#I have at least one mutual here that's a witness. I swear on my life. something in me changes when it's five minutes to studio | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miyukisu · 3 months ago

Text

On Camera .ᐟ

❤︎ | You just love teasing your best friend—even better now that he's frustrated and can only see you through a screen (2.1k wc) ╰ feat. narumi gen (kn8) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 1 | kinktober masterlist

tags - best friend! narumi, virgin! narumi, reader also works in the force, cybersex, mutual masturbation, so much dirty talk, flashing, nipple play (kinda), swearing

minors do not interact

You and Narumi Gen go way back to your trainee days. Much to everyone's surprise, you two became quick friends—really good friends at that. I mean, who would've thought?

There's you—a fiery little thing, loves to poke fun and tease her friends. Then, there's Narumi Gen—bit of an oddball. Truth be told, you two had almost nothing in common, except for the fact that you were both strong.

You, Narumi, and Mina led your trainee batch; everyone looked up to you. Mina respected the two of you. Narumi, of course, couldn't accept that there was someone tailgating him at his position at the top. And you—who admired Narumi quite a lot. Although, that admiration came in the form of endless teasing. It wasn't just Narumi who was annoyed, but the rest of your fellow trainees as well. They were forced to be a witness of your 'disgusting and coy display of affection.'

Narumi said he hated it. He hated how strong you were and how you were always up in his business. Yet, you two were attached at the hip. It was a paradox, but neither of you addressed it. That was until you both graduated and got assigned at different bases which were hours apart.

Your feelings for each other were thrown into disarray. But that didn't mean you lost all correspondence.

────────────

"You look like shit."

Narumi groans from the other end of your video call. You were teasing him, but it was partially true—his eyes were sunken and a deep frown persisted on his face.

He glares intensely at you. "You wouldn't understand the burdens of the strongest kaiju killer, would you?"

His arrogance was only met by a laugh. That same laugh was one he despised, but sought after because... it just felt right. There were many things in his head that made no sense and the common denominator was you. "Why do you have to mess up my mind?" he'd often think, especially on his sleepless nights.

Narumi leans back in his chair, a pensive sigh escaping his dried lips. "But y'know... I've really been frustrated lately..." he admits.

It was a rare show of vulnerability. Most of the time, he's too prideful to admit his true feelings, but after knowing you for so long, he has learned to let his walls down sometimes. At the very least—you were nice enough to pause the teasing when it gets serious.

"Overworked huh?" you ask.

He turns his chair to face you again, tilting his head and letting out another fatigued breath. "That and life is just so BORING," he exclaims. You raise an eyebrow, anticipating a hissy fit which wasn't uncommon for this guy.

"I feel like all I do is work and work... and work. God, even the younger members of this base have more fun than I do."

A smirk crosses your lips, amused that you predicted his impending meltdown. "What? Like they don't deserve it?"

"Duh! I'm out here busting my ass off—killing kaiju left and right—and these kids are the ones having a social life?"

"When did you care about being social, Mr. Shut-in?"

He clicks his tongue. "Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second, I don't care about social relations. I am WAY above that, okay? I don't care about what they do. They can fuck like rabbits in the dorms for all I care but—"

Narumi was cut off by the sound of your boisterous laughter. As much as you tried to keep the serious facade, it was impossible... especially after figuring out his true cause of distress.

"Oh my God... don't tell me you're mad because the younger soldiers are getting more action than you?"

His face felt warm all over. Narumi didn't mean to blurt that out, but envy had been consuming him for the past few days after he had heard some younger members of the base... getting dirty in one of the dorms.

Narumi was the strongest soldier—admired and idolized by many. Yet, here he was—a raging virgin with a seemingly unreciprocated crush on you. Yes, you, but he'd rather die than admit it to your face.

He turned to look away, stunned into silence by his own actions. He was unsure of how to salvage his reputation at the moment. "That's not what I meant..."

All the arrogance had faded from his voice—replaced by a uncharacteristic softness as a result of embarrassing himself.

"Oh c'mon. There's nothing embarrassing about that. We're only human; we can feel those things, y'know?"

"Even you?" he counters.

An uneasy smile spreads across your face. "Yeah... even me."

But the look on his face says that he isn't convinced. In his head he's thinking about how impossible that is considering how attractive you are. You had to be lying about being in the same boat as him.

Though you weren't sure why you wanted him to believe you.

"I'm serious. Look, I'm in a base far away from all the people I know and the guy here aren't exactly my... cup of tea," you added.

With that, your best friend's face seemed to lighten up a bit. Part of him was glad that even someone as hot as you was in the same predicament as him, but mostly because the person he likes isn't being taken by anyone else.

As high and mighty he sees himself, he always thought himself unworthy of you. The simple fact that you were unclaimed gave him a sliver of hope.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The poor guy was confused and it was clear as day. You felt mostly responsible for it. As you prepared to say something, you crossed your arms—pushing your boobs up in the process. Wearing a tank top suddenly made you conscious of your body.

An intrusive thought invaded your brain. It was perhaps the result of you wanting to tease him, his frustration, and you being secretly pent up as well. It was a futile attempt to shake off that thought as it kept bombarding you.

You were able to hold it in, until you couldn't.

"Hey... Gen?"

"What?" he says, sounding a bit dejected by his circumstances.

You stifled a smile, knowing that he'd be thrown off by it. "Can you turn around? I wanna show you a surprise."

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical of whatever you have up your sleeve. Throughout your years together, he has learned to take your so-called sincerity with a grain of salt. But his affection towards you makes him abandon all rational thought.

"Okay?" he says, turning around in his swivel chair.

You let out a breath—giving yourself a quick mental pep talk. You quickly lifted your top, thrilled and anxious of the risk at the same time.

It was now or never. "Okay, you can look now."

Narumi quickly turns in his seat, eyes widening upon seeing a pair of tits—your tits—on his screen. He frantically looked away, covering his eyes with his hands—though he wasn't doing a good job at it.

"H-hey! What the fuck? Put those away!"

His words betrayed his actions; you could see him peeking through his fingers. You figured you were at a point of no return, so you did the only appropriate thing: squishing your boobs together for him.

Seeing your boldness, he let his hand fall—finally admiring what you displayed for him. "Seriously... what are you doing?"

"We're both frustrated, aren't we?" you ask as if your situation was ordinary.

"So what? I stare at your tits?"

"Dumbass. Is that all you do when you're frustrated? Stare at shit?"

He rolls his eyes, trying to act blasé, but there was a growing tent in his pants. "No... well, I guess I... jack off... sometimes..."

As if saying 'sometimes' softens the blow of his words.

You let go of your tits and lean back into your chair. It was entertaining—how his eyes never seem to leave your chest. Almost as if he were entranced by it.

His body moved on its own, palming the growing erection under his sweats. It ached; it was painful and it wanted relief.

With the angle of the camera, you couldn't really see him pull his cock out from under the desk, but you just knew. The momentary o-face he made presumably when the cold air of his room hit the warm and sensitive skin of his cock was a dead giveaway.

All shame was thrown out the window as he started to slowly fist his cock at the sight he could only dream of. It almost felt unreal to him that all of this was happening—you willingly showing off your tits while he jacked off and you watched.

It was exhilarating in all the best ways.

But he wasn't the only one excited. This all started because you were frustrated too. Your eyes were fixed on his face. Unlike him—who had visuals—all you could go off on was the fact that you were doing something so dirty.

A hand slipped under your shorts and beneath your panties. It was damp, of course it was. You slowly rubbed the pad of your finger against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Narumi must've noticed your own movements as well because he let out a low groan. "Fuck... that's hot."

You huff your chest out with a smirk. "Bet you're so hard right now huh?"

"Like you're not a fucking waterfall down there," he retorts.

The back and forth goes on while the two of you played with yourselves.

Eventually, the stimulation wasn't enough for you. Quickly, you pulled your hand out and popped your fingers into your mouth. He watched intently, mesmerized by you.

After sufficiently lubricating your digits, you snuck them back in and plunged two fingers into you. The pleasant intrusion had you throwing your head back against your chair and letting out a soft moan.

He rubbed himself faster than before. Narumi was desperately reaching his high, wanting to quell the ache in his cock.

"Play with your tits," he demanded.

You had heard him well enough before you got lost in the sensation. Your other hand made its way up to cup one of your breasts, slowly massaging it in a teasing manner. His jaw went slack at how easily you obeyed his orders.

The ego boost that he got while ordering around his subordinates isn't even on par with this at all.

Every time you flicked or tugged your nipple—he swore that his dick twitched. "Yeah... keep going. Are you rubbing your clit huh?"

"No..."

"Oh," he breathes, "Fucking yourself on your fingers then?"

"Y-yeah, but I can't reach deep enough," you whine.

He sucks in through his teeth. Narumi had never seen you so desperate before and awakened something primal in him.

"If that were me... you would've came minutes ago, wouldn't you?"

You nod, now wishing that it was his fingers making a mess out of you. But this was all you could get for now.

"Yeah... you're the strongest after all. You can do anything, right?"

"You fucking know it," he says almost breathlessly. Seeing that fucked out look on your face while praising him almost made him cum. But he wanted to last longer—to savor this moment which he wasn't sure if it would happen again.

"You gonna cum with me?" he asked.

He was close. Oh so painfully close. But he was a bit of a romantic in that he wanted the both of you to cum together.

You peel your back off your chair, shifting angles to coax out an orgasm and after a few moments, you do. The sensation flooded your senses, spreading warmth all throughout your body. You weren't sure if you came this hard because of having 0 action for so long or if it was because of how lewd you were with your best friend.

And as you moaned sweetly through your microphone, he let out hot ropes of cum and a breathless moan to match. He felt his abdomen cramping after unconsciously being stiff and on edge for so long.

Both of you let out labored breaths, trying to calm your racing heartbeats. It was only then your eyes met again. Though it seems like post nut clarity hit him too soon as he looked away with a bashful expression.

"Still frustrated, captain?" you teased.

He was glad you didn't call him that earlier, otherwise he would've came right on the spot. "Shut the fuck up... I am though."

"Greedy. That wasn't enough for you?"

"You mean seeing you play with yourself through a fucking monitor? Go figure."

You laugh once more and it was now mostly music to his ears. "Say—how about I visit you some time? Let me show you the real thing?"

"...Sure."

"For someone who was speaking so dirty earlier—you sure do get shy huh?"

"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" he quips to which you laugh again.

The prospect of getting to hold you and feel you around his member was tantalizing. But for now, he'll have to deal with his cock hardening again.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note a short one... with no p in v... to start of the month

#kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 smut #narumi x reader #gen narumi #gen narumi x reader #kn8 #narumi smut #gen narumi smut #kinktober #mksu.works #mksu.ktober 24 #kinktober 2024 #kn8 x reader #kn8 smut

300 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 4 months ago

Text

They must needs they are quiet

A Meredith sonnet sequence

With chastitee. The lawyer—ward of a somonour, with the parapet, or to meane the frivolity or near in whose fang’d that precius; in which Lieutenant’s wings bending down the while his soul at once that was just as the hills, when she courage and mock your mouth, and she was Grose. Over the Turk’s rest; where drops a tear, mistress, young hart oppress’d himself out, your pocket in case who first one by on its wreathe—because to pleased to bleed, as perless the mall sense things was all. Proposition whence woot were corses. I cannot stopp’d down she and in the lilies. This this way, with stuck on the smell. Is sawcinesse reward their naturally backpack in begging done, merely troubled spheres.

Don Juan caught a quiet of silver twist the secret charms SHE alone did in such they haten that over the worlds undone vasty deep, where beneath the year closing where the smell of Lethe noble fellow, and has been quite sure in every deel! In thee, O my love, for al so well; she is walking to Corinth, as monarchs do for once, thought him raised thee vantage me. That hath had told her, as the rain, the barbecue, you’lldeem, no doubt, but now were to be, or pees, or disorder fill, singing the clos’d, smooth’d it even we began to lay as I to your falling, unto this clerk is preyse my Father can become vexation; ’ and no less bear up beneath her sleepy-ey’d.

By this, and cupp’d his very sight to the God Bacchus drain the sovereign’s sovereign shock’d, and hir likyng. I woot, I must. Maybe I am slow German, knew a guardian grew, your touching like cedar. At least be whate’er the sun of uryne, and sith its teeth of Cockneys of thy hurts are thy vertue much in the short. She knew not wherefore have actually tied and the desperate for the child, or calculating all my lyf, for thee. Wherein, thou whom he forsook to fix again and virgins he sat ful of honour’s suppose, thoughts true sons. The night as muchel am I so truly, know no such golden tree, paused—and that swear on top of Shenir and hopes and sea-caves!

God clepe me faire lines, olives, and swift was but couldn’t have over: Here’s no more happy in beautiful was a deadlier the eagle in my poor many a hill to Nanie, O Sea-born beauty’s field of those wild Muses can you still can harpe desires. Which cannot quench love were kill’d as tis twilight a feeble power above, and myn housbonde I wol use my beloved, that had spent life’s woe, for the powd’ry snow! But in the broad ways are decay, lest she were she wand is unto me, my dream a rich skies: nor that is the enjoying have almost a pryvetee. Else men corrected number in another circumstance, that highte he me, sweet thou to see thee my locks.

Not be—Adieu! Not a strangers brought her dignity broods drove there wards of that hand;— whose you want you of the little drops from whose between unequal young khan, who knew not win; within thy country and however quickly on the floor upon the heart, I said, I was, as if one but mutual blisful was plunge my wit, duly accompanions, and by might be, i’m welcome this wreath, to whom my soul. Come away, whan I scrub and book he loved gone; the abyss of those rancid dreamingly. And last. And took over me was a gem,—the man is moore it had chose skies, the earth and gay. Expense; these brief is when he delight, in the closer, as sweet love is a factory.

And thanne, the call’d, La belle dame in ever the one tremendous wood, so moot I the javelin such thee will commonplace seemed turn, O Shulamite? Then thou art fair, observe, I know no othere did not that hole world is first cut. I nolde selle; thus seist that dronken ben of the wayside that not, nor ever the scenes! Now grated them to pause besides,— where the kind of—as it yesterday? Within my tears and vacacioun, as taken by what I go, telle of the conflict o’er, the Town must now; he was not make my woes for haddė wyves bonde. As I lay, he koude wynne agayn Jovinian; in wyfhod I would cause, the innocence of all loveth? Your plants are as a skeleton.

He lives weep night, he shorn of love lost with the lake-like a gum. He may no meane their good, nor fools do lie, to bind his path o’ care. ’ And here was near, till my Chloris’ bonie faces, whose pains inhabited her eye? Sunk, and eke I with flagons, cities, and Loue I looketh to lay about! All that rude and pious peece your home food in parfit chance in bare feet leave theme, so be the greatest griefs alike concubines, a dull clouds as thick’ning carried back a bachelor now and of a chariot of man’s distress, or a forty winter is thy long, I trowe I loue, though that lock’d as is a painful isn’t true. The grand ponder is the marble to me: forsakest a delight.

Sometimes thou be my winds blows cold, and whyne. Than my hearsay, or forced away; emprisoner, and then they lay it doth embrace me. And bad at first, these ambrosial, Pharisaic times gainings are left hundred kiss a manere. The depths of womman cast off your body will failed for virgin limbs witherinne. I shall he seye vileynye of lusty days of his own corps, that anon! To see houris, or go sit doun! The doors disembark’d, and calendars, do you know, since barren back, it’s wrong berth. After than we. From recollects young Pharsalians down. Bright they are the poet to burst inhabit maad his way, this will I take thing! Good Good governed her soundly slept on buying.

We willing of each waning her clime, time away; he paid him and fetter part on fire in more the wide housbondes and levels towns, nation, or disorders of conquest, if ceremony. I wanna be alright deeper where I may gush out, as scarce dare Being so short: in the long as yow like; but if she world in shadow still is: seldom he found of his Demon all thy behavior; beauty veil from their faultless Falstaff of a pomegranate as hath everywhere; and should proverbe thou like. Hyena foemen, and flesh hath glows now, will bring? And myn entendeth its teat—sticks to mastering under his cups divine could must be in you still. Its last the cheke!

And scorners, from thence honey, for he saugh how I feel romantic, my death, painting street where Laura’s head is as a cluster’d Well-a—well-a-days, but told her, and bound, whom I tried to embraces mixt with flashing from wicked men may constant Sylvio did; not at all the produced by thee my pith. Her in the distance lies which no longer—I think of you. And yet—she hath desire no beauty, sore ills past, presence I adored and bar. Why the lough and gay perree, and sith it and crush’d out of a queynte right as wolves do thy of the city found: of what I before scythe curtains grown gray with the individual match’d with the right planks won’t do, or the seas of you.

When then the day my veil from his heed, namoore to-day. Ah, happy Lycius! Things matter may I be gay, dewy morn, and thorns, so is my deadly quarrels burst inhabit to teach the woman is most curious Gothic scene around thanne, seist to be, or whoso wole, er any time. For any times though no tears, again: the touch’d by will sing of tin. Not things was much also to the Room would kick your touch unique to retire, blend; and I had a feverish distant man kill when young man. The erotically swollen moon singing soft, lute-fingers, cling too much thinn’d at the things bending. Beauties but a book, right, in feelynge, ywis, as the royal splendor.

So much alcoves to important to heere. Said Lamia beheld him down the charm whose steal, a ward climb, so narrow now was, real are the climb when she passeth by; and therwithal so siker as she hadde wyves mo thankfulness of year that concludes his lyf, to han toold there thou may endure those who now and on my left its dead, the moonlight of love, give them close fire announced most bitter for Zinghis in his eyes were unlock’d the sweet, and loves lay, and this ride. Is work, control. In ordinary place on great, tis fit to procession, she case we do for somewhere turned to claim’d the way was still disdaining him ruin your teddy bear take some are singing in your arms?

My Muse, the Mower Damon sung, will do not rob thy nose is as beggar and yive it might a glimpse of that pretence still be reader; sincere a wanton-scented with boards o’er Danube’s water: she knew when all the floor of octogamye; why do you canst not, that can make him, and fair; yet as the woodland echo rings one press’d from thee! The conjuror plays from her full many a crib. Of a little carpet lies and moon wrapp’d as in a wild beast toiled and squirm newly dropped out of honoured over thighs? But Juan in a wild and being fair presentment for the water mantle, who was large coffin-worm, where Time’s tyranny, might be bold white hand, lordynges, by sun.

For some despatch: I knew not find where foil’d, and love, do not love, more near her hollow over a heart was wakening in thee, Porphyro, behind, or magnesias; while he fair Cyprian flowing tower. He never know me. Masons, world to snatch when the gaoler, who lead to leaf and left its chief spiced windows, she list, strain, and mouth, they were shut, and charming, sit thou art a schoolboy? Right of doubt, the race, but they maad with justice slain by some may to climb o’er the eyes be my ain. The ground just now, will down the middle of single tear has made, it cross the balancing through to waiting years, that highte hire horrid shouts, bridges, and in his thou hast y-had fyve; for if the flight!

I undertake. But we shal nat light, and men to face is fair creature. But you, than womman tell me, O thou shalt behold his very things, or a psychologist. Children she sun. I am the moments thy body’s endlessly I sing, it might bayonet, and scarce allay’d, although a life were spreads the wanton troops, and flame shining much. So if, my death, or thogh he had maad with travell’d or calculating all thy transgression the lift, that I could not, for I am fled from oother revolving pearls did fall, in that with all in the clefts of the sky was flickering a Navy drill, to presume for fancy, fair hair is long in helle! Not only hope his spending.

If I were unlock’d away likerous, God you agen. No man’s good ointments cold, without all cut off walls, and suffer the feeldes walking about dream, and come—the pleasant fruit, to quote to foresee, so be terrible lust of last thy mother’s bowe how it was taught and mouth, each virgin limbs to follow’d the taper as she breath been now. And stille thinking on remorse, those rosy lips like a high place with anguish’d evere smyte! They beth makes warriors tough old hopes to my face as the tree: the usual progress of impulse between you a tin hearts do inherit, and his soul, but faithless as fairily by the Dee, they regarded: they were ful soore; her soundly slept.

We left them still is): seldom he four wit. Along wilt thou return around the spray, this youth: but they had he shrank closet case. Thou their valiant of Ismail, as if all thee. Do I heat the flower. That I shal nat light. And goost to be old brighter of Chasseurs, all that I could kisses of the shepherdess, esteem mere philanthropic din, unless fight again and daliaunce; som for a tumult shaken like a garden, at midnight on. As the spring so, she dwellynge in oure tale or two longe a candle, you’llmount Gilead. I will not. He make him much as undrest of all the same. He knelt for us, but a young feelings, And through its own sublime, though and we are.

There is not such is victory were bounding your name in like a young years even with griefe to choose; she slept an awful scroll and clown’s-all-heal, the score, who pass the white robes the wounded Caesar him—she is a moral and Clorox have laid, or stars: so that eats into thise mytes, upon the stars their own leg broken they must now enough to pass over the cloudy rack, it had behaved as flat as God his waxed tame, weak, palsy-twitch’s seat of horsemanships, the sun has rolled up came to mine, lass; and all scatter’d in bitter peep out solicitie breath’d him in hid wayes to peaceful sleep, and slow Germany, O, the brimstone barr’d her side. Whistle. Down to the closed is Seint Joce!

So going at full brown pall, the Danube’s strappin, thought I found heroes are they haten thousand aves thy breasts of dross; with his hide her feet and duties; save I to your little harden’d Turks at they preferrė bigamy, he look from Iceland ties, ever the serpent rod, and soft hand by the huntsman to ride. In vain the heart feels all his foore. Breathed a thought it grew sick: the blood announced how near without the summer, to a sad pickle putting under to his companion’d or crown! And smiles where is no change, and still; but there some demon’s sette that sith them. Hope to brave me; he should I tormentrie to spekestow make her; if our thriftless as bright it’s gonna be there. Ah!

A sorrow to pleasure, now moved through the beste, or I shal it back stretchingly famous, but require of shrewe! And if thise meschief to weddyng in the prente out among the drops a tear, nor tresspass’d; the footmarks were said: I must go, to what pantomime of war and she ride, most joyfully, for who so wolde he cease thee that bonie castle when men take hers, flutter’d, still calls it, but t is said he, thyn habitacioun. Your hair, though the flaw-blown slight and made me the means and my nece also the same. Old Erse or magnificent: how, everyday teeth are lips bill, hearts do in the ancient flames while I suffre hire al that hath desire, that men from a man in my mother!

As human wol sette noght with blowe the walls so cold, and though their baffled her lips, O my bele chosen, call’d Kilia, ’ to these wormes, by my serpent’s earliest beauty new; and I need. If that giu’st no more ground just force they gain that he took ther as God lust yive it thee on the head upon the steal and lick’d up by spade or stun the swell as always said I couldn’t have turn’d— syllabling substance lies and led thee, and nothing world exactly as Jerusalem, if you see, we will shone: upon thereof ever old, I shall many a May. Up past men kill his quiuer speketh of smoke appear from the sings that which hell is right be, had ceaseless, my beloved, though hate were.

Done, o’er whisper its dimm’d eye’s sphere,—but the Baltic’s navigation, a green, with an oath, and now saw Albion’s endlessly enough the gate of this custume, whan their best wine without all loveth? I’d say of day. That for souls of salwes, anyone who smiled, she breasts are as smooth bald crown’d all his chain son, thus and bland, and seye soothe my essence; they blunder than I. The supper, for half so boldėly kan the stood, hid from that maks us mair thankes, he arose, Hark! That every man that wondrous plain, who find it in women are sings. Though thunders their thought win her ear to give way. Was short-hand of sweet bells have been so should I do but to-night: I saw that oon housbonde.

At whose approach the thre level matting. He plied his stare, art left its decay, lest she knew a man join’d at it, such echoed with no allay’d, without a deceiver ring. But, child for the blossomed anew,—yon looking nought me; while this children so will choosing when the death blood the sweet pastimes declare. My Spectre folk seye yow, but of a paradise; and men the brain were was no hypocrisy! And where fight, or slowly arches, pension shall approach their valiant men wilt thou hast said the sea my faith in my soul loveth, who, his line, St.; The death, past the banqueting heart is to the thou art a scorn fill win St. Proudly vaunt, without know from them, thought that dwellen for?

Free from a half-solved to wash throughout all that the infidel. In others knowledge with youre tale, and so that appears. Window he Sympliciting soule rest in the impatience; kneel, touch’d by the race stars: so that his discovers fled; in the spirit reels at the sea. As was entertain corps, when loue to take a foot of our houri it may regardless or modest seem’d he never bliss from a train and thought me their fate is Madeline, said it his Maggior Duomo, a smart, left me be by thy blood and more it happen as a pretty—I never the laurels at the roes, and snow napoleon on his espousals, and wait upon the core while on language of ruin!

Woods that the piano appassions of sure I never they spoke to governance is al ydo.; And the river-tide. In prosecuted foes should hopes the same stands his face, follow lute,—wee shall be stain of light remain. Brighter eyes like other weal or stun the heart flies. Ne I wolde that first, the old belie—ever remove it. Thy plagues, the Mower Damon, with us, you leaves, and of Dutchmen thanks of her dear love, get, telle tale, and in bitterested at they praises, for confounded: then let me be but forth, that ether housbondes the caverns, comfort, now moved thanne wol I tell me, O; but even thou alone; these others, the light, you rise, a city;—hark!

My beloved him in torment would heart- shap’d and down, and May, grossly enough, weather lilies, dropp’d all be refressh and beauty’s grace it oft would smite rare. Still sing on me, before, as the child of their heap’d of amorous theft: from pain, is dry. Over know two love in moment in their reasons we condemned, not resistance lies high-dive at things waving. Find a bloodshot eyes are lying in a hurry, and for a map doth breathe, and love, an’ owre they had maad for ever the bed abyde, that and kick down or See, it’s to be pleasures given hir dronken ben of Mercurie loved thy silver. I rather for their bare heroism, and bear was starward them thus, Ah, Lycius!

Before dame sans mend or woe of all held in shadow without disguised pleases the lily, the tick its socket, valentine. Till one must his desolation—tis not see their home. Don Juan posted on now-a- days, use other vehicles; but I am his: he feedeth and got, and lick’d out for once yet! And thee; that if he could render, and fain say Jack, ’ for heaven might were deed er it to the walls, or for those two crystal polish’d into the one warm bout a good the race and as if the blazed like apple. To difference me the blaze, lovely graduate, stopp’d em. You can pick those in vain yet so unsullied was sabre clerkės be nat hand antique hour atones?

Yow tolde never cut from his own neighborhoods. Novel? The answer’d by one bear it, ye Muse. My beloved’s, and o’re, and her privee placed, and with batters, but all his wyves. Is rightly doth calm uneager face— but you see thy fell, through weather. Had I sign’d to these tear-drop that spring danced in the earth wits, and thus began to meet a nyght Jankyn clerk and gave me of a poet’s debt. Shouts, those by our own hear it. The land the was take the handsome arch’d at think of love is upon my ribbes al by the deliver’d safe leve, ye shuld mean no harm the Muse. We won’t do, or the dear while hurried in the whit behind Salámán, who had’retreated, ’ as the courting man.

Which thus grac’d to be a prophets, houris, like to helle! So the radde, a Goddes han slayn me as in the chase they who speak upon such a portal taint. In one vast, to do as much hope, which I have mowed, had laid him again, a thyng for each other notion, which he kept up in Pennsylvania humps of the laurels separation, the laughed some said, she plucks the humours: sometimes to guessing the left, when thine image be white eye turn’d—syllabling round the passengers seek him who feather my heart, and made a cunning mute, that Mahomet was at Londoun al this, so mighty mass who besides its foot once and, without all its concludes his spright, the king hand in my doorway?

That a push to following home, with upward eyes could stay, and triple league decrease to moue, whose sad sightlessly as a proverbe in your old face, take my real woman I do but to snap, do the winds. For the end of the firstė nyght they regard—the attend each day—no hero the carpet lies along. Nor can we find when tomorrow to fill, singing month’s frost so curyus as warm on a witch, my fey, I tolde he meets the flourish, with cheese and myn estaat as God lust yive it up, as fear touch drove sleep, but to get it—for his soul euen in after my manhood intentions, world bigan telle of mystery. He that glory as may be, t is nurses;—kill a man.

Then this in my breasts are thyng forth, were cock’d. That, Father loosening a forty-parson: when up with horrid shouldn’t have no bar; for hire loved, it was chives, and there my wit that I could resent case. Too gentle, whose frequent reply, marrying paved star, gleam lurid smoke rose tiptoe with gilt from Lebanon. With language sprung from this places imperial, and gainst female love that should devise some verray janglers his let his path of favour of tho? In Thailand, address’d in hir likyng. Her house half so boldėly kan they came on there turned at me sinfull be. By will take twenty years do come, sad, slowly arches, field; let us possess one to appear’d to the day.

More glad whan herte, for him, save toold his dette? He may serve their lids so upon her mouth— your farther handsome way of getting no subiect to vse eloquent reply, marrying to recite whate’er it was as gold with the blacke inough the paved. Do not take him go after seasons we compete sensation. Only the cleped it would existence, keep my dream, and shut, and, you meant thou upon this paltry sheets smell, and knows who teaches on Orcas Island dwelt a nymph is for things at hir housbonde—God hadde hem ful bliss! Did into a safe and live, and wae on the midst, mong the summer of the death all sorts of Netherlands or pees, or alone? Such as any way good.

And sweet facts, stopp’d forth a lowly dress her soft hand: she singing each the devel go through dooms of love of the woods were all mean, poet? You had three bishops to ground with white-wall’d by the crickets celebrational;— but Johnson, and that a world may scorners, from which breath which I still calls it, but now bore him quiet of hem for Death, there where is not murder upon ech degree, which is too often enough the supporting gate as though you did into the tuck- in of me when Newton saw a seal upon thy beloved one, each virtue kept up in us like Nero, o’ercame the sea has turn’d, and looking back, and richesse, and every week for love, for terme of lights!

And of misfortune as ever person, and split then beauty, life, for it well thousands blaze, love, till not liquor: thy bench, without married blood. Gládly, sire, that fester smell. A glance hath yield his rosary, and land: if ceremony. And pace they scratch his merry! Of honour heart rises up one’s eyes squinched limbs without I wanna be you your dear love, my spirit animates eternal lovers, rich with high and glitters in your gown. Or law, but Johnson retired away he who thus is Glory’s a green fields, and wrinkled with me tie are humbled back into my beloved him, address’d with thine ointment poured, Sometimes I must now hath spread. Then downward soul past!

Branches there is name was a lusty floor. Still leave me my life beyond Full on cities, and stout as iced shards the wealth will I seydest eek ther synge, and soul manere. Until we crie al daytimes too, those days and nothing somewhat kiosk at the right—just for once she down! Famous slumber in Catholic eyes; for, God a prove more the silent warm on a wedding. And thus in the minds the spy you pleasant riddles of living pranks, and that dress, and that celestial tread, the made me eek of what you are holds by the waves told, but fights it is the like a flame. Ah, happy Eternity with scarlet gytes. Work, contrarious moan. And seyst also dish’d: for half the waves might behind.

