on inside of it, want to crack open his skull and see every gear. But now, you’re not even sure what it is exactly that keeps you feeling empty anytime you’re not in a session with the Joker. You don’t know what you’re chasing anymore. Everything is just one big mind fuck.

Slowly, the Joker becomes more and more human to you. Where others still see some kind of raving, homicidal madman, you see a person. 

As your sessions carry on, you tell him more things about you, and you learn more things about him. He likes junk food. He is skilled with almost every gun known to man. He owns over thirty blades. His sleep schedule is so all over the place that he doesn’t even know what day it is ever. He prefers nights over mornings. He drinks his coffee with lots of creamer. Every fact you’ve tucked away in your mind and you’re not sure for what.

You like it when he tells you something personal about himself, but he likes when you do it even more. “I was a gymnast for a long time,” you told him once, much to his surprise. Even you hadn’t expected to get into that part of your life. “I had to stop once I started going to school, just got too busy, but I was real good at it.”

“Gymnastics, huh?” He said, grinning, and you figured he must be imagining you, usually so rigid, flying through the air. It sounded like a joke. You were surprised he wasn’t laughing. “So, you’re pretty, ah, light on your feet?”

You smiled to yourself, thinking of all the memories. It had felt so nice to throw yourself into all that hard work. When you were flipping in the air, you felt free. “Guess you could say that. Certainly hasn’t come in handy though, in my line of work.”

“It may come in handy with mine. You’d probably make a good fighter, Doctor l/n.”

The thought of you fighting anyone made you laugh out loud. Have you thought about fighting people before? Of course. All your life people have hurt you and you wanted to hurt them back. But in the end, you had decided that wouldn’t do any good. Now, however, as you kept imagining it, the Joker appeared at your side, and you were winning this fight, him laughing maniacally beside you. It sent a sort of thrill through you. You didn’t like it. “Luckily, I’m not in your line of work.”

He had winked. “You can always change your mind.”

Alongside learning bits of things about him, he also taught you a few new skills, probably antsy to test them out considering he’s strapped to a bed most of the time. He (as best as he could still cuffed to a table) tried to teach you to pick a lock, how to get a perfect shot with a gun, how to rig up TNT. It was nothing you needed to know, nor anything you thought he should be thinking about, but you went along anyway because it was best he knew you were there to support his interests. As dark as they were…. You’d work on that. 

After your last session, you decided to bring something up to Mr. Dale.

“Doctor y/n, your progress has been very minimal,” he had commented as you walked up to him, before you could even open your mouth.

You frowned. “It’s the Joker, sir. It’s not going to move very fast-“

“Well, I am tired of waiting. The longer he sits in that cell I fear the worse he’ll get, and then what? He snaps and tries to kill us all?” He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. You wanted to smack him. “Is there any way you could hurry up the process?”

Don’t rush me, was what you wanted to scream, but that wasn’t going to get you anywhere but kicked to the curb. “I do think I have an idea,” you said, trying to direct him to why you came up to him in the first place. “You need to let me bring in his makeup.”

Mr. Dale’s eyebrows shot up. And, of course, he began to laugh. If it weren’t for growing used to the Joker doing it so often, it would really piss you off. “You want to turn him back into a clown? Miss l/n, I fear that would only encourage him.”

“First off, it’s Doctor l/n,” you point out sternly. You’ve had enough of him treating you like less. If there’s another thing the Joker has taught you, it’s to not take shit from others. “And second, I want him to embrace himself. If he can be this clown persona he sees him as, we can take this persona and shape it so that it’s less… violent. Then, the makeup will no longer be something he associates with villainy. Please, Mr. Dale, I know what I’m talking about.”

You smiled wide as Mr. Dale’s face fell, absolutely shattered by your words. He wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Alright, Doctor l/n, I will allow it however if it ends badly-“

“It wont.” 

“You’re getting too comfortable. It’s his fault, I’m sure. I was right, he breaks people.”

You wish you could grab him by the collar and pull him close, but instead you settle on a deadly glare, looking him right in the eye. “I’m not broken. J isn’t broken.”

“Well, you’ve changed.”

You scoffed and turned away. “See you later, Mr. Dale.”

You have changed. You’re not sure if it’s for the better or not.

—————————

For your session, you walk in with a gentle smile, the tubes of makeup in your bag clinking together. You’re going to keep it a surprise, for later in the season. You’re not really sure why you feel giddy, but you do. It sort of outweighs your exhaustion, you’d run to the store late that night to pick up the same paints the Joker was said to have used. And when the guards finally let you in through the door, your smile grows even wider at the sight of the Joker, who is already smiling back at you. Not just because of the scars, it’s an actual smile. At first, his smiles had been menacing, but now you feel they’re actually kind of… nice. “Well, hello, doll face. So lovely to see you again.”

“Hiya, Mr. J,” you respond, taking your seat. “How are you doing today?”

“You know me, Doctor l/n, your presence puts me in a much better mood.” He props his chin up on his fist. “You look beautiful today.”

The past few sessions, Joker has certainly grown more flirty. It’s not something you’re a stranger to, the other patients have tried their hand at it, usually to try and get on your good side, but it’s different coming from Joker. You know he likes to rile you up, but you can’t help but feel the words are mostly genuine. “I look like this everyday,” you point out, not wanting to show him how his words affect you. 

“And you are, ah, beautiful everyday, doll.”

“Mr. J, refrain from flattery, please.”

He bows his head, pretending to be upset like a kicked puppy. “Oh, you’re no fun sometimes, Dr. l/n. You know I like to tease ya.”

“Some of the guards told me you’re allowed to roam around your cell now,” you say, trying to switch the subject before he can completely throw you off course. He’s good at that. “How are you liking that?”

“Hmmmm, well, I, ah, went from being stuck permanently standing in a small cell and now I can walk around the cell. Once you’ve walked it once you’ve, ah, seen it all.” He looks to one side of the room. “A wall there.” His head swerves to the other. “Oh, and one there too! What a surprise!” He chuckles to himself. Nothing makes Joker laugh more than his own nonsense. 

“So, not much better?”

Joker shakes his head. “Nah ah ah, not one bit. Can barely even make a ruckus too, the doors conceal all my banging and kicking and laughing. The guards can’t even get annoyed with me.”

You bite your cheek. “You really like being a nuisance, huh?”

“I do like to make people tick.” He wets his lips. “Especially pretty psychiatrists with sharp minds.”

Already, you can feel your cheeks warming. Embarrassment, that’s all it is. You, once again, try and take the conversation back to what you actually need to be in there for. “How about we get started, huh?”

Joker nods, smacking his lips together. Despite how much he licks them, they’re always chapped, the skin cracking. “What am I in for today? I feel we’ve talked about everything we possibly can.”

“And yet you’re no closer to getting out of here, are you?” You smirk at him as you bring out your clipboard. “I feel like I’ve been keeping it too light these past few sessions. I’ve learned a lot about you but you still won’t let me reach past the barrier.”

“What barrier?”

“The barrier between you and whoever you were before you became the Joker.”

His lips twist into a frown. Again, his past touches a nerve. “Dolly,” he warns, “I’ve told you, whatever came before doesn’t matter. I’ve always been the Joker. You won’t find anything past that.”

Once again, Joker is being a stubborn ass. As much as you enjoy talking with him, he also drives you nuts. “You’re saying your life started once Batman came to the scene?”

“He gave me purpose. What’s a joke without the punchline? Batman is the punchline.” 

“You were a child once, Joker.”

“Like most people, yes.”

“And how was your childhood?”

He ignores your question, grumbling as he stares at his cuffed wrists, rotating them as you sit there expectantly. You realize he’s not going to answer you and groan. So, he doesn’t want to dive into the past. You’re not going to force him. Prying was never the best way to go about things. You’d leave it alone again… for now. “Okay, sorry, Mr. J, we can move on. Is there anything that you’d like to talk about?”

Joker raises an eyebrow, not confused but suspicious. “You’re just gonna turn it into some kind of analysis moment, aren’t you?”

He knows me too well. “Well, that is my job. But no. Just, talk to me.” You hold your hands together, resting your chin on them. “About anything.”

“Hmmmm.” He looks like he’s having trouble thinking of something. “I’ve been thinking about Batman.”

“B-Man.” Of course. “What have you been thinking about him?”

“Those last moments I saw him, his expression. He looked so shattered.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, and you’re sure your face betrays this but he goes on anyway. “Oh, I’d live for a moment like that again. Seeing Batman react to my schemes, it’s so pleasing.”

“Do you consider your vendetta against Batman more for yourself or on behalf of the people of Gotham?”