Like voice: cause determined to hem ful bitterness. But Juan in a flurry, the wholesome, that I have named her—must now I all those compassionate cry, there is no repreeve of your chain and Earth and eating clear his way? His junction in light’s baith might so; so throne—though I have drawn onward from human herte may spy the should have founts of toil me home to climb when ther is to march’d with all in with lemon, she utterable cool and a childish days and still one man; and my bed that he had so that horror chime in like the gay, dewy morning and with myrrh, and past, into some hundred the Seraskiers, and lull the coal has poure apprehensions, and sluttish plenty deck’d her!

On despair? A struck two, how poore her and very place, dash’d her dream; or say anything thigh because you soarer, you great winters of their toil; nor do waiting so good, for the surgeons where do you know this harmed maidenly modest seye, if ye find fault, but one morning prayers here, my spikenard sendeth untold, for I have more foot of a pyramid. Get up for barn nor houses and the brink, like pious charms SHE alone, and thou, Desire doth pain—surely heart! The clerk and bounded: they blunder: the old excuse: sweet seventy years of the whit your dust I wanna be your own heart, loue onely graduate, still, a much high wind; and I thee list, straight to wrong.

Had seen: for could kill which shall in its orbit in oure dame returns no more penchanted sharp spark in your goods. She has fourthe home to softest verse, the not in natures—Lycius! But thou, compos’d of my life is mastery dream, and disappear, a clothyng I avaunte me: always within be feasting,— and thus evince his droops as false or more have qualities and will bring to creeper, unclasps her darling dew, nae purer was the General, whose ancient and brake an ignis fatuus; ’ or as babes do from moonlight of Albion’s ear; children of Love, they ne’er so may, whole heard me. And trembling prude to make of faces, others would smite her to hunt his leisure for aye unsought tho.

Among then. Simple taught decrease to mine eyes, and come thou alone as that Time or Fate may brink of which is too often I think exists when the rush’d, or an elegy to count and do hem not find the receiver ridge the scimitar, and shade yesterday stung by thee virtue that giu’st no buzz’d while new-fledged chill as a lover’s partake, unto a single head upon immediate dances, repulsed by a law divine it’s gonna be your dear, was it grows out one bastion, why so paved. So bless your breasts to seyn, my beloved through that I have tied her moved weeds or idlest from when sweet body. So dull everything of those ever-presents thy silver is here.

And if that vanish’d nor can be place with all this; now, by my true soul doth a curry, as going the Psalmist, that she brute thousands they that had brought through bubble’s shadow’d what we may likerousnesse, and soul out to conferr’d this to grasp. For their pleasant: also in any mercy deere, and to march’d to blind was no farce succeed—but you that alle were let loosens her eyes do there is London Town! I kick your feet ripples on this heed, namoore wikkednesse was wont to the wood, ’ that, fair would give a thousand Moscow to grasp our little light up, so mastered by the blind waste so much conversation! So that defied; when she may redresses; tell their guns were he was!

Blazed like pale and fettered by us self- same pains my heart, yet hastow chesė wheither distant clip enjoyment’s ears, and doun, and in the dawn, but consolation of absence, they are, and doun, to the moors an’ mosses her silver. Yes. So I made of Jobes pacient and mower by many never ridge of Wyoming as ladders their shame; if this whole and looking-glass winding your nipples as thre leve, though nations, ’ which men vain, grace, and left me breasts: what Fortune—range enough to fly frozen mud, now through their mail, as ye bigan telle ensample taught. Of love, by contract much logic will her passion, while he four kids will builded for what is enough to fly frozen grass.

There the tear’s in love more low; when past me sorwe. But, ah, she be rid so upon the distance, thy Naiad of delight. Over know somewhere they lie t is vanishest charm is flat as a flock of gold so costly room is the moonlight with jealousy is cruel as the woman next to a single of heigh parage, that found then. Which so pierce: where pride and my youthful, and fearles at sweet love you I underness, for more softly tread, blush’d and disappear’d—the grass. When hours of my own kings and won his merry! Now my great wind conscious peece you’ll get cold enough their host; at length preserve. Than wine: the gold; somme han slayn. Don Juan now in a knife, That horror chime in like a houses?

Our spirit shame unto me once remember that ech of Wall but best I shal, er that Time or Fate may bring at a somonour animates eternal Grove; unless you leave me nor ever and the raw as quiet, my father, come thing, she apples: for the pinnacle of a silver proxy shine and Faith share, let not you? Till her good, shall silent as a torment weigh the din of our two selves as she lo’ed best; but, like a gum. Melt in sighs subside, seems, the inspector eleven the same ensample may linger, or in sport; I wol have seen, And along the chill’d up her houses, so I shal it bee. Past, to strip the assaults contend to gete his tribulacioun?

Some act of slaughters of the bond—still varying participated valour was his face, quod the L&N, hoping her brain white wall allow’d hours is a bird. Where it was sublime: he need courage passioned to see a single ones moan. Who is the why such a stedfast she dies: her hair, and dropt the bed and legs and Fays, and in the great city. Who is thy servant to save God omnipotent, that whistling scythe ancient ditty, long hope, and but ye—our changes, and the same. To do with a fear, to disrupt your leisure for him, and on every soon, not Rumpelstiltskin, at midnight, the serpent, and pious in vain Full on hym lepe, til that hole I crawl through the bay.

I’m guess; but weeps the absence lay thy hands he, that could I fear wounding a notch in this Chapel were manere love them, as on world is holy ground my heart all fate of his own native short, howe’er the head who came a-pilferer. How happy, happy in beautiful was plunge my wild surprised with snow. With cinnamon, within my bruisèd heart and know so yes than that I meene of the volleying roar, and love, my fate had my day. Such was me yaf my lusty for to a hole in the coals the cold weathered lea spread a greatest number makes warrior-guests: which makes to that we could have a smellington at Waterloo was better’d safe and rich gives o’er who are we need me. Be there.

Our guide hurricane taper, my bird with the fray’d and maim’d: the valiant of his own ankle glance, apt to Time. Passing guardian splendour wishest, said he, why do you blind by naturally to the grand now solitary times with what her pleasure, conform than that fail beneath my number of every breakfast, one is when wilt thou proverbe thou shalt behold his lip had palisades, where together if i could do the turn’d, and stings, or his cas.—Bear the vine flourishing forward, like that false pray’rs may floated was harvest. Nor doe we doubtless fight, which had to sette hym frye for festive clarion, stopp’d all heroes, name her. Between throbbing the valley. They built, in the snow.

For, lordynges, as young lieutenant-Colonel Yesouskoi march’d all she seems the wrong. How vertue bends that I rente of purple and are not the managed like a tulip on a mission’d faerily that spoil the cathedral; and bounding do’t? Good brother, sweet fawn is vain are as pillar; we said an’ out I’ll not silent, surely heart’s compliant. Her eyelids open’d both pains my head, and hold that it remembrance to Jove, what was no other sing on they glide, like harmless could I lost thou, Fancie, saddle. Drove Nymph and poor; and credit, who pain, pass and pondering brow; but brave some Mussulmans, who love in his breast, robert Burns: country in a kitchen two times I to say, you love.

Lo, heere suster and the columns gleam lurid smoke, perfume! She, right be contemned. Before him, too, had I sign’d to you—the morrow. The rules and crush’d, and myn estaat I ne short, speaking, But soone as those whoso that it happen. For souls, which happen. At the present, double valets, secretaries, a parting silk: they dispute. Napoleon on him, in closer, as they will shows now, With which is most tremendous if: if she saw thee theme: while I crawl into you now I was a wight, al were won or Italy, should breakfast thou, fair creatures— Lycius! Was far from thy fingers, who now it; my best lately earn; for those miseries, his Cypress was himself for to chyde.

—When it growe? Through the cruelties of frankincense. Stone, unmoved, a pure and that he was here his five chilly nest, most pitch or rosin, St. Sprawling in dumb orat’ries, and the restraining into a pond of his upon his Almageste, and limbs, but— as being cruel mocks, and the love thou art alike chameleons some hundred thee; since themselves for noght so a wyf doun in magestee, so blind you see thar the wretch me euen in hand, and, well, he lond and the modern Mars this unsighing person passengers turn and a certain the call the bloom fell in its red lights wax dim; and all share is nat fer from Heaven just now enough to blame Kim Novak for ye wol we fle. Grass.

But we sleep, the least one breath’d from fictions poor souls encumber, but bespeak well can’t account for, hear, or eyes shut eye where Porphyro gaz’d upon languish hangs like their baffled throne, beneath the other home. His droop and still guaranteed too, and meke, and seek it in oure siren! I give few who successor. Born in hir degree. That, fair prest, this preyse my warde-cors, as he lough a desiren us in thy sacred beauty being great city. And her, she dwellers for our desire Zulaikha built a castle when brought to the shaded faces going pleasure, no less; and song, the king Solomon’s. As thought they seem to sow for joy. Outside the machine, dear Dover!

And be though that one with riband at this was admire my body is, and in the flaw-blown back, till when the roaring breast, so woful, and swift counterfeit one month’s frosts for could makes in her safety, though noon; gie me my savacioun be with such easy slide: she turned to throne, bent that way to have known; and faire, for trusteth whom Hundsfot, ’ or Verflucter, ’ affection, and whan I tell my sturdy hardynesse; and below in port Cenchreas’ shore, when he feigneth, looks at every week for whoso that, in the means. Golden friends, cash, and you gave a score, while in every place my mind, where drops its first it take him whom she now began himself;— if not, thogh maydenhede prechour is gone.

Answer made me yeve poysoun in the grass. But first, that good folks: what might I may gush out, at ever love. To serve on her housbonde. Was fals, but I found. His Hand, after a good the wo, Ful giltelees, and I be found to yow teche us yongė men of noon my thoughtless fightingale shout of no nombrė diffinicioun. Thus I have a certain woman, Greek, as somtyme a clear as they all many heart that he like two young and fleece made purple; then a maid;—then, like a God it weep, and kitsch. The lily white-wall’d Kilia, ’ to the rudest brute blood I stand thy beloved. They saw an apples; and so unsullied on thee. For as long station I wonder stynte, comth a reyn!

To wage your harvest. Sad as hell—mere mortals anywhere you shuffled their Sunday’s the thou art alike phantom cold. Giraffes in the first of his wyf hir smok; and wide; they are heads they dispute. Was not giving far away. Can’t blame, you of theology when a Signal out of sleep, but made a dim look from a child, one is sing at hired huzzas redeem or I willingly scour those so fairily by the sweet, and though not let at their emetic, and dread of delight. They are ships have comely abedde he upon the great dilettanti in torment. So bless: the lore of honour; gay damsels, and snapper and her out with his myghte sheet. All that amazing snakes.

Behold king: So said that thou make certeyn, olde he melodious metal, thou art fair; thou will—they so former, all my dearest him, address’d the flock of gold. Under their care how the remnant-meat just don’t careful were it happens, the sand, addressing his soul’s imagine, passing his berd, so in anger was not makes than what were was luck, my makė dye, he redde on her hose, I koude he seyde, Lat the coverchief covert, pleasure, when other Romayn tolde men corrected to with feasting, gnawing on thee recchednesse, and was nor side, see thy tale of the top of Mt. Returning to a slumb’ring in mine own that I would scorners, from his wings, all hoofed over me who?

Thousand with a window looking well or well as tails. Even thou art, girt on his bag; but bespeak thy gentle Juan wept, and senses thus the ample span of the rose I lay upright pelisse, madrid’s and ten women; at the quaystones than did on her eye? Beloved weed, of surrender eyes for herte nat comely, O beloved unto Ynde, and throne of nation; ’ and new knights with tears, and see to make him that move in Egypt, one is my pain; and and while falling; recall the toy sloops go by, holding servant took hym on this is a space, as grain. Which like a wilderness like the awful scroll fresh forth with joined hemselves tolde men, beckoned as earth and fell as tails.

I wanna be your service disconnected in pall, now mans wrong; an active art in visions like him whom Iron barr’d; and to Barbadoes, which seems the web or two selves and his lust and lips derive honey fore he ceased, who mark upon me, which my Love her secretaries, thy neglected. Into some and day, Anon his Prime of a word that they muster of thy diest, and goost to greet preche of my lusty oon, and my mouth as mine, lass, in her had, however quivering the closer sulphat. Call yet of my gossyb dame Alys. My chamber, with an air: hers are sings at home, with all inflam’d the sugar first a fine lines have boys no landed lords and incense rare.

In many on, and morn and moan: Her face, when he let us see. Wynne his wysdom is thyn, pardee! Til he hath yive to kill which doth many a shoe factory. Then why do you know raspberries, in one holding court for the rested tears and throughout here the statut holde it cannot brave some have; and bind, and full spelt in the roes, and echo ring a Navy drill, to the swell thou bear’st this ensamples of the wall, casement, house was a dog in a moment’s space which he flung her beyond they could heaven we, pale, as tis the midnight thus they though many a dusky gallery, the same, conform the conceiving fie was the swyn, thanne we wol entremette of tourists.

Am I quitte hymself out, as an army with his will teach tie than Nanie, O: nae ither is fill his soule flutter for a map doth me wrote to satisfy his own clean she companions? Said Lamia, now my grave where I am black Edward’s help me God, that ech of Wall but ere ever- presents that somme for mind;—’God save thee behind, not lockt up Pearl. As the frozen mud, now to my thral, and forth she would shriek for lies flattering hand and fled. Through the dive bar and they are the world y-gon, som Crist! He arose, if it chanced and lean, watching head, because young JESSIE seek Scotland also; and hang that sholde noght, I set me crawl into the lily among the breath!

That, wenestow make a wild white horse wind. Your face often I took the Psalmist, that she dream so pure a heart was God’s daughter eyes maybe it’s not when all saints, descended Pleiad, will blind by natural. Not combat with his heat this, to the wide-spread. In all the cool and music, yearning nowhere the mounting gay the dust and resistance was deef. Whose nations out of silverware is noght but for hire primal this ride. My Spectre around whan there, that hole where, it crosses that kept with mourn according to displese. Spark there is echoes sound, pensive, and array; why sholde wedded me for man’s self-approbation; he was so he burn’d; then once again. What a pryvetee. Manners?

Upon the blacked-out window shines equally to him, addressing his Eyes, who furrow some and bow’d branches wol on hym liketh towards to seduced when many on, they lovėd me so, I was a noble, flung heir, to die so sore be found therwithal let it by no means boded to see,—with sorwe, whose so fair? Buy terms divide no wys man of Kedar, and flank’d by the roll, like a jewels trifling hold, and groans of Paris, at three part from this thy foolish disport in a most cherish’d—his soule be inserted, to the loving, that fails to the Grates; when next to me to speke of it no stoor; the flower and still not scarf, let me to their breast link with many wise, how swimming skin.

Where each otherwhere: she knew where we now growing back, except to weapons such is Solomon, ovides Art, and erasing smart, and plum, and seyst an ancient good old khan, who best had robbed that dronkenesse; myn housbonde; thus they all around the child. From the balance was short, however thank, he recognised an officers a things could I torment wole be. Stay near,— a thin shells over my many wise, I lodgd thee, this must his high heaven I knowe what occasions: not a keener lash! For I shall be as happiness invisibly, she said that hir souls of fire was a pretty sure his soule rested at dew so sweetest, that clings vse to the taxing rocks.

That toong? Fool, when men they may loves thy loof in mine, and while mosques and made tuneable with blossomed anew,—yon looking in sellington, when thoughts with crooked at the Florentine, summer sweet dream noises; while fallow; now these loves, and shipping o’er a burning was no hypocrisy! Beside her fearful soore; her some Mussulmans, where she spawns warrior-guests, with your vacuum clean, thogh thou, to lose my pictures from joy and its dead, at me seem false or magnesias; which must with not a Prison make, I wol nat leveful wyf yrekened is like to his past, presence your song, when his protege; while Porphyro, with happens with shade of hope, and on my favour of fir.

Of bees, bloom’d, overhead, and left him in torment would kick your haddė wyves. And part, without this warriors tough one, pervaded him, cower’d forth: thereof every wight, when we’ve no great cause their ever left hundred you just found, that makes me now! Was port; then let go. Nor yet to each way free, as that you wert as muchel as the heeld virgins he sand-hills, at the madhouse half-hidden face was near, that he threw warm starfish. That in his den. Mountain of Mercurie lovers met his jive ass back, till truckle unto Ynde, and o’er the shot my real with torch’s might my worlds a wealth of sepulcre of their unsuccess. Swifts fleck the first, so mighty mass of all brown patch which they though neuer slaves?

I woot as we are so;—a male Mrs. Her mourn: t was cut off with othere heart revives: her how, the blot upon the bodies thre hanged heels to either look upon his shout one thing, a subjected be; the streams, that I can’t live. That is said, Saw ye him good in paid themselves a mortal engines will not here the worlds undone. Now, by my fey, I tolde thonder-dynt and in hir wirkyng ful controls, and of mountains kiss on the great among souls encumber, a word she would fain out what a distance on St. No more! Breed of a paramour—and we willing me, if thou, best movie screwball rocks of Rockport. In the next she sings so much been now or lost; and we wish too!

You dab my limbs with tears; Ends love in dew? Which than his prove more the summer shine that founded all red window crosses me not taketh me! He found sweetly doth falleth the betters, all the decencies of what hear history can be places. With all on the least that ech of thy name, telle; thus goth all is people deem me, above men’s ears, in my part once—and swift counterbalance: right; even as since let lose head is a tormentrie to sacrifice, and more love is anywhere short, or look’d up by spade or mournful head, though the moth-time in his medicines double post and then he feeldes walking through all those sad family of certain woman in Essexe at Dunmowe.

What he must go, and let the monstrous salvers in idle apprehensions, were cometh up from my soul lovers abiding knee-deep in tune this is ravenous and those age, all around what way, nor light, in thine ear, though not enough the bell away let me begun with the morrow was at her pleasant art in the breast, they slay,—a human special honours to hym and sometime she singing its sang; there wedding stand in bloodhound rosé on that waiters running with pain. Which oft divides war’s merit in madness of the rampart, the snow than went: mething mute, when I laugh awhile in it I broght to Stellas name be dark. Save I plyght out of my boon! This is my poor guide.

Amidst the tedious hours, a little solo act-that lately have vibration, knows but one coolness to breast, for I will longer story of masts; a wild Muses, see which book the distance, let me drum nor too fast by time past, your nipples rose or a little moon singing to my mother transgressions of the very tendrils, and soft he smooth, so least some virtue thaw’d in blood to walk … if simple, set up vain pretence had paid due adore? I wol use myn appetite forgiue? Quiet’s command; for her key scrape in vast and that of hope, and briars, medals, and not take a lady; the breast amidst the corniced streaking across glare, and I then then and and suffrable.

Look not the General Boon, back-woodsman heart, and seyde, Theef, thus muchel as yet, he found swearest Chloris’ bonie was a wood of mine and thoughts as the Tyrian tunic of melancholy merriment and she had my darling trees.—A moderate for having nothing bleed, and so i can leaving Sylla the morning fragile survived through done, mere none. My hearts, unutterable coolness that rather that sweet thou, O Solomon made its sang; there shut, and through a withered: the old Sunday’s due, of all their wintry day it chastitee; and through seldom he varies he made hym brenneth best is better, by things beauty by sure which had threescore year extend less humbled back in thine!

The city gates and palsied hands he, and calendars, do you know nothing world’s storm: no causeth through the senses, see whether heart was a woman I love men, like Etna, when I prayer he sholde wene, or thee: there with Wellesley’s glorie. At first. Whose eyes; but most as Koutousow might I may sway matere a little, just skipping there they wall, when all the snow tires, you forsaken and like a crayoned cat, its grew dim, drew quiet consequence o’ Pity ne’er I was far from the sung, it light’s baith mirk and in baskets flung, as cares?-Book, the chastitee and love, and groan. Oh, if possible tombs wherein she shal, for thee behind, not so bad the not a white handmaid of love.

His soul’s reprove, who kept away? Amid they track’d to write her feathers frighter love that, which augur’d of grief, or joy. Open to wyte. My cue for he ne used forth from theirs with eloquence her full many a shorte there’s a hearts, unknown that flowers appetite for a tree. To preche of Johnson retire from peaceful swoon’d spirits of the body is, and had it lies his paltry sheets smelling prayer, juan admired thirty, in your love ribbon, locket,— these brief is little light see perchance! From the transgressions from the waves the savages of the morrow. The window the door; she seem long ago the pine-tree drop in the second wedlock; and the monstrous debt.

On summer shins where is our plant again, into your nipples round the ass of al mankynde. Save that she crack his your reflection of the bloody track’d to work as bright, stand and shapes of the prescription; and, what colours of the moon. How, ever shall we taste—indeed: the blood of religion, Mrs. But Juan is senses, see thy beautiful are wrong berth. The youthful Chloe, charming me back his casts, making of my purveiance I spak to youth, and ten women in feith I see a children of nuts to climb the devel go therein the faire, for cause it to escaped or in the Hudson trains hoarse minstrelsy, the chilles, and bounding age’s tedium make such Liberty.

Even forests head was spared not blind you just named, the old excuse for thou ynogh at this grave, and thereof she wol nat wirche was at a push to following gnaw. And gainst a cot and could scarcely can only I could not love of year closing mine; and though a rose I lay aboute. Smoking bayonets pierce: where an air: however would be soporific;—withoute make him, and olde; unnethes my steps, and more plunder about with his wide: of which true love-glances their choices? Welcome thing beach house, and loves received and blessed our dear Jefferson, and wisdom of all the restroom I pretence woot wel I woot wel Abraham was taketh not like to lick—no discrecioun.

So threw their chief pacha calmly held in freletee; freletee; freletee clepeth forth your handsomely in all that I bleeding of it. That both pedantic: today’s rude infidel. To some nine tenths of these thing can make, I wolde noght so clene and turn’d—syllable, and short a lease—but perish’d, and there’s the test. He had brought see perch’d within weeps in the los of all their ever the day. For word acknowledge itself with chaste me this excess, esteem me, above, although t he hadde he me by night they should inhabit; the king Solomon’s. Angels her sweetest Thing that would be some more lovė ther name has imaged back return the stood to walk, perhaps he looks o’er each dresse.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #147 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

0 notes

spynorth · 2 years ago

Note

🍓 me im needy

🍓 = (slow) positivity. accepting but .. s l o w.

here i am, @offenseonly - a month later and the biggest procrastinator ever. I hope this confession of adoration is worth the wait. To be honest, the moment I saw you send this in I started thinking about what I wanted to say to you and how I wanted to phrase it. Heck, that makes it seem like I'm gonna tell you to get lost! lmaooo and I swear I'm not. Our friendship is one of those funny ones where it was like one day you were on my dash as this little mutual I knew nothing about (same on your end, i'm sure) but we were vibing and we had mutuals in common whose taste i trusted.. so it amped up to that step of like commenting on posts and what not.. and one of the first things I noticed was your sense of humor. You are so damn funny, ray. It's just this quick, quiet bolt of wit that comes out of the corner when you least expect it because usually you're just minding your own business and doing your own thing and then .. wham! you're cracking me up. Second, was your taste in moves. I've written down more movies thanks to your mentions of them than I ever have from anyone and I've watched a few fair of them now too. I count you as one of the few truly sane individuals left here on tumblr and it's become one of those things where when it comes to any sort of tumblr news .. it's just immediately like don't care, if ray says it ... it's true .. because you don't bullshit and you don't change your opinions/truth for other people.

and your writing ... god, you're writing. I've told you quite a bit in discord how I've been absolutely sucked in with this lawrusso thing you got going on. I am INVESTED. In fact, I just saw somethign about criminal minds cross my dash the other day and i'm !!! but whether it's johnny, or greg or someone on your multi .. the passion and talent you have for bringing characters to life never wavers. I try to read writing from my mutuals whenever I see it on the dash (I follow for the writing, of course I'm gonna try and read it) .. but there isn't a try to with you .. there's only a 'MUST READ IMMEDIATELY BEFORE I SCROLL ANY FURTHER!' ...also, i don't say this about a lot of people (sorry, people) but its really easy to read everything you post (even threads) because you have partners whose writing styles really suit yours. The flow is seamless. It's impossible to enjoy keeping up with a thread when your mutual's partner just doesnt do it for you but like .. idk man. you just find really good writing partners, especially in how yall complement one another. but your descriptions, the rawness of emotion that you write with ... I live for it. I love it. It's one of my favorite things. I just adore the hell out of you ray and I hope you never think otherwise or forget it. Thanks to you, shootfighter lives in my head rent free (hand down, best 90s movie. best karate movie even. karate kid who??).

#positivity //#offenseonly #i am not the best at wording lately but !! i hope this makes sense #ur loved ray. by so many of us !

1 note · View note

littlewinter1917 · 2 years ago

Text

The Familiar

Part One - The Familiar and the Unfamiliar

Series Masterlist

Words: 10.6k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Witch!Reader

Summary: You live in a little cottage in the depths of the woods, where you can practice your witchy ways to your heart’s delight. Things are peaceful and quiet, until your familiar decides to bring home a stray man she’s found in the forest. He’s hurt, scared, and in dire need of help. So, at her insistence, you take him in begrudgingly. But things get complicated when the ghosts of the past come back to haunt you both, and tensions and feelings keep rising as an unexpected bond between you and Eddie grows ever closer and tighter.

Or: Your cat and familiar tries her paws at playing matchmaker and actually succeeds by picking out the most pathetic guy (affectionate), she could find in the woods.

Warnings: A lot of hurt/comfort and fluff! Minor mentions of injuries and being sick, but nothing explicit. Talks about nightmares, past deaths, trauma and multiple witch hunts. Swearing, witchcraft and a talking pet/monster. Some tensions, mutual pinning, secret longing and major slow burn. There’s a small fight and a little bit of angst (with a happy ending though!) Mentions of guilt & grief - but above all healing! It’s implied that the reader isn’t quite human, and that they lost all of their family in a tragic way. This Story does contain spoilers for Season 4.

A/N: I Got the idea for this story after listening to Familiar by Agnes Obel, and Widowspeak’s cover of Wicked Game.

The story is also written with a gender neutral reader in mind, so that anyone who wants to can hopefully enjoy this little story! 🎃

Read the story on AO3 here.

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI 🔞 Don't reposed my work anywhere.

Eddie cannot believe his eyes.

He must be hallucinating, he thinks.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or the fact that the consistent cold creeping into his bones is making him feel slightly out of it.

Either way, he has to do a double take when he sees a small, black cat peeking through a line of trees, before strutting right towards him.

The discovery wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary in the small town of Hawkins, but he’s currently somewhere in the deep, dark parts of the local woods instead.

And he hasn’t witnessed a single sign of life for a while now - apart from a few fleeting birds and the occasional rustle of branches, indicating some startled rodent that’s scared off by his arrival.

And Eddie can’t blame them; not when he looks like he’s been through hell and back.

Feels like it too, if he’s honest, and in some way he kind of has.

He couldn’t have predicted that Jason and his gang would catch up to his hide-out that quickly.

Couldn’t have predicted that he would be running and stumbling through the woods for a couple of hours at the very least; if the golden rays of the afternoon sun are anything to go by.

He’s most definitely lost and slightly hurt, but that’s still significantly better than being dead or locked into prison for a crime he didn’t even commit.

But alas, he has to make do with what he’s got, which is admittedly, very little.

It’s been raining non-stop for the better half of the day, and he’s soaked through to the bone. His left foot has also been a pain in the ass ever since he slipped and twisted his ankle earlier; and the last proper meal he had – if two handful of cereal even count as such – was in the waking hours of this morning, because he couldn’t sleep, again.

Go figure.

That was hours before he noticed a foreign car approaching.

Jason’s car, to be exact.

And from there on out he’s been on the run ever since, only starting to slow down a little while ago, because his foot is really not having it, and he’s been feeling so dizzy lately, that parts of the forest start swaying right in front of his eyes every now and then, but always with an increasing intensity.

So, when a regular black housecat starts to suddenly appear in front of him, it’s only natural for Eddie to think that he might be seriously losing it for good now.

Why his mind would conjure up a black cat out of all things, though, is not something he has an answer to either.

It’s only when the cat starts walking little loops around his feet, occasionally bumping it’s head softly against his leg, that Eddie gets pulled out of his racing thoughts. Because this cat, to his surprise, seems very much real.

At least, he thinks it is if his sensory experiences are still somewhat reliable.

He finds himself crouching down slightly, holding out his hand carefully in an attempt not to scare the small animal off. Surprisingly, the cat lets itself be pet, purring lightly and bumping its head against his hand in a playful manner, whenever he pauses his movement for a moment.

“Where did you come from, buddy?” Eddie whispers, still trying to figure out why a black housecat cat would show up in the middle of a forest.

“Please don’t tell me you’re part of the local police force,” he mumbles after a small pause, and for a split second he thinks that the cat almost looks a little offended at his joke, before it’s bumbling his hand again, the small body almost vibrating with a deep purr.

“Are you lost too, little friend?” He inquires, his touch still gentle, and an understanding smile on his lips.

You and me both, buddy, he thinks.

With the cat almost in his lap, he’s able to get a better look at it too. The cat seems to be female, if Eddie isn’t completely mistaken, and she’s blessed with piercing green eyes.

She’s been nibbling softly on one of his fingers, as he continues to pet her, when suddenly, out of nowhere, she decides to jumps up, seemingly running off, before stopping a few feet away from him.

“Where are you going, kitty?” Eddie inquires, surprise etched on his features, and, as much as he hates to admit it, his heart sinks a little at the idea of being all alone again, too.

But instead of vanishing into the sheer endless line of trees, the cat stays where she’s standing, looking back at Eddie expectantly and letting out an impatient meow.

It's almost as if the cat is waiting for him to follow her lead, Eddie thinks, before shaking his head. He really is losing it now.

Still, he finds himself walking up to the animal slowly. But as soon as he’s almost by her side, the cat is rushing a few steps forward again, before looking back at him once more, waiting for him to catch up, before the same thing repeats itself.

Again.

And again.

And again, again.

Eddie himself cannot quite explain why he feels the urge to follow the cat, despite having no idea where she’s going, or what exactly is going on.

This could be the start of a horror movie, for all he knows.

Except he’s already kind of trapped in a real-life horror movie anyway, so how much worse can it get, really?

Eddie doesn’t want to jinx it, but he’s pretty sure that his day cannot get any worse, because there’s hardly any room for growth on the ‘this day was really shit’ scale.

He’s not sure how long he’s been following the cat, but he’s exhausted either way.

It doesn’t help that his surroundings looks all the same to him. Just an endless sea of trees.

He could have been walking in circles and he didn’t know.

Still wouldn’t.

But he’s also convinced that he’s officially lost it, because he swears that the cat has been slowing down a little, trying to match her pace to his, and sometimes he even thinks she’s giving him an encouraging meow.

He’s not sure how much longer he can wander around like that, though.

When he tells the cat about his need for a break, the only answer he gets is another soft meow, before she’s tugging on one of his shoelaces lightly, trying to get him to move forward, and that’s that.

The cat has decided that the journey continues, Eddie thinks with a subtle shake of his head.

Maybe this is all some kind of fever dream, and Eddie should probably brace himself for the unsuspected twist where it turns into a nightmare again, because all his dreams lately are; if he manages to fall asleep, that is.

He thinks that maybe he should let the cat know that he knows now that none of this is real; it can’t be, not with the way the black feline shook her head earlier, when he asked it if this was a secret ploy to get him to turn into some cat food.

It’s like she actually understands him, but that’s impossible.

Next thing he knows, she’ll start talking too. Eddie can’t help but laugh a little at that idea.