He points at you. “There’s the analysis question. You can calm down there, Doc.” Joker coughs. “Behalf makes me sound like mister tall, dark, and dorky,” he snorts. “I’m trying to pull back everyone’s mask, but especially the Bat’s. I mean I, ah, already broke down Harvey Dent.”

That makes you go still. You hadn’t thought much on Harvey Dent, or how what Joker did may have affected him. You’re not sure if broken is the right word. Maybe scarred. Figures.  “The explosion. Right.”

“Poor, poor Harvey Dent. Gotham’s White Knight broke right in half. All because of me!”

You frown. “Harvey Dent died a noble man, Joker. Batman killed him all because Harvey was trying to do good.”

Joker’s eyebrows shoot up. “Harvey Dent is dead? And Batsy killed him?”

Oh, fuck. You clap a hand over your mouth, shaking your head. You weren’t supposed to say anything. It was an accident, you hadn’t meant to let it slip. “I… no, I mean, yes but-“ you stumble to try and cover it up but there’s no going back. Joker knows. And, honestly, who cares? He was going to figure it all out eventually. You take a deep breath. “Yes. Harvey Dent is dead. Batman killed him and five other people. And then Batman… he disappeared.”

Joker shoots up from his chair, and it takes you aback, causing you to squeal. You instinctively push your back into the chair while Joker looms over you. You’re not sure what he’s feeling, his mouth a thin line, his nostrils fuming. “Doll, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” he hisses.

“I… my bosses didn’t want me to. They were scared of what you’d do. That this would inspire you…”

You wait for him to yell, to react violently, but instead he laughs. This time though, it isn’t a creepy giggle or a small chuckle, it’s a full body laugh, the kind that contorts his body. It sounds like it hurts. “Batsy killing people?” he chokes out. “I don’t believe it. No, I don’t believe it-tah one bit.” He clutches his stomach. “Batman is a very hard person to break, believe me.”

“You… you don’t think he killed all those people?”

“Ha! Absolutely not. He would’ve killed me too, he had me in the perfect place to do it, multiple times. No no no, something’s wrong about this…”

Slowly, you loosen your posture, moving back closer to the table. You’ve never even thought that any of that mess could have been something made up. “I’m confused,” you admit. 

“Doll, do you know how hard I tried to get Batman to kill me? He won’t do it! He just won’t. He’s got his, ah, one rule, his precious little moral code. He had me in the perfect position to kill me so many times yet he didn’t take any of those chances. Yet now he says he’s killed off five people including Gotham’s little savior? Puh-lease. There’s more to this story than they’re letting up.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way at all. Well, probably because you had no reason to. Joker knew more about Batman than any Gothamite did. You didn’t know much about him other than his attempts at stopping crime. Who were you to know Batman supposedly didn’t kill? You admit, it was strange that he had a streak of getting rid of criminals in ways that didn’t involve killing, then suddenly turned and killed a few people? “Are you sure you didn’t… break him?”

“No, if I did I’d know it. I’d feel it. The Bat is about as stubborn as me, doll. And now he’s in hiding?” He sniggers, a hand gently touching his lips. “Sounds like some kind of, ah, twisted joke. The Bat is hiding something.”

“I’m sure he’s hiding lots of things.”

“Whatever this is though I’m curious about it.”

Of course. You just ignited a flame in him. Idiot. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing they got nine lives.” 

The more you think about it, the more intrigued you are. Batman has always been shrouded in mystery for you. Was he good? Was he bad? And now it turns out his story is all over the place, that it doesn’t make sense? You kind of wanted to know now too. “Do you think it has to do with Harvey?”

“Only one way to, ah, find out.”

“Which is?”

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Drive the Bat out of hiding, of course.”

There it is. Mr. Dale was right. You shouldn’t have told him. He was going to find out eventually but now was not the time. Shit. “J, you can’t-“

He cuts you off. “You don’t like the Bat, do you?”

“Well, no, but-“

“Then don’t you wanna know what his little secret is? It must be somethin’ real special if he’s, ah, abandoned Gotham. Doesn’t sound very heroic to me. Sounds rather dull.” 

You know Joker’s dead set on getting back Batman for his own amusement, but what of you? What reason would you want to go find him for other than to expose him? He locked up Joker and left him here to rot. He killed five people plus Harvey Dent. He gets to hide away while people still root for him, safe from consequences. Everyone else suffers. Maybe Joker has a point. “I’m just a psychiatrist working Arkham asylum, Mr. J, trying to seek out the Batman is far above my pay grade,” you finally say, snorting, trying to get the idea out of your head. “B-Man can’t hide forever.”

“You’re right. Because we’ll drive him out.”

“We?”

“Well, you like to do good, don’t you? Little miss Mother Teresa, over here. You’ve already offered me friendship. So come on, help me, help Gotham, help us all!” He shows you his yellowing teeth. “Or, are you not as good as you think you are?” He reaches out with his hands suddenly, moving towards you. They only reach about halfway across the table, stopped by his cuffs, but you still jump. “What’s behind that mask, dear? Tell me what you really want. Let. It. Slip. Every dirty detail.” 

You’re trembling now. Like a rabbit caught in a trap. “I… I’m not sure I’m following.”

“You’re not as good as you think you are, dolly. I can see it! I, ah, can sense the darkness looking beneath your white coat.”

What the hell was Joker going on about? That you were as rotten as he was? You weren’t. You had dark thoughts sometimes, yes, but you weren’t crazy. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t. You weren’t bad you- “I don’t know what you want from me,” you whisper.

As your voice gets quieter, Joker gets louder. “Is that it? You feel all fine and dandy in this shitty life of yours, locked up with me in this madhouse? The people out there don’t care about you, they don’t care about any of us. But you’re fine with it, huh? Like a little pet pooch nipping at their heels. You’re just being optimistic!”

“Joker-“

“Tell me,” he demands, “what you really want! I want to break Batman! I want to strip all of Gotham down to its rotting core! And you want to keep yourself beneath their boots? Dolly, please, you’re much much more than that.”

Heart thumping, you can’t take his words anymore. You stand up abruptly, slamming your hands on the table. “Fine! You wanna know what I want? I want to hurt every single person around here who has done me wrong! Every single person who ignored me or disregarded me, everyday I wish I could just rip them apart. I- I hate everyone. I hate this stupid fucking place because everyone treats me like shit and at first I was only trying so hard at this because I can harldy survive and they told me that if your sanity improved then I’d get a raise!” What is with you today? You clap your hands over your mouth, hands shaking. Fuck, Joker was going to be pissed. Oh, goddammit. “J… I- I didn’t…” You struggle to find the words, trying to keep looking him in the eyes. They give nothing away. He is silent. “Mr. J-“

Then, out of nowhere, he cackles. He throws his head back, neck exposed, and laughs into the air, the howls of his laughter echoing throughout the room. Immediately, you’re caught off guard. You can’t tell if he’s laughing because it amuses him or because he’s angry. Even when he calms down enough to look at you and smile, you still can’t tell, and you continue to shake. “Doll,” he begins through his laughs, “that’s exactly what I’m looking for.” He doubles over with howling laughter again and you’re not sure if you should be scared or confused. “This whole time you just wanted a raise! So you took on little old me?”

There’s a lump in your throat. You swallow it down. “I didn’t have much of a choice but yes… it was that or be fired. But I did really want to help you, Mr. J. Are- are you mad?”

“Mad? No! I am, ah, lovin’ this side of you. It’s so cruel.”

That certainly took a weight off your shoulders, and you finally took a long breath in. Fucking hell, Joker was confusing. Guilt still gnawed at you. “You’re right, I’m just as selfish as you say people are,” you mumble.

“Exactly,” he hisses. “But it takes guts to admit it, especially to someone who, ah, doesn’t exactly handle things very nicely.”

“I’m so sorry, J.”

“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Then I don’t know what to do now. You’re set on getting Batman out of hiding, I’m going fucking crazy right now, everything feels so weird.”

Joker seems to find the utmost pleasure in your unraveling. “Doll, what’s in the bag?”

The question takes you off guard. “What?”

“When you came in, you were all giddy, and I could hear something moving in your bag I haven’t heard before. What is it?”

Ever so perceptive. “Oh… uh,” you fumble through your bag, bringing out the three tins of paint. “Your paint. They… they let me bring it for you.”

Joker’s smile falters a bit, yet he doesn’t look upset, just surprised. “My paint… You really brought it for me?”

You nod. “Y-yes.”

His voice dips low. “Put it on me then.”

Now that takes you by surprise. More than anything else that’s happened to you today.

The Joker is so guarded off, yet he’s inviting you in, allowing you to not just touch his face but apply his makeup. It feels sacred. This is a part of him that makes him not just recognizable, but feared. And here you are, being asked to put it on him. It’s so wrong it feels… right? It scares you.

“Are you sure you-?”