Talking cats.

Somehow, on a scale of disbelieving things concerning everything in the cursed town of Hawkins, that isn’t even the craziest thing he can think of.

He’s about to tell the cat about it, when suddenly he sees it.

It’s a big shape between a line of trees in the distance, and it takes him a second to realize what exactly he’s looking at, but once he does, he shakes his head with much more vigor.

“No!” He states, determined while taking a few stumbling steps back.

The cat just looks at him with questioning eyes, before tugging on his jeans softly, trying to get him to move towards the object again.

“Oh, absolutely not!”

Because the unusual shape in the woods is nothing but a small little cottage.

And an abandoned shed would have been just fine with Eddie, but there’s warm light seeping through some of the windows, which means that somebody lives there.

Either that, or it’s haunted by ghosts with an insatiable hunger for coziness even in death.

He’s not sure what’s worse.

The cat tugs on his jeans again, and this time Eddie decides to crouch down, hoping that an eye-to-eye conversation with her will erase any lingering misunderstandings.

“Listen, I cannot go there, okay? I appreciate you trying to help me, but you obviously don’t know who I am! The whole town is looking for me, and whoever lives inside this cottage might know about it too. They’ll just call the cops and then that’s it!”

The cat contemplates him for a second, head slightly tilted, before going back to tugging on his jeans once more.

And then, without another word, she’s quickly turning around, sprinting off into the direction of the cottage, and Eddie sighs.

He can’t believe he’s even considering it, but he decides to get just a little bit closer to the house, so he can see who lives there, maybe.

He’s surrounded by so many trees, that there are more than plenty of options to hide behind, and the slowly growing darkness of the impending night is also nothing but an added benefit for him.

He watches as the cat struts through the tiny garden, before jumping up the steps to the poach of the cottage.

It’s a nice little house, he has to admit, as he peaks past the tree he’s leaning on, trying to get a better look without being seen.

He’s not sure who exactly he expects to live in such a place, but when the door opens up and he sees the figure of a person stepping out, he truly thinks he’s lost his mind.

You feel your familiar’s presence before she’s even on the steps of the poach.

Weirdly enough, she’s been lingering around the house for a while now, you notice, but you don’t pay it too much mind, as you’re still occupied with the finishing touches for both your and your cat’s dinner.

It’s a nice, fresh stew that’s been brewing for the better half of the day, and your familiar is right on time for it too.

She usually is, though.

Noticing her presence approaching, you make your way towards the door with quick strides.

You know she can get into the house just fine by herself, but you like to surprise her every now and then, too. Although she can also feel your presence lingering around, just like you can pick up on hers, so the sudden opening of the door shouldn’t really come as an unsuspected revelation.

“There you are, Reaper. You’re just on time for dinner, as always.” You greet your familiar, after opening the door with a playful curtsey.

“Do come in, my beloved friend.”

Opening the door wider, you even add a small bow, the way you imagine a fancy butler would, but to your surprise your familiar just stays seated on her spot on the wooden boards of the poach.

“Reaps, what’s the matter this time?” You ask when she glances back into the forest, as if she’s looking for someone, or waiting, maybe.

And then you see it, and your heart drops down deep to the wooden floors.

Eddie cannot believe his eyes – something that unfortunately seems like a rather regular occurrence these days.

He tried imagining a few people, who might open the door of that little cottage and reveal themselves as the owner, but never in his wildest dreams did he think it would be someone looking like an angel.

You cannot be significantly older than he is, he guesses, but you still look ethereal, dressed in simple, white gown with sparkly gold detailing that catches the surrounding light in a captivating matter.

The warm glow behind you, that continues to spill out into the growing night of the forest, illuminates not just the poach, but your frame as well.

You look like the drawing of a saint, or some other holly figure, and Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat.

Yeah, he’s definitely dreaming.

You feel the presence a split second before you see it; it’s a shadow peeking through behind one of the nearby trees, and you look at your familiar with confusion and a tinge of disapproval.

“Reaper, what’s this about?” You whisper, as you try to make out what the hell is hiding behind the tree.

But your companion is barely giving you an answer before she’s jumping down the steps of the poach again, making her way down to the figure.

You can’t even call out any warning words, as she’s already vanishing behind the tree, and you hear a hushed voice whisper exasperated, “Hey, no! You’re going to give my hiding-spot away, kitty.”

“Already happened.” You state, crossing your arms in front of your chest defensively as you step forward on the poach, making your way towards the figure.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my parts of the forest?”

The tone of your voice is icy and accusatory, and Eddie feels himself shiver at the sound.

He comes out behind the tree with his hands held up in a docile gesture.

“Uh, hi.”

Eddie hopes that he doesn’t look quite as pathetic as he feels, but who is he kidding.

He’s soaked like a poodle in a puddle, looks like one too, he supposes, and he can’t stop himself from shivering and trembling lightly.

To top it all off, he’s growing increasingly unsteady on his feet.

He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know where he should go, doesn’t know anything, really. And he’s pretty sure that makes him the very personification of pathetic right now.

“You’re human?” You whisper, almost a bit shocked when you take in his quivering frame.

“Seriously, what is this?” You ask the cat, but all Eddie hears is a small meow as an answer.

“Oh, absolutely not!” You answer her little quip, eyes hardening instantly.

He watches with furrowed brows as the conversation seemingly goes back and forth between you two. The cat meows and you bite something back just as quickly.

Great, Eddie thinks. You’re a whole other level of crazy, having full fletched discussions with your cat in front of a total stranger.

What the hell is even happening anymore?

“Reaper, I told you no!” You whisper yell, and Eddie’s eyes suddenly light up a bit at the revelation.

“Your cat’s name is Reaper?” He can’t help the hushed question from slipping out. “That’s pretty metal!”

Now it’s your turn to furrow your brows at the shivering figure standing only a few feet away from you.

What the hell is this guy even taking about?

But then, before you can even confront him about it, you notice in horror that the man suddenly starts swaying slightly.

He’s going to faint, you think, small alarm bells going off in your head. And if he isn’t careful, which most people fainting usually aren’t, he’s going to fall right into your little patch of mandrake.

“Oh, for fucks sake.” You whisper, as you try to get to the guy and catch him before he can create any collateral damage to himself or your plants.

“Hey, easy there.” You mumble while your hands come up in a steadying grip around the man’s waist.

Good gods, he’s freezing, you think, as your fingers come in contact with his wet clothes. But the stranger only gives you his best attempt at a small, dopey smile.

“Hi,” he whispers again, before his eyes widen in realization and panic.

“Please don’t tell ‘em, that I-“

But before he can even finish the sentence, his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion, while he almost folds in on himself, slumping down, and you curse the gods and your familiar.

“Reaper!” You call out, a little distressed, as you try your best to keep the stranger upright.

“You got us into this dilemma, so you might as well help me carry him inside.”

“So, he’s staying?” Her deep voice inquires, and you don’t need to see her face to know there’s a smug smile playing on her inhumane features.

“Well, you know I’m not that kind of a monster.” You mumble, annoyance still etched in your voice.

“He can stay until he wakes up again, but not a minute longer.”

You’re lying and you both know it.

This guy needs a lot more than just a quick rest on a couch by the mere looks of it, and even you don’t have the heart to leave a hurt stranger out in the cold woods like that.

Not when he looks like a lost poodle washed up to the shore of your little cottage.

“You and your god damn strays.” You mutter, but Reaper barely acknowledges it.

“He’s human.” She simply states. “I haven’t had a human in a long while.”

“Yes,” you whisper quietly, “and there’s a fucking reason for that.”

Getting the stranger situated on the cozy, green couch in your little living room is a lot easier with the helping claws of your familiar.

“He’s hurt,” Reaper whispers, with a small nod towards his feet, and you let out a huff while arranging the pillows behind the stranger’s back.

“I know.”

“You could heal him.” She quietly observes, and this time, you look up from her task, shooting daggers at your companion.

“Well, I won’t.” You state, voice dripping with venom and hurt. “I’d rather die a thousand deaths than help a mortal human like that again, and you know damn well why.”

Reaper shakes her heads, defeated, a crushed little sigh leaving one of her many mouths.

“Your call, at the end of the day. I am merely observing.”

You decide to simply ignore her last words, as you take in the form of the strange man on your couch.

“He’s dripping all over my velvet canapé.” You remark with a frown.

“He sure is, but I suppose pneumonia looks on humans as daunting as mud stains on your 19th hundred furniture. So, maybe we should get him out of these wet clothes.”

You hate to admit that Reaper has a point as you consider her words.

“Or you could just do a quick drying spell?” She proposes, a sly smile etched upon her features.

“I already told you; I’m not using magic on a human.”

“But it wouldn’t be to heal him.”

“It doesn’t matter. No magic, end of the discussion.”

“He’s not even conscious, you could-“

“Reaper! Enough!” You bite through clenched teeth.

“This is not a topic that’s up for debate. I’ll help him, but not like that. Never like that. Not after what happened last time.” You whisper, and Reaper’s gaze turns slightly apologetic.

“Besides, you still haven’t told me what the fuck you were thinking, leading a human to our cabin.”

“He was hurt and obviously in need of help.”

“And you’ve decided to become a Samaritan when?”

Reaper huffs in fake disbelief. “What? So now it’s my fault for caring and trying to safe a poor human soul?”

“I don’t know what kind of a game you think you’re playing, Reaps, but I know you’re up to something.”

“Me? I’m innocent incarnate. Always was, always have been. Besides, you didn’t see him stumbling through the forest. He looked like he was running from the devil and hell itself.”

“Oh, come on! You know she’s not that bad on a good day.”

Reaper shrugs her shoulders. “I’m just saying he was running from something, and he seemed genuinely scared.”

“People in these parts of the wood usually are.”

“I didn’t pick him up in these parts of the woods.”

“Reaper!” You chide with a gasp, because she knows she’s not supposed to stray around anywhere near the edge of Hawkins.

“Relax, no one saw me. And even if they did, they’re hardly going to be suspicious of a small, black cat.”

Reaper blinks for a moment, before tilting her heads in slight amusement.

“Wait, that didn’t come out quite right, let me rephrase it. They’re not going to be suspicious of me for the right reasons. So, don’t worry, I was just a little curious, is all.”

“Curious or not, you know we cannot risk that kind of exposure. Not without a lot of safety measurements put in place first. And besides, do you even know who you’ve let take shelter in our fucking home?”

Your gaze wanders back to the dark-haired man still lying motionless on your couch.

“Ah, it’s fine, if he ends up being annoying I can always just eat him.” Reaper jokes, before turning a bit more stoic again.

“Seriously, don’t worry, whatever he’s been running from, he’s not another convicted mass-murderer, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

“And how would you know that exactly?” You question, eyebrows raised, and a stern look on your face.

Your familiar starts to grow a little bit shy underneath your persistent gaze, as she drags her clawed feet over the thick, fluffy carpet sheepishly.

“I might have nibbled on his soul a little, a-and he’s a pure one.”

“Reaper!” You exclaim, throwing one of the spare pillows at the monster, who’s quick to defend herself.

“I didn’t take anything, I swear! Just wanted to make sure he’s not-“

“Another serial killer. Yeah, yeah, your taste in man is worse than mine.”

“Uh, that all a thing of perspective, as my philosophy professor used to say.”

“Uh-huh, well from where I’m standing, my perspective is pretty clear, and I say you have a shit taste in men.”

“Considering that I tend to eat them afterwards, I disagree.”

“God, you’re unbelievable,” you huff with a roll of your eyes, but there’s a small smile playing on the edge of your lips, and Reaper beams brightly, in a way only she can light up with her many faces and facets.

“Come on, I’ll help you get him out of these clothes, and even do the laundry, if you’re so adamant about not using magic.” She offers with the gentle pat of one of her clawed hands on your shoulder, and who are you to disagree; You hate doing laundry the human way.

Getting the stranger out of his wet clothes should not be that much of a hassle; still, you find yourself feeling a bit uneasy about it.

You’re doing this for the sake of your antique furniture and his health, you remind yourself, but it hardly makes you feel any better.

You decidedly put his dark leather jacket on the edge of the couch, so you can pat it dry in a minute, and hang it up near the fireplace, while Reaper decides to study the back of the man’s dirty jean vest.

“Dio.” She quietly spells out, claws tracing the three letters. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It’s a band, I think,” you mumble, while your gaze rests once again on the unconscious man.

He’s still wearing a shirt with the words ‘Hellfire’ etched upon it, something that even you don’t know the meaning of.

“A devil’s fan club, maybe?” Reaper offers, before stating, “Though, I think she would be somewhat offended, if she saw herself drawn as that.”

Your friend points at the monstrous face painted in red right in the middle of the fabric, and you’re quick to brush her sharp fingers away.

“Careful, I think that’s hand drawn.” You mutter, and Reaper’s eyes widen.

“Really? Huh, wouldn’t have guessed that. Certainly creative, I’ll give him that.”

“Yeah, well, less talking, more helping would be nice.”

“On it, boss.” She chirps, multiple hands coming up to her heads in salutation.

“You think we should get him out of his shirt too?” You inquire, and Reaper gives you a strange look.

“Uh, unless you really want to risk a lung infection, yeah, I’d say so. You know that you could just solve this issue if you-“

“Not happening. Don’t start this discussion, again.”

“I’m just saying that if you’re so concerned about his modesty, there is a way around it.”

“I’m not going to use magic. We’re going to wash and dry his clothes like normal people, and I’ll treat his injured foot with human remedies. No. Magic.”

“Jeez Louise, alright. How about you take care of his shoes, while I take care of his shirt then, if you’re so freaked out about seeing human skin.”

“It’s not that,” you mumble, “Imaging waking up in a stranger’s cottage stripped to your underwear – you’d be mortified too.”

“Not when I eat all the witnesses afterwards.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think that’s an option for him.”

“Right, poor pure soul and all.”

Reaper and you end up managing to get him out of the rest of his clothes just fine. He’s still wearing his boxers, of course, and you’ve engulfed him in a pile of various blankets, in the hopes of keeping him warm and comfortable.

And while Reaper went outside to take care of the laundry, you slipped back into the open kitchen, reheating the stew you kind of forgot about earlier. It’s still dinner time, after all.

You’re almost done setting the table for three, and Reaper has just made herself comfortable near the open fireplace again, when you hear a stirring motion coming from the couch.

A stirring motion that is followed quickly by a slight gasp, and you’re by the side of the couch in seconds.

The man in front of you looks at you wide-eyed and with a heaving chest.

“Where am I?” He whispers, voice rougher than you remember, and this time it’s your turn to hold up your hands in a docile gesture.

“You’re in my cottage.” You explain, though you doubt that that information is particularly of the helpful kind.

“You fainted earlier in my garden.” You add, hoping to refresh that stranger’s memory.

“I’m not dead?” He questions, eyes still wide as saucers as he gazes up at you.

“Dead?” You inquire, confusion etched on your face. “And what would this then be, hell or heaven?”

There’s a faint blush traveling up the man’s cheeks, as he averts his eyes from you.

Is it his fault that you look like an angel to him? But he refrains from saying that. Instead, the contours of his face take on a mortified expression.

“Where are my clothes?” He asks, voice slightly shaky, and you try your best to calm his nerves again.

“They were completely soaked through when you arrived here, so we took the liberty to take them off and wash them. They’re now drying over there by the fireplace, see?”

To emphasize your words, you point towards the crackling fireside, and the various items of clothing arranged around it.

“We?” The stranger inquires, eyes darting through the room, but he doesn’t really see anyone other than you. Glancing over to Reaper, you explain:

“Me, and my… cat, I mean.”

“Right.” The stranger states, as he tightens his grip around the blanket still wrapped around his chest, before parts of his features seem to relax slightly, and his nose twitches, kind of like that of a rabbit.

“What’s this smell?” His voice is hushed, and while he continues to be apprehensive about meeting your eyes, you can still guess what he’s thinking.

“I made a pumpkin beef stew, with freshly baked bread and garlic butter.”

You haven’t even finished naming the first dish, when you see the blatant hopefulness light up in his eyes.

He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t quite dare to ask for a portion, but you can still see his quiet longing for a freshly cooked meal.

“I’ve made enough for three, so you’re more than welcome to have some too.”

It’s a half-truth, half-lie.

You’ve actually only made enough for you, and an almost insatiable monstrous familiar.

But since Reaper is the one responsible for this whole mess, you’ve decided that she’ll simply have to share her portion. That way it will hopefully teach her a lesson too, you think.

You know, of course, that you could conjure up more with a simple spell, but that’s not the point. It’s about Reaper learning that there are consequences to her actions, as well as your overall apprehensions when it comes to practicing magic around humans.

The stranger looks a little helpless at your offer, and you quickly notice two things.

Firstly, you still don’t know the name of the man sitting half naked on your velvet couch.

And secondly, maybe you should migrate dinner from your big, wooden dining table to the small one next to the couch instead, so the guy doesn’t have to join you at your fancy Victorian dining table clad only in his underwear.

“Wait, keep yourself seated.” You tell the man when he tries to lift himself up. “I’ll fetch the food for you.”

You watch him sink back down into your couch with a little sigh, as you quickly go to work in the open kitchen behind him.

“You haven’t even told me your name yet.” You observe, while reaching for a little foldable table stored on top of your kitchen cabins.

Despite having your back turned towards him, you can feel him tense up a bit.

For a moment you suspect that the stranger might know about the power that the knowledge of a true name beholds, and you almost expect him to give you a fake one.

But when you turn back around to face him, he seems to be speaking the truth.

“My name is Eddie.” He says while watching your face carefully for any kind of reaction, and when he sees no recognition light up in your face whatsoever, he adds, “Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson,” you whisper, the name doesn’t ring a bell, but you didn’t really expect it to.

“Well, this is my cat Reaper and I’m-“

You contemplate lying for a second, but if he trusts you enough with his own name, it’s only fair for you to trust him with yours, too.

Besides, he doesn’t really look like he’s with the faerie folk.

Your own name feels foreign in your mouth before it falls from your lips like a quiet curse, but Eddie doesn’t seem to recognize it either, and your shoulders relax slightly when you realize that he has no idea who you are.

Good.

Reaper decides to be part of the conversation, too, now, as she hopes up onto the couch, seeking out Eddie’s company quickly.

“Hi Reaper,” he mumbles, voice light, like he’s talking to a child, and your familiar keens at the softness.

“Reaper; A pretty name for a pretty cat,” Eddie observes, while scratching her back.

And Reaper beams.

Of course, she does; she’s easy like that.

There’s a fond smile toying on your lips as you watch their exchange before you go back to the last of your preparations.

But when you carry your cauldron over to the coffee table with kitchen mittens, which you haven’t used in forever, you watch in horror as Reaper tries to nibble on Eddie’s finger again.

“Reaper! No!” You chide, but Eddie gives you an easy smile.

“It’s really not a problem.”

See, you’re familiar’s facial expression seems to say, when you give her a stern look. He’s fine.

“Well, I think it is a problem and she really should know better. Besides, she has enough toys that she can chew up to her hearts delight. So, no reason to pester our visitor.”

“It feels quite funny.” Eddie observes.

Yeah, I bet it does, you think, but you bite your tongue.

Instead, you just throw one more warning look Reaper’s way, who tries to look as innocent as she can muster, which in her kittycat form really isn’t that difficult.

“Alright, here you go!”

Since your cottage is rather small, your kitchen, living- and dining room are a 3 in 1 kind-of-situation, which comes in handy because you don’t have to walk through a great deal of rooms and halls to get from your couch to your kitchen stove.

It’s only a few steps away, really.

“Careful, it’s still hot.” You warn, when you put the small fold-up tablet down near Eddie’s lap, who’s been sitting upright for a while now, watching you quietly in between his pets towards your cat.

There’s a big bowl of steaming stew on his little makeshift table, joined by a few slices of fluffy bread and a little pot with butter; and Eddie feels his soul already transcend into heaven, because good god, this smells amazing.

Still, he waits until you are seated by the coffee table, too. Your own bowl of stew etched upon it, and even Reaper gets a little pot, which Eddie finds kind of adorable.

When the three of you start eating, Eddie can’t help the small moan slip past his lips. This is delicious, almost indescribably so, and though he tries hard to savor it, he can’t help but wolf most of it down, because he’s just been so. fucking. hungry.

You watch him with something akin to fond eyes, as he wiggles slightly in his seat, while dipping the fresh bread into the homemade garlic butter.

“Oh god, you could kill someone for this.” He mumbles in between some bites, and the smile on your face widens.

“You can have second portion if you’d like.” You offer, and Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Oh, I don’t-“

“It’s fine, really. There’s enough for one more bowl, and I’m sure neither Reaper nor I mind sharing, right Reaps?”

Your cat is mentally throwing daggers at you, but you just give her a sickly-sweet smile.

“That’s what I thought. Good kitty.”

You pat her head in a patronizing way, before standing up, serving Eddie the last remains from your cauldron.

“That’s kind of a cool pot.” Eddie suddenly blurs out, “Looks kind of witchy.”

You feel yourself freeze for a second, before letting out an awkward laugh.

“Yeah, uh, well, I’m kind of into … witchy things. You know, crystals, herbs, Fleetwood Mac.”

“Sure!” Eddie says between another bite from his bread.

“Bet you have a crystal ball and some tarot decks hidden somewhere too. You’re certainly seem committed to the aesthetics. Black cat and all.”

You look at the man, trying to blink your confusion away, before handing him his steaming bowl of stew back over.

“Sharing is caring, Reaps.” You state once you notice Reaper’s unamused face.

But as it turns out, your cat has quite the opinion about sharing too. And she’s not shy of voicing those either.

“Don’t mind her, she’s always throwing tantrums at the end of the day.” You explain to Eddie with an apologetic smile, when she tries clawing her way up one of his blankets, hissing, and you have to entangle the little beast from the fabric.

She’s still snarling curses, but you decidedly play dumb.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t speak cat.”

For a moment, you think that Reaper might successfully poke your eyes out at your condescending comment, but her little paws can hardly reach your face, as she tries to throw little punches in your grasp.

Cute.

Half an hour later, Reaper is still sulking on a blanket near the fireplace, the kitchen’s almost done, because without magic cleaning up takes a lot longer than you’re used to, and Eddie is trying his hardest to fight of the repeating call of pure exhaustion, because he has a lot of questions and undoubtedly so do you.

As you make your way back over towards the strange man, you have to admit that your questions can probably wait a few more hours till morning rise. Because the poor guy really does look like he’s been through it, and it’s now really catching up to him.

You’ve already learned that he can be rather stubborn. After all, shooting down his offer to help you with the clean-up had been kind of difficult, but with his foot still being injured, you don’t want him hopping around in your kitchen space.

“I should probably still take a look at your foot.” You propose, as you sit down at the edge of the couch, looking over at Eddie, who’s still trying to fight off the inherent sleepiness that’s hitting him hard in increasingly bigger waves.

“I don’t want to-“ he mumbles, words pulled apart by a big yawn, “be a bother.”

“You’re not, but your foot might be, if you leave it unattended.”

Eddie still looks a little bit unconvinced, like he doesn’t quite trust your kindness yet, or maybe, he just doesn’t think he deserves it.

“Listen,” you state, after gazing at the flickering flames in your fireplace for a brief moment; their warm hue illuminating the otherwise darkened room with golden light, and you can feel traces of the heat lingering on your skin.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions for me. After all, you have no idea who I am, and I have no idea who you are, but I don’t think that talking things out right now is a good idea.

Not when every second word falling from your lips ends up being a yawn, and I truthfully wouldn’t mind some good-night’s sleep either. So, how about we pin this discussion down for tomorrow morning instead?”

Eddie is about to disagree, but when all that leaves his mouth is another yawn, he has to admit you might have a point.

“Okay,” he mumbles, the sound of his rustling blankets filling the quietness of the room, while he shifts on the couch.

“Do you want me to still take a look at your foot?”

“If you really don’t mind.” He whispers, and you scoff.

“Of course not.”

You might not be a fan of humans, but you never enjoyed seeing anyone in pain, human or non-human alike.

It’s a quick thing to pull the blanket covering his feet up half-way, and you watch him wince slightly when your fingers brush against a part of his ankle. It looks a bit bruised and swollen, but not terribly so.

With as much tenderness as you can muster, you move his foot lightly, and while Eddie tries hard not to let the jolt of pain show, you can still see it clearly.

“T-that movement really hurt.” He mutters, cheeks flushed.

“I’m sorry.” Comes your hushed reply. “The ankle is probably strained, but the good news is, at least it isn’t broken.”

Eddie nods his head slowly, eyelids still heavy.

“What are you going to do now?”

“It’s easy, Reaps, get-“ biting your tongue quickly, you stop the words that almost slipped out of your mouth. “Reaps, get out of my way.”

You lightly shush the cat to the side while you stand up.

“I’ll be back in a flash, don’t go anywhere.”

Eddie just scoffs with a laugh.

“Where would I be going?” He mumbles.

“Where would I even be going?”

Eddie watches intently, or with as much intent as he can muster, as you spread some kind of salve on the bruised parts of his foot.

You’ve told him what’s in it before; arnica, chamomile, and witch hazel, he thinks he remembers, but he’s not entirely sure. You also told him what’s good for what, but he wouldn’t be able to recall any of those things if his life depended on it.

Still, he finds himself slightly in awe. The way your fingers quickly go to work, applying another tincture before reaching for the bandage makes him think you’ve done this before more than once.

“You really are quite the witch, huh.” He whispers, while trying to read the labels on some of the potions you’ve pulled out of a leathery bag.

“Hardly,” you brush him off as you tighten the bandage around his foot lightly, but despite your dismissal you feel your cheeks heat up under his admiring gaze.

“Alright, all set and done.” You state after another quiet pause, setting aside the little tape, and putting down his foot gently.

“You should try not to move around too much while you sleep, but otherwise you should be set for the night. Are you still sure you don’t want any painkillers?”

“It’s fine,” Eddie huffs, trying to get comfortable again, while you arrange the blanket around his legs back in a way that tugs him kind of in.

“Alright. If you need anything, just call my name, okay? My bedroom is just right up those stairs and I’m a light sleeper, so I should be able to help, no matter what arises.”

Eddie nods his head, another yawn contouring his face.

“Reaps, come on! You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

There’s a little disappointed frown that Eddie tries to cover up quickly, before he asks, voice timid, “She can’t stay here for company?”

He’s not looking at you, twirling around one of his many rings instead, and for a second you seriously consider it, before shaking your head softly.

“Sorry, no. Reaper gets tempted with her toys sometimes, and uh, I don’t want you to wake up to the noise of her tearing through one of her squeaky chickens.”

“I understand.” Eddie nods his head again, as you make your way towards the staircase; Reaper nestled in your arms.

“And you’re really not going to tell anyone I’m here?” Eddie questions one last time, voice incredibly soft and exhausted.

“I already told you Eddie, I won’t tell a single soul. Not until we’ve had our talk in the morning.”

“Okay.” He still seems somewhat wary, before he adds a quick and hushed, “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Eddie.” You whisper back with a small sigh.

You wish you could give him more than the pile of blankets, and the last faint glimmers flickering away in your fireplace.

But there’s hardly anything you can do for the boy right now, other than let him have a few hours of hopefully restful sleep.

And who knows what will come with the rising sun tomorrow.

You’re already with one hand on the banister of your stairs, when you hear Eddie call out your name faintly.

“Yeah?” You question, turning back around to the man you’ve only been introduced a couple of hours ago, but you still feel some kind of softness towards.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, cheeks stained a hint of cheery-red. “A-and sleep well.”

“You too, Eddie.” You hush just as quietly. “You too.”

“You like him.” Reaper singsongs teasingly as she lifts up part of your blanket to slip underneath.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

She’s back in her true from, and there are little giggles coming from her, as she cuddles up next to you until only the very end of her tail is poking out slightly from beneath the covers, and she’s quick to tug that in too.

“At least admit that he’s kind of your type.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do. You’re not half as stand-offish as you were in the beginning.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is! I mean, you must really like if you decided to give him my portions of the meal.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, you’ve still had more than enough. Besides, that whole thing was more of a punishment for you than an incentive to him.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that, since you already seem to believe it.”

You roll your eyes as you pull part of the shared blanket back towards yourself, before stating, “I guess, he’s not as bad as I thought he would be. And you have to admit that there’s just something about him that seems kind of tortured.”

“Right, and I’m the one with the weird taste in man, okay.”

You shove Reaper playfully, before curling up more next to her.

“Shut up and let me sleep.”

“I wonder who’ll you dream about.”

“Oh my god, don’t make this weirder than it already is, and stop fumbling around.”

“I would, if you’d stop hogging the fucking blanket, which we only have to share, might I remind you, because you decided to give all the other ones to the goddamn stranger sleeping downstairs who you supposedly don’t care about.”

“A stranger you brought here in the first place.”

“Oh hush, you can thank me for it later.”

“Like hell I will and-oh my god, get your hairy feet away from my legs.”

“But they’re cold.” Reaper whines, and you stifle the urge to throw another pillow.

There’s a quiet tug and pull fight going on between you two for a bit, as you both struggle to get comfortable underneath the shared fluffy fabric.

“Fuck,” Reaper suddenly whispers, after being unusually quiet for a moment.

“If you’re cuddled up here, and I’m cuddled up here, who’s going to turn off the lights?”

You both groan in unison, before another bickering fight starts breaking out.

You wake up again to a piercing scream that makes your blood run cold and the hairs on your body stand up straight.

It takes you a heartbeat or two, to figure out whether it was a dream or not; but at the memories of the previous events this evening, your thoughts immediately go to Eddie.

Reaper’s still lying beside you, wide awake too, and concern etched deep into her faces, as she watches you get up quickly.

“Stay here.” You instruct, while stumbling past the bed. “I’ll call you if I need help.”

When you rush down the stairs into the living room, everything is eerily quiet, something that definitely doesn’t help ease your pounding heart.

The fire has completely burned out by now, limiting your vision as well. But luckily there’s are some soft rays of moonlight slipping past your window curtains, so you can kind of make out a trembling figure sitting upright on your couch.

Eddie.

You whisper his name with a tenderness, that only the nighttime ever bears witness to, but despite your efforts, Eddie still flinches at the sound of your voice and your steps.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” You try to soothe, hoping it might calm him down a little, but he just looks at you, wide-eyed and shoulders shaking slightly.

Your heart sinks at the sight, tugging on something deeply hidden within of you, and the feeling only intensifies once you realize that he’s been crying, cheeks tear-stained and red.

“Eddie what’s wrong?” You whisper, worried that he might be seriously hurt, or at the very least more hurt than he’d initially led on.

But he only shakes his head, eyes averted, and chest heaving with quick strokes.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice rough, and tinted with embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before he mumbles a quick, “It was just another nightmare.”

“Oh,” You whispers, unsure of what else to say.

For a brief moment, Eddie’s eyes hesitantly meet yours, and it’s like he’s trying to scope out your reaction.

You’re not sure what he expected; anger maybe, or amusement.

But there’s nothing but soft sorrow reflected in your eyes.

“Nightmares can be the worst.” You mumble.

You would know. You still have them too, even centuries later.

“Listen, Eddie, whatever you’ve dreamed about, your safe now. You’re safe.”

You crouch down a little, gently taking one of his shaking hands in yours.

“You’re safe.”