“Put it on me, y/n.”

If this is a test, you’re not exactly sure how to pass. But his look is unnerving and so you stand up, pulling yourself onto the table between you, a lump in your throat. You feel frazzled as you move close to him, bending your legs to the side of you as you settle on your thighs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. You can see every line of his scars, every wrinkle and crease on his face. “Okay,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You grab the white paint to the side of you, screwing off the lid and taking a large glob of the substance.

You loom close to him, your fingers wet with white paint, waiting for a sign that he’s okay with this. You don’t dare breathe, scared that any movement, any sound, will shut him down. But to your surprise, he doesn’t back away, he nods. Keep going. Your fingers finally land on his cheek, right beneath his eye, and you gasp at how warm his skin is. Joker shows nothing on his face to reveal how he feels except for the way his eye twitches slightly at your touch, his cheek twitching along with it. As you start to paint around his face, everywhere but his scars and lips, you wonder if his reaction stems from a disdain of being touched or from not having been touched so gently in so long. 

“Mr. J,” you whisper, and you can feel your hands start to shake again but you quickly steady them. Once his face is fully white, you dig into the black paint. He notices this and closes his eyes, letting you rub the dark paint in circles until each of his eyes look like they’ve settled into two, painted voids. When he opens his eyes again, they’re still trained right on you. “What am I doing?” you ask to no one in particular.

Joker doesn’t answer your question. He doesn’t have one for you anyways other than the obvious. “The red now, doll.”

“Y-yes, of course.” Quickly, you grab the red paint and stick your fingers in, moving them towards Joker’s lips but stopping. Putting the makeup on his face had been intimate enough but… his scars? That was a whole different kind of territory. “J…”

“Do it,” he murmurs, and it’s so quick you still wait, your hand just in front of his mouth shaking. This had to be a test. Some kind of sick joke. “Doll, can you, ah, hear me? I said ‘do it’.” 

You want to protest, but for what? He made it clear what he wants. So, you begin to smear the red across his lips, moving first to the scar on his right, your entire body shuddering as your fingers touch the sunken in skin where the carvings were made, the mangled flesh around it, every bump and curve. You don’t understand why anyone would ever find these scars ugly. To you, the way they healed, the way they are a part of him, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about it.

Godammit, J is beautiful.

As you continue to smear the red paint, he looms closer. “Do you wanna know,” he whispers, “how I got these scars?”

“I…” Of course you do. Everyday since you’ve met him, you go home and you can’t help but see his smile. See those scars. And you can’t help but wonder how they got there. You imagine a blade ripping across his mouth, drawing so much blood it drips down his chin. You’ve imagined him screaming in pain. You’ve imagined him uttering not a peep as the blade pierces his skin. So many possibilities. This was the barrier you’d been hoping to jump. “Yes,” you finally rasp.

“I can, ah, never get the story straight. It’s like a black hole, doll. A black hole in my mind. There’s so many ways I could’ve gottem, so many ways I think I gottem. What’s real? What’s not? Who the fuck cares?” Even with a furious growl in his voice, he laughs. “I can’t remember what it really was that did it. There was a horrible father. A wife who I tried so hard for. There was war, and violence, the mob, and so much pain. I’ve seen a lot. Maybe they’re all real memories, maybe they’re not, doesn’t matter! I hated the scars at first, I really did, but now? I embrace them because there is just so much to smile for. I’ve got so much left to do in this city. So much fun left to have. But there’s something I’ve been missing.”

You rub your thumb over his right scar, drawing in a shaky breath. “What is that?”

“I have all these plans, all these ideas and feelings over what I do and yet I’ve never thought anyone good enough to share them with. People, ah, will only be good to you for a while before runnin’ off with your secrets, it’s just human nature. I didn’t feel a kinship to anyone until you came along, Doctor l/n.” When he smiles, you feel the movement beneath your finger. “Look at you. So lonely. Letting everyone spit on you. Yet here you are, being so kind to me. I’m sure you imagined I could’ve killed you for keeping me along for a stupid paycheck, but you admitted it to me anyways. You are pulling back your own mask, right in front of me. You know you couldn’t fix me, right?”

You can feel tears welling in your eyes at his words, guilt gnawing at you. “I wanted to try at first. But now… I- I don’t want to fix you. I like what you are.”

“That,” he growls, “is exactly why I’m so drawn to you. I know, doll, that you crave something more than what you have now, this world kicking you down over and over and over again. I know the feeling. You’ve got nothing and everything to lose. Yet you manage to smile amidst the darkness. You smile in the face of pure chaos.”

“I don’t understand,” you mumble. 

“I want what’s best for both of us, doll face. You were right. I do need someone by my side. As I was saying, what I’ve been missing this whole time, was you.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Me?”

He nods. “You stuck with me this long. Even for a paycheck, that’s somethin’ no one else would do. And yet the big Arkham bosses are out there now, laughing at the both of us. Ain’t that unfair?”

“Yes.”

“Doll, stick by my side, and we’ll let them all know just how corrupt they truly are.”

Your arms break out in goosebumps. Every word the Joker utters is dripping with venom, an edge to each syllable. You’ve tried to ignore him, the way he crawls into your rib cage, into your mind, finding your weaknesses, your dark desires and whims you push away. Yet here he is, getting you to reveal them, and trying to get you to go along with him. It’s working. “Let’s show them, then.”

You look down at your fingers, covered in red, and it almost looks like blood. 

He grins. “That’s the spirit.” With a curl of his finger, he gestures for you to move closer. You do, and he cranes his neck towards your ear. “If you really wanna help me,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, “then tomorrow is the day you get me out of this place.” Every t is pronounced as sharp as a blade. “You’re smart, doll, I know you can think of something.”

Breaking Joker. Out of Arkham. A few weeks ago, you might have grabbed your remote and hit the red button but now? You think you might just take him up on that. You move back to look him in the eye. “You won’t help me think of something?”

“I’m sure you’ve got something in that, ah, pretty mind of yours.”

You huff. “J, I’m serious. This is Arkham. It’s constantly guarded and protected. And I’m just me.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You’re you, sweets. No one’s gonna suspect you.”

Oh fuck. He’s right. No one gave a shit about you. You’d fly right under the radar. That part was easy. But everything else? This wasn’t exactly your forte. You didn’t know what to do. “I’ll try my best,” was all you could offer.

He reaches his hand out, and at first you think he’s trying to grab you, but instead he goes after one of the paint tins. The red paint. Agonizingly slow, he removes the cap, getting his fingers wet with paint. “Doll, you and I are gonna make something special. I always knew you had it in ya. C’mere.” You tilt your face towards him, and Joker smears the red across your lips, a mirror of his own striking smile. “Don’t forget to smile,” he says.

“Never.”

_______________

Later in the night, Joker stares at himself in the reflection of the small, grimy window of his cell door. His face is painted exactly the way he likes it, maybe just a bit different, but he could care less. This, this person he’s looking at, is the person he is, the person you have given back to him. He touches his face and he can still feel your phantom touch, the way you had run your finger over his face, his eyelids, his scars. You hadn’t backed off, or avoided them, you had touched them so softly. Soft. You were soft. 

You made Joker feel soft and he hated it.

Yet, he couldn’t fathom getting rid of you. It would be easy, definitely. If things actually went well tomorrow and you managed to get him out of Arkham, he could easily kill you off. No one would look for you. And even if they did, helping him break out of Arkham would mark you a criminal, and Gotham would curse your name forever. But Joker doesn’t want to do that. Even the thought of your death makes him angry. He is used to wanting to hurt people, yet when he comes across you now, he feels… protective. He knows how the world hates him, yet somehow you showed him sympathy. No, even better, you were showing him loyalty by offering to help break him out. And if you really went and did it? God, he almost breaks into chills.

When he looks at you, he notices his body reacting strangely. His heart speeds up, his hands feel sweatier, his mind feels like it’s going to split right in half. This isn’t the kind of insanity Joker usually basks in, this is something worse. He doesn’t want to put a name to it. You were so good, and yet when you let your mask slip, Joker couldn’t help but feel pulled in even more. What lies beneath you is dark and spiteful, and Joker wants to see all of it.

You won’t let him down tomorrow, Joker is sure of it. 

A voice on the intercom comes through the crack under the door, crackling through the speakers placed along the hall outside. “Shutting lights off. Everybody get to bed.”

Joker grunts, moving to plant himself down on his metal “bed”. He’s not going to sleep though, how could he? Chaos was coming, and you were bringing it straight towards him.

________________________________________________

When you get home, you stumble into the bathroom, quickly turning on the sink faucet and drenching your face in water. You let the ice cold water drip down your face, crying out as you try and get a grip on things. Your fingers are still covered in Joker’s face paint, the water hardly washing any of it off. It’s like he’s on you forever.