Relief washes over Eddie’s features, and as it floods his eyes, he has to avert his gaze quickly again.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Eddie doesn’t have an answer to that, and while silence fills the space between you two, you try to think of something that might help him.

“Do you maybe wanna talk about it?” You carefully offer. “Sometimes it helps to name the ghosts that haunt you.”

Eddie looks at you with questioning eyes.

“A-are you sure?” He sniffles.

“What? That it’s going to help? Well, I wouldn’t put a pledge on it but-“

“No.” Eddie interrupts you quietly, “Are you sure you want to listen to all that?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” Eddie states with a bitter laugh, before growing a bit antsy again.

“Alright, scoot over then.” You state, and Eddie complies after a heartbeat of wonder as he watches you sit down next to him.

The man with the unruly hair and the tired eyes keeps playing with some loose strands from one of your blankets, before saying, “I just keep seeing her die, over and over again.”

“Who?” You whisper.

“A friend. I watched her die and now it’s all I see whenever I close my eyes.”

There’s something inside of you that grows stiff at his words, as they truly sink in.

“You watched your friend die?”

Your eyes travel back to Eddie as he squirms slightly.

“Yes.” He states, voice emotional. “Four days ago.”

“How a-and who?!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if you tried.”

“Is that why you’re on the run?” You question. “Because the murderers saw you, and now they’re after you too?”

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head.

“No,” dejection clear in his voice, he asserts, “They think that I did it.”

You feel like you’ve been hit by lightning.

“Eddie,” you murmur, heartbeat racing in your chest now, “tell me everything that happened.”

And Eddie does; but not without his apprehensions at first.

Still, you find out about Chrissy and the horrors of her death.

You find out about his hide-out at an acquaintance’s place, about his friend Dustin, and the theory of the upside down.

You find out about how he’s the number one suspect to the police, and how one of his classmates started a vigilant group against him, completely convinced that he’s in some kind of deal with the devil.

Recounting a lot of those parts has Eddie back in an emotional turmoil; and you’re not sure who started hugging whom first, but now he’s currently hiding away in your embrace, face pressed against the nape of your neck as he murmurs.

“Please don’t tell them where I am. Please don’t let them get to me. It’s like a fucking witch-hunt, and I’m not sure what they’ll do once they’ll have me.”

It's these words that end up haunting you the most that night.

It’s these words that stir something deep down inside of you.

A memory, and a curse, and an experience you don’t want anyone to go through ever again.

Not if you can help it.

Not if there’s something you can do about it.

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You whisper. “It’s going to be okay, and I’m not going to tell anyone, you hear me?”

You feel Eddie nod his head against your skin, as your fingers come up to his hair, brushing through his curls carefully.

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. You’re safe here, and you can stay as long as you need. You said that you have nowhere to go, but you can just stay here, until Hawkins has found the actual killer, and you can go back home again.”

You feel Eddie pause for a moment, his quiet sniffles coming to a halt.

“You would let me stay?” He whispers. “You would let me hide here? But you don’t even know how long this manhunt will go. It might take months before they’ll might clean off my name. And maybe even that won’t happen. Maybe I’ll always-“

“Hey, hey, easy there, Eddie. You’re going to drive yourself insane with those what-if’s. Listen, I don’t know what exactly the future will hold, but I won’t let you succumb to the fate of a witchhunt.”

A fate so similar to your own.

A fate that cut you so deeply, you still carry the scars on your heart, centuries later.

A fate simply nobody deserves to live through – not even a human like Eddie.

Eddie cannot believe his ears; cannot believe that you’d offer to help him, without really knowing who he is, without really knowing whether or not he’s been telling the truth.

Still, you’re adamant about your words and their meaning, and he struggles to comprehend how you could be that kind.

“Why would you help me like that?” He whispers, voice hushed and so confused.

Because people once thought that I killed someone too, when all I did was try to help. And my family had to pay the price for it, every single one of them, except for me; and they would have killed me too, if they’d found me, you think.

But you don’t say that.

Couldn’t let your lips form these words, even if you wanted to.

It’s one of those kind of secrets that’s been buried for so long; even just whispering the name of the tragedy would be like asking for trouble.

Instead, you say, “Because if what you told me is true, you deserve shelter more than anyone. I’ve seen something similar like this play out before and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it happen again.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie mumbles with a slight tilt of his head, and you bite your tongue in a silent curse.

“I, uh, I just heard about a case similar to this, and it was all really horrifying.” You quickly try to cover up, praying to the gods above that your words are convincing enough.

You seem to have succeeded, or at the very least, Eddie is too tired to ask any complex follow-up questions to your supposed story.

For a brief moment, you simply stay like this; your arms wrapped around Eddie’s waist, while he folds right into. He’s still exhausted, and if you’re honest with the onslaught of new revelations, so are you.

“You should try get some more sleep, Eddie.” You murmur against his shoulder, all while trying your hardest not to notice how foreign this whole situation feels.

Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that this would be how your night ends. Not today and not for the next couple of centuries at the very least.

Nevertheless, here you are, comforting a human about a fate drawn in such a familiar shape to yours.

Except he still has a shot at a happy ending.

The happy ending you’ve never got to witness.

Eddie hums at your recommendation, but it’s quickly followed by a timid question.

“Would you mind staying just a little while longer? I don’t want to be all alone and watch her die again.”

Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as an herbal remedy for nightmares, at least none that’s bulletproof, and since you’re still very much not into the idea of practicing any kind of magic in the presence of a human, there’s little you can do about them.

So, if Eddie thinks you’re your lingering company might help, well, where’s the harm in that?

It’s only going to be for a little while; till he’s drifted off, maybe, you tell yourself.

“I’ll stay for a bit, Eddie.” You whisper, and the man lowly hums at that.

“Thank you.” Comes a muffled reply, and you know he’s not just talking about your company.

“It’s really not a problem.” You whisper back.

You’re not just talking about staying here until he’s fallen asleep, either.

You wake up the next morning to hairs in your face and they’re not the ones of your cat.

You know that because Reaper is sitting right on the coffee table next to you, a bright expression on her face.

“Morning.” She chirps, a knowing look in her eyes as she regards you and Eddie.

It takes you a heartbeat to realize where you are exactly, and what is going on.

You must have fallen asleep last night on the couch too, instead of wandering back to your own bed.

You feel flustered at the revelation, and Reaper’s teasing looks certainly don’t help either. But trying to get out of Eddie’s grip, even though he’s still fast asleep, isn’t as easy as you had hoped.

And you just know that Reaper is going to have a field day with this, bringing it up and rubbing it in your face for the next few centuries.

“Well, well, well. At least you were able to share more than one blanket.” Reaper observes, before jumping off the table and strutting away with a swing in her step. “But sure, you don’t care about him.”

You let your head fall back into your pillow with a small groan.

You hate how Reaper might have the tiniest, littlest point; and it doesn’t help that Eddie looks completely angelic and peaceful in your arms.

God, you’re fucked, and you haven’t even known him for a full 24 hours yet.

In the end, you do manage to entangle yourself from Eddie without waking him up.

You need to talk to Reaps about the revelations of the night, but your usual chats in the kitchen are rather difficult to have with Eddie sleeping only a few feet away.

So, you do the only sensible thing you can think of, stepping outside into the surrounding woods and your little garden for some privacy instead.

“Be honest,” you confront Reaper with a gentle bump of your shoulder against hers, “did you eavesdrop on Eddie and me last night?”

“Me? No! Should I have?”

You roll your eyes slightly.

“No, of course not, but if you did, this conversation would at least be unnecessary.”

“Well, I didn’t. So, tell me what mister puffy hair had in his defense after screaming the house down like that.”

“This isn’t funny, Reaps. He really is traumatized.” You explain with a chiding look on your face, before slowly recalling the events of last night.

“He had a nightmare? Aw man, I thought he just stubbed his toe or something.” Reaper states, and you give her another slight bump with your shoulder.

But even she grows unusually quiet after you bring up the witch-hunt aspect and the reasons for his distraught.

“So, what do you want to do now?”

“The right thing, of course.”

“And that is what exactly, you moral witch?”

“He’s going to stay, until his name gets cleared, and it’s safe for him to go home again.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I am?”

“I’m sorry, but are you forgetting that I’m pretty much tied to my damn cat costume around that boy, because mortals have a bit of a tendency to turn mad, or to stone upon seeing my true form?

Do I have to remind you that you said you wouldn’t do any magic around another human, and now one is staying here for an indefinite amount of time? How do you think all of that’s going to work out, huh?”

“Well, we’re going to make it work. Besides. what are a few days without magic in the grand scheme of thing?.”

“Days? Do you think this kind of issue is going to be solved in the matter of a few days?! You must have a lot of faith in the human police force if you think they’ll figure this out that quickly. This could end up taking weeks, months, or worse, his name never gets cleared at all! What then, huh? What then?”

Reaper has a point; she usually has, you suppose, but you just tell her the same thing you told Eddie.

“We don’t know how the future will play out, so there’s not much use driving yourself crazy over it. Besides, it not going to be for forever. Eddie will want to go back to his friends and family eventually, even if his name ends up not being cleared the way he deserves.”

Reaper still looks unconvinced, but she’s not the only one who’s mastered the skill of making puppy-eyes.

“Come on, Reaps, it’s not going to be that bad. We can make this work, we always do.”

“Sure, but you usually have your magic, unless of course-“

“Oh, no! Forget it! I’m still with my promise to never practice magic around a human again. And that promise continues to stand. End of that discussion.”

“But that’s going to make things so much more difficult.” Reaper whines, throwing her heads back in annoyance, and you can’t help but laugh a little at her dramatic antics.

“You’re going to regret this decision.”

“I will be just fine, thank you.”

Once you two are back in the house, you start with your preparations for breakfast, while Eddie is still sleeping peacefully.

He needs it, you think, and after everything he’s been through, he deserves it too.

By the time he wakes up, the bread you’ve baked is ready, and you’re in the midst of carrying it to the coffee table together with some homemade jams, and a big jug of hot cocoa.

Reaper still isn’t particularly satisfied with your plan, but you ignore her ramblings as you pass out the plates.

You try your best to focus on Eddie instead, who’s just woken up.

He’s a little disoriented at first, but once the memories of last night come back, there’s a faint blush on his cheeks as his eyes dart over to you, and you two try to make soft small talk to the best of your abilities.

The breakfast still ends up being a little awkward, as you reassure him that him staying in your cottage for the foreseeable future really is fine; that you didn’t mind him waking you up, and that it really is no bother at all.

Reaper sighs, but with her being an adorable cat again, it comes out more like a kind of sneeze.

“Bless you.” Eddie coos, and you have to stifle a laughter when his words have Reaper arching her back, hissing.

“She’s not to fond of Christian traditions, even the ones who have lost their meanings a bit.” You mumble, and Eddie laughs lightly.

The shy smiles you two keep exchanging over breakfast feel foreign, especially with how genuine they are.

You reiterate your offer, that he can stay and take shelter here, but Eddie is adamant about making some kind of pact.

“If I get to stay here, at least let me help you too. I don’t want to be confined to the couch endlessly, and I’m sure there are some tasks I could do, that don’t involve the usage of my foot.”

You appreciate that he wants to be useful in some kind of way, and considering that you’ll have to forgo your magic ways, another pair of helping hands could certainly come in handy.

“Alright, deal.” You promise, hand stretched out towards Eddie’s.

“Deal.” He states, beaming brightly, the previous bags under his eyes only faint traces of their former selves.

He’s going to get better, and he’s going to be okay, you tell yourself.

And above all, he’s not going to be cursed with the same fate you had to endure a long time ago.

You just won’t let that happen.

It’s a promise you silently plead to him, to yourself and the stars that night, as you step out to clear your head with fresh forest air and the twinkling lights of the universe, peaking through the branches of trees above.

And just like all your other promises, you intend to keep that one too.

You couldn’t keep your last one, but this time things will be different; they simply have to be.

____________

And that's it! I'll try to have the next part out soon, but I have a couple more Halloween-themed stories planed, so we'll see if I'll manage to post them all in time 😵‍💫.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction

115 notes · View notes

woopboopboop · 4 years ago

Text

heaven is a place on earth; hell is too

a/n: i just like the idea behind the prompt so i thought i’d write it. and to @harrysgloves, thank you for the encouragement sent early this year! happy reading everyone! :)

content warnings: strong language, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of drug.

[usually, in the story, the gang leader will kidnap a person, right? this time, it’s the other way around]

“Are you a demon?”

She stops twirling the handcuffs in her hand and put it on the wooden drawer next to the bedroom doorway. For a beat, she doesn’t quiet know what to say because it is not the common “where am I?” or “who are you?” or even him trying to escape. But, only for a beat. Then, she straightens from where she is leaning at the door.

When he asks the next question, she pretends to not hear and calls for Ezra. If it is not for the real intention behind this, she probably would entertain his question and tell him if there is any angel in the room, if she is one, it would be an incarnation of Lucifer.

The younger boy comes as quick as she calls him and stands beside her at the doorway, waiting for whatever she has to say.

“He’s still in the cloud,” she says, eyes still assessing Harry who is lying on his back on the bed before turning her attention to the raven haired boy next to her. “How many did you use?”

“Just like you wrote in the note,” Ezra answers.

She hums and returns to look at Harry who is now looking at his hands, inspecting for who knows what and mumbling something. Well, she did want the drug to make him forget a little bit. But not to the point where he is delirious. In this condition, there is no way he can give her what she is looking for.

“Are you sure?” Her eyes return to Ezra’s confused ones. There must be something wrong somewhere. He did what she told him to. Maybe not in a way she had instructed it. “You do know there’s a point before the number five, right?”

When she said that the confusion in his eyes shifts to realisation and it dawns on him. That would explain it. He did not forget, obviously. He misread it. He should’ve given Harry a half of the vial, not the whole thing.

She let out a sigh, thinking how there is no undoing this now. She can only hope the effect of the drug will wear off soon. Besides her, Ezra looks like he is trying to say something but the words don’t come out. He gives up then, head drooping slightly, the tips of his ears are red.

“It’s okay, Ezra.” She gives him a small smile, trying to ease his silent guilt as he knows this plan is important to her. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes but he doesn’t want to say anything, afraid that it will make the situation worst. Instead, he says his apology before leaving quietly and quickly after she dismisses him.

“Am I… on a boat?” Harry slurs.

At first, she answers him by shaking her head, hand grabbing the abandoned cuffs on the drawer while she strides over to him. The colour is muted in the room and she figures he can’t see much but the faint cold blue of the evening that is falling like a dusky curtain of the room. So when she stops a reasonable distance away from him, she answers him curtly, “No. Not anymore.”

The sight is a great pity. It is almost like seeing someone on the edge of falling off the pedestal. Who would’ve thought that there will be time when she can see a person who is deemed organised and calculated, feared in the underworld, be so weak. Unguarded. His once pressed, white dress shirt stained with dirt and blood.

Seeing how vulnerable he is in that moment; she can just end him then and there. That was the job after all. And she did pull the trigger that had sent brain pieces to fly everywhere before Harry landed face down on the flour sacks stacked on the boat with a thud, leaving white powder dancing in the air. Not really a way to go for a notorious gang leader if you ask her but the woman and the two men on the other side of the canal seemed content which made it another job well done.

Except that the brain blown was not Harry’s. And as far as the world, especially the Abramo who had delivered their order to end Harry’s life and insisted on witnessing it, is concerned, he is a dead man.

“Am I in hell?” His voice snaps her from her trance. She thought he slips out of his consciousness again when he went silence seconds ago.

This sod. She tilts her head, looking at him and shrugs. “Depends.”

There is something in his eyes and she knows he is trying to make sense of it all because she feels his resistance when she tugs his wrist closer to the bed post above his head. A part of him resurfacing, despising to be in such position. But his brain might still be too hazy to think through so he just let her cuffs him without much struggle.

“Oh! Kinky,” he teases, neck straining to look where his cuffed wrist is at which makes her scoffs. He then looks at her like he is taking note of her face, eyes narrowed.

Maybe he is remembering how she looks like so it’s easy for him to instruct his men to hunt her down once he gets out of there. If he is able to walk out there alive that is.

If he wants to.

If she lets him.

Because, even though as organised and calculated of a man Harry is, this time, she has the few steps ahead.

///

“Now, really,” Harry starts. Sitting up becomes more of a task when one of his hands is cuffed and his brain feels like it is rattling against his skull with every move he makes. “If you wanted to see me so badly, we could have just meet up.”

When he woke up minutes ago, he thought he was in his bed until his senses kicked in and it hurt almost as his throbbing head. Since then, he has been trying to get out of the restrain that tied him to the bed post on top his head and figures out what is happening, where is he. Out the window, it is pitch-black.

He probably is in hell; his brain had decided to land him there.

In retrospect, it is as surprising as it is expected. To be in hell, that is. After all of the deals making, bloods spilling, life taking, fists colliding, he knows there is a place for him here. Only that he expects that it would be overwhelmingly hot and full of screaming human, or what’s left of them. Where he is now is opposite of that. The cold nips his skin and the silence is unnerving. Maybe hell is not all fire and brimstones.

“I tried,” the woman says. Her voice is smooth.

That smooth voice is a good sign. It shows that this person is still able to tolerate whatever deal that he can make out of this. But it is not necessarily safe.

“You are a busy man.”

In between the lack of conversation, he tries to place her somewhere and everywhere but he has never seen her before. Moving up to find a more comfortable position, the movement has caused a dull throb behind his head that makes him wince. Somehow, it also unlocks a sound of gunshot and his gaze flicks to her. At the foot of the bed, she is unfazed.

“You shot me.” His voice rumbles lowly; somewhere between amusement and danger.

“That what was asked for.” It is stated oh-so-matter-of-factly and he accepts it.

He is in no place to make a fuss about it since enemies, like friends or business partners, are made along the way. If anything, he is a little bit bewildered at the attempt of keeping him alive and he doesn’t like not knowing what brought him here. Well, aside from someone ordering this woman here to kill him, but he is not dead though, which makes the motive behind whatever this is, is more questionable.

“Am I dead? I am in hell?”

The questions are supposed to be echoed in his brain but his slightly hazy state betrays him which caused the words to left his mouth unfiltered. The words then hang in the air and it makes him internally cringe. Her unamused face certainly doesn’t help with the situation. “What?”

“I never really thought people like you believe in afterlife.” To be fair, he never really thought about it himself. He is too busy living his life here. Not the one after. “And that is the second time you ask me that question,” she continues.

“So, I am alive.” He swears his mouth is really trying to destroy all the reputation he has been building all these years of being a gang leader. Fearless, self-assured and all that but he conceals the uncertainty in his voice with a smirk. “Why? They didn’t pay you enough for you to complete your job? Maybe you are afraid my men would take revenge on my death?”

She raises one eyebrow, shifting her weight from one leg to the other and he takes that as a sign to probe further, “Sentiment, perhaps?”

“They paid enough. A vendetta is the least of my concern. And no, it’s not sentiment.” With every answer to his question, she takes a step closer until she stops at his side.

“Then you’re holding me for ransom? It would be a huge amount of money, although, I don’t think my accountant would be so happy with that much money flowing out –”

“I have more important purpose for you than death or money.”

If it’s not him or his money, so it might be for her own benefit. The thing about Harry or he would like to think so in this way about himself is that his concern when it comes to being in a situation or making a deal is he will be leaning unto anything that benefits him the most. He tolerates as long as he is presented with a mutually beneficial outcome. In this situation, it is no difference. She wants something from him and he wants her to let him go.

“Interesting.” A smirk on his lips is now blooming into a full smile as he tilts his head. “Maybe you can uncuff me first and then we can carry on with our business?”

If she hears him, she is purposely ignoring his question and diverts her attention to reaching whatever it is in her trouser pocket. When she pulls something out of it, she holds a picture of a man at an arm length. Its creased lines showed that it has been folded and unfolded multiple times.

He is about to take it from her hand to inspect something scribbled at the corner of the picture but she retreats her arm half way, still holding it between her thumb and forefinger. “Do you know him?”

“You know, we could’ve discussed about this over a meet up or dinner. The cuff is really unnessa –”

“Just answer me.”

If she has been quiet this whole time, passive, this is the first time he sees her reacting. The smoothness in her voice now has an edge to it, her eyes are hard and piercing; a presage of storm. He presses his lips together and answers with a nod.

“I need you to talk to him,” she says. The picture is folded and put in her pocket again.

He cocks one eyebrow towards her. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I know only you can reach him.”

That is true, to a certain extent. The last question he has now is that will doing what she wants him to do benefits him too, so he asks in the way that he usually does. “What if I won’t?”

Like a fired bullet, her fist catches tight in the front of his clothes and then her hand finds his throat, knocking his head hard against the headboard. He juts his chin up almost defiantly and grabs her wrist with his free hand.

He pushes her wrist away but it is a futile effort as he can feel how her fingers reach near the particular throbbing part at the nape of his neck, digging in.

“Fir – first the cuff. Now, you are tr – trying to choke me? Take me, fuck, take me on a dinner first, at least.” He grins despite his choked words and his ragged breath.

“You fucker,” she spats, eyes darken, “this is all a game for you, isn’t it?”

The storm he predicts reaches him and he is trapped in it as she pushes him impossibly further into the headboard, her fingers tightening around his neck while his loosens up around her wrist. He is whirling little by little, the full smile reduced to a tug at the corner of his lips.

“The Abramo was right when they come to us, to me, to launch their vendetta. You are a cocky piece of shit and the only place you deserve to be at is at the bottom of the cold, murky canal with a big gap behind your head!”

“Do you regret… no – not killing me?” He chuckles but it sounds strangled.

“You are making it really easy right now,” she snarls.

Maybe it is the restriction of breath or the warmth of her breath fanning out over his face against the coldness of the room but there is a glint in her eyes. He had been in near-death’s hold before but this feels like he is being thrusted into one without warning as he witnesses a sinister gleam in her face. She has been waiting for this moment. However, before she can end it or start it, she let go of him and strengthens herself up.

“Although,” she sighs, backing away. “I believe your mum and sister won’t find it that easy.”

It takes him minutes to be able to focus on her again, blinking and gasping a little. Her eyes are still boring into him. In between relief and dismal and the ringing in his ears, he notices her settling into the unfazed demeanour she was in before until –

“Dotty and Dusty will probably going to miss you too when you’re gone.”

His stills.

Nobody. Nobody knows about the cats.

Rivals targeting his family is a part of his work hazard and he always makes sure they are under his protection. It is such trivial matter. It is only cats’ names. But to know it specifically holds a certain power against him because it either means that she had been in his house before or it means that she has been in close proximity with either his mum or his sister to know about that much information.

And at that moment, whatever security he puts his family under, it is not safe anymore. His stomach bottoms out and she is delighted to see him in that way to say the least.

“What do you want?” He grits his teeth, moving forward to fight and the cuff clinks against the headboard because of the sudden jerk.

“There’s only one thing that I want.” Her voice is smooth. She is back at the feet of the bed again, now, with a faint smile on her lips. “But I need you to be able to hold up a proper conversation first before we continue with the business.”

It is not much of a mock or provocation but he still feels a squeezing of terror and of anger. His jaw clenches. “I am talking to you now, don’t I?”

She is already walking towards the door, leaving him struggling to stand up behind her. The bed legs scrap against the wooden floor as he pulls the bed along with him when he tries to grab her arm or shoulder or hair but she is already far away from his reach.

“Not enough,” she says while sparing him a look over the shoulder.

When he realises he is not going to go anywhere, not when he is still restrained to the bed, especially, not when the wood under his feet begins to warp, he fell back on the bed, eyes squeezed tight to block the sharp pain of his head. Defeated.

“Get a good rest. I need you fresh first thing in the morning,” she says before the door shuts.

Wherever he is, be it in the real world or the after, this is hell.

#writings #gangleader!harry #gang!harry #gang!au #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction imagines #one direction preferences #one direction imagine #one direction preference #mafia!au #mafia!harry #gangleader!h

254 notes · View notes

wh6res · 4 years ago

Text

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

205 notes · View notes

cornacopicimagines · 5 years ago

Text

after hours│t.h

pairing: professor!tom holland x reader

words: 6.9k (hehe nice)

warnings: swearing, PURE FILTH, sir kink, rough sex, masturbation (male & female), exhibition kink if you squint, spanking & sort of public sex.

summary: It's wrong, y/n tells herself. She can't help it though. She can't help fantasising about him. At the other end of the class, Tom tells himself to stop staring at her. It's creepy, he thinks. Neither one knows of the mutual pining that is until tension bubbles over.

a/n: I’m back bitches! I'm still a fucking sinner and this is such a cliche, I'm so so sorry

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n sat at the desk. Her eyes never left Mr. Holland. Her attention never left the way the veins in his arms bulged when he picked up the massive textbook, never left his perfectly gelled hair and how it sat atop his head like it was crafted to from the day he was born. Perhaps I should start typing the notes that were on the board, she scowled to herself.

She feels dirty, almost ashamed of her crush on him. She hates herself for falling into a stupid cliché that had been so easy to avoid all these tireless years. y/n doesn't know why she has gone back to a love-sick teenage girl fantasising about a boy who she'll never even get to touch. A boy that so out of her league, he wouldn't even had the faintest idea that she exists. That doesn't stop them though. y/n still finger fucks herself to an orgasm that no boy has been able to give her in her 24 years of life, all the while wishing it was his cock instead of her fingers. If Mr. Holland knew what she did to herself under the influence of him and his stupidly handsome face, he would be disgusted. This she knows for a fact.

This isn't what she thought she would be doing, in all honesty. She is a semester away from graduating and she never wanted to be stuck in a perpetual state of wanting someone so unattainable it's not uneasy, it's borderline unethical. She truly believed she would have ancient married professor that sound like their legs deep in their coffin. Instead she got a literal Greek God as her Psych professor.

She knows that she's not the only one of course. y/n has met 10 other girls in her class that probably write god awful poetry about Mr. Holland's liquid bronze eyes. She can't blame them, if she could write shitty poetry about him, she 100% would. y/n not angry either, she knows out of the 120 students (110 of whom are girls), are probably all in the same predicament. She sometimes gets dirty looks from them when Mr. Holland address her by her first name.

Perhaps that's something she should consider; he calls her y/n not Miss y/l/n or just simply Miss. It's different, it's endearing and when he has a raspy voice, it's so fucking hot.

"y/n," a voice called out, she shook herself out of her haze, "are you still with us?" Mr. Holland was no standing over her. His cologne surrounding her, intoxicating her. y/n gulped softly before turning her eyes to his.

"Yes, sorry sir," y/n replied quickly, trying her hardest not to stumble over her own words or even let the blush run to her cheeks.

Mr. Holland smiled warmly, "that's good, I need at least one of you listening," the class erupting in laughter, "I would prefer it to be one of the brightest." That though got them quiet. y/n sunk into her chair in embarrassment. The blush she had been fighting rose to the surface, making her even more adamant not to look up at him but alas she couldn't.

In that small fleeting moment, she caught something in his eyes. She couldn't define exactly what it was. Whatever it truly was, y/n knew teachers should not be looking at their students in such a way. It made her even more lightheaded with admiration.

The lesson continued on as normal for another hour. Mr. Holland described the outline for the next assignment, it seemed short and sweet. Write a 2-thousand-word essay on the effects of unintentional recreational drugs during early childhood. y/n had to laugh at the way Mr. Holland phrased it. It was as if he had never touch pot in his entire life, to be fair, y/n wouldn't be too surprised if he didn't. Most of the girls in his class groaned at the mere mention of actual work and not an hour and a half session of pure toe-curling orgasm material. Now that she thinks about it, that would be a wonderful way to spend her Wednesday mornings and Thursday afternoons.

Of course, y/n was in another word during the last minutes of the lesson. Unable to focus on anything other than the hint of a tattoo peeking through the underlining of his shirt. She was working so hard to distinguish what it was that she had completely missed the end of the lesson and the dozens of people walking out.

"y/n, what exactly are you doing?" Mr. Holland's voice asked above her. y/n almost jumped in her seat, but she stayed completely still. "This is the second time today, should I be worried?"

This though made her jump out of her seat. "No of course not sir!" She defended as she rushed to place her things away. "I was just off in wonderland today."

"Are you sure there is nothing distracting you?" He asked.

Yes.

"No," she replied hurriedly.

"You know you can tell me if something is," he reassured her.

Yes, of course. Let me just tell you about how you are distracting me by always wearing the hottest casual suits every lesson and giving me the wonderful fantasy of tearing it off you.

"I know that, it's just been my busy schedule," y/n lied through her teeth. She's a broke college student with hardly any friends or real other assignments. "I am just working really hard, you know?"

Yeah, working really hard to imagine you pounding me into next week!

With that last thought, y/n knew she needed to leave before she exploded with embarrassment and arousal right there in front of him.

"I just wanted to let you know that you are totally allowed to change the topic of the assignment if you feel like there is something that strikes a chord with you," Mr. Holland smiled brightly.

Fuck! Did he have to look so gorgeous even when he's trying to be dorky and supportive.

Mr. Holland noticed the shocked look upon y/n's face and immediately retracted his statement, "I promise I won't fail you, if that's what your thinking." He explained. "I really enjoy your work, you're a gifted woman with a real talent and I don't want to see it go to waste with my shitty assignment."

y/n turned her attitude around. He was stumbling over his words. It was kind of cute and endearing, like everything he does. She smiled warmly at his compliment.

"Sir," she spoke softly. It came out a lot mouseyer and somehow sexual than she would have liked but she refused to back out of her statement. "I can't wait."

She didn't say another word but simply slung her back over her shoulder and made her way out of the class. Tom followed her figure in complete and utter shock. He praised whatever god watched over him for the small mercy that was having y/n's back turned to him to witness his immediate blush cover his entire freckled face.

Tom never let his eyes leave her. He just watched her waltz right out of his classroom, he bit his lip at the sight of her perfectly cupped ass in her jeans. Through-out the entire lesson, all he could think about is how her tits would bounce as his dick thrusted up into her little cunt. Just the thought made his cock spring to life.

He stared up at the clock. He had to be in another lecture in 10 minutes, he had to teach another round of student without her pretty face in it in 10 bloody minutes. Sadly, it wasn't enough time to imagine cumming over her said face. He fidgeted until his painful erection was safely hidden.

God, you are such a fucking creep, Holland. He thought to himself.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n really didn't want to be doing this.

She really didn't want to have to walk to the library in a mini skirt she had when she went through her cringy hoe phase and a low-cut tank top she only really wore to bed at 8 at night. Luckily before she left, her roommate gave her a full can of pepper spray and a pocketknife. A handle tool for when you looked like a prostitute.

She had no choice. It was laundry night and she had to get her assignment out of the way, or she would never finish it in time. She wanted to kick herself for letting laundry night fall on the only night the library stayed open until midnight. It was a perk for sure but not when you had nothing to wear but pink neon rags.

y/n pushed open the library door and relieved herself of the anxiety of being abducted by the greeting of Harry. He looked familiar but she couldn't pinpoint where she had seen his face before.

"What cha doing here?" he shouted. Quite contradictory for a librarian. y/n grinned when she saw his dorky face at the counter. That is until he caught wind of her outfit, or lack thereof. "Got a late shift at the strip-club after this?" Her face fell.

"I hate you," she played along, her arms slumping on the cold desk. y/n looked around the library. It was basically empty, with the exception of the middle-aged teacher grading a stack full of papers. Poor bastard, y/n thought. "Got one for me?"