Why, for fucks sake, do you almost want it to never wash off?

You look at yourself in the mirror now, the makeup that Joker spread smeared down your chin. This is you now. Mr. Dale was right, you have changed. But fuck it, it was for the best. This change, this thing radiating beneath your skin, it’s something dangerous yet powerful. It moves you. You’re not crazy, you’re insane. 

You can’t tell what this feeling is towards Joker. It almost feels like… love.

Love for the Joker.

The Joker. The Joker. The Joker-

He was right. He was always right. People were going to walk over you all your life. You were tired of it. Nothing was going to change if you didn’t change it first. You couldn’t stand around and watch these people, with their pockets fat and their reputations swell, walk around with such pride when you knew they were all phonies. This city, your city, you’re going to unveil it. No longer will it crush you. You’re going to crush it. 

You were going to be Joker’s partner in crime. And you loved it.

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey / @ilovetoomanymen / @amazingzou/ @ronniesweetkisser / @emberhatesthemoon

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

[star-ving-skinny-girl]

Tomorrow is another day everyone, be excited to put in that effort again to get skinny!!

Things to do to stick to your goals:

- Obviously don’t eat. BUT if you do have to eat, try eating under 1000 cals. If you want to lose weight faster, eat under 600 cals. No matter the number, always aim for lower!

- If you need a distraction, here’s some; • Take a bath - you’re forced to stay out of the kitchen for a good amount of time, especially if you’re on your phone to help distract. • Clean your room/home, you burn extra cals too! • Take your dog on a walk/go on a walk. • Go shopping, even if it’s just window shopping or online shopping. • Do your skincare/hair routine. • Go to your room and get all comfy to binge watch your show/play games - being comfy is key, that way you won’t want to get up to eat AND your room is further away from the kitchen. • Create your own th!nsp0 board - it’ll take a lot of time and focus to make it look aesthetic!!! • Since it’s getting close to Christmas, go buy people presents - wrap them to take up time too!

- Look at th!nspo, m3@nsp0, gr0ssp0, etc to keep you on track OR ask ana people for personal m3@nsp0! It being personal makes it hit much harder

- Go exercise, even if it’s a handful of sit ups every few hours. That’s better than nothing

- At work/school, only bring low cal foods for lunch - or none at all. I personally bring at least something in case I feel sick or if my coworkers comment that I haven’t eaten in front of them in a bit (bless her heart, she’s great)

- Drink tons of water to feel full and not as sick when fasting/restricting

- If you tend to break fasts earlier than you like OR if you b!nge after fasts often, consider doing liquid only fasts! I was told it can help your metab burn more during fasts (unsure if true) but I ONLY do liquid fasts due to my chronic illness - and it works great for me! I drink coffee (cream and sugar) and soda (full sugar) during my fasts and I lost 10.6 lbs in less than a month! Sometimes it makes me feel like a fake tho 😭

[fluentmoviequoter]

Favorite Day

Part 2 of Favorite Woman

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: You, Jim Street's favorite woman, finally meet Street's team.

Warnings: fluff, banter, friendly betting, the usual

Word Count: 1.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest (ik it's not Street but it's cute)

Street takes your hand, smiling as the charm on your bracelet taps his wrist. He bought you the bracelet for Women’s Day, and you’ve worn it every day since. His initials are carved into the charm, and you look at it often.

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” you muse as Street pulls you to his side.

“Me neither,” he admits, running his thumb gently under your lips. “Some people might think that I didn’t want to introduce you to my team.”

“Those people wouldn’t have had to be lonely while your team worked overtime every week since March.”

Street smiles and pulls you closer as the fall winds blow through Los Angeles. He taps your side and leads you up the short walkway to the house he shares with Luca. You’ve met Luca, but you’re growing nervous about the rest of Street’s team. His coworkers have become his family; it’s been a long time coming, and you don’t want to jeopardize the relationships Street has worked so hard for.

“Ignore Hondo,” Street suggests as he opens the door for you.

Watching Street’s profile, you murmur, “It’s hard to pay attention to anyone else.”

“There’s my best friend!” Luca calls as you enter.

“Thanks for cooking,” you respond, smiling as you pull your hand from Street’s to hug Dom.

“Streeter!” Hondo yells. You recognize him from pictures and smile to stifle your laugh as Street raises a hand.

“I’ll get to introductions, Hondo, try not to be so blatantly pathetic.”

Hondo stands, but Street pulls you before him and says your name. “This is my girlfriend. Girlfriend, this is Hondo, Deacon, and Tan.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you add. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Then you know Street’s a pathological liar,” Tan responds with a smile.

You offer your hand but don’t get a single handshake as you’re pulled into three hugs. Street’s friends are just as kind and welcoming as he said, and as you sit between Street and Deacon, you feel like you are part of the family.

“I see why you hid her so long,” Hondo jokes, smiling at Street.

“Yeah,” Luca agrees as he sets a plate on the table. “Because he gets more annoying every day.”

“I’m just glad they aren’t blaming me for how long it took,” you whisper to Deacon.

“Oh, we’ll be on your side for everything, even if it’s just to mess with Street,” he replies.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Deac,” Street says, abandoning his bickering with Hondo. “She’s part of me, so you can’t mess with me like that. She’s always right.”

“Somebody got that on camera, right?” you ask.

Luca returns with the last of the meal and sits across from you. As they begin eating, they ask you questions about how you and Street met, what you’ve done since you’ve been together, and hint at ideas about marriage. You find it incredibly easy to talk to them, and as you listen to their jokes and observe how well they get along, you smile and take Street’s hand under the table.

“Time for the heavy stuff,” Hondo announces as the food runs low. He places his napkin on the table and turns toward you and Street.

“I told you to return the bracelet when you had the chance,” you mumble to Street, holding his hand in your lap.

“Don’t go there,” he replies. “Hondo has a different idea of heavy stuff.”

“But I don’t,” Deacon interjects. “And we do have something important to talk about.”

“Do you, uh, do you want me to go?” you offer, gesturing toward the hallway to Street’s room.

“No,” Tan assures. “Street can go, if he’d like.”

“Ha ha,” Street deadpans. “Just spit it out, guys.”

“My wife Annie wants to meet you,” Deacon tells you as Hondo and Luca look at each other. “No rush.”

“That sounds nice,” you reply. “I’d really like that.”

“Okay,” Hondo begins. “It’s very clear that you’re in love, that you make Street tolerable.”

“We mean that in the nicest way,” Luca assures. “But… I can’t do it, Hondo.”

“Do you love him as much as he loves you?” Tan asks quickly. “See, wasn’t hard.”

Street shakes his head and begins to speak, but you gently squeeze his hand and smile.

“You all care about Street, and I appreciate it more than you believe. I’m guessing you’re asking because you have an idea of how much Street does for me, how he shows his love. Yes, he buys me gifts, like the expensive bracelet I wear, and takes me to nice restaurants. The answer to your question is undoubtedly, completely, yes. I love Street more than I have ever loved anyone or anything before in my life. You may not be able to see it when Street walks into a room, but he is the love of my life, and I do my best to show him every single day that I’m lucky enough.”

The men around you nod, watching you as Street turns toward you.

“That’s better than any wedding speech I’ve ever heard,” Deacon says, breaking the silence.

“I’m telling Annie!” Hondo yells.

“She didn’t write her own,” Deacon argues, “but be my guest.”

“Did I pass?” you whisper to Street.

He doesn’t answer, so you move to face him. Street’s eyes are fixed on you, and he doesn’t hear anything his friends say as he watches you with a lovestruck look in his eye.

“I know you do,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Heavy stuff now?” Luca asks.

“You mean that wasn’t the heavy stuff?” you question.

“Of course not,” Hondo responds. He smiles to ask, “Now we need to talk food and how often you can serve as a buffer between us and Streeter there.”

Street lists your favorite foods, then says, “And as often as possible.”

“What’s your favorite day of the year?” Tan asks.

You furrow your brow but answer, “November 6th.”

Street smiles, aware that you go above and beyond for birthdays and love celebrating him, but Tan sighs and gives Luca cash as Hondo fishes for his wallet. Deacon rolls his eyes and tells you this is normal, but your curiosity is piqued.

“What did you think I’d say?” you inquire.

“March 8th,” Tan and Hondo answer.

“Because of this one romancing me all day?” you ask, pointing to Street. “That was a good day, but, I mean, they’re all special with him.”

“If you like birthdays,” Tim begins before trailing off.

“I’m really glad I came tonight,” you say. “But there is one question I had for all of you, if that’s okay.”

The men around you nod, and Street leans closer to you as you ask, “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve seen Street do?”

Street groans as he hides behind you, and Hondo, Luca, and Tan speak over one another before Deacon shakes his head and assures him he has seen him do worse.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Street says against your neck. “And don’t think I’ll forget this when it’s time to write wedding speeches.”

[bamber344]

Subject G-5: 'Magpie'

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masterlist

heyo! this chapter is a fucking MONSTER. biggest one yet. but that's what i get for trying to condense a character's entire backstory into one chapter lol. I'm sure you can guess who's backstory it is ;P

Enjoy!

CWs: living weapon whump, minor whump, whipping, electrocution, stress positions, non-con body modification, lab whump, starvation, controlling whumper, vomit, various other bodily fluids

Subject G-5: 'Magpie'

Maggie sighed, sinking further against the cushions as Diego’s hand massaged preen oil through the feathers on her back and wings, straightening them out and cleaning any debris out of them. After having to suffer through trying to do it herself with her limited human flexibility for the first nine months of her life, having someone else to help her with preening was something she would truly never take for granted. It wasn’t just her wings she had to worry about; the feathers trailed all the way down her spine, coalescing in a small, useless tail at her coccyx. Basically, it was a whole lot of work. At least she was blessed with a preen gland, producing her own preen oil and saving her the struggle of having to find another way to maintain her feathers’ quality, despite the fact that other people tended to find it…offputting. 

Well, Andreas was an asshole anyway, so what did she care about his opinion? Diego didn’t mind, and Hex never knew anything different. They were the only ones that mattered.

Maggie heard the door to Hex’s room open, and she plodded over to them, taking a seat on the couch near Maggie’s feet.

“Hey Diego?” she asked. “Can we get McDonalds for dinner?”

“That depends,” he hummed. The sound instinctively made Maggie relax. “Have you finished your studies for this week yet?”

Despite the fact that she was out of Maggie’s line of sight, she could almost feel Hex’s pout. “Maggie didn’t finish hers last week, but you still bought her chinese food when she asked!”

“Hey, I’ve been busy working at the construction site, making money so we can eat! I don’t always have time to read books,” Maggie complained. “Also, Diego loves me.”

“Actually, last week you skipped out on studying to try and go after Jordyn again, and she kicked your butt so bad she broke three of your ribs.”

“‘Scuse you! I kicked her butt! You weren’t there, you didn’t see!”

“I’ve gotta give that one to Hex, babe,” Diego said. “I did tell you not to go.”

“Whatever. Either way, I sorted it. She won’t be coming after us.”

“Anyway, that’s besides the point,” Hex said. “The point being: is McDonalds on the table tonight?”

“...Actually, I could go for some McDonalds right now, too,” Maggie muttered.

Diego laughed. “Fine. But that’s the last time I’m ordering takeout for the rest of the month!”

Hex protested, and Maggie smiled as the conversation between her sister and her boyfriend continued on above her. A comforting warmth settled in her belly; pride and happiness in herself for succeeding in giving her little sister at least some semblance of a normal childhood. It wasn’t perfect by any means – it couldn’t be, what with the memories of the things they suffered in the facility still plaguing them every day – but like this, Hex at least got a chance. She got to bicker with her sister without getting beaten for it, got to skip out on her studies to play video games like a normal kid. Granted, Maggie herself was still learning just what ‘normal’ was. Despite the difference between their physical ages, she was only four months older than Hex, technically speaking. Having Diego around was certainly helpful, though. Without his help, the two of them would probably still be the naive, bumbling idiots they’d been the day they broke out of the facility.

Maggie closed her eyes, relaxing into the couch and reminiscing on how she got to where she was today.

—

5 MONTHS AFTER WAKING

Magpie sat on the end of her bed, shivering. She didn’t know why. She wasn’t cold, not with her wings wrapped around herself protectively like they were. There was nothing to be scared of in the immediate vicinity. And yet, this horrible, pervasive anxiety just wouldn’t leave her alone.

It had been there since this afternoon, when Father screamed at and hit her for flying over the obstacle course instead of running through it. She didn’t understand why it mattered if she could run well when she had a perfectly good pair of wings on her back to help her fly. It was stupid. Father was stupid. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but something just wasn’t right about this whole situation.

As far back as she could remember, Father had been there, helping her recover after waking up from her supposed ‘accident.’ He was trying to help her become a superhero again, or so he said. Magpie just wasn’t sure that she believed it. If he was trying to help her, why would he turn around and hurt her in the same breath? Why did he want so much control over her, to the point where he refused to let her leave the facility, no matter how much she begged? It just didn’t sit right.

Really though, what was she supposed to do? Her memories were completely gone. She had no knowledge of who she used to be, or how the world worked. She had no choice but to just stick with Father until she learned more. Then, she would make a decision on whether or not to trust him.

She occupied herself by running her fingers through the feathers of her wings, straightening them out. Their softness was reassuring, but it did little to settle the quiver of unease that had sunken all the way down into her bones. 

The door opened, and Father walked in. Magpie instinctively hopped off of her bed, ready to defend herself. 

He studied her, eyeing her up and down, before sighing. “Come in, Hex.”

Someone entered the room behind him. Magpie gasped.

The girl was a lot younger than her, shyly hiding behind Father’s leg. Her short-cropped hair was black, just like Magpie’s, and she shared her tan skin. In fact, the girl was practically identical to her aside from her age and the lack of wings on her back. Who the hell was she?!

Father turned to the young girl. “This is the older sister I was telling you about. Her name is Magpie. You’re going to be staying with her from now on, okay?”

“What is this? What’s going on?” Magpie asked.

Father sighed again. “I’m truly sorry, I should have told you this earlier. Hex here is your younger sister. She was injured in the same accident as you, and only woke up a month ago. Since then, she’s been going through the same rehabilitation program that you did, and is finally well enough to join you properly.”

Magpie had absolutely no memory of a younger sister, but… what else could this girl possibly be? She looked exactly like her. It wasn’t like she had memories of anything else either, to be fair, and from the look on her face, Hex was thinking a similar line of thought.

Father placed a hand on Hex’s back and pushed her further into the room. A spark of protectiveness instinctively rose in Magpie’s chest.

“Get to know each other. Another bed will be brought in shortly.”

With that, Father left. Magpie and Hex stared at each other.

“I didn’t know I had a big sister,” Hex said. Her eyes kept flickering to Magpie’s wings. Magpie smirked.

“Well, I didn’t know I had a little sister, either.” She sat back down on the bed, motioning for Hex to join her. “You don’t remember anything either, huh?”

Hex shook her head, tentatively climbing up next to Magpie. 

“Even if I have no memories of you, it’s nice to finally not be alone. No one else… gets how hard it is, not knowing anything. Y’know?”

Hex hummed in agreement, but she seemed a bit distracted. “Can I… Um… Can I touch your wings?”

Magpie chuckled. “Sure. But be gentle.”

Hex reached out, carefully running her fingers along the feathers. Magpie tried not to shiver. The touch was gentler than anything she’d ever felt from another person before, and honestly, it was starting to get her a little choked up, especially with the cute little smile on Hex’s face as she did it.

There was something on the back of her neck. Magpie frowned.

“Hey, let me see the back of your neck?”

“Hm? Okay.”

Hex shifted a little to allow access. Sure enough, there it was. Starting just below her hairline, there were a bunch of lines making up a weird rectangle, and below that, there was writing.

G-6: ‘HEX’

PROPERTY OF PRECINCT 23

That same old dread settled into Magpie’s gut. Something just wasn’t right. Hex seemed oblivious to it, but somehow Magpie knew. Was she even really her little sister? Or was this just another lie from their ‘Father’?

There was one thing she was certain of, though. Little sister or not, Magpie had to protect her. They were in this situation together, and she wouldn’t let that old man hurt her like he had hurt Magpie. She swore it.

—

9 MONTHS AFTER WAKING

Magpie rolled her shoulders as she walked down the corridor, having finished her combat training for the day. Anxiety broiled in her gut for her upcoming exam tomorrow. It wasn’t that she was scared she would fail – there wasn’t even a chance of that. It was more a general excitement at the prospect of finally being allowed to go outside.

The past few months had been difficult, full of harsh training and harsher punishments, but as soon as Father gave her free access to the outside world, Magpie was gonna grab Hex and make a run for it. Their freedom from this underground hellhole was so close, she could almost taste it.

The thought of Hex made her sigh. The girl was struggling under Father’s ‘tutelage.’ She didn’t have the same distrust of him that Magpie did. She hung on his every word, followed every order to the letter, and the slightest hint of a smile from him was enough to have her practically melting. And yet, her young body just couldn’t live up to the demands being placed on her. He was being a lot gentler with her than he had been with Magpie, but she didn’t doubt it wouldn’t be long until his limited patience ran out.