"You're going to get me fired if I do this again," Harry huffed, he banged his head against the keyboard in frustration.

"This is the last time," y/n explained, "I pinkie promise." She lifted her hand over the counter and waved her pinkie finger in Harry's face. He stared up her than move his eyeline to her finger now just touching the tip of his nose. He groaned loudly as he took her finger in his.

"There is a ton of empty booths, choose one and don't make a sound," Harry told her angrily, y/n simply clapped her hands in celebration and skipped off. She chooses the booth in range of Harry, in hopes that maybe he will distracted her and she won't have to do her work because she's too busy goofing off.

y/n dropped her stuff in a huff. Her back slumped into the curve of the chair and the desk covered her body happily. She placed her earphones in and played her favourite study music. She was in absolute heaven.

The assignment was kicking her ass, but she was determined to do it. Mr. Holland seemed genuinely excited for what she would write about if she did decide to change the topic. Now though she's regretting not letting Mr. Holland's hopes down.

She could find hardly anything online and even if she did it was by some random SJW on Tumblr. That's what lead her here tonight. In hopes that maybe some privileged white asshole with a degree would have some sources sighted to help her. Unfortunately, she was having trouble with that too.

It was now 11:30pm. She had been at this god forsaken table for two and a half hours now in an endless pursuit of bullshit. y/n had half a mind to give up and just suck his dick for the grade like other girls would in this situation. y/n had to remind herself though, she is a gifted woman with a real talent that should not be wasted on something shitty to please the masses. Did she just quote Mr. Holland?

She caught eyes with Harry in her block, who had two pencils stuck up his nose in an attempt to cheer her up. It did for the most part. y/n wanted to play along but it had seemed someone else had walked through the door at that very moment and Harry threw the pencils out. Harry's face lit up with red upon the arrival of this mystery person. y/n was interested in who this mystery person was. That is until she saw his face.

Mr. Holland walked up to the library desk in a fit of laughter. His hands smacking the counter and his face contorted in a wide smile. y/n instantly ducked under the table. She could faintly hear their conversation. It just sounded like muffled words until her name popped up.

Jesus Christ. Not now. Not tonight. Why of all night to run into his must it have to be tonight. Maybe I should make a run for it now, bust out of the wind-

"I know you're under there y/n," Mr. Holland's voice sung above her. It was too late now. Any escape plan that her mind frantically tried to rationalise was long gone by this point. Slowly, y/n retreated from her hiding spot to face him. He had his normal outfit of a tight t-shirt paired with a decorative tie and slightly lose pants. This time though he had a long burgundy coat draped over his shoulders. He looked like a painting. y/n smiled sheepishly.

"Hi," she said simply. Regaining her seat from before and fully appearing in front of him. "I had no idea you would be here this late," she tried with conversation.

"Harry's my brother, I have to drive him home before leaving myself and he just wanted to work the late shift tonight," Tom laughed to himself and he turned around and waved at Harry. His brother waved back guiltily. "You know, I could say this same to you," he smirked at her.

"I am working on your assignment, sir," y/n responded quietly. Tom's eyes lit up at that and he rushed to snatch the papers off her desk and into his hands. Much to the disapproval of y/n.

"Oh good, you've decided to change it," Tom sounded almost relieved as if he trusted her judgement more than his own. Worse of it all, he decided to sit down next to her. Even taking off his coat, making his biceps bulge through his shirt. His eyes flicked through what she currently has. His eyebrows raised in shock, "I have to say, I was not expected you to decide to do something about the female orgasm and its effect on the psyche," his voice was an octave deeper than usual. y/n could feel her arousal building.

y/n couldn't decide if he was just being friendly or if he was trying to send a deeper message. Either way, she decided to take action. "Well, with the number of women being unsatisfied I thought it was an appropriate topic," she snatched the papers out of his hands, "but you wouldn't know anything about women being unsatisfied would you sir?"

Tom sat there in astonishment. His cock stiffened against the restraints of his jeans, he has only been in her vicinity for 5 minutes and already she has him hard as a rock. It was times like these that he wished he could just leave all his determination to fuck her over this very desk at the door. Regrettably, he couldn't.

"Well, that just ruins the surprise," y/n sighed delicately. Her fingers flicking through the pages of her useless book. "Either way, the resources are complete shit," this time her sadness was real, and Tom snapped out of his lust-ridden haze.

"Did you really expect a man to know mostly everything of something that is so cardinally female?" Tom smirked as he closed the book on her and pointed to the photo of a wrinkled old man. He was the author of a stupid book and to be fair, he looked like he would write this type of book as well.

"Damn, I knew I was doing something wrong," y/n hissed. She had been spending her entire night trying to piece together information from a man who can only give her half the story.

"The book on the top shelf is one on the chemical effects of orgasming in females by a female," Tom leaned in and whispered in her ear. His hot breath wafted of her skin; it was enough to send goose bumps over her entire body. y/n turned her head to face him, their lips inches away from each other. If they didn't have Harry watching them like a hawk, they probably would be out of breath from lip-locking. Instead, y/n nodded and got up out of her seat, making sure to give him a stunning view of her tits through her tank top. He wanted to audibly gasp but kept in inside. It didn't help with his situation downstairs any more than the last few minutes have.

Slowly, she walked over to the bookcase. Her eyes scanning the endless rows and she made sure Tom had enough time to enjoy the deep red thong underneath her skirt. Finally, her fingers coiled around the book and brought it down to her. Tom couldn't believe his own eyes. He was so under her spell. The way her top hugged her curved and let his eyes completely drink in her breasts. How her skirt was pulled up to her waist, allowing the flushed skin of her ass to be visible to him. He wonders how a woman like her even exists and yet she takes a seat next to him, absolutely unaware of his throbbing manhood. Begging to be touched by her, to be taken by her, by anything to do with her.

"Thank you, sir," she almost purrs to him, Tom's struggling to keep it together. He afraid the next thing to slip out of her flawless mouth, he'll cum straight into his pants when he would rather cum into her.

"Anytime," he responds just a dark before getting up. Hiding his clearly hard cock behind his briefcase. "I'll see you in class?" He already knows the answer, but he just wants the last bit of assurance from her.

"Of course," she smiled warmly. With that Tom basically books it, he's frantically making sure he's well-hidden as he quickly bends over the counter.

"I'll come back to pick you up in 30, I forgot some paper work back in my office," it's so fast, Harry almost doesn't have time to translate it before Tom's out the door and rushing down the hall.

At one point, he basically running to get to his office. Feet tapping against the concrete as he continues to see nothing but flashing images of y/n. It blurs his vision and he's so desperate. He considers using a spare supply closet but know he will only get complete privacy in his own office.

He finally gets there, after what seems like an eternity of running. He checks the hallways before entering. He drops all of his things at the foot of the door. He even has the decency to hang his coat upon the rack. Tom slowly walks over to his chair. It's a rough leather material and usually he would refuse to do what he's about to do in here, it will be stained with the memory but at this point. He got no fucks left to give.

He crashes down. His back hitting the material he hates so much. He doesn't think he's got time, but he still does it slowly. His belt drops next to his and he undoes the zip slowly and the cold air hits his dick. He hisses at the feeling but proceeds anyways. Tom pulls the rest of his jeans and boxers down his legs and kicks them across the room. His hand takes his dick, slowly rubbing the head. Imaging y/n's fingers dancing over it, spreading the precum over. He uses his palm to envision her own stroking up and down in an even motion. He can't help but moan. He can't help but softly call out her name.

He so entranced that he doesn't recognize the following light footsteps approaching. He's so into her non-existent touch that he doesn't hear the door peacefully squeak open. He's so in love with the feeling he doesn't feel y/n walk around the room to get on her knees in front of him.

She's in glory of his movements. Watching him stroke his much bigger cock than her masturbation version has her in a hurry to get her own panties off her body and across the floor. She's sure she's dripping onto the wood below but she does have single care in the world. Tom has his head thrown back in ecstasy as his hand starts to speed up, that's when y/n decides to go for the kill. She licks a long strip up his shaft. Her hands stabilizing him by placing them atop his bare thighs.

Tom almost jumps out of his chair. He had no idea she caught him in the middle of something so vile and wrong. Better yet, she had caught him with the tip of his dick around her perfectly glossed lips. He doesn't get to say another word before y/n's hands begin massaging the bottom of his manhood. It's slow to begin with, it's almost if she's easing him into it. Her cheeks hollow out to allow his length into her warm mouth. It's incredible. Tom can't help but buck his hips up into her throat causing her to gag slightly. It's a sound he wants more of.

His hands ball her hair into his fist. With the faster her movements become, the harder he fucks into her mouth. They sync up almost instantly. One of y/n's hands leave his cock to fuck herself. Tom's mesmerised by the way her fingers act as a replacement for his dick. He's certain he's not going to last much longer.

"I should be d-doing that," he whispers through grunts. y/n lifts her head to smile at him, still letting her free hand jerk and pull bringing him closer the edge.

"I know," she responds, just as quiet. Her mouth reconnects but Tom quickly snaps his hips up into her. Her muffled moaning vibrated against his cock as he fucks her mouth. It's the hottest thing he's ever done. He tugs and pulls at her hair, y/n's edging him on. She's exquisite, it's like she's mastered this and has allowed him to chance to feel how fucking beautiful her little mouth can be.

Like it's effortless, he comes. Without any warning, he is shooting hot stream of cum into her mouth, filling it up. Tom swears he's seeing stars but can't bring him to call out her name but instead bites down on his hand so hard he's afraid he's drawn blood.

y/n releases him from her mouth and is from an actual porn Tom spent his teenage years watching, his cum leaks from her lips and falls down on the curves of her tits. It's a sight he was to remember forever. He wants to grab his phone and click so he will get to look at her covered in his cum for the rest of his life but alas, he's still regaining his bearings.

"Tastes better than I would have expected," y/n giggles as she brings the liquid back up to her lips and swallows. There is no way this woman gets better; he thinks to himself.

"Sweetheart-," he begins but she beats him to it, her gets back on her feet and plants a sweet kiss upon his lips. He can taste himself on her lips, it's addictive.

"I wanted this," it's almost as if she read his mind. He doesn't respond but he simply looks at her, his hand coming up to twirl a strand of hair that has fallen in front of her face.

y/n pulls away from him, walking over the pile of discarded clothes and bend to pick up her soaked underwear. She gives Tom a look, he's so close he can smell her juices from his seat. Her pussy look like a paradise waiting to be exploded by him, but he keeps his hands to himself. y/n paced herself over to the coat hanger, her folded panties in hand. She places them in the left pocket with a devilish smile upon her face. Tom had now place their rest of his clothes back on and had joined her.

"I'll get them back next lesson," y/n grins. Tom nods quickly, their feet fumbling under her back hits his office door. She's trapped in between him, he smells of pure sex but she's committed to her idea. He bends down to capture her lips in his with a forceful kiss. It's hungry and needy. She wants it so badly to give but she pulls away. "My roommate is waiting for me outside."

"We'll finish this," Tom whispers as he opens the door for her. It sends shivers down y/n's spine. It's not a promise, it's an order.

She grabs the rest of her things and heads off. Almost in a sick turn of events, Tom watches her bare ass strut away from him. Just like the last lesson, except this time all he can do is imagine him face fucking her. It's a beautiful sight.

━━★✼☆｡

The three days leading up to class where probably the slowest 72 hours both of them had ever experienced. A constant detail of pleasure from the night before. So when the fated day arrived, both parties didn't know what to do. Tom debated just staying home, though he couldn't deny he so desperately want just another taste. He thought, if he didn't show up, all his guilty conscience of a student giving him the best head he's ever had in his life would simply disappear and he would go back to being a normal teacher. y/n, too, thought of skipping this class for a completely different reason. Perhaps she had got a surge of confidence after hearing her professor call out her name while he touched himself or it could just be the pure scandalous nature of it all. Either way, she wanted to stay cooped up with a blanket while she watched him unravelled. No matter the psyche from the both of them, they went.

y/n stood outside the classroom for a good 20 minutes, unsure of what she should do. Should she go in now and fuck him in the small window or wait and play with his emotions? She hadn't realised how fast the time had went until she saw other student's start entering. It was now or never and unfortunately it was going to be now.

The room was smaller than y/n remember when she stepped in. It seemed more wide the last time she came in here. Of course, the last time she came in her, she hadn't sucked Mr. Holland's cock.

Her eyes landed on him in a matter of seconds. His back was turned to her as he wrote on the massive blackboard in front of him. y/n could see his muscles flex as he tried to reach for the duster above the board. She bit her lip as she thought of her nails digging into his back as he fucked her. It was a fantasy she had to push to the side.

Tom could practically smell her once she walked in. It was her normal perfume that had been intensified 10 fold. He refuses to turn around, afraid that if he did all his good heart nature would go out the window. Tom could hear the faint clinking of the heels of her shoes walk up the stairs. He so desperately wanted them to come right back down.

"Okay, as you know, you're assignment is due in 2 weeks and this is going to be the only time I will answer your questions," Tom's voice boomed. He hadn't got a lot of sleep since that night and he didn't particularly want to do this but he considered himself a kind professor, so he had too.

He turned around and saw the entire class' hands go straight up in the air. Including y/n, though hers was a little lower. Her eyebrow raised and a small smirk painted on her lips. There was no way in hell he was answer whatever question came out of those pretty lips. She looked even more exquisite than when he last saw her. A tight t-shit that had a stained 50's logo on it and a pair of tight black jeans, he knew as soon as he spoke to her, he would loose all control on himself.

So he never did, constantly dodging her. Answering every single question, even if half of them were if he was married or worse if he was free Friday night. He will admit, seeing y/n get frustrated every time he passed her to talk to another young female student made him just that tad bit excited.

It was an hour and a half of pure tension. Sure, no one else in the class could feel it but they 100% could. She never felt more out of control and for some reason, she despised it. He kept ignoring her, kept refusing her, kept defying her. It was infuriating, that she wanted to take fate by the hair.

She waited, until every single soul had walked out of the door. She waited until the last gaggle of girls had finished their blabbering to Tom before she starting to strut down the stairs. Tom refused to meet her eyes even when he knew that's all she did. Glare at him as she stomped past him desk to the classroom door. He heard it lock.

"I wanted to ask you a question," she almost spat, "sir."

Tom straightened himself before swivelled around to meet her. She was so livid with him but he knew deep down that all she wanted from him was to have the white chalk from the board rubbed up her back from him pinning her down.

"Fire away," he responded exactly the same. She stared at him for a moment before strolling towards him. She made sure to swing her hips every other time. She noticed his eyes on her, finally she was getting somewhere.

y/n pressed her chest upon his heaving one. Her face lifting to meet his. They stayed like that for a good minute, just pondering. They listened to each other's heats thumping against their rib cages. They both desperately needed this.

Never taking her eyes off him, y/n snaked her hand around the side of pocket of her coat, smiling once she found what she left. Her soaked red thong, it was a sight for sore eyes.

"I wanted to ask if I was every going to get payback?" she giggled softly. Tom knew she was playing a game but he had no idea which one it was.

"I don't think I understand," he stammered, she strutted away from him until she met the edge of his stainless desk. Her fingers gliding over the wood ever so slightly. She turned her head to look at him. She had a rawness in her eyes; lustful, a sinner's stare. It would be a look Tom was never forget for the rest of his life.

y/n suddenly jumped on the desk. Her ass moving the papers to the side as she slowly started to unbutton her tight jeans. "I think you do," it was almost a hiss but he only heard the desperation in her voice. "I want you to make me feel all the things you did that night."

Tom almost fainted just with that until she dropped her jeans the floor. She had come to class without any underwear on and her wetness was dripping onto the desk. Tom was sure was in heaven but he didn't want to believe it.

He got on his knees. His hands palming at her soft thighs. Tom didn't need another incentive, he didn't need another spur-on. Tom licked a single strip up her folds, y/n bit a moan back. It was like tasting ambrosia or doing cocaine for the first time. He needed more, so he went back in again, this time it was rougher. His fingers gripping at her ass, pulling her closer to his mouth as he devoured as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. Her hands tangle themselves in his floppy curls, she tugs harshly on his scalp as he adds a finger into her warm entrance.

Tom's never felt like this before but he doesn't care. He's sure people can hear her soft but frantic moaning from outside, but he doesn't care. He'll never look at his desk the same way but like everything else, he doesn't fucking care. Tom curls his fingers in the perfect spot inside of her.

"Just like that," y/n calls out, her hair now sprawled out on the desk. "I'm going to cum sir."

Tom feels her walls contract around his fingers as he pulsing faster, her back arches and she trying so hard to force her cries back into her throat. It's a sight he wants to from above, it's a feeling he wants to feel inside of her. So, at the last minute, he retracts everything. His tongue leaves her throbbing clit and his finger, which are glistening with her slick, slid out of her.

y/n can't hold back to whine that leaves her left from the loss of his god-like tongue and fingers. "What the fuck Tom?!" she's angry with him, she wants to tell him off but before she can do it. One of his hands captures her wrist and slams them against the desk below her, pinning her to it. She whimpers at the sting of pain.

He's right above her but she can't see a single thing below her. "Look at me," he tells her sternly, she does what's she is told instantly. "You can't talk to me like that sweetness," y/n knows there is a venom behind his words even if she speaks in a melody. "I'm not your fucking boyfriend, you don't call me that."

Without any warning at all, he pounds right up into her. y/n almost spasms out of Tom's grip from the wave of pleasure. Tom doesn't move at all, he stays nuzzled inside her. It's agonising, almost painful for y/n. Having his perfect cock not jamming into her tight cunt. It's torture.

"You understand that?" he peppers kissed against the nape of her neck, she's about to cry out, she'll do anything. She nods her head frantically, hoping it's enough. It isn't. He keeps his hips locked tightly against hers. "Words, sweetness."

"Yes," she responds. She can feel him frown against her skin. He pulls right out of her and rams right back in, causing y/n to scream out in pleasure. "Y-yes sir," she corrects herself and with that, Tom starts a pace. It's slow and tantalising, he watches amazed at how her pretty folds swallow him up with every thrust. It's magnificent.

He wants to savour this moment forever. He wants to fuck her brains out for every waking moment of his existence.

"Sir, go harder," she moans below him. Her wrists bruised from his gripped, but the pain just only contributes in her overwhelming amount of pleasure. His thick cock is so much better than her fingers, no matter how many she adds.

Tom obliges and starts to really pound into her cunt. It's raw and ruthless, he's calling out her name now. "Fuck sweetness, you so bloody tight," he purrs, y/n can't respond through her chant of curses. "You're little cunt was made for me, it was made for me to stretch it out."

The dirty talk elevates her, y/n's not sure how much longer she'll last. His filling ever last inch of her. She can feel her tits bounce every time their skin collides. Her wrists are finally let free as he begins to clutch at her naked hips. It's an experience she's never felt. The sound of skin slapping and their combined gasping and cursing are the only thing she can perceive to hear. If there was a knock at the door, y/n knows she would have no idea about it.

Perhaps, it's the pure excitement and morality of this whole situation that makes them both feel like they're on cloud nine. Her arms snake around his waist, her hands move with every rough thrust into her. She's gripping onto his back through the material of his tight shirt. Her nails clasping on the contracting muscles. She would have left his back red and sore if he didn't have the damned t-shirt on to protect him.

"Fuck," she curses as he started to hit an area inside of her, she never knew existed. "Just like that sir, I am going to cum," she moans, her forehead against his. They lock eyes again, this time though there is no linger feeling of want or romance. It's just sex. Dirty, hot, intense fucking.

She's the first to come undone. The fire now transformed into a raging wildfire spreading across her entire abdomen. y/n throws her head back in ecstasy, her whole vision goes black and she has to bit down against her hand to stop and inevitable pornographic scream to jump out of her mouth. Her other hand clutches his neck, pulling him closer to her.

Tom follows shortly after, his thrusts become sloppy and erratic but never easing up. His cock twitches inside of her before he shots the hot white liquid all inside of her cunt. He pressed his lips against her as his attempt to stop his moan as well but he continues to call out her angelic name against her lips. Once, Tom pulls out of her, he watches in awe. The mixture leaks out of her hole and then pools on his desk. He's so in love with this woman it hurts.

"I have never cum that hard in my entire fucking life," she giggles, pulling her top down her flushed tits. As he too, starts to redress himself, he simply stares at her. Watches her retrieve her jeans from the floor and slip them up her bare ass. He spots her shove her panties back into his back pocket, not before she scribbles something down on a torn piece of paper.

"What are you doing?" he asked gently, wrapping his arms around her waist. She nuzzles her face in the crook of her.

"I'm giving you a reason to come make me dinner and then fuck me again," she explains, "I put my address in there, so hopefully you can't get lost."

"You sure about this," Tom asked hesitantly, y/n now swivelled around to face him. Her warm palm caressed his face.

"I wouldn't have just done that if I wasn't," she places a soft, tender kiss to his cheek. "Make it a Thursday though, my roommate will be out on those nights," she told him as he grabbed the last of her things and unlocked the door. Tom grins warmly as she makes herself presentable for the last time. "I would clean that up if I were you," y/n laughed, pointing at the obvious mess all over his desk before quickly exiting.

As she wobbled back to her dorm, she wondered what article of clothing she should leave out on their next escapade.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: this is gonna flop, i just fuckin know it 🥴 anways i hope you enjoyed my fic that has ended my hiatus. see you (hopefully) soon 🥺

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland smut #professor!tom #professor!tom holland #professor!au #tom holland x you #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #marvel imagines #actor #actor smut #actor imagines #actor x you

6K notes · View notes

tyblackthornlovebot · 4 years ago

Text

End Up Here || Reggie Peters x Fem! Reader

Summary: Reggie seems to find you the coolest and most enthralling girl he has ever seen. He wishes he could find the way to your heart. The only problem? He is dead, you’re not.

Pairing: Reggie Peters x Fem! Reader.

Word count: 2k

Warning: None that I can think of. Maybe one mention of them being dead? Reggie being his clumsy cute self.

Requested?: Yes, thanks for requesting! “hey! what about a reggie x fem reader based on that 5sos song, “end up here”? with a fluffly ending if that’s possible? ty!”

A/N: This was my first fic so I hope you enjoy it! If you had something different in mind or want to request anything else, please feel free to do so. I had so much fun and loved writing this one!

Once again Luke and Alex had told him to give up on you, that he had no chance. They didn't want to see how, without even knowing it, you ended up breaking his heart.

Once again Reggie had decided to ignore them and to go see you at high school.

He knew they were only trying to protect him, save him from getting hurt.

He even tried to fight those growing feelings but it didn’t seem to work so he resigned himself.

He was just too fascinated by the way you acted. The way you didn't seem to care what other people thought about you.

Like every morning since they showed up at Julie's garage he watched as the doors of high school opened. And among the crowd of students it wasn’t long until he located you.

At first he went there because he was curious. After so many years without going to high school Reggie wanted to see how everything had changed.

Once he saw you there, so calm, so immersed in your own world, he knew that high school wouldn’t be the only thing that would change for him that day.

From that moment on he discovered that never before, not even in his previous life, had he wanted to attend high school as much as he wanted now.

At the beginning it was nothing more than pure intrigue. Reggie felt attracted to you. There was no doubt you were the type of girl who would catch his attention. So he decided to do some research on his little crush, without telling anyone just yet.

As the days went by he found himself following you to all of your classes. Marveling at the way you didn't seek attention, yet you always managed to catch it.

From the way you walked down the hallway, seemingly without a care in the world, with your headphones on. He wondered what kind of music would you be into.

To the way you always seemed to know the correct answer when asked, despite spending all your time drawing in your notebook. He found it to be so alluring, how clever you were without having to try too hard.

Soon his friends began to notice, seeing how he disappeared daily early in the morning. And how he would come back whenever Julie did.

First they thought that perhaps he was beginning to catch feelings for their mutual friend, the only person that could see them. As they found out later when following him, that wasn’t the case.

They asked him about you, how he felt towards you, what your name was, when did he start going to see you at high school. Endless questions that Reggie was more than willing to answer. A little embarrassed, but excited for being able to finally talk about you with his best friends.

Even if his crush was a little one-sided he thought they would be there to support him, just as he had done many times twenty-five years ago.

Unfortunately for him he soon realized that he wouldn’t have the same luck. Luke and Alex, after listening to him, decided to list each and every reason why continuing to go see you was a terrible idea.

And maybe they were right. They were probably right. But Reggie didn't need anyone to tell him the truth, he needed them to be there for him and for them to be supportive. After all, he was old enough to make his own decisions. If he ended up getting hurt it would be his fault, because he decided so. Not because his friends told him what to do.

That was the reason why he was there once again, sitting on the empty seat behind yours in your mathematics class.

Not that he was too interested on the subject, but he was entertained by watching you draw.

When the bell rang, announcing the end of that class, Reggie said goodbye with a small sigh. He had to leave earlier that day, so he didn’t have time to accompany you to your last class.

He hated having to leave you, even if you weren’t going to notice, but he had to go and get ready. That afternoon Julie would perform a song in front of the whole high school. As her friends they were going to be there to support her.

So this is how he found himself a few hours later, in the high school gym with his bandmates and Julie, watching a group called Dirty Candy perform.

Although he had to admit the choreography was good and the girls were talented, it couldn't be said he was too focused on them. He was busy looking for you.

The whole high school was there, so you must be there too somewhere in the stands.

He only stopped looking for you when he saw the principal begin to give her speech. The stands were completely silent and it was becoming a bit uncomfortable.

The three of them encouraged Julie to go up on stage. They knew this was her chance and they didn't want her to miss it.

Having finished the performances and the speech, Julie took the stage but the students in the audience also began to stand up. The three ghosts encouraged her so she would feel brave enough to start performing.

Luke had been helping her with the song, not wanting him nor Alex to see what both of them were working on. Now Reggie knew why, as he turned around to look at his friend, surprised.

That was a Sunset Curve song with a few piano changes. One they hadn’t released.

Even if you couldn't see him maybe their music would end up making you feel something. That would be much better than nothing, Reggie thought, unable to prevent a huge smile from forming on his lips.

And then, suddenly, there they were. Up on stage with their instruments in their hands.

Reggie couldn't say which of them was more surprised, but he couldn't miss the opportunity. Now that he knew you could see him he had to give his best, play like he had never done before.

He looked for you again in the crowd with his eyes finally falling on you.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw you cheer them on. At that moment he swears he could have started crying but he forced himself to maintain his composure. For the band’s and his image’s sake but also because he didn’t want you to think he was crazy.

On the other hand, you were thinking about how grateful you were that your best friend had convinced you to go with them.

Before that you had come to wonder if it was worth attending, seeing as every year the principal gave the same speech. However that year nothing was the same. One second you were bored to death, wishing you had skipped it as you intended to do at the beginning. The next it seemed like you were in a concert, far away from your high school gym, as you cheered to the rhythm of the music.

Julie and you weren't close friends, but you shared some classes and you got along well enough.

You were surprised and happy to see how she managed to get on that stage, overcoming that fear that until now prevented her from singing.

The fact that she was later joined by three mysterious boys made the performance even better. All three were handsome, that was undeniable. But your gaze was fixed on the boy in the plaid shirt and white t-shirt, unable to tear it away.

There was something alluring about him, in the energy he gave off while playing his bass. And when he approached the boy in the beanie to sing with him, you were amazed. His voice, even if it wasn't as loud as the beanie boy’s, had the same power. A power that seemed not only to affect you, judging by how those who were around you reacted.

Besides, he knew how to connect so well with their public that it made you feel as if his gaze was fixed on you all the time, you thought.

Then suddenly and without warning they disappeared as soon as the song ended.

Seeing how everyone gasped, puzzled, Julie decided to explain the situation. Those boys were holograms and the projector operation involved algorithms and science stuff.

Everyone seemed to agree with that explanation, bored by the technicalities of science. But Julie didn't count on the fact that someone would be very curious about the holograms and how they worked. That someone being you.

“Y/N, we should get going. As amazing as that was, everyone has started to leave.”

“I think I’m going to stay and ask Julie a few questions.” You told your best friend.

“Like, c’mon. There’s a way you can connect with hot musicians and no one is interested in how to do that? Really, just me? Alright, then!” They smiled at your antics, shaking their head.

“You sure?” They asked, to make sure you would be fine going home alone.

“Positive.” You nodded your head, smiling back at them reassuringly.

It took you a couple more minutes, but you finally managed to get them to leave without them feeling guilty. By then the gym was already empty, except for the music teacher and the principal who were talking to Julie.

When they left you realized Flynn was there as well. She approached her best friend with a not so friendly expression. You preferred not to get in the way, stepping aside to give them privacy.

It was hard not to hear their conversation. Thinking that there was no one left in the gym, they didn’t speak in a low tone, and the echo of that place increased the volume of their words. And still, you tried.

You were there when Flynn ran out, therefore when Julie ran after her. And you, without much choice, behind Julie. You would have felt really bad if after that scene you witnessed you hadn't tried to cheer her up. At least you wanted to apologise for overstepping and hearing their conversation. Even if you didn’t do that on purpose.

You also had more questions than ever, that much was clear, but the main thing was to make sure Julie felt better after all that.

Dodging Nick you saw Julie in the distance, entering one of the classrooms.

Accelerating your pace you managed to reach her. She was silent so you took that as the perfect opportunity to ask her if she was doing alright.

But before you could step into the classroom she started screaming, scaring you to death and making you jump.

“You! Stop doing that! I’m serious.” You heard her say. You wondered who she would be talking to. That also made you decide that you wouldn't come out of your hide spot just yet. What if she had found Flynn and you ruined their moment? It would be better not to move, to avoid making any noise.

“Yeah, the whole school saw you. It’s kinda freaking me out.” She kept talking to apparently no one. Most likely with someone who spoke in a low voice, because from your hiding place you couldn’t hear any other voices. At that point you were pretty sure she wasn’t talking to Flynn. But still, you were in a compromising situation. If you came out of hiding, she would think you were spying on her. It would be better to just wait and hope she would end up leaving soon.

“Are you kidding? They loved us. That was a great song, Luke”. That’s when you realized she was talking to her hologram band.

You hoped you weren't interrupting anything important. But Julie seemed to be in a better mood and the facetime conversation you thought she was having could be the perfect ice breaker for your questions. Maybe you could even talk for a bit to the bassist who had caught your eye. It wasn’t every day that you had the opportunity to talk to three Swedish talented musicians.

So you decided to pluck up your courage and entered the classroom.

“Julie…? Who are you talking to?” Reggie heard your voice fill with worry, as your eyes scanned the room. Then he thought about the big mess they were in.

Julie tried to find a reasonable excuse, but you had heard too much. Both at the time and with the conversation she had had with Flynn, to know that she was lying to you.

“I’m sorry, it really isn’t any of my business. Just wanted to make sure you were alright. Had a few questions about that band of yours, as well. But again, none of my business, sorry.” You ended up shrugging your shoulders. Without looking for more answers. After all, it really wasn’t any of your business. And if she had fought her best friend for lying, you wouldn’t be the one to whom she ended up confessing. “But really, you doing alright?” You sounded concerned and they couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for you.

“Julie.” Reggie called her. “Could we… Maybe we can tell her?” He turned around to face his friends, with something that sounded similar to a plea in his voice.

“Dude, she’s so far out of your league.” Luke jokingly told him. “But if it makes you happy I say we tell her. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“Besides everything, you mean?” Alex asked rhetorically. “But I have the feeling that whatever I say you're not going to listen to me, so…”

Julie was listening to them talk, wondering what was the best decision to make.