Honestly, what was he expecting? Magpie was a full-grown woman of 25, but Hex was barely even a teenager! Of course she couldn’t complete all of these crazy, dangerous obstacle courses. If not for her telekinesis power allowing her to block the knives and poles being swung at her, she’d probably already be dead! Magpie herself had had way too many close calls on that course for comfort, and she could literally fly over it if she wanted.

The thought angered her, but she buried it down. Just one more day. One more day, and they could get out of here for good. 

Speaking of Hex’s training, Magpie was pretty sure it was still going on for today. She figured she might as well go and see how her little sister was going before heading back to their room.

A shrill scream and a loud crack echoed through the hallways. Magpie’s heart leapt into her throat. She started running.

He wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t. He’d threatened Magpie with it a few times, and only backed down on account of not wanting to damage her wings. Hex didn’t have that protection. But, still. He wouldn’t do that to her, right?

The cracking and shrieking continued, and it became clearer and clearer that, apparently, he would. Magpie was going to kill him.

The sight she saw through the window when she got to Hex’s training course didn’t betray her expectations. 

Hex, shirtless and on her knees. Father standing behind her, whip in hand. A dozen red, bleeding lines criss-crossing Hex’s back as her entire body quaked.

A rage the likes of which she’d never felt before burned in Magpie’s gut. She rushed over to the door, dismayed to find that it was locked.

Fine. It wouldn’t stop her.

She threw her fist against the metal, denting it. A grim satisfaction settled inside of her. Nothing could protect Father from her wrath now.

She punched the edge of the door over and over again, until there was enough space for her to get her fingers in between it and the frame. Ensuring that her grip was sound, she heaved, contracting every fibre of muscle in her arms and literally ripping the sliding metal door out of the wall. Inside, Hex was curled up on the floor, and Father was staring at Magpie like she was the consequences of his actions made manifest. He was scared.

Good.

With a flap of her wings, Magpie was flying towards him, ready to rip him apart. 

Her fist sunk into his side with the force of a wrecking ball, and she felt his ribs crack under her knuckles. The hit sent him flying, slamming into the far wall like a sack of bricks.

Magpie landed on her feet, planting herself between Father and Hex. He wouldn’t hurt them anymore.

Father coughed and gasped, spitting up blood as he tried and failed to get to his feet. “Wh… what… Wh-what’s the meaning of this?! How dare you raise a hand against me!”

“You stay away from us!” Magpie yelled. “Come near Hex again, and I’ll kill you!”

Father finally managed to drag himself up, clutching his side. He scowled. “You’ve always been a precocious one, Five. I see I’ve been far too gentle with you. It’s fine, you’ll learn obedience in time. Here’s your first lesson!”

He threw his hand up and Magpie screamed, suddenly overcome with an impossible pain coursing throughout her entire body, pinpointed in the back of her neck. She collapsed as her knees gave out, writhing on the ground in unknowable agony. Darkness flashed across her vision. She heaved, her body curling in on itself and forcing her lunch back out of her mouth. This was it. She was going to die. Her body couldn’t take it. Hex was going to be all alone with that monster, and there was nothing she could do.

With that one last thought, everything went black and Magpie died.

—

TWO DAYS LATER

If only she’d actually died back then. It would have been a mercy. If she’d died, she wouldn’t be stuck on her knees, with her arms wrenched and twisted behind her back, chained to the wall tight enough that she couldn’t move at all without searing pain. If she’d died, she wouldn’t have been stuck in this exact position for an unknowable amount of time, muscles burning constantly, stomach aching with hunger, thirst quenched by only the most meagre amount of water that would keep her alive, soiling herself over and over with no way to stop it. Passing out was her only consolation, but even then, she never stayed asleep for long. It was stupid of her to think she’d had it bad before. This was true hell.

Magpie closed her eyes, trying not to cry. She couldn’t afford to waste hydration like that. Her only hope was that Hex had been spared. She would put up with this forever if it meant that her little sister was safe.

The door opened, bright light spilling out from the hallway and blinding Magpie after so many hours in the dark. It was probably Father, come to torment her again. She braced herself for another verbal lashing or boot to the jaw.

“Maggie?”

If Magpie had the energy to, she would have gasped.

“H… H-Hex…? Is… Is that… you?” she rasped out.

The figure haloed in light stepped closer. Sure enough, it was Hex, her little sister, looking down at her in horror.

“Oh god, Maggie. Did… Did Father do this to you?”

“What are you doing here?” Magpie croaked, ignoring the question. “If Father finds you, he’ll hurt you again.”

“He’s not here right now. He and a bunch of the scientists left. I’m gonna save you, okay?”

The thought made a lump rise in Magpie’s throat. Her bottom lip quivered. “H- Hex…”

The young girl wasted no more time, rushing to the shackles binding Magpie’s arms and legs. They came undone all at once and she collapsed to the floor, relief flooding her tattered muscles. Magpie couldn’t help it; she started sobbing.

“It’s okay now, Maggie,” Hex said, kneeling at her side and gently massaging the base of her wings. “It’s all gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of here tonight, just like you talked about.”

“I’m sorry… I c-couldn’t protect you… I’m so sorry, Hex.”

Hex’s voice cracked. “It- it’s alright. It’s not your fault, Maggie.”

Magpie let out a sigh, her body deflating. “I like it when you call me that. B-better than Magpie.”

“Then that’s what I’ll call you from now on, okay?”

Maggie nodded. She sniffled, summing up the energy to speak. “How much time do we have?”

“A little. The hallways are pretty empty right now, so I should be able to get us back to our room without any trouble. We’ll have a bit of time to prepare, but then we have to move. Do… Do you think you’ll be okay? Will you be able to fight?”

“I will be,” Maggie said. “No matter what, I will be. I’ll always fight for you, Hex.”

“Not alone, you won’t. I’ll fight, too. Like you said, we’re in this together. To the end.”

“To the end.”

—

Maggie laid in bed, enjoying her last few moments of rest before everything went down. Hex ended up carrying her down the hallway with telekinesis, and thankfully they didn’t run into anyone on the way. She’d had a shower – or, more accurately, Hex had showered her – gotten a change of clothes, and was now ready to fight for their freedom.

Okay, maybe ‘fight’ was a bit of an exaggeration for her current state. Shakily hobble toward their freedom, more like.

As much as she didn’t want to move at all for the next month, the promise of the outside world was invigorating, and it gave her the strength to sit up.

“Feeling okay to go?” Hex asked.

Maggie sucked in a breath to steel herself and nodded. “I don’t know if I can walk too fast on my own, but together, we should be able to make it.”

Hex nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Maggie dragged herself off of the bed and pretty much flopped over Hex, who wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as they walked out of their room and into the halls. The pain in her shaking limbs was almost overwhelming, but with Hex’s support, she could manage. She had to.

Maybe it was the fact that it was the middle of the night, or maybe it was because of what Hex said earlier, but the corridors were practically deserted, and they met no resistance as they slowly hobbled their way to the ‘elevator’ that Father was always leaving from. Now, Maggie didn’t really know what an elevator was, but she was sure gonna try and figure it out.

“Um… what do we do now?” Hex asked once they’d stepped inside the small room.

Maggie stared at the row of buttons on the wall.

“Uh, I dunno.”

Hex shrugged and pressed the bottom one, seemingly at random. Well, it was as good a plan as they could possibly have, given the circumstances.

The doors closed, and both of them yelped as the floor started moving. Okay. This was fine. Father travelled on this every day, so Maggie wasn’t gonna let it get the best of her.

After a few seconds, the doors opened again, and the world outside had changed. Instead of bright corridors, the room on the other side was dim, lit up only by dozens of… windows? That wasn't exactly what they looked like, but it was the closest approximation Maggie could guess, considering that she could see different parts of the facility through them. There was a chair in front of the windows, with someone sitting in it. Thankfully, it looked like they were asleep.

Was this the right way? It was worth a look around, at least.

Focusing all of their stealth training, Magpie and Hex tiptoed out of the elevator, sneaking towards the door on the opposite wall. Thankfully, whoever was posted up in the chair was out cold, so they were able to reach the door and get through without the person noticing anything awry.

The room on the other side was… weird. It was just as dimly lit as the previous room, only this time the light source was the large green cylinder next to the door. The walls were lined with other cylinders, but these ones were all made of metal, whereas the glowing green one seemed to be made of glass. Inside the cylinder was a small… something. Honestly, Maggie couldn't really tell what it was. It was tiny, and vaguely person shaped, but that was where her deductions ended.

A forgotten memory suddenly flashed through her mind. She remembered this green stuff. She remembered being submerged in it, floating in the warmth.

The realisation washed over her like ice water. This was it, wasn't it? This was where she came from. There was no ‘before’ the facility. This room was where she and Hex were… created.