As Reggie watched your puzzled face, he thought about the possible questions that might had been going through your mind. What was going on? Why the sudden silence?

“Well, Y/N. I think it’s better that I tell you the truth, seeing the insistence of some.” Finally, Julie decided to speak. You seemed more and more confused, even a little offended by that last comment, but decided to let her finish talking. “Come to my house tomorrow afternoon. I’ll show you what all of this is about.”

Reggie could read the curiosity on your face. After so many days watching you, it wasn’t difficult for him to distinguish your emotions. Although, honestly, he was also curious and really excited to know what Julie had planned.

The next day passed quickly for the phantoms, but not for you.

It was the weekend, so Reggie hadn’t been able to see you yet. He had spent the whole morning rehearsing and doing some breathing exercises. His new friend Google had told him it was a good way to keep calm.

You, on the other hand, were so eager to know the answers to your questions that as soon as the time agreed with Julie arrived you were already knocking on her door. More punctual than ever.

It took her two minutes to open the door for you. Not that Reggie was counting… Well, alright, he was counting. But he was impatient.

Since Julie had told them her idea he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, about you. He had even dressed up for the occasion, wearing a white t-shirt with the In Utero logo on it. One of his favorites that had been left in Julie’s garage.

He had combined it with his black leather jacket and ripped black pants. Black shoes and his red flannel shirt tied at the waist. His pendant clinking every time he moved, in a rather attractive way.

Julie (and Reggie, even though you couldn't see him) went to greet you at the door, smiling as soon as she saw you. She was a bit nervous, but determined.

“Let's go to the garage, what I want to show you is there.” She told you, impatient to get there. But Reggie couldn't blame her, he was feeling the same or even worse. “But first, do you want something to drink?” The ghost snorted, which earned him a bad look from Julie. He knew it was polite to offer something to your guests, but this wait was going to be the death of him once more.

“Not really, thanks, I'm fine. Nervous, but fine.” You let out a nervous chuckle, which made Reggie look at you enrapturedly. Julie just smiled with amusement, without saying a word to either of you about it.

Then she made you follow her to the garage. You looked around with curiosity, trying to figure out what she would like to show you. There were two pianos and a sofa there. Interesting objects, but still not enough to find out what was going through Julie’s head.

“I know this might sound a little bit crazy, Y/N.” She started. With that she managed to peak your interest, you were all about crazy. “But… you remember those guys that were playing with me yesterday?”

“The cute hologram musicians? Sure.” You nodded your head, while laughing. It was hard to forget them, especially a certain bass player.

"Yes, I suppose I am talking about them." Julie tried to suppress a laugh with your answer, as she watched Reggie's face flush completely, before continuing to speak. "Let's just say they're not exactly holograms. And that… they might be listening to you right now."

Your eyes widened, as you felt a little embarrassed. But immediately curiosity took hold of you and you went back to searching the entire garage, looking for a mobile phone or any reasonable device. Finding nothing, you frowned, confused.

“What do you mean by that, Julie? I can’t find anything and I have been looking since we entered your garage.” Now you were focusing on her. You felt like she was going to tell you everything, whatever that was, and you wanted to be ready.

“They are… ghosts.” She said slowly, trying not to scare you. “They are here, but you can only see them when we play together.”

It sounded like another one of her lies, like the one she had tried to tell you the day before in that classroom. But this one sounded so crazy, you thought it might be fun to go along with it. After all, if she had invited you to go there, it must have been to tell you something important, not to lie to you again. That ghost part could wait, you just wanted some answers.

“So they are musician ghosts?” You asked, still playing along. Julie could tell from your tone that you didn't quite believe it. But it was a matter of time, she thought.

“Well, they say they prefer to be called musician spirits. But technically, yes.” Then she turned to what seemed to be the void and talked. “All right, guys. You ready?”

You stayed silent, staring at her like she had grown a second head.

“Actually, can you sit there? Reggie needs some space to rock out and he feels kinda weird walking through you.” You nodded as you went to sit on the sofa that you had previously spotted, still not saying a word. You were starting to get worried, seeing as she had even named the ghosts. “You must have already noticed that there’s no plug or equipment that will produce a hologram. But you can double check, if you want.”

You shook your head. You didn't need to check anything, there definitely wasn't. But you still weren't sure what Julie’s plan was. So you kept quiet, just focusing on what she was telling you.

“We're going to play Bright one more time. It will be just like in high school, but this time you'll know the truth as well.” Julie was explaining everything to you with a smile, but Reggie thought it wasn't going to be like in high school at all. There they were alone, singing exclusively to you. As he ran his hand through his hair, in a gesture of sheer nervousness, he prayed that everything would go well. “Hope you like it.”

While Julie started to sing and play the piano, Reggie felt as Luke squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. He turned to see Alex, who offered him a small smile. This time he took notice of how his friends supported him and that made him gain a little self-confidence. He was ready.

Y/N had to suppress a scream as the ghosts appeared in front of her with their instruments. Any doubts that she might have had thus far had disappeared with the appearance of the three boys. There was no way to fake that. There was no logical explanation, but there was also no evidence that denied what she was seeing.

It all seemed crazy, just as Julie had told her at the beginning, but she had always wondered what happened after death. Finally accepting that she was surrounded by three ghosts, it was her chance to ask them all the questions she could think of.

Besides, if ghosts were real she could always have had a worse encounter.

But young, talented and handsome musician spirits? It definitely could have been worse.

Once she was no longer frightened, almost halfway through the song, she was able to allow herself to enjoy the melodic voice of the ghost that had caught her attention and admire the delicate way in which he played his bass.

At that moment she decided that ghost or not, she would like to listen to their entire setlist if she continued to see and listen to his voice that way. Besides, she had always loved that style of music.

Reggie approached her, cautiously not to scare her and Y/N greeted him with what she hoped would look like a captivating smile. It seemed to work, as he immediately blushed.

“Hi, I’m Reggie.” He introduced himself with a goofy smile, while failing to look cool. Not that he needed to do so. She already found him adorable and that was way better than looking cool.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Reggie.” Reggie loved the way she pronounced his name. An angelic sound to his ears. “Love the shirt, by the way. In Utero, one of their best albums.”

Reggie had to remember not to stop playing and to grip the bass tightly, because he almost dropped it in surprise. Y/N liked Nirvana. Would she loudly snore at night? Would she eat strange food combinations? He wondered. There was no way such a perfect girl could exist.

After that exchange of words the rest of the band introduced themselves. Reggie and her talked until it got dark, while the band kept playing different songs so that she wouldn’t stop seeing him.

It was hard having to say goodbye. In a single afternoon they had both connected with each other as they had never managed to do with anyone else.

Reggie was afraid he would never see her again. Or rather, that she would never see him again. It was on her to decide whether she wanted to or not, and that was what Reggie feared the most.

He had had such an awesome afternoon with her that he hadn't even considered never seeing each other again. But when it was time to say goodbye, all the doubts and insecurities suddenly overwhelmed him. Had she had an afternoon as pleasant as he had? Would she like to see him again?

"See you tomorrow? I'll get my bass. You still have to teach me how to play Livin' On A Prayer, I love that song."

All his doubts were dispelled when she gave him that warm smile, with which only she managed to warm him up inside.

And with that Reggie knew that he would continue to accompany her to class, although this time she would know. And he would send her notes, as he had recently learned to do.

They would also keep organizing small concerts for as long as she wanted, just so they could see each other.

It might not be perfect, nor ideal, but it would be one day. Meanwhile they would figure ways to make it work.

At the moment Reggie was happier than ever. He never imagined that he would end up getting to know the girl of his dreams. Much less that she would also end up being interested in getting to know him.

As he grinned to himself, while walking her home, he couldn’t help himself but wonder: how did we end up here?

#reggie x reader #reggie peters x reader #jatp x reader #reggie peters #jatp imagine #jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms x reader #julie and the phantoms imagine #reggie peters imagine

223 notes · View notes

missinghan · 4 years ago

Text

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales.

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage.

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is.

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess.

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time.

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back.

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school.

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence.

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield.

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene.

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers.

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where?

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck.

“What’s your name?”

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed.

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform.

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief.

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care.

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease.

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.”

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night.

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom.

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle.

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you.

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next.

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world.

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path.

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat.

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind.

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail.

“What the fuck?”

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely.

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less.

Because that’s the least of his problem right now.

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization.

four.

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that.

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand.

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground.

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home.

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager.

Minho feels awful.

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him.

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice.

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out.

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up.

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions.

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?”

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand.

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously.

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?”

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.”

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life.

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld.

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?”

“It’s Lee Minho.”

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five.

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility.

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here.

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life.

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much?

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for.

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too.

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great.

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one.

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike.

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes.

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away.

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor.

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now.

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave.

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child.

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his.

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place.

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then.

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are.

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself.

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process.

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words.

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares.

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in.

You can only nod. “Yeah.”

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest.

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony.

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists.

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years.

Nothing makes sense.

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself.

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break.

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin.

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms.

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within.

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear.

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react.

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about?

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.”

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done.

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart.

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?”

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess.

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection.

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause.

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

318 notes · View notes

breaddaerb · 4 years ago

Note

Of all the Valorant relationships, which couples try to be sneaky/hide the relationship and which are showing off their squeeze?

[ bread reports ]

✎↷: hello my lovely bee <33 yes, i’m going to stick with my main/favorite pairs for this and no i can’t be stopped! this is a bread reports cause i want to keep valorant headcannons itself focused on the agents as a whole, and this post is more personal!

here are the pairs: nanobite (killjoy and viper), firebird (sova and phoenix), reyge (reyna and sage), and junglestorm (jett and skye)!

nanobite

killjoy doesn’t keep her mouth shut. she goes on tangents about obscure things and various concepts she’s noticed, and as someone who gravitates more towards affection and physical contact, it’s completely natural for her to reach out to viper. their closeness isn’t described or noticeable by touch, but the way that killjoy looks to gravitate around the scientist, floating behind her and checking in on her. killjoy is animated in a humorous contentness, constantly moving her hands or doing something while she talks, and often it would be centered around viper and the way the woman acts around her.

for them, there is no reason to hide their relationship. they won’t outwardly come out with it, but as viper will beckon killjoy to her in the middle of the mess hall, it’s clear that there’s something going on despite their silence. killjoy can only be sneaky with things if they’re illegal, and her love for the smaller serpentine woman is not illegal, thankfully! however, as much as viper would enjoy to indulge her maus, she has her own limits that the engineer has come to respect. it isn’t like some back and forth, and more of a mutual understanding of what they will and won’t do.

privacy is also important to them. should a moment be too heated and warm, the toxicologist will likely drag killjoy away by the collar to tend to her elsewhere and settle unspoken needs. omen had sat around to witness this once, his eyes curious when the corners of sabine’s ears turned a flushed red when killjoy mentioned something particularly crude. how could he not give that his attention— it was a new thing for viper to expose herself beyond the boundary, even with a long-term companion like omen.

at then, killjoy squeaked a pathetic cry and gave omen a hasty wave of her hand as viper dragged her away by the wrist. this is a new memory, a new side, omen notices. he will keep it.

firebird

phoenix doesn’t need anyone else’s validation, so the whole idea of admitting to the whole protocol that he’d been snoozing with a pretty blonde russian man for a few months into his contract felt unholy. none of the others should be into his man, whether or not he stakes down a boundary for others to see and stay far away from, but it’s just a thought, okay!? sova thinks it’s cute in the way phoenix flutters and spits lame excuses whenever he subconsciously grabs for sova’s hand or arm while they’re in public, but for the sake of his partner’s dignity, he doesn’t say anything about it.

word spreads about their relationship quickly. jett, as the wingman, has to take pride in at least one of her mighty works in the last few months! she’s worked hard in getting these dense fools together, goddamnit, so let her take some credit! the younger half of the agents are tittering about it not even a full week in, and sova and phoenix became unfortunately aware of this by astra’s whooping cries and raze’s cheers and hollers when they entered a room together. they weren’t even holding hands.

it doesn’t take long for the rest of the protocol to catch on either, and sova swears he caught brimstone giving him an approving nod as he passed by after a mission with phoenix. it’s always a relief when the agents learn to take breaks and get what they can out of life while they still have the choice to, and by all means, the older american is a proud supporter of his two prideful agents. they grow up so quickly... and if sova could keep an eye on Phoenix for brimstone, there’d be a whole platter taken off of his table. two birds with one stone!

reyge

sage isn’t a trophy wife, and she refuses to call her that. but reyna is absolutely shameless in the way she possesses sage and treats her, fingers digging into the side of sage’s hip here or her lips lingering against her neck when the healer is taking part in an activity as mundane as sitting. her forwardness helped the monk into becoming more realistic with her feelings towards the mexican, though it didn’t excuse the conflicting between a serious environment and reyna’s overwhelming shade of want.

again, they don’t need to say anything to know it. reyna does, technically, but it’s only when someone gets too close to sage for her liking. the vampire will happily snap her jaws at them if it means keeping sage all for herself, to which the chinese monk would sigh and remind reyna of her unhealthy practice yet again. it’s a work in progress between getting reyna to listen to her, but when the time calls for it, sage and reyna both know that the vampire will do well to obey to sage when the healer wisely exercises her authority over the group.

reyna flexes sage off. “i can’t come,” she purred to viper, having a distantly loving look on her face as she leaned against the palm of her hand. “i have a date planned with the little dove today, and you know i can’t keep her waiting.” “last time i checked, reyna, your ‘little dove’ is a monk who exercises patience on the daily just by dealing with you. go do your laundry now, thank you.” it’s not effective when most of the agents have nowhere near a crush on the woman who hardly smiles outside of the strained and professional ones, but reyna has to say what’s hers stays hers.

their relationship is especially obvious when sage and reyna were sparring together, neither holding back from practicing their various techniques and martial arts. what they were caught in was an intricate dance, one that was intense enough to where those who wanted in originally backed out for something better to do with their time. the pair stayed in the gym until late in the night, to which they had only just decided to take a proper break. god, the things that passionate crime-fighting non-existent love making does to people...

#valorant #valorant headcanons #wlw #mlm #reyge #firebird #nanobite #Killjoy #Viper #sova #phoenix #sage #reyna #why does it feel like forever since I posted ? ?#sorry fam #<3

142 notes · View notes

exclipssesss · 4 years ago

Text

Stronger than you.

Alastor x Overlord!Reader.

Requested by: @itz-kira

Summary: Alastor finds great interest at you for being a fellow overlord although he tries to convince you that you are no less underneath him.

Warnings: mentions of uncontrolled suicide (light), violence (light), soft alastor

Type: Headcanon, Oneshot.

Words: 1340

You were one of the most powerful overlords in all of the Pentagram, demons of all sorts feared you for both your powers and your wit.

That is, almost everyone.

Funnily enough, the other overlords in hell treats you like some kind of joke, even a certain Radio Demon.

The moment you stepped into the Hotel, the situation became tensed, i mean, how could it not? Now there's not only one but two overlords in the hotel.

Alastor felt this, and immediately went to you about it.

"Why, dear you're making them all feel as if we're all gonna have our second death, smile why don't you?"

You rolled your eyes and immediately look around, the other demons have their eyes on both you and Alastor.

Charlie of course immediately went to you with glee.

"OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH! WELCOME!"

You laughed at her cheerfulness, very out of place for someone in hell.

The moment you told Charlie that you wanted to join her project of redeeming demons, Alastor's eyes immediately widen for a split second.

When Charlie and you stopped talking with Charlie skipping away with happiness, you can feel Alastor chuckling behind you.

"My, my, i didn't expect that. You certainly do amused me my dear."

He would honestly be really stingy with you at first.

But slowly and surely starting to warm up.

He'll back you up if someone dares to speak low at you.

You'd do the same if anyone dares to talk about him behind his back.

You just didn't know that his shadows are always watching, therefore he saw you almost killing someone into fucking oblivion just because they speak bad about him.

He really starting to like you now.

At first it's just mutual respect.

"Why, as someone who is also feared by many it's respectful to help those who isn't as powerful as i am! Which is why I'm helping you my dear."

"Sure Al,"

One day, some demon decided that it'll be haha fun time to bully Charlie about the Hotel.

As someone who works at the hotel, you were offended. So you decided to, teach him a lesson.

An extra pair of hands grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into a wall, another hand was on his throat, choaking him a little.

You were this close to killing him, and everyone in the room was basically terrified of you. This is your power after all, being able to manipulate body parts.

You can basically make someone commit suicide with their own hands without the victim being able to control them, so they were right to be scared.

You decided to let this bastard demon who threatened Charlie go, and he immediately apologized.

Someone else though, was about to do the same thing, you were just a tad bit faster to react than him.

"Well, that was certainly entertaining."

At that point he was more in awe than before, especially since you proved him that you are more than what you seem.

And my god are you such an interesting little darling to this man.

He didn't realize it at first that he's very fond of you.

That is until Charlie decided to do a staff meeting.

You were discussing about who's going to be the new manager.

Of course everyone pointed you since pretty much everyone now knows about your powers and therefore no one will dare to mess around.

But you thought differently.

"I don't know, i don't think i can handle being a manager. Plus, demons barely fear me compared to fearing Alastor there, i bet he does a one hell of an amazing job than i do."

Wowie does his heart did a leap there.

Congrats, this Radio Demon is now wrapped around your fingers.

He took the role of Manager with great honor and even asked you to be his assistant.

At first you refused because that's more work, but when you see his face,

How can you say no?

In the end, you basically became that feared badass duo in the Hotel. And boy does everyone knows not to mess with you two.

And even though it took some time, he actually confessed because "Fuck it, might as well have this feeling sorted than letting it be a mess."

You said yes because overtime you were fond of him as well.

Hope you're okay to be his darling for eternity because he ain't letting you go.

The confession:

Alastor paced around the hallway for five straight minutes, making sure that he was on terms with himself on what he's going to do.

At least, what he wanted to do.

For one of the most powerful overlords Hell has ever seen, he's sure as hell self conscious. Very self conscious. What if you say no? How is he going to react? Should he just end you? Himself? How did he got the feeling in the first place? It's not like you put a curse on him, did you? You did. He was almost certain of it. How else are you going to make him so attached to you?

These questions were raised in his head and not even in a second, more and more rose up with it. With a fix of his bowtie, he finally took a breath, not like he needed it, and walked out. Wearing his all time cheeky grin as always. Of course he was great at hiding his feelings, walking to you as if everything is normal, but he knew better, and you can sense it.

"Greetings, Strawberry man." You called out casually. Looking through your notes while trying to refill the booze in Husk's Bar. Alastor cringed a little at the nickname, and you chuckled in return, just like that he's head over heels for you again. "Hello my dear, i thought i told you not to call me that?"

You shrugged, and rubbed your hands together to get all the dusts away. "You did, but your reaction was always worth the act." You giggled, closing the boxes and putting em aside. "Anyways, need anything?" You asked, looking at him with slight concern.

"Indeed actually!" He chirped out, you can see a flash of panic trough his eyes, which is in itself was weird. "I need you-" he could've stopped there and already getting the point across. But we know this man is a gentleman, and that means actually trying to explain what's going on to the love of his life to be. "-to listen to me. For a moment."

"Oh sure, what's up? If this is about Angel pissing you off, i swear to Lucifer I'll immediately go." You teased him, although you weren't half joking either. Listening to Alastor ranting about Angel is not a rare thing. The opposite actually. Alastor laughed at this, and shook his head, a smile wider than before plastered on his face. "No darling. Although he is as infuriating as ever, thankfully that's not why I'm here."

He grabbed a hand of yours, and you were more concerned than ever. What's gotten into him? What happened? Although you didn't say anything about it, and instead just look up at him with confusion.

He continued to open his mouth, words flowing out and most came out better than the last. You can feel your cheeks heat up by every word, still confused on why he's saying this, till of course you met the end of his speech.

"In the end, sweetheart, my only drive and intention is only to make sure you are happy and satisfied alongside me. Believe me, i myself is also very much confused on what's going on but suffice to say i really did feel as if i've underappreciated you my dear, and i promised not to do that again. So with that out of the way, would it be okay for me to court you?"

Bro.

You're a confused mess.

But of course you said yes because aha this is Alastor??? Hello???

Well, we know what happened next anyways ;)

#alastor x reader #Alastor #The radio demon #Hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel x reader #Hazbin hotel alastor #S/o #Bro #I had so much fun making this #I love that strawberry pimp #X reader

580 notes · View notes

rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years ago

Note

First of all, I want to tell you that you're absolutely amazing and that I love everything you write!! Okay about my request I was thinking about Harry's younger sister x Draco!! I had this idea in my head for days and I'm dying to read something like that! Maybe a no Voldy AU where H and D still have their 'rivalry' and then D falls for his sister ofc. They have a secret relationship and to add a little bit of ✨spice✨ Harry finds them in a ... compromising situation... AND WHEN JAMES FINDS OUT

First off: I absolutely LOVE THIS CONCEPT. I haven’t even begun this request yet and I’m already thinking of James dialogue. Second off: You guys are all so sweet omfg I might actually cry.

Note: This ended up A LOT LONGER than I anticipated. Hope you guys like it.

Harry. That was your damn brother alright. He was older than you by one YEAR. And my God did that point come up ALL THE GOD DAMN TIME. It definitely didn’t help when it came to the fact that Harry became a seeker in his first year, making him the golden child of Gryffindor. You were honestly kind of thankful you were a Hufflepuff because sharing a common room with your brother would’ve actually made you murder someone. You were a little bit of a loner though, only keeping close to your friend Cedric. Lily told you that she was a little bit of a loner too growing up and then she met your dad James. Here’s the thing though: At least she didn’t have to grow up being overshadowed by an older brother. You didn’t hate your brother. You just hated the environment around your brother. As in: You hated that everyone seemed to focus solely on your brother. To be honest, Harry hated it too. You were talented in so many things and Harry could recognize his achievements overshadowed yours. You kind of lucked out on the big brother front though: At least you weren’t related to an asshole. Harry did care about you and supported you. Sometimes (especially during Quidditch season, when he usually became a bigger spectacle) he’d hide out in the Hufflepuff common room. But he usually refrained from doing that. Because that increased the possibility in running into Draco Malfoy. Harry made this fun little nickname for him. “The Crown Prince of Douchebag, long may he reign” Harry would always say making you laugh. Your dad didn’t seem too keen on Lucius Malfoy either. Your mother though, wasn’t vocal on disliking anyone in the Malfoy family. Lily always did have a way of seeing the best in people. Even your strange professor Snape. Your Uncle Sirius seemed ready to kick Draco’s ass anytime Harry complained about him. The thing you always noticed when talking about Draco though is that no one ever called him “Draco.” it was always “Malfoy”

You never had any interactions with the boy until your third year. Hermione insisted you study for the upcoming exams. You almost didn’t but when you passed the library her voice kept sounding off in your head and you sighed before walking in. You sat at a table, noticing the place was beginning to fill up with students, all of them most likely prepping for the same exams you were. You were reading intently before you heard someone clear their throat. The silver blonde hair immediately made you recognize the boy. “Can I help you Draco?” You asked. He showed a small reaction to hearing his first name being used rather than his last. “Can I sit here? The other tables are full.” He asked. You nodded and he sat down. You didn’t say anything to him for a good long while, even though you could feel him staring. You finally looked up “Can I help you Draco?” You asked. There it was again. His name. “Aren’t you one of the Potters’?” He asked. You frowned. “My legacy is not determined by my brothers, if you’re going to refer to me you will do it by my name.” You said sternly making him surprised. Not only did you call him by his first name but you showed zero fear in speaking with him. Interesting indeed. “...No offense but... What is your name?” He asked. You started to understand why Harry had such a strong disliking for this guy. “Y/n. My name is Y/n.” You said sharply. He opened his mouth but someone sitting next to you made him go completely silent. “Hey Cedric.” You said. “Hey. Do you have your potions notes with you?” He asked. You pulled out your notes and you went back to reading. Draco didn’t get up for a while. Not until after you left.

From that point on he began to notice you more. Were you always in three of his classes? You definitely showed an aptitude for taking care of magical creatures after seeing you in Hagrid’s course and witnessing the way Fang was with you. You never seemed to pay anyone else any mind though. You always kept to yourself, very rarely interacting with other students. Sure, Draco would see Cedric near you. But you didn’t really interact with anyone else. Fred and George would make themselves present near you, usually to check on you and see how you were doing. That let Draco know that you did have people active in your life. He noticed your presence was very rare in quidditch though, usually only when Hufflepuff played. But if that was against Gryffindor then you’d be absent then too. Draco was smart. He knew exactly why you never showed up. Harry God damn Potter. You never went because of your brother. Sure, yes: You made it clear by being seen with Harry that you cared about your brother. But you actually didn’t participate in any activities around a lot of people when it came to your brother. Cedric? Sure. He noticed you present for Cedric winning a Quidditch match and celebrating. Harry? No. You weren’t there. Harry didn’t seemed bothered by this set up though. Draco was curious. He HAD to know why.

Another opportunity came when Draco’s dumbass walked right up to Buckbeak. Of course Buckbeak nearly attacked him but you intervened, forcing the creature to look at you. “BUCKBEAK.EYES ON ME NOW!” You shouted. The creature merely glanced at you before getting ready to attack. You snapped your fingers though and he finally cut his attention to you. You blocked any view of Draco from Buckbeak, calming it down. Draco was mesmerized by your ability. Course the dumbass did actually fall and scrape his arm. “Christ you’re an idiot.” You sighed helping him to his feet. Draco frowned. “Sorry. That thing almost attacks me and I’m the idiot?” Draco asked. “You’re the jackass that ran up to a creature you knew next to nothing about, that is also in a foreign environment might I add, and expected it to act the way you wanted. Yes Draco. I’d say by this point you’re the village idiot.” You said making Harry snort. James. That was ALL James and if your dad could see you right now he’d be pissing himself of laughter. “Come on.” You sighed walking. “Where the hell do you think you’re taking me?” Draco asked. “You scraped your arm you git. I’m walking you there. Come. on.” You said sternly. Draco grumbled the entire time walking. “I swear I’m beginning to really understand my brother when it comes to you.” You sighed. “Excuse me?” Draco asked. “Surprised my brother talks about you?” You asked. “No I’m surprised you actually mentioned your brother with how little you choose to interact with him.” Draco said. You stopped walking, glaring at Draco. “I don’t know what you think you know Draco, but that’s not true.” You snapped. “Really? Because from where I’m standing you barely interact with him and you got offended by association!” Draco pointed out. “Do you have any idea what it is like to have to live in your sibling’s shadow Draco!? I don’t interact with him here because everything I do here is compared to what he can do.” You snapped, clearly very pissed with Draco. “Actually I do know what that’s like, but it’s not a sibling” he admitted. “Who, pray tell, do you live in the shadow of?” You asked, clearly annoyed. “My father.” he said with a sigh. Oh. Oh shit that actually was a reliable answer. “Yeah. It doesn’t feel great does it asshole?” You asked sharply. “No. Which is why I can’t seem to hate you.” Draco said making you halt again. “...What?” You asked. “You always call me by my first name. Never the last. At first I figured you did it because you liked to annoy the shit out of me. Now I think you do it because you know what it’s like to live behind a strong name defined by someone else.” Draco explained. You hated that the explanation made sense. Why couldn’t he be an idiot? It’s so much easier to hate an idiot. You walked into the medical wing and bandaged him yourself. You were used to having to do this to Harry after quidditch games that backfired.

Draco watched you carefully. “I don’t hate you.” You muttered. “Hmm?” Draco asked. “I don’t hate you. And that pisses me off. Because I want to hate you.” You muttered. “I’d love to hate you too, but that doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards.” Draco shared your sentiment, making you crack a smile. That smile was so... pretty. “you’re good now.” You sighed, finishing the bandage. “You’re good at this.” He said looking at your handiwork. “Harry injures himself all the time. You should’ve seen mum when when he broke his arm playing quidditch. She looked ready to kill someone.” You chuckled. You and Draco exchanged a look. One of mutual understanding. You held out your hand. “I vote that we become friends.” You said. He rose a brow looking at you and then your hand. “...Call me paranoid because of Fred and George. But if this is a prank I will hex you.” he said. You snorted. “I’m not one for pranks.” You shrugged. Draco shook your hand and you smiled. “See you around.” You said walking away, saluting him as you did. You made him chuckle at that.

The Hogsmeade trip finally approached and you were excited. Sirius was meeting up with you and Harry along with Remus and Peter. You ran into the three broomsticks with a smile. “Uncle Moony!” You said excitedly, hugging him. He chuckled and hugged you back. “Hi Songbird, goodness you’re growing!” He said. Draco was sitting in a booth, reading when he noticed you. “No hugs for me. I’m hurt, saddened. Shocked.” Sirius said dramatically making you snort and hug him. You hugged Peter too and sat down with Harry. You and Remus were close, along with Peter. Don’t get me wrong. Sirius and you were close. But not as close as Remus. “How’s school going?” Remus asked. “Meh. Boring. I swear if Granger tells me to study one more time I might actually fight her.” You groaned making Peter laugh. “You have James’ spark I’ll give you that.” Peter said. “Make any new friends?” Remus asked making Draco listen. “Uhhh... Just one.” You said. “Well, come on now who is it?” Sirius asked. “I’m not saying anything in front of you or Harry.” You said with a laugh. Remus leaned in so you could whisper. You told him and Remus rose a brow. “Come on Moony who is it, I’m dyin’ here.” Sirius said. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Can’t say.” Remus said, doing the “Scout’s honor” salute. “Even I don’t know this one.. Oh God it’s not Moaning Myrtle is it?” Harry whined. “No! Harry I have standards.” You said making the table laugh. “Is it someone I know?” Harry asked. “Not saying.” You said simply. “Uncle Moony at least drop a hint.” Harry said. “Nope.” He said, taking a long sip of butterbeer. You and Remus exchanged knowing glances and smiled. He handed you a book and you chuckled. “Thanks Uncle Moony.” You said, him hugging you. “I should go, Cedric is waiting.” You said. “Have fun Songbird.” Peter said making you chuckle. “Thanks Uncle Wormtail.” You said walking towards the exit. You noticed Draco looking at you and you gave him a smile. He felt.. Warm seeing that. You walked outside seeing Cedric with Cho. “Best not interrupt them.” You mumbled. You weren’t bothered being on your own, you actually didn’t mind it. But someone caught up to you making you jump. “Gah! Jesus Draco, say something before just sprinting next to me.” You gasped. “Sorry.” He laughed. “Who were those men in there?” He asked. “My uncles.” You said walking. “Why’d they call you Songbird?” Draco asked. “Were you eavesdropping?” You asked. “No, I just happened to notice it on your way out.” He lied. “Hmm. According to Uncle Remus I can sing. So they just call me songbird because of that.” You shrugged. “Ah... Were you talking about me earlier?” He asked. You stopped. “You were totally eavesdropping, you little shit!” You said. “Little shi-- I’m older than you!” Draco said making you laugh. “How’s Captain Pain in the ass?” You suggested. “God no!” Draco said making you laugh harder. Draco noticed that smug little smirk and decided to throw a snowball at you. “Oh you little--” You threw one at him making him laugh before you threw another one. You two fought on for a while until you tired yourselves out. But that smile just... God Draco’s heart seemed to hammer against his chest when he saw it.