Her heart lurched in her chest. They… they were never actually born, just… grown in a tube. No wonder Hex looked exactly like her. Screw ‘sister,’ they were probably the same damn person. And from the looks of things, the tiny speck floating in the green was probably the next little sister to come. What the hell did Father want with them that he would go as far as to create people?!

“There was never an accident, was there?” Hex asked. “This was where we came from.”

Maggie sighed, trying not to let the idea overwhelm her. “Looks like it.”

“B-but… what does that mean for us?”

She scowled. “It means nothing. It doesn't matter where we came from, because we're here now. We exist, we're people, and we're not gonna let Father push us around anymore just because he created us.”

Hex took a shallow breath and nodded. It looked like she was about to cry, but she held it back. “Right.”

Maggie wanted to hug her, but she wasn’t sure she had the strength. Instead, she looked at the little rectangle next to the cylinder. There was writing on it.

SUBJECT G-7: ‘JORDYN’

STATUS: NORMAL

She sighed. “Good luck, Jordyn. You're gonna need it.”

“I think we went the wrong way,” Hex said. “We shouldn't stay here.”

“Agreed. Let's go.”

They turned and exited back the way they came, into the room with all the windows and the sleeping person. They were going to just cross through back into the elevator when something on one of the windows caught Maggie's eye. She stopped walking.

“What is it?” Hex whispered.

“That window has writing on it. It says our numbers.”

“So?”

“Any information could be helpful, Hex. We know literally nothing about the outside world, or honestly, ourselves. It's worth it.”

“What if the guy wakes up?”

“I'll take him out.”

Hex bit her lip, hesitating, but ultimately, she nodded. “Okay.”

The two of them silently crept over to the wall of windows, focusing on the one at the bottom. The person in the chair – who they could see now was a man – didn’t react. Sure enough, the window displayed both of the numbers Maggie and Hex had on the back of their necks. They started to read.

Subject G-5

Power already manifesting in early development stage. Subject has a pair of wings growing from her back. Whether or not they will actually allow for flight remains to be seen. Named ‘Magpie.’

(I will not allow a subject with a purely cosmetic power to waste my time. Is there any way to ensure that her wings will work? - Andreas)

(With a little bit of genetic engineering, we can give her super-dense muscles for some added strength. It’s not a guarantee, but it should help! - George)

(Do it. - Andreas)

Maggie rubbed her bicep absent-mindedly. She thought she was this strong from her own merit, but it was just Father – or ‘Andreas,’ if she had to guess which one was him – tampering with her even more. The idea made her feel sick. She kept reading.

Post-birth, everything is falling into expected parameters. Habilitation to continue.

Subject has a particularly rebellious personality, and is not very receptive to orders or Andreas’ explanation of why she is missing her memories. Programming may have failed to set in properly for whatever reason. Continuing to study.

Subject appears to have become quite attached to G-6 post introduction, and vice versa. Whether or not this is a good or bad thing for the program remains to be seen.

Subject excelling at locomotive and combat training. Subject’s aggressive personality, while difficult to control at times, is proving very effective in battle. Expected to pass exam with ease.

Subject interrupted one of G-6’s punishments, assaulting Andreas and threatening him. Her protectiveness of G-6 has proven to be a liability. No solution to this has been found as of yet. Correction chip was effective in subduing subject. Punishment to be carried out.

‘Correction chip?’ That was what knocked her out back then? Maggie shuddered. Just how much had Andreas tinkered with her and Hex’s bodies?

That was where her entry ended, and Hex’s entry began. She continued on.

Subject G-6

Subject was pulled out of formation tank early due to unexpected complications that would have otherwise resulted in her death. As a result, her body and brain were not fully formed, leaving her in a child-like state. Estimated physical age to be around 12 years old. Termination was considered, but subject displayed a strong telekinetic power that could effectively make up for her underdeveloped body. Named ‘Hex.’ Proceeding with habilitation.

(Well, this throws a wrench into things. How are we going to explain this to G-5? - George)

(Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. - Andreas)

Upon introduction, subject bonded with G-5. Cohabitation seems as though it will be successful. Continuing habilitation and beginning locomotive training soon.

Subject is struggling with locomotive training due to development issues, but seems determined to continue. Programming seems to have settled in well.

Locomotive performance has plateaued at an unsatisfying result. Punishments to ensue if the subject shows no more progress.

That was the end of Hex’s notes. The last one made Maggie want to punch the window, but she held herself back. What kind of a monster would resort to… to doing what Maggie had witnessed, just because a child wasn’t doing good enough?!

“Maggie, your wings!” Hex whisper-yelled.

“Ngh?”

It was too late. In Maggie’s anger, she’d failed to notice that her wings had puffed up, getting ready to extend so she could fly. In doing so, they’d bumped into the guy in the chair and woke him up. The two stared at each other.

He started scrambling. “H-Hey! What-”

Hex’s eyes widened, and the man was suddenly flung across the room, slamming into the far wall hard enough for Maggie to hear an audible crack. For a second, she thought he might have died, but he was still squirming around. She could use this.

Maggie let go of Hex and limped over to the man, gingerly kneeling down and grabbing him by the lapels. 

“Wh-what…? M… Magpie?”

“How do we get out of here?” she demanded. “Tell me, or I’m gonna start breaking things.”

“I… I don’t… what?”

From the look of it, he probably had a pretty bad concussion. Maggie sighed and tried again, speaking slower.

“How. Do. We. Get. Out. Of. Here?”

It finally seemed to click for the guy. About a hundred different emotions flickered across his face; most of them some variation of fear.

“Y-you… You can’t.”

Maggie snarled. “Why not?!”

“Th-they’ll find you. No matter where you go. They’ll track your chips and bring you back.”

“Chips? Like the correction chip?”

His eyes widened. “How do you…”

Maggie remembered when Andreas used it on her. She remembered exactly where the pain came from; where it was the most intense. “They’re in the backs of our necks, aren’t they?”

The man glanced from side to side, like he was trying to come up with a lie. “I…”

Whatever. That was good enough. They could figure out the elevator on their own. Maggie finished the guy off with the strongest jab to the face she could muster in her weakened state.

“What do we do now?” Hex asked as Maggie limped back over.

“We’ve got to get these chips out. They’re in the backs of our necks. If we don’t get rid of them, Andreas will be able to find us no matter how far we run.”

Hex grimaced. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”

“Yep. But that’s what we’ve trained for.”

—

With the help of a first aid kit and a shard of glass from a broken cup, Maggie and Hex cut the back of each other’s necks open, and managed to fish out the horrible chip. There was a lot of whimpering, crying, and shouting involved, but they got through it in the end, stitching each other up just as they were trained for. Maggie felt sick having to hurt Hex like that, but it was the only way for them to truly be safe from Andreas once they got out. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to ensure that man never got his hands on them ever again.

Maggie wiped her eyes and sighed, trying to ignore the stinging pain in the back of her neck. “Are you ready to go?”

Hex nodded, her bottom lip still quivering. “Yeah.”

They stumbled over to the elevator, holding onto each other for support. Maggie eyed the buttons on the wall wearily. Nothing to it but luck, she supposed. She pressed the one at the top and the elevator started moving again.

“We’ve got this,” she whispered in Hex’s ear. “We’re gonna be okay. No one’s gonna lay a finger on us anymore.”

Hex’s nose crinkled, but a smile played at her lips. “Your breath smells bad.”

Maggie snorted out a laugh. “Gimme a break. I haven’t brushed my teeth in two days. You’re just lucky we had time for me to shower, or I’d probably still reek of urine.”

Hex chuckled. “Yeah. I didn’t wanna say anything when I found you, but wow, you didn’t smell good.”

“Aren’t I lucky to have such a caring little sister.” Maggie grinned.

The elevator reached its destination and the doors opened, revealing a room neither of them had ever seen before. It was wide and open, with a carpeted floor and several chairs sitting against the walls. Maggie couldn’t ascertain what its purpose was. On the far end of the room from the elevator, the wall was made entirely of glass, and a dim, cool light was drifting in from the other side. There was a door in the glass. It called to her; an odd tug in her gut urging her towards it. Somehow she knew; this was the way to the outside world. They were free.

She charged forward, filled with renewed strength, and slammed the door open. Cold air slammed into them right back.

There was a man in her way. His eyes widened at the sight of her face, then he looked to Hex and they widened even further. He wasn’t one of the familiar faces from the facility. This guy was just… a regular person. Huh.