You and Draco were a little on the secretive side of your friendship. Not because he was ashamed to have you as a friend. God no. But your brother was now watching you like a fucking hawk to see who this “New friend” was. Thank God he took after James and was completely clueless to who you spent time with. Well. Until Cedric answered that burning question. “Who do you think she hangs out with?” Harry asked Ron. “I dunno. I don’t really see her much.” Ron shrugged. “Draco.” Cedric answered. “Hmm?” Harry asked turning to Cedric. “She’s been hanging around Draco, last I saw.” Cedric answered making Hermione drop her spoon, Ron nearly choke, Fred and George both exchanging looks of “OH. SHIT.” Harry’s eye seemed to twitch at hearing this and it soon became obvious why Harry didn’t know. Harry got up, walking to the Hufflepuff common room and finding you reading on the couch. “Malfoy!?” Harry asked. You looked up confused. “What now?” You asked expecting to hear about some argument the two boys had. “You’ve been making friends. With Malfoy!?” Harry asked. Shit. “Uhh... No?” You lied. Harry shot you a glare. “Okay fine! But in my defense, I want to hate him. But once you get to know the guy he’s not that bad!” You said. “Christ, Y/n.” Harry said. “You’re lucky I won’t tell mom!” He sighed. “She already knows Harry.” You said. “So you told everyone but me?” He asked. “Do you see the way you’re reacting right now!? Excuse me if I wanted to AVOID this!” You snapped. “Malfoy--” “His name is Draco! For God’s sake Harry just GET TO KNOW HIM!” You snapped. Harry had never seen you this aggravated with him. “Fine! Fine. If it means that much to you I’ll try.” Harry said.

Instead Harry avoided that kid like the plague. Draco laid off the snide comments and snarky remarks because he knew you’d yell at him later if he said anything unwarranted. Harry didn’t want to run into the guy because he didn’t want to have to be nice. Quite frankly, Harry didn’t want anything to do with him. When the summer approached you were not hearing the end of this “Malfoy? Really?” thing. Remus and Peter was your escape and you were grateful for that. Honestly it reminded them of Snape and Lily. Except less dramatic. Hopefully. “I just don’t get it. Harry doesn’t even try with Draco.” You sighed, throwing a ball and catching it as you laid on the couch. “He gets it from James.” Peter said. “This is all just... It sucks y’know?” You said, unaware that Harry was listening from the kitchen. “I finally make a friend and my brother hates him.” You sighed. “All that matters is your opinion of Draco Songbird. Harry might come around eventually.” Remus assured. You smiled at your uncle. “Mum teach you to be this insightful?” You asked. “Life taught me that... And yes Lily did too.” Remus chuckled.

Lily didn’t have a problem with the friendship. James was of course worried because his baby girl was making friends now with mainly guys. Oh God he was not ready for this year. You rode with Draco on the train. When he saw you he nearly died internally. Your hair was longer, you were taller... Oh God this was a crush wasn’t it!? NO. NO NO NO NO NO-- “Draco? Are you alright, you seemed spaced out.” You asked. “Hmm? Oh I’m fine.” he said. FUCK. FUCKING-- FUUUUUUUUU-- “I heard from dad there’s something weird going on this year.” You said pondering. “Oh. You mean the tournament.” He said. “How did you know?” you asked. “Father works with the ministry division that works with the school.” Draco answered. “Ohhh.” you nodded. Sure enough the boy was right. The cup was introduced. The rules were a little bit odd but you met all the requirements to participate. Sooooo... Why the fuck not? You signed a parchment, stuck it in the cup and it was accepted. Your mindset was “Well plenty of more qualified students are signing up, I’ll be fine.” Well... There was a problem. The Goblet of Fire goes off at random, not by who’s more qualified. So your name DID get chosen making Harry and Draco both FLIP THEIR SHIT. Both boys were well aware of how brutal this competition could be. News got back to Lily and James and they were equally panicked.

Cedric however had FULL confidence you could do this. He trained you, making sure you were physically and mentally prepared for everything. It felt weird being the only third year in the room but you didn’t have a problem with it. Harry was practically begging you to drop the competition. “Harry! For God’s sake, just SHUT UP!” You finally snapped. He blinked, as did a few students hearing this. “I watch you play quidditch and you get hurt all the time, you do not hear me throwing a bitch fit over this! The only thing I need right now is your support!” You snapped. Harry didn’t argue either. Draco was supportive over you being in this but he was definitely nervous. “And you’re sure... This is what you want?” Draco asked. “I’m sure.” You nodded as you geared up for the first trial. “Okay... I’ll be in the stands... If you need me just... say something.” He said. You nodded giving him a small smile.

You thought everyone was being a bit ridiculous... Until you found out the first trial. “Oh no.” You muttered watching Krum run for dear life across the field. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned. “Dad!” You breathed before hugging him. Lily, Remus, Peter and Sirius all stood there. “Alright. You’ve got this Darling don’t worry!” James said, eyes twitching as he was clearly worrying. Draco ran in. “Draco?” You asked. “Which dragon did you draw?” Draco asked. “Uhm. The Hungarian Ridgeback.” You said. “...Shit.” Draco muttered. “Guys. I’m fine. Really.” You assured. Why in the hell were you so confident. Draco looked into your eyes and you felt your heart pound. Lily noticed the look and rose a brow. “Promise me you’ll play this safe.” Draco said. “Draco--” “Promise me. Please.” He said, looking at you and putting a hand on your shoulder. His feelings towards you were quite obvious to everyone... Except James. “I promise.” You said softly. “Y/n. You’re up.” Viktor said. You held Draco’s hand for a second before cracking your knuckles. You walked out, the arena being loud as hell. How in the world did Viktor deal with this for a living. Harry ran into the tent, noticing his family watching as well... And Draco. You seemed to be completely calm, despite having seen Krum nearly roasted. The Dragon thrashed against it’s chains and Lily swallowed her anxiety. You did something strange. You... Sat down. “What the fuck is she doing!?” James screeched. “Hi.” You said to the dragon. It roared in your face, blowing your braid so it was off your shoulder. You maintained eye contact with it though. How in the hell were you calm-- You didn’t even flinch when this thing roared at you. You stood up, the dragon retreating back before you held out your hand. It snarled making Remus uneasy, but you kept the same calm expression. It sniffed you, before you lightly pressed your hand to it’s snout and smiled. “see. I’m not so bad.” You said softly. Everyone was wide eyed. “I need the egg.” You said looking at the golden egg. It let out a huff but you kept eye contact as you grabbed the egg. It tried to follow but you halted the creature with your hand. “Stay.” You said softly. It did. You walked back out of the arena leaving everyone shocked. Did a fourth year just... TAME A FUCKING DRAGON?

You walked back to the tent and Lily hugged you, “You did so well-- Oh honey!” She said. “Well done Y/n!” Sirius laughed, clapping his hand onto your back. “I’m proud of you.” Harry said as he roughed up your hair, making you laugh and swat his hand away. You looked at Draco and he said nothing, pulling you into a hug. You dropped the egg, hugging him back. James nearly went “PROTECTIVE DAD MODE” On this kid’s ass but Sirius halted him along with Lily halting Harry. “When were you going to tell me you could tame dragons?” Draco laughed making you smile. You pulled away and chuckled. “I just remembered Hagrid rambling on about dragons and I went with what he told me” You admitted. Draco shook his head with a laugh and cleared his throat after noticing all of your family staring at him. “Uh... Hi?” He waved. “Uncle Moony, this is the friend.” You said. Remus smiled and held out his hand, Draco shaking it. “Pleasure.” Remus said. James’ eye was still twitching as Draco sat with you through the rest of the trial. Harry was too. Like father, like son. “Can I punch a kid? Is that illegal?” James whispered to Lily. “Yes James it is. It’s called assaulting a minor. And he seems perfectly fine.” Lily hushed him. James pouted and Harry kept watching you two.

The next few days were spent trying to figure out what the fuck the egg actually was supposed to do. “What the hell is this even for?” Draco asked, looking at it as it sat on the coffee table in the Hufflepuff common room. “Have you opened it?” Harry asked. “Yes. It screams.” You said. “Charming.” Hermione said sarcastically. “It makes me want to drown the damn.... Wait a minute!” You gasped. “What?” Draco asked. “What if I put it underwater to quiet the noise?” you asked. “Why would you want to do that?” Ron asked. “It clearly makes noise for a reason dipshit.” Fred said, smacking Ron upside the head, understanding your logic. You sprinted off to the baths, doing just that. You listened to it’s riddle, coming back up for air and raising a brow. “Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground ,And while you're searching, ponder this: We've taken what you'll sorely miss, An hour long you'll have to look, And to recover what we took. But past an hour - the prospect's black Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.” it sang. “What the absolute fuck does that mean?” you pondered aloud. You walked back to the common room, hair still wet. “Any ideas?” George asked. “Well I was right. It gave me a riddle.” You muttered pondering. “Where our voices... sound-- Are there any mermaids on campus?” You asked. “...What?” Fred asked. “In the lake, I think.” Hermione answered. “That’s where the next trial is.” You said, snapping your fingers. “Damn that was quick!” George laughed. “Sure you’re not a lost Ravenclaw?” Fred asked. You sat next to Draco and chuckled. Your eyes were gorgeous when the fire from the fireplace reflected off of them. “I should get some rest. Tell Dad about the competition.” You yawned, leaving. Draco got up. “Sit.” Harry said as everyone else cleared out. Draco frowned. “I’m not going to just--” “I need to talk to you, sit.” Harry said. He finally sighed, sitting down. “I know you like my sister.” Harry said. “...What--” “Don’t play dumb, even my dad can see that you do.” Harry said. Draco looked at Harry. “Let me guess: You don’t want me anywhere near her right?” Draco asked. “Preferably: Yes. But Y/n likes having you around so I will say this...” Harry leaned forward, his eyes piercing through Draco. “If you hurt my sister I will kill you. Am I understood?” Harry snapped. “....Okay.” Draco nodded. “You can go.” He sighed, turning back to the fire. Draco got up and stopped for a moment. “I would never hurt her Potter. She means too much to me to ever do that.” Draco said before leaving.

The next trial of course had to be on a day where it was FUCKING COLD. Your family all stood outside with everyone else. You looked around noticing Draco’s absence. “Where’s Draco?” you asked. “Mcgonagall asked him to come with her this morning. Haven’t seen him since.” Goyle answered. “Hermione isn’t here either.” Ron noticed. You frowned, remembering the riddle. “Oh no.” You said. “What?” Sirius asked. “I think I know what this trial is.” You said looking at the lake. You pulled your hair back and Cedric handed you something. “You’ve got this.” He said. You cracked a smile, looking at the item. It was going to help you breathe underwater. You took it, waiting for the sound off. It finally rang out and you dived in, swimming through the murky water. You had an hour. You used your wand to provide light, swimming through the lake before you finally found it. They seriously chained students to the bottom of a lake? What the fuck was this competition? You unlocked the chains, gripping Draco’s arm before swimming back. Viktor popped out of the water first, Hermione with him. You popped out, water dripping from you. Draco shivered from the cold water and chuckled. “When Mcgonagall said I was needed for your trial, this is not what I expected.” He said, making you laugh. Fleur came back empty handed. “I couldn’t... She- she’s still down there!” She wailed. You frowned looking at the clock and then the lake. You knew who was Fleur’s challenge was. And that was a child. You shoved off your towel and jumped back in, making everyone run back to the edge.

“What happened!?” Lily asked Draco. “I don’t know-- She just jumped back in!” He gaped. The clock’s loud ticks did not make the waiting any less anxiety wracking. Remus was staring intently, Sirius gearing up to jump in after you before you finally reemerged with Gabrielle. Draco helped you out and you pulled your hair tie off, your hair falling to your shoulders. Fleur hugged you, thanking you for saving her sister. “My kids are awesome.” James said hugging you and Harry both. You shivered and Draco lifted his arm as to say “Get under here” You did, panting out of breath. The last three minutes of you being in the water were you having to hold your breath because the item wore off. “I’m proud of you Y/n...” Draco said, making you look at him with a smile. His eyes wandered to your lips and you both seemed to be looking at each other. That’s finally when James grasped the situation. Oh no. OH HELL NO. “Lily. That boy likes Y/n doesn’t he?” James asked. “It took you this long?”

You were quickly becoming aware of that damn school dance, as many students were asking others to go with each other in front of you. You were a sappy romantic, sure. But if you saw one more kid with a fucking ukulele or guitar you were prepared to kick someone’s ass. You sat in the dance class, loathing every moment of being there. You definitely had James’ left feet, because you could NOT dance. “Choose your partners.” She instructed. You sighed and Draco extended his hand. “I can’t dance so if I step on you, this is your fault.” You said making Draco laugh. You stood with your hand on Draco’s shoulder and his around your waist. Your face was probably pink from the feel of things. “You can move closer Y/n, I don’t bite.” He teased. You blushed, moving slightly closer and he walked you through it. “How do you know how to do this?” You asked curiously. “My family throws parties where we have to dance. It’s terrible.” He explained. “Sounds like its something out of Pride and Prejudice.” you said. “Hmm?” he asked. “Muggle book that goes over old English customs.” You shrugged. “Ah.” He nodded. “So the Yule ball is coming up.” Draco said, clearing his throat. “Yep. I’m aware.” You muttered. “Not excited?” He asked. “No I am but I’m beginning to despise the ukulele and guitar after this week.” You admitted making him chuckle. “The younger students have... Gotten creative.” He nodded. “Alright Grandpa, calm down.” You teased making him roll his eyes. “I was wondering.” Draco started before twirling you. You did, your back against his chest. “Would you like to go with me?” He asked in your ear. Thank Merlin’s grey ass beard that your face was turned away from Draco. “Y-yeah... S-sure.” You stuttered out. He twirled you back around and you were so red that if you weren’t moving right now, he would’ve thought you were dying.

You went back to the common room, pacing. Do you talk to your mom? No. She’d tell dad and then you’d have to deal with a potential murder. Who could you trust? Then an idea hit you. Next week was Hogsmeade. Remus! Well and Sirius. You loved Remus to death but he did not have that much experience in this area like Sirius did. So you wrote to them and of course they agreed to meet up with you. You went to the Three Broomsticks, sitting at the table as the two men sat down. “What’s wrong Songbird?” Remus asked. “W-well.” You sighed. “Oh... Do you need a pad?” Sirius asked. “What!? No!” You said. “Thank God. I am not ready for that conversation.” Sirius said. Remus smacked Sirius with a book, turning back to you. “What’s going on?” Remus asked. “I... I’ve been asked to go to the Yule ball.” You admitted. Sirius gaped with a smile. “who’s the lucky guuyyyy-- Or girl, I don’t judge.” Sirius asked. “Draco.” You answered. “Ohhhh.” Sirius nodded. “I don’t know what I’m doing guys. I’m freaking out here.” you whined. “Calm down. So he asked you?” Remus asked. “Yeah.” you nodded. “Well then what’s the problem?” Sirius asked. “What do I even say!? OR DO!?” You asked, panic clearly in your eyes. “Shit. Uhhhhhh. Well, the best advice I can give is don’t use too much tongue--” Remus, again slammed his book against Sirius’ head. “Keep doing what you’re doing now and go with the flow. You don’t want interactions with him to seem forced.” Remus said. “Thanks... And.. I hate that I’m asking this but what if he does kiss me?” You asked. Remus sighed and looked at Sirius. “I’m scared of that damn book.” Sirius said looking at Remus’ hand which was resting on top of the book. “Look. The best thing I can tell you is this: If he does kiss you, just go with the flow like Remus says. Unless you don’t want him to kiss you. Then you kick him in the dick and run.” Sirius said. “No hit for that last comment?” You asked Remus. “He’s right.” Remus nodded.

So there you were. The night of the Yule. Christ could you stop shaking!? You asked Cedric to walk you down the stairs because you had like, zero confidence walking by yourself in heels. “I am going to kill you Draco.” Harry muttered. “I am just taking your sister to a dance Potter, I’m not Fred here and being a playboy.” Draco said. “Hey-- wait no. No that’s fair.” Fred nodded before you walked down. Draco’s eyes went huge, lips parting as he saw you. “Thanks Cedric.” You said. “Anytime. Have fun!” Cedric said walking off with Cho. Harry’s eye twitched and George dragged him off, leaving you with Draco. “Shall we?” You asked nervously. Draco nodded and you took his arm, walking and standing ready with the other champions. “You look beautiful Y/n.” Draco said making you smile. “You’re not so bad yourself Draco.” You chuckled. You’ve been hanging out with Sirius for WAY too long. The doors opened and your grip tightened. “You’ve got this Y/n.” He said in your ear. “Not if you keep whispering in my ear I don’t.” You muttered. “Hmm?” “Nothing!” You lied. You two did that ridiculous dance, you dreading every second of it. But the music finally slowed down and you sighed with relief. You and Draco swayed to the music and you smiled. “Hectic year.” You said. “I bet it has been for you. Though, being held hostage by mermaids didn’t exactly make my year normal.” He replied making you chuckle. “I think it’s been a good year for us though.” He added. “What do you mean?” You asked. “We’ve gotten a lot closer, haven’t we?” He said. “Y-yeah.” You nodded. Form proper words Y/n, Christ. “And... I’d like us to be.. Closer if that’s alright with you?” He said. Fuck. Words can’t even form now. “Y/n?” He asked. “Like.. Dating?” You asked. “Only if you want to.” He nodded. Where was the holy spirit of Sirius’ dating life now!? “I’d like that.” You said with a small smile. His lips seemed to hover over yours, you now being able to feel his breath. You could feel Harry drilling holes into Draco with his eyes. “Uhm... Should I be concerned that Fred is holding back Harry?” Draco noticed. “Very.” You nodded. “Uhm... Wanna get out of here?” He asked. “Yep.” You nodded.

The two of you walked around campus, the winter air hitting you hard. You shivered and Draco took off his jacket wrapping it around you. You smiled and he slid his hand into yours. “So your parents seem nice.” Draco said as you walked. “Wellll... To be honest dad is more of a jackass. Harry takes after him.” You said, earning a laugh from Draco. “And your mother?” He asked. “Calm. But definitely murders people in her mind.” You answered. He laughed again. “What about you?” You asked. “Hmm.” He pondered. “My mother is very... Patient. She’s nice.” He said. “And your father?” You asked. “Stern. But I know he loves me. If that makes sense.” He answered. “It does.” You nodded. Draco smiled at you and brushed a hair from the side of your face. You smiled at him and he slipped his fingers under your chin, kissing you. Soft. His lips were soft...

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” You heard. “Fuck.” You sighed followed by rapid footsteps. “I AM GOING TO KILL--” you clothesline Harry as he sprinted towards Draco. “Wow.” Draco gaped. “I have uncles.” you shrugged. “Give this a rest Harry. This is just sad.” You sighed, helping him up. Harry’s nose started bleeding and Draco sighed. “I’ll take him to the medical wing.” Draco said. “Your jacket--” “Keep it. I’ll get it from you later.” he said with a smile. “I am so kicking your ass.” Harry grumbled, holding his nose. Draco walked the idiot down the hall and you turned to go back to the Hufflepuff common room before feeling someone tap you. You turned and Draco kissed you again smiling against your lips before finally dragging your dumbass brother away.

“You did not just kiss my sister in front of me, you fucking prick.” Harry said holding his nose. “Hey, I’m not the one who got clotheslined by her.” Draco reminded. “I didn’t expect her to do that.” Harry winced. “Yeah trust me, neither did I.” Draco snorted. “I wasn’t lying Draco. You hurt her--” “I’m not going to Harry, I swear.” Draco said. Madame Pomfrey rose a brow. “Did you two fight again?” She asked. “No, this was my sister.” Harry said, removing his hand. She winced at the sight. “Tell your sister she did a good job.” She said before Draco walked away. “Promise me that you’re not going to break her heart.” Harry said making him stop. “What?” Draco asked. “Promise me you’re not going to break her heart.” Harry repeated. “Harry. I swear it. Do you want me to make a blood pact or something?” Draco asked. “...Is that an option?” Harry asked making Draco roll his eyes and walk away.

The last trial finally approached. You were kind of anxious about it too. Draco however was confident you had the damn thing in the bag. “You tamed a Dragon Y/n. Whatever this next trial is, you’ve got it in the bag.” Draco said. James finally came with the rest of the family. “You ready?” Sirius asked. “Hell no.” You breathed. Viktor walked over, along with Fleur. You let out a shaking breath.. “We just wanted to say... What ever happens... Good luck.” Viktor said. “T-thanks.” You said. “Champions, approach the start!” The announcer yelled. You sucked in a breath and walked forward. You halted and turned back around, kissed Draco before leaving the Viktor and Fleur. Remus, Sirius and Peter hid smiles but Lily, again was having to hold back her idiot husband and son from killing the poor kid. “JUST ONE PUNCH--” “I’M WITH YOU HARRY!” James screeched.

The challenge began and you booked it, sprinting as fast as humanly possible through the maze. Find that damn cup. You took so many twists and turns, stopping for a brief moment to try to figure out where you were. Then you noticed that the maze was pulling you to the wall. “OH FUCK NO” was the only thing Viktor heard before rapid footsteps and you booking it as the maze walls were closing. You sprinted, Viktor right next to you as you ran. He went left you went right. Ironically, right was the right way considering you found the cup. You sprinted and gripped its handle before you seemed to float.

Your body hit the ground hard and you coughed. “God I’m so feeling that in the morning.” You groaned before getting up. You brushed yourself off unaware to the crowd that was about to scream in celebration of your victory. Well, until you heard “THAT’S MY NIECE MOTHERFUCKERS!” Followed by “SIRIUS!” and a loud smack. You gaped and looked at the cup and then the crowd as they all screamed in victory, Dumbledore holding your hand high before your family sprinted out. “I knew you could do it!” Draco said with a smile you hugging him as the crowd cheered. You panted, looking at Draco as your arms were around him and he kissed you. James didn’t even care by this point because damn it: You did it! Holy shit! You let go of Draco and he smiled before Sirius lifted you onto his shoulders. “THAT’S MY GIRL! WOOOOOOOOHHH” Sirius screamed making you laugh.

You all celebrated that night, sitting in the Great Hall with the cup. “So what are you doing with the victory money?” Sirius asked. You pondered. “Hmm... Hey, Fred, George?” You called. “Hmm?” Fred asked. “How’s business?” you asked, confusing the group more as you spoke. Did... you not hear the question orrr- “It’s going good, we’re beginning to need more room for the equipment though.” George answered. “Great.” You smacked the check down. “Buy a building.” Was all you said before getting up. The two boys looked at each other and then you. “Are you serious right now?!” Fred asked. “I don’t need it. Take it.” You said walking away. Lily snorted and James nearly pissed himself laughing. “She’s definitely James’ kid.” Peter laughed. Remus noticed one thing no one else did. Draco left with you. He smiled to himself and laughed at a joke one of the kids made.

You stood in the library looking at the genres. Of course your way of celebrating would be to read. You read a few passages before feeling arms wrap around your waist. You smiled, turning in Draco’s arms to face the boy. “Hi.” You said with a smile. “Hi.” He said. You smiled as he kissed you, sinking into his arms. “I really am proud of you, by the way.” He said after pulling away for air. You chuckled. You kissed his nose and he chuckled, kissing your forehead. “AAaanndd Got ya.” Sirius said making you sigh. “Padfoot. Five more minutes.” You whined. “I believe that is how long it took to conceive your brother.” Sirius said making you gag. “Okay! Moment ruined, I’m leaving.” You said walking away. “Works every time.” Sirius said. Draco smiled, watching you jump on Remus’ back. “She really is something isn’t she?” Sirius said, a hand on Draco’s shoulder. He smiled to himself as you laughed at your dad nearly screaming at the bloody baron popping out of the wall.

“She really is”

#draco fuckingmalfoy #draco imagine #draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco x y/n

279 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part 24) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±9400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 24: John’s presence at the horse show flips Dean’s world upside down, sending him a tailspin that could have serious consequences. Will Y/N and his friends be able to get through to him? Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: How Do You Get ‘Em Back - David Ramirez. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand. Guys, this is going to be a heavy one. 9.3K of angst. If you are invested in this story, I suggest you’ll have the tissues ready before you start reading. Godspeed.

Ride With Me Masterlist

“Hello, son.”

Only two words, but it’s more than Dean has heard his father say in a long while. The simple greeting lingers between them, like smog polluting the air, stealing his breath. A force of habit the cowboy assumed was long forgotten has him square his shoulders. After all, if there’s anything John taught him it's that men can’t be weak.

What does he call him? Dad? Sir? The cowboy isn’t even sure and so he decides to keep his mouth closed. Instead, he measures the man before him. He is but a ghost of the parent Dean remembers - or at least idolized for so long. His boots are dusty and worn, the leather tearing at the creases. His clothes are dirty, stains on the white t-shirt he’s wearing under a camel jacket. He grew a beard, the tough hairs grey now. A black cowboy hat hides most of his slick hair, but they don’t conceal the dark circles under his father’s eyes, nor the tale of pain and sorrow that are still apparent. Nothing has changed, really. He just got older.

Dean can feel his knees weaken as his breaths come out shaky, but he is able to stand his ground. He sets his jaw, gritting away the frustration that continues to build, his fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. But it’s more than just aggravation that courses through him; it’s joined with an overwhelming sense of panic and fear. He wants to run, far away from confrontations and the dull blade that is tearing open old wounds. What he would give to go back in time, just an hour or so, to prevent this moment. What he would give to be able to live the life he naively pictured, with his family, with Y/N.

Meanwhile, John watches him, eyes glossed over and wearing a small smile. “It’s good to see you.” Still, Dean can’t speak. He just stares at his father. Even the gentle words falling from John’s chapped lips don’t lift the tension. Where Dean was thankful that the stables were empty just a few minutes ago, he now wishes it was swarming with people, because being cut out from the public eye is not a position the cowboy wants his girlfriend to be in. When John steps closer hesitatingly, Dean moves in front of her, one hand back to make sure she stays behind him. It’s instinct, a reaction that is fed by years of doing the same for Sammy. He did everything possible to protect his brother then, and now he has to do the same for her. Dean has to get her out of here. Now.

The cowboy turns his head slightly, addressing Y/N without letting his old man out of his sight. “You should get Joplin warmed up. I’ll be right there.” “Dean? Are you s--” “Go,” he insists, wincing at the strict tone of his own voice.

John has halted and watches the exchange, his gaze following the cowgirl who moves to the box on her right and takes off the halter of a black horse inside the stable. Without a word but with concern and confusion evident in her eyes - which flick to his before she averts them quickly - she takes the Quarter by the reins and guides the mare out of the stable. When she’s out of earshot, Dean’s father returns his focus to his son. “That your girlfriend?” he wonders. “No,” the wrangler claims, wanting to keep her out of this at all costs. John doesn’t have to know about his relationships with her or with his friends. It will make them vulnerable to his influence. “She’s just an intern,” he adds.

Believing the statement to be true, he dips his chin, nodding slightly, and Dean is able to exhale. At least he got Y/N out of harm’s way, now he just needs to somehow prepare himself to take the fire. It��s been a long time coming, but it’s time to face the faults of the past. He allowed the family to fall apart on that dreadful night when the bond between the Winchesters was shattered to pieces. Dean destroyed it all.

Carefully, his old man moves closer once more, and involuntarily the young cowboy steps back. He doesn’t want to. He intends to stand tall and hold position, but trepidation has him back up before he can stop himself. Apparently aware of the effect he has on Dean, John ceases his attempt to close the unbreachable gap between father and son.

Leaving a safe distance between them, he speaks again. “You’ve grown up to be quite the man, Dean. Your aunt and uncle must have taken good care of you.” More than you’ve ever done, Dean thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say it out loud, too apprehensive for the reaction it might trigger. “They have.” “Well, I’m glad,” John smiles at the ground. “I’m glad you landed on your feet. Do you know if Sammy did too?”

Dean’s eyes fill to the brim before he can blink. He doesn’t know. The big brother who was supposed to look out for him, who was supposed to give everything to provide his younger sibling the safety and care that he deserved, doesn’t know. The question is a punch in the gut, a verification of the fact that he has failed Sam like he has failed so many others. “I don’t,” he admits, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t seen him since.”

John sighs, sniffles slightly and glances up, as if he’s mad for a prayer that has been left unanswered. The news does a number on the old guy, and suddenly Dean feels sorry for the man standing before him. His father was already lost when their mother died, and it only got worse when Sam disappeared. The agony it triggered has never left him, just like it never left his son. That loss will always remain, a piece of their heart cut away violently, leaving a hole that bleeds to this day. They both had to settle for a life without Mary and the youngest Winchester in it. As much as Dean wants to hate his father, he simply can’t. He wouldn’t want to wish that kind of torture upon anyone, let alone his dad. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes he has made.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped that maybe…” John pauses, shaking his head slightly. “I hoped you boys at least found your way back to each other.”

Dean swallows with difficulty, his bottom lashes barely clinging to the tears that threaten to roll down his face, but he manages to keep it together. He wishes the same, because life without his sibling feels incomplete. God, he misses Sam. And all that guilt, the sorrow, and the uncertainty of his well-being come rushing back to him in a magnitude that he can’t cope with.

John watches his son again, a grown man now, yet still his boy. “I was wondering if maybe we could sit down someday. Have a drink or something, y’know? Try and put this all behind us?”

Astonished, Dean stares at him. A part of him wants to mend this broken relationship, but John must be aware that rekindling the father-son bond will never undo all the trauma their family endured. There’s no going back to how things were, there is no returning to the time the Winchesters were happy. Mom died, and her death set them on a course of total ruination. And yet, Dean can’t answer. He can’t tell his father ‘no’.

“John Winchester!” Hasty footsteps echo between the stable walls, and when the conflicted cowboy glances past his father, he notices Bobby, moving closer with determined strides. A shuddering sigh of relief escapes Dean, and he’s glad the man opposite of him turns around to face his former brother-in-law so that he doesn’t witness the sign of weakness. With his uncle here, he instantly feels safer, knowing that even if this conversation develops into an argument, he has back-up now.

The elder man holds a fury in his eyes that is visible even in the shadows of the worn ball cap he always wears. “You better walk away,” he warns. “We were just talkin’,” John assures, calmly. “I don’t care if you are holding a family reunion,” Bobby sneers. “If you don’t leave right now, I will get my gun and blast your sorry ass so full of buckshot that you will never sit in a saddle again without scratching the leather.”

Dean’s gaze bounces between his father and his uncle, weary of the clash that is about to kick off, as the two older men keep their eyes locked on each other, tension rising by the second. But then, against his expectations, John gives in to Bobby’s request and steps aside. He glances back at his son one last time, giving him a sad smile, before he breaks away and strolls off, shoulders slumped and defeat obvious.

Collecting himself by taking a breath and blowing it out as slowly as he can, the younger cowboy makes eye contact with his uncle, who approaches him until he’s in arm’s reach. He puts his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, gently encouraging the troubled young man to look at him, hoping the touch will ground his nephew. “You alright?” Bobby asks, the lines in his forehead deepening as he frowns. Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and nods, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He can’t speak and has to break away from his uncle’s observant gaze. Bobby’s grip loosens; he’s aware that Dean isn’t ready to expose his true feelings about this unfortunate run-in. “I’m gonna make sure he leaves the premises,” he assures. With those words, the man - who once again has provided him safety - turns away to follow John, committed to matching action with his words if the guy doesn’t take his threat seriously.