Maggie wrapped her arms around Hex, flapped her wings, and finally took proper flight for the first time in her life. Cold wind rushed in her hair and through her feathers. Hex shrieked in delight from the thrill. The world stretched out below her and the sky opened up above her, little pinpricks of light twinkling in her eyes as freedom filled her lungs. She wouldn’t trade it for the world.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

If there was one thing Maggie had learned about the outside world in the brief week since they’d escaped, it was that the outside world was nothing like what she and Hex were used to. There were no more steadily provided meals, no convenient clothing that was always cleaned when they needed it, no directions or schedule or order. It was just her and her little sister against the world.

Hex’s stomach rumbled loud enough for Maggie to hear it. Maggie clenched her fists against the guilt that washed over her. She was supposed to be taking care of her, but she was failing miserably. She could barely even take care of herself. Hex was being so good about it, not complaining, always staying strong, but they couldn’t keep going like this. They were losing weight. Every night they almost froze to death, huddled up together wherever they could find even a modicum of shelter. What little food they could find was few and far between; pitiful scraps scavenged from bins or off the floor. Maggie had broken into a building to get them some new clothes the night they escaped, but it wasn’t going to last. She just had no idea how the outside world worked, frankly. Not for the first time, she wondered if escaping was a bad idea after all. 

Not everything was hopeless, though. Maggie had an idea that might help them get a little bit more to eat. She’d been doing her best to study up on what life was like out here; watching people from the shadows, reading whatever ‘newspapers’ she could get her hands on, and she reckoned she might have stumbled onto something promising.

A little ways away from their little hideout, there was a big plot of empty land, and every day, a bunch of guys would show up and start putting something together. A new building, if she had to guess. The way Maggie figured, if she could help the guys out a little bit, they might be inclined to help her out, too. A proper meal, some new clothes, maybe even a comfortable place to rest their heads. It was worth a shot, at least.

So, one day, Maggie and Hex donned their sunglasses – the best way they could figure to hide their identities, lest Andreas hear something and come looking – and made their way over to the yard.

The men were hard at work when they got there, each buried in their own task. Maggie walked up and, summing all of her courage, called out to them.

“Uh, e- excuse me!”

A few of the men stopped what they were doing and looked their way, before glancing to one man in particular. He stood up from where he was crouched near a steadily growing brick wall and raised a hand to the others. They got back to work, and the man walked over to the two of them.

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked, taking off his own sunglasses and wiping the sweat from under the weird hat he and the rest of them were wearing. His tan skin was speckled with pockmarks, and a dark, full stubble had taken up most of his jaw. He was quite handsome, actually. Maggie’s stomach fluttered a little as he looked her up and down, glancing at her wings, though that also could have been from hunger.

“Yes, u-um, actually, I was wondering if I could help you.” Maggie clenched her fists, letting out an awkward laugh. This felt weird. “I, uh, I’m pretty strong. I could lift some things, i-if you need. Hex here has telekinesis, too, so… Um, she could also help.”

The man frowned. “You want… a job?”

Maggie didn’t know what that word meant, but she nodded. “If that’s what it takes to get some food, then yes.”

There was a pause as the man analysed her. “You guys are in some trouble, aren’t you?”

“Please,” Hex suddenly blurted out. “We’re… we’re just hungry. If there’s anything we can do to earn some food, please. Let us help.”

The man bit his lip, glancing to the side. After a few seconds, he looked back at Maggie. “Alright, I’ll tell you what. I can’t let you guys work on the site for… well, for obvious reasons, but if you come with me, I can get you two something to eat, and we can sit down and talk this through. The company I work for is owned by the Heroes’ Union, so we should be able to work something out and get you guys some help. Sound good?”

Half of that meant literally nothing to Maggie, but at this point, she would take anything. She nodded.

“Alright,” the man said, holding out his hand. “The name’s Diego, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

—

Back in the present, Maggie smiled at the memory of her and Diego’s first meeting as she pulled her shirt back on and struggled to get her wings through the holes. It had been almost two years since then, and Maggie felt lucky for that chance encounter every single day.

Diego had taken them back to this very apartment, gave them their first warm meal in over a week, let them shower, gave them a change of clothes and heard them out; every last detail of their fucked-up story. At the time, Maggie hadn’t known how much to omit, so she just told him everything. If he’d been anyone else, that could have ended terribly for them, but thankfully, they’d run into one of the few genuinely good people in this city. He was the only one that knew the whole truth; that Maggie and Hex were nothing more than unwilling body doubles for a woman that died five years ago; that Andreas de Vygon was playing God below the precinct, creating life and forcing it to do his bidding; that Seven wasn’t just a superhero working for the police, but the next body double down the line. As far as any of his bosses knew, Diego had just taken in some powered people in need of help, and provided him the resources to do so. If not for his generosity, Maggie was sure she and Hex would have died on the streets, clueless and alone.

Not wanting to be a burden, Maggie once again begged Diego to let her work at the construction site, and finally, he acquiesced, promising to teach her how things worked. These days, it was what she spent most of her time doing, saving the company money by using her wings to do the high-up work that anyone else would need safety equipment for. It was hard work for sure, but it was rewarding, knowing that she was helping earn to support herself and her sister.

It was about a year after they started living together that this… thing that had been dancing between them finally caught alight. Maggie’d had time to learn about the world, about people, about relationships and how things worked. She’d seen them on TV, read about them in books, figured out how to determine the good from the bad by scouring the internet, and finally, made her move on Diego. They’d been sharing a few drinks after Hex went to bed, watching a movie together on the couch, and Maggie just went for it, grabbing his face and kissing him then and there when the moment presented itself.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe she was just pent up from literally never receiving sexual touch from another person in her life, but things progressed very quickly from there and they took it straight to the bedroom. Safe to say, it was a night she would never forget.

They had a proper conversation about it the morning after, where Diego admitted that he’d felt the same way for a while, but wasn’t comfortable making a move considering that, for a lot of their relationship up to that point, Maggie was entirely dependent on him, and considering how little she knew about… anything, the dynamic would have been a little weird. But now that she’d started working, now that she had her own money and a half-decent understanding of the world, and now that he knew she was actually super interested in him, too, he figured they could give this thing a shot. And the rest was history.

Jordyn’s appearance on the streets had scared her. She knew it was only a matter of time before she came after their fragile peace, smashing through their glass walls and leaving Maggie and Hex nothing more than a bad memory in Andreas’ mind, splattered across Diego’s floor. That tiny speck that once floated in the green had grown into a monster, and Maggie had no choice but to get ahead of it.

To that end, and much to Diego’s protest, Maggie had gone hunting. What she needed was equipment. Weaponry that could stand up to a killer of Maggie’s own calibre. Sure, Maggie’d had more time to build her muscles, and she was undoubtedly one of the strongest people alive already, thanks to Andreas’ tinkering, but Jordyn had the backing of the entire police force behind her. Maggie needed to be smart.

So, she slaughtered two SWAT officers and stole their guns. Then she used that sniper rifle to shoot Jordyn down. Only, she underestimated the strength of her armour, and only succeeded in pissing Andreas off. For a month, she laid low, hiding out in the apartment and waiting for things to cool off. And once they did, she tried again.

Jordyn was no pushover, though, and gave her a real run for her money. Maggie got her down though. Got her down, and was seconds away from pulling the trigger and ending it, when that pathetic, terrified look on her face made Maggie freeze. 

Did she make the right choice in letting her little sister live? Who could say. The only thing to do was move forward, and take every day as it came. Maggie and Hex were alive, and they were free, and that was the only thing that truly mattered.

“Maggie?”

“Hm?” She blinked, returning to her body. Hex had been calling to her. “What’s up?”

“We were trying to ask what you wanted from McDonalds. Get lost in your head again?”

Maggie smiled. “Yeah. Thinkin’ about stuff.”

“Well, you’d better hurry up and order, birdie, or I’ll get you a 20 pack of chicken nuggets again,” Diego joked.

Maggie let out a mock gasp. “You wouldn’t dare! Making me eat my own kin; shame on you!”

Diego laughed, and Maggie basked in the sound. It was times like these that it felt like everything would turn out alright after all.

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@bacillusinfection

wahoo bird lady backstory!!!

i do really love maggie as a character, but in truth, she doesn't actually get all that much screentime in the current outline of the plot. granted, that outline is in the literal haziest terms imaginable, so that's open to change lol. or maybe i'll write a maggie spinoff once this is done

only 2 more chapters until the end of this arc! next up, we reconvene with Steve and see the results of his little investigation hehehehehehehehehehehehehehe (evil but cute laugh)

thanks for reading! let me know what you thought in a comment or reblog! It's v appreciated :> Ciao!

[studies-in-heathenry]

The ritual I do most often is offering the first serving of whatever I made to a guest. If we have a physical guest over they get the serving but if we don’t have anyone over it goes to a non-physical guest. Most of the time for me that is Njordr but I’ve also given it to land spirits and occasionally other gods as well.