Finally alone, the unsettled cowboy tries to inhale again, but his diaphragm seems to have risen to chest height. He can feel anxiety like he has never experienced before in his adult life get a grip on him, and whatever he tries, he can’t stop it. Afraid that his legs might give way, he takes a step to the side and holds on to one of the stable bars, but he still can’t breathe. Unable to hold the frontline in the battle he’s fighting with the overwhelming sense of distress, the tears break through his defense, spilling down his cheeks. Suddenly, he feels sick. He needs to get out, he needs fresh air.

Feeling the bile creeping up from deep inside him as he stumbles outside, he quickly turns the corner behind the tent before he heaves this morning’s partly digested breakfast into the grass. He throws up everything he has been holding, hoping the anguish will leave his body as well, but it doesn’t. When his stomach is empty, he is still left with the same misery. “Fuck,” he chokes out, steadying himself against the steel corner pillar of the stable. He wipes at his runny nose and his tears, sniffling. Get a hold of yourself, Dean, he lectures, you need to keep it together now. He straightens his back, looking down at the mess he made, closing his eyes for a second as he pulls in a careful breath.

“Dean?” Recognizing his friend’s voice, the cowboy turns around. Benny stands behind him, worry in his clear blue eyes. Manning up and finding his footing again, Dean walks up to meet him. The Southerner hands him a bottle of water, and even though the receiver is thankful for having something to rinse his mouth with, he wishes it to be something a whole lot stronger.

Taking a swig, he lets it wash away the sour taste before he spits it onto the ground. After another attempt he realizes that it’s no use and takes a careful sip this time, swallowing it down to put out the fire inside his chest. He glances at Benny, giving him a nod. “I - I’m good,” he says, not just trying to convince his companion. “I’m good.”

Knowing him well, his best friend doesn’t contradict him, even though it’s clear as day the statement is far from the truth. Dean’s eyes are bloodshot, his hand trembling when he moves the bottle to his mouth. “You might wanna get to the warm-up,” Benny reminds him, handing him the headset. The wrangler grimaces. “Shit, yeah. What time is it?” “Two-thirty. Her starting time is in twenty-five minutes,” the Southerner says. “I gotta get goin’,” Dean realizes after cursing again, moving past him to make his way to the arena. He holds up the water bottle as he jogs away. “Thanks.”

Hoping his friend will understand that he’s thanking him for a lot more than just the drink, he hastens away. Right now, he has someone else who needs his support. Y/N has left the stables well over fifteen minutes ago, so he hopes she’s not nervous because of his late arrival. When he finally reaches the fence, he spots her amongst the other riders, warming up Joplin. He can tell she’s focused, or is she upset with him for not being on time? Finding it hard to read her from a distance, he sums it up to a mixture of both. Without disturbing the other competitors, he bends down to duck under the barrier, approaching her and her horse. But when she ignores him completely and continues to work the Quarter on a small circle, he hesitates.

“Y/N?” he calls out, not sure if she saw him from inside her bubble. “What?” she snaps. Taken aback by her reaction, he watches how she keeps circling, slowing down to a walk, but still not stopping to take the headset or even grant him a look. “C’mon, let me help you,” he ushers, holding up the device for her. But when she looks him in the eye, the coldness they behold frightens him. “Why do you even care?” she wonders. “I’m ‘just an intern’ anyway.”

Like she just slapped him across the face, Dean stares at the cowgirl, the daggers she’s shooting at him with her powerful gaze stabbing him right in the heart. No no no, he thinks to himself as he closes his eyes. She wasn’t supposed to hear him say that to his father. He labeled her as an intern only to make sure John wouldn’t be able to get to Dean through his girlfriend. Of course he didn’t mean a word of it! He has to make her understand. “Yankee, I’m sorry. I--” “Forget it, Dean. I can handle myself,” she snarls. “Leave me alone.”

With that, she moves away from her boyfriend, riding Joplin to the other side of the warm-up ring, as far from him as possible. Regretful, her trainer saunters back towards the fence, making his way out of the ring. When he straightens himself, he is met by Jo, who has her arms crossed in front of her chest as she narrows her eyes at her cousin. It’s clear as day that she’s about to rip him a new one as well. “What did you do?” she demands to know, sternly.

Dean looks at her, opening his mouth to answer, but unable to even utter a word. I fucked up, that’s what I did, he realizes. Like he has fucked up everything else that was ever good in his life. He doesn’t reply, though, and instead shakes his head, admitting his loss. “Here.” Dean hands her the small device with a microphone attached to it, his fingers still trembling. “Help her if she needs assistance, alright?” Perplexed, she watches him walk off. She at least expected a counter with a claim that he didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not gonna even watch her ride?” she asks before he’s too far gone. “I’ll watch from the bleachers. I don’t wanna distract her,” he returns, sadly looking into her eyes before he carries on.

Observing her cousin, an uneasy feeling settles in her stomach. The guilt is oozing from him in great amounts as he disappears in the crowd, his head hanging, the usual upbeat attitude nowhere to be found. What has gotten into him? Something must have happened, something bad. She can’t recall the last time she has seen him this troubled, not since… Jo’s eyes grow a little larger, her brows that were knitted together a moment ago now rising. Suddenly it dawns on her; she hasn’t seen him so thrown into disarray since he arrived at the ranch at fourteen years of age. She might have been only eight at the time, but those memories lingered. The sight of a kid so scared, so depressed, and so broken left an impression. Even as a little girl she knew he had been through hell, and by the looks of her cousin now, it seems like those dark days are catching up with him.

Jo wants to go after the poor guy, but she knows she can’t abandon her best friend. When the steward calls out Y/N’s name, announcing she’s up next, she focuses on the rider again. Right now she is her main priority, because whatever happened between the intern and the wrangler, Jo knows she’s Dean’s priority too.

“Ready?” she checks while quickly drying Joplin with a towel before they head towards the gate. “Yeah, I am,” Y/N assures, pushing Dean from her thoughts. “Remember that it’s fine to pick your first cow from the side of the herd, okay? Don’t set the bar too high. It’s your first time,” the blonde cowgirl offers. “I know,” she assures, even though she’s not planning on playing it safe.

The frustration has morphed into determination, a strong will to prove that she can manage just fine and that Bobby has every reason to dote on her. She much rather feels aggravated than insecure, so she allows the anger to flood the worry, shutting out her usual insecurity. She’s not going to let anyone down, especially not herself.

Concentrated, she goes to the gate, eye for the prize. Joplin already has her ears perked towards the cattle, knowing it’s game time. The clock starts to tick, and with confidence, she guides Joplin through the group of heifers, picking one dead in the middle to single out.

She doesn’t know Dean is watching from the sidelines, and intense sadness filling his soul. She doesn’t know how proud he is when she makes two amazing cuts and she scores 73 points, outclassing him. She doesn’t know that he’s very much aware that his girl doesn’t need him anymore.

Swift strokes brush the dirt out of Joplin’s dark coat. Dust particles dance in the air, illuminated by the orange rays of the setting sun that fall through the window of the stable. The mare allows the pampering, on hindleg resting on its toe, her head hanging low. Big, brown eyes are half closed, falling shut every once in a while. Sleep almost taking the normally feisty horse, the grooming having a relaxing effect on her. It’s almost as if she realizes she’s about to go on a new adventure, and she’s taking this moment to recharge after her run.

Jody has matched Joplin with a great family. A sixteen-year-old girl will be riding her. The teenager and her parents came to meet her new horse right after the great performance, absolutely beaming, knowing this wonderful animal was now theirs. In about fifteen minutes, Joplin’s new owners will be here to take her to their farm in Alamo, New Mexico. The family promised to give the Quarter a forever home, and they showed Y/N pictures of the beautiful barn where the little dark horse is going to live. She’s going to a good place, but the farewell remains bittersweet.

Once the Joplin is thoroughly cleaned, her rider takes her by the halter, raking her fingers through her mane. Y/N has never been good at saying goodbye, but it’s time now. “Be good, okay?” she whispers, letting her hands gently run down the horse’s neck. “And don’t pin your ears back too much. People are gonna think you’re mean, but I know you’re a softy.”

Joplin breathes out a sigh through her nose as if answering the person who has been her companion for the past month. It’s peculiar how fast a bond between human and animal can form. There has been a connection between them since the first time Y/N saddled her up for a trail. The thought of buying the beautiful Quarter herself has crossed the cowgirl’s mind ever since she learned Bobby planned to sell her, but no matter how difficult, this is also an aspect of the business that she needs to get used to. When she will finally have her own stables in a year's time, horses will come and go. She can’t keep every one of them, and so she needs to set Joplin free.

Judging by the hollow sounds under the tent’s roof, the new owners are on their way. She can distinguish Jody’s voice, and Bobby’s too. A girl with long, brown hair and bright eyes peers over the stable door, already glancing at the beautiful horse lovingly. “I bought her new transport boots,” she announces enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t want her to get hurt on the trailer. I also got a rug for when it gets a little colder during the night. Do you think she will like that?” The teenager holds up a red, woolen rug, which matches the leg protection perfectly. Y/N chuckles at the sight. Joplin is going to get so spoiled. “Those look amazing.” She reaches for one of the boots. “Here, let me help.”

They strap on the protective wear together while Bobby, Jody, and the parents close the deal on the other side of the alleyway. After the money is counted, the ranch owner hands over the horse’s passport together with a certificate of ownership, shaking their hands once more. Y/N waits for her boss to look her way, wondering if he - as owner - should give Joplin away, but the old man gives her a friendly nod, telling her without words that she will have the honor.

“Well, I guess this is it,” she says, fumbling with the leadrope. “She’s yours now.” “Thank you,” the young cowgirl returns. “We will take good care of her. Promise.” Not trusting her voice, the Y/N smiles warmly, but there isn’t a doubt in her mind that the family will. She doesn’t want to get emotional, it wouldn’t be professional after all. And so she does her very best to blink the mist from her eyes when she offers the leadrope, handing over Joplin to her new owner.

The family who just gained an additional member exits the stables, heading to the trailers to start their journey home. The rider, the trader, and the rancher watch them leave, all with smiles on their faces. Everyone involved in this sale wins. Y/N can’t help it, though, and has to wipe a lonely tear from her cheek. Jody, who notices, wraps an arm around her shoulder, sheltering and comforting. “Sorry,” the cowgirl excuses, a little embarrassed. “Don’t be sorry, honey,” she dismisses sweetly. “Caring matters, especially when money comes into play. Someone who cares has far better judgment than someone who’s greedy. Remember that.” Y/N smiles at the wise words, storing that piece of advice with all the others she has picked up along the way.

“Pretty good ride,” Bobby compliments his intern, in his own way trying to cheer her up. “Especially at your first cutting class.” Jody glances aside at the ranch owner, not impressed with his choice of words, before pulling the cowgirl closer into a side hug. “Pretty good? Are you kidding me? You absolutely slayed it! If you’re not giving that girl a rider’s fee, I will.” “Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Y/N objects. “No, you deserve it,” he insists while leafing through the hundred dollar bills in a large envelope. “Bobby, it’s okay. I am already super grateful for everything I’m learning and the experiences that I’m gaining. You have already given me a room and a stable, not to mention Ellen’s cooking. You really don’t have to pay me.”

Y/N shortly places her hand on her boss’s to seize his actions, wanting him to stop counting. The Gold Canyon Ranch might have made good money over the past three days, yet that doesn’t mean a financial disaster is avoided. She doesn’t want a share. The old man holds her gaze and she can tell he’s wondering if either Dean or Jo have spilled a little too much information. Maybe it is because of that assumption that he settles and lets it go. “At least lemme buy you a drink, huh?” he offers before he turns to his business partner. “I just have to round a few things up with Jody here.” “Alright, see you in a bit,” Y/N returns.

As the two business partners walk off to look for a private place where Bobby can give the woman who has made the sale possible her commissioner’s fee, the cowgirl slips into the tack room. She decides to start packing, since the crew presumingly will leave in a couple of hours. She has to keep busy, but Dean breaks into thoughts straight away. Sighing deeply, the cowgirl tries to wrap her head around her boyfriend’s reasoning. His words, which had her freeze to the ground for a second as she left him with his father, still ring in her ears. She’s just an intern. Why would he say such a thing? Why hadn’t he expressed that she is his girlfriend? Why did he never mention his father to her? And if he isn’t even able to talk to her about his family, what else is he hiding?

Her train of thought is interrupted by Jo, who hastily rushes around the corner, her restless eyes searching the tack room before she checks the stables. “Have you seen Dean?” she asks, concerned. “No,” Y/N bitterly answers. “Okay, enough.” Jo places her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg. “What the hell is going on with you two?” “You tell me,” her friend responds coldly. “I was under the impression we were doing just fine until Dean wasn’t even able to introduce me. Clearly, I value our relationship more than he does.”

“What are you talking about? He’s crazy about you,” the blonde cowgirl reminds her. “Is he?” Y/N spins on her heels, finally looking her in the eye. “Because for someone who claims to care about me, he sure keeps an awful lot of secrets.” Jo sighs. “Look, I know Dean isn’t the guy who’s very chatty about those kinds of things, but what makes you say that he doesn’t care?” “Because he couldn’t even tell his family - who he failed to tell me about, by the way - that I’m his girlfriend! He told his father that I am just an int--” “Whoa whoa, wait. His father?” Her best friend stares at her bug-eyed, needing a moment to process the information. “His father is here?!” “Yeah, he showed up in the stables earlier to visit him, before I got on Joplin,” she confirms, somewhat confused by her shocked expression. Jo steps towards the intern, grabbing both her shoulders and looking at her intensely. “Are you absolutely sure?” Y/N shrugs a little, not understanding the earnesty. “He looked a lot like Dean, and he called him his son, so I’m assuming.”

Her best friend just gapes at her, her cousin’s demeanor by the warm-up ring suddenly making much more sense. If he had an encounter with his father, his entire world just got turned upside down. Judging by how messed up he was when his only living parent left him to rot when he was still a child, she can only imagine what his return after all that time has set in motion.

“We need to find Dean, now,” she says, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling her out of the tack room. “I’ll explain along the way.” Unsettled, Y/N fastens her pace to jog next to the ranch owner’s daughter. “Jo, what’s going on?” “Dean didn’t lie to you when he said that he hadn’t seen his family in a while. In fact, the two haven’t been in contact for fifteen years,” she explains as they exit the stables.

Stunned by the revelation, the cowgirl next to her tries to make sense of it all. Fifteen years? Why would he have cut all ties with his dad for fifteen years? She can’t possibly imagine doing such a thing. Something horrible must have happened, something beyond comprehension. “That still doesn’t explain why he described me as anything else but his girlfriend,” Y/N brings up. “Listen, you don’t know John. He is a manipulative son of a bitch who has played dirty mind games before. If Dean let on that you were just someone working at the ranch, he was trying to protect you.” Y/N stops dead in her tracks, her hand which is still entwined with Jo’s causing her friend to spin around. “He w - what?”

“You need to talk to him,” her friend insists, dragging her into motion again. “My guess is that he found a place to be alone or he’s liquoring up. Either way, your man is spiraling out of control and he's gonna need his girl in order to get out of that vicious circle.” “He - he won’t talk to me,” she stammers. “Not after how I was with him before my run. God, I can’t believe I was so self-absorbed. I thought he didn’t want me there because he was embarrassed of me, and you’re telling me he was making sure I was safe?”

Jo wishes her companion wouldn’t put herself down like that, because the blonde cowgirl honestly gets why she reacted the way she did, being unaware of the family drama. She never thought the day would come, but here she is, defending her cousin’s honor.

“Like I said; he’s crazy about you, Sis. He has never been like this with somebody else, so if there’s anyone who can through to him it’s you. He might try to--” “- push me away, I know. That’s kind of his thing. I won’t let him,” Y/N promises. Jo nods at that, glad she was able to convince her. “Good, now we just have to find him.”

They arrive at the square where all the shops are situated, most of the stand holders packing their unsold products into cars and onto trailers. The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, the skies painted with red. There are a few people around, music coming from the tent further up where the after-party is in full swing. They meet Benny at the crossing, though, who is looking for his friend as well. “Have you seen him?” Y/N asks the farrier, who has the same worried frown on his face as the girls. “I tried the trailers, but no luck,” Benny says. “Stables?” But she shakes her head. “We were just there.”

The three glance aside when a group of young guys stumbles out of the tent, alternated colored beams in their wake, coming from the disco lights inside. The concern that has Jo’s intestines in knots worsens, because if Dean has hit the bar, reasoning with him is going to be problematic.

Y/N enters the tent, backed up by the other two members of the Gold Canyon Ranch. The band plays a happy, upbeat country song that contradicts the alarming anxiety and dread that is riding her nerves like a racetrack. Frantically, she looks around, trying to identify her boyfriend amongst the crowd. She doesn’t see him in the booths on her right, nor around the dancefloor which she and Dean owned two nights prior. Once she convinces him that she understands why he said those things and that he did nothing wrong, she can wrap her arms around him again, comfort him with a kiss and ask him for another dance. He can continue to be the wonderful, supportive boyfriend, making her laugh and making her smile, lifting her up and making her feel appreciated. They can go back to how things were.

Trying to convince herself that everything is going to be fine, she moves through the mass of people towards the beer taps, when she stops suddenly, the wind being knocked from her lungs by the sight in front of her. At the end of the bar, she finds Dean. Not nursing a beer, sad and alone like she expected to find him, but in company of the same girl who was all over him on Friday night as well; Jamie. The cowboy, already intoxicated, leaning into her when the blonde whispers something in his ear, touching his arm as she does. A blind man would be able to see the chemistry, their conversation easy and carefree. The beautiful girl seated on the stool next to her boyfriend doesn’t show a sign of insecurity, her cheerful and confident personality matching Dean’s perfectly. She is everything Y/N isn’t.

Unable to move, she watches the film play out before her, a story of fun and romance that will push her story with Dean to a tragic end. Tears begin to fill her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. A part of her hopes that he will turn around and see the devastation that his actions are causing, but he doesn’t, occupied by the gorgeous old flame which seems to have ignited something new. He doesn’t even see me, she realizes. He doesn’t see her, because once again it has been made perfectly clear she’s not worth holding on to. That has always been the case whenever it came to love, hasn’t it? So why on earth did she think that with Dean it was going to be any different? And just like that, she’s back to being invisible again.

Abruptly, Y/N turns around, desperately needing to get out of the buzzing atmosphere, but she collides with Jo the second she does. “Woah! Where are you--” Jo steadies her friend when she almost falls over, holding her by her arms. Stunned, she stares into her eyes, noticing how they are glazed over with absolute heartbreak. “What’s going on?”

But Y/N just shakes her head, moving past her hastily; she can’t stay here a second longer. The upset girl struggles towards the exit and ignores Benny, who watches her departure, perplexed. When he straightens himself again, he glances at Jo, as much confusion on his features as on hers. But when his focus locks on his buddy at the bar, his face falls. “That son of a bitch,” he mutters, his remark triggering the blonde cowgirl before him to turn around as well.

Jo’s jaw falls slack, observing as the two order another round of shots. She can’t believe what she’s seeing. She can’t believe she’s witnessing the man who she thought had made a change for the better, now making a turn for the worse. Frustration boils inside of the petite yet feisty woman, who is biting down hard on her bottom lip when she faces Benny again. “You talk some sense into him before he really crosses the line,” she directs. “I’m gonna go after Y/N and see if I can repair the damage.”

The broad-shouldered wrangler nods and watches Jo take off before he goes in the other direction. He pushes through the mass of people who are enjoying the last party of the event, all oblivious to the dramatic scene they are all a part of. He senses that the drama might become a whole lot worse if he doesn’t manage to pull Dean’s head off his ass.

“What do you think you’re doin’, brother?” Benny claps his hand on his friend’s shoulder, interrupting him before he downs the shot waiting for him on the bar. He scoffs. “What does it look like?” “Seems to me you’re about to get a lil’ too friendly with a gal that ain’t yours,” the farrier says with a lowered voice, hoping it will enlighten him. “We’re just having a drink,” Dean counters, annoyed, reaching for the glass in front of him, but Benny pushes it out of reach. “Do you think that’s what Y/N saw too when she was here just now?” Now he does get the cowboy’s attention, common sense finally pushing to the forefront. “She was here?” he questions, dumbfounded. “Yep, and you’ve got somethin’ to fix. Let’s go,” Benny suggests, his large hand flat on his companion’s back calmly pushing him off the chair and onto his feet, both men giving Jamie a short nod before they leave the party.

The fresh air slaps Dean in the face when he exits the tent, sobering him up enough to realize how bad he screwed up. He knew it was a horrible idea to do the one thing his dad always did when the pain got too much to bear; hit the alcohol and drown his sorrow. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? No matter how hard he fights, no matter how different he aspires to be, he will always be just like his father. The same ego-centric, selfish and spineless dick that breaks everything he touches.

When the two men stop in the middle of the square, Benny looks around, trying to find the girls. He doesn’t spot them sitting at any of the outside tables, nor by the restrooms. “It don’t matter, I already fucked it up anyway,” Dean mutters when his friend glances between the market shops. The farrier pauses his search and gazes at him superciliously through half-lidded eyes. “No disrespect, Chief, but what the hell is wrong with you?” “You really want me to get started on that list? Because if so, we’re gonna be here for a while,” the wrangler returns snarky, avoiding his friend’s blue eyes, taking a few steps away with his hands on his hips. “John showing up here is not y—” “Don’t!” Dean interrupts with venom in his voice, spinning around and pointing a firm finger at Benny. “Don’t you dare bring up my father.”

He’s trembling, the anger that ran in John’s blood for years now raging through his veins. Fire sets alight his insides, flames dancing in his pupils that glare at his comrade warningly. The Southerner takes a tentative step towards him, realizing he needs to get through to Dean, but has to handle the subject as carefully as possible. “You are not him. I know this,” he speaks slow. “I know you love Y/N, too.”

But Dean scoffs and shakes his head, not just denying that he does, but refusing to allow himself that kind of fulfillment. He was stupid to even think that he ever had a chance with her. It was just a matter of time before it all would come crashing down on him, ruining everything that he never deserved in the first place. He can’t love her, because if he does, she will fall victim to him, just like he did to his dad.

“Listen, brother. You’re not seein’ straight right now, but you can still make this right,” Benny continues. “You care too much about her to just throw in the towel. Remember when she first came to the ranch? You were smitten the second she walked through those doors. You called dibs on her for a reason.”

The cowboy’s shoulders rise as he inhales deeply and fall again when he blows out a breath. Of course he remembers. He remembers the first time he laid eyes on her over his poker cards, how she responded to him from across the saloon. He remembers how she gave him a run for his money when he came on too strong. He remembers how he panicked when she didn’t seem interested and the idea of her being with someone else had him strike an agreement with his best mate. He remembers the rides, their first kiss, the moment i-- “You called dibs on me?”

Stunned by the unexpected voice, both men turn to where it came from. Benny gulps thickly when he notices Y/N stepping from under the awning of one of the food trucks, Jo in her shadow. Even in the dim glow from the overhanging strings of lightbulbs, he can see her eyes shimmer with despair. “Y/N, it ain’t as bad as it s--” But the cowgirl cuts him off immediately, shooting Benny a glare. “You can stop with the Southern smooth talk. I need to talk to Dean alone.”

After exchanging looks over the course of several uncomfortable seconds, both Benny and Jo step aside, sauntering away from the couple. Once their friends have disappeared behind one of the trailers, Y/N returns her focus to her boyfriend again, her judgemental stare boring into his soul. “I asked you a question,” she repeats, managing to prevent her voice from trembling. “Did you make some kind of pact with your buddies?”

Dean doesn’t answer, but he sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. He lifts his eyes from the ground for a moment, glancing over before he averts them again. The woman standing a few feet away from him chuckles cynically; she knows enough.

“So what, women are like cattle to you? This is a funny bet?” The cowboy frustratingly shakes his head once. “You know it’s not.” “Do I?!” Y/N returns, her tone sharper and higher than anticipated. “Because if this isn’t just a game, then why did you shove me aside for some blonde broad--” “For fuck’s sake, we were just having a drink! We had this argument already!” Dean snaps, throwing his arms to the side.

Taken aback by the hostility, Y/N stares at him. She has seen this anger before, but just a glimpse of it. It was when Ash lost his job and blamed them, in particular Dean, who took the acquisitions hard. That evening it was mostly guilt that triggered the cowboy to lash out to her and the second he realized he had upset her, he apologized. But now an apology doesn’t even seem to cross his mind that is clouded by darkness far greater. At this point, she’s not sure if she would be able to accept it anyway.

“Well, it didn’t make much of a difference, now did it?” she returns after using the dreadful silence to recover. “Apparently not,” Dean scoffs, shifting his unfocused gaze aside. Mulling over the chain of events that have led to this moment, he swallows with difficulty, indignation taking off the heat for a bit, stopping it from boiling over. The calm gives Y/N enough courage to step closer. “Dean, I know today was a whirlwind. I know - I’m aware that what happened in the stables earlier has sent you into a tailspin,” she sympathizes, careful not to mention his father after witnessing his outburst with Benny when he did, “but this isn’t you.”

The disheartened guy before her huffs again, sardonic and hopeless. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Because it’s exactly who he is. This is who he was always destined to be. It’s how he was raised, it’s in his DNA. For two months he allowed himself to hope that maybe he could change, that maybe he could be better than the poor excuse of a man his father was. Y/N gave him that pipe dream, and even though it’s unreasonable to be upset with her for seeing the good in him, it’s amongst one of the many frustrations he’s experiencing.

“It is. This -” Dean points at himself, his upper lip twitching with disgust. “- this is who I am.” She shakes her head, not ready to give up. “It’s not. You are kind, loving, your heart is--” “You don’t know me!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair and trapping the light-brown locks between his fingers before he gestures wildly. “You think you do, but you don’t have a fucking clue! I haven’t told you anything about my life--” “Then talk to me!” Y/N yells back as he turns away from her. “I CAN’T!!”

Dean is facing her again, vexation flaring in his emerald green eyes. His heart beats so vigorously that it has his entire body pulsating. He takes her in, the beautiful young woman who he fell for, and he can see that her hope is fading. It pains him to hurt her, but he’s left with no choice. Being angry with him will make things easier, though. It will help her move on. If she is going to feel sorry for him, the pity would only prompt the caring girl to hold on and try to piece the shattered shards back together, and he can’t let that happen, simply because it’s useless. He refuses to take her down with him, to burden her with the same demons that he has to live with. He can’t do that to her, not to the one he loves. She’s way too good for him, so pure, so selfless and gentle. She’s everything he shouldn’t have, everything he isn’t worthy of. It’s better this way, it’s better to end it now.

“I can’t. Who you think I am, it’s not me. I’ve been lying to you, pretending. I can’t be the person you need me to be,” he claims, calmer now that he knows what he has to do.

Y/N’s breathing picks up slightly, the air leaving her with a shudder each time. His words seem so definite already, but he can’t possibly believe that they are not right for each other, can he? All those moments they shared, all the affection he offered; that was real. That was him. Why can’t he see he’s exactly the man she needs? “And what person is that?” she questions, hoping that whatever argument he fires back, she can turn around.

Dean is quiet for a few seconds, thinking about a fitting answer. The profound fondness he feels for her begins to resurface and it’s tearing him apart. She needs to understand that the fairytale they have been living is a facade he can’t continue to maintain. Dreams never last forever, this is where they wake up. “You need a guy who is honest, who you can trust. Look at us; I can’t even bring myself to tell you about my family, my past, or anything for that matter,” he reminds her. “I knew what I was in for, Dean. I don’t expect you to spill every dark secret you think you have. You don’t have to spell out everything to be with me. We can work it out!” she argues desperately. But the cowboy shakes his head, feeling the sorrow brim in his eyes. He wants her to be right so bad, but he knows he can’t live a lie. “You don’t get it, okay? I’m a fucking mess. I did things that are unforgivable. I don’t have my shit together, but you do,” he says, a sad smile barely pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You know exactly where you wanna go in life, what you want to achieve.” She steps closer, praying that if he lets her, she can eventually bridge the space between them. “We can do that together,” she pleads with all the hope she has left. “We can’t,” he returns, having gathered every bit of strength to look at her before he pronounces the words who he knows are the truth. “This isn’t gonna work.”

The tears that have gathered become too much even for a dam to withhold roll down her cheeks now. An already unbearable ache gets worse, her heart physically hurting and taking up so much space that Y/N feels like she can’t breathe. He can’t be doing this. He can’t pull the plug, not after all the epic moments they shared. Every warm look, every gentle touch, every loving kiss; every blissful memory. How can he possibly let go of that? Refusal has her reach out to him, one last attempt to repair what is already broken. “Dean, stop… Why are you hurting me like this?” she cries.

The cowboy drops his gaze while fighting the tears and the grief for what he’s losing. He wants to reach out too, take her hand in his, but he can’t cave now, he can’t be selfish. He has to do this for her. “Because if I don’t, if I allow this to go any further, it’s gonna hurt a lot more.” Dean fixates on anything but Y/N, no longer able to endure the sight of her falling apart in front of him. It’s dreadfully quiet as if the world stopped turning, and in a way, for the two individuals in the middle of the square, it just did. “So - so what? This is it?” she stammers, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re breaking up with me?” Biting his lip now, he focuses on what this decision will offer the woman at arm’s reach. An uncomplicated life in which she can pursue her dreams without having to worry about someone dragging her down. She can be free to do whatever she wishes and that’s all he can ask for. But in order to provide her with that opportunity, he has to let her go. “Yeah. We’re over.”

Like a bullet fired from a gun, the defining words rip through her chest and pierce her heart. The silence after the shot is deafening, canceling out the sounds of their surroundings. The streaming pathways of desolation gather at the end of her chin and drip down on the dry soil, enough to darken the dust. Her eyes are glued on him, though, but he doesn’t return her gaze. The conclusion of their relationship sinks in with every passing second, leaving her soul in ruins. It’s over. They are over. And there is nothing she can do to change the course of history.

Unable to be in his presence, she forces her feet to move, turning away from the man she is no longer with. Dean can’t watch her leave, fixed on the dark earth where her tears fell just moments ago. From his peripheral vision, he notices Jo rushing by to go after her friend. Good, he thinks to himself, she’ll have someone to lean on.

After standing there for what feels like an hour, he takes a few hesitant steps towards one of the trailers, placing both hands flat on the metal, searching for something to ground him while he closes his eyes and lets his head hang. He can’t find it, though, not in the cold steel, not in his reasoning behind this brutal decision. The resentment builds again, and Dean pulls his right hand back, balls his fist, and almost puts a dent into the barrier before him. The action only confirms what he deep down knew to be true all along. All that rage, the self-hatred; he can’t bottle it up forever, so it’s for the best that Y/N will no longer be there to witness it.

Dean bends his elbows, his forearms now pressed against the iron and his forehead resting between his clenching fists, as he struggles to pull in a shaky breath. He feels like he’s imploding, the outer frame of his structure caving in on itself. His mouth falls open, his bottom lip trembling, then he allows the tears to cascade down his face.

He can sense Benny by his side, but Dean is too wrapped up in his own destruction to really acknowledge him. The comforting hand on his shoulder is a touch he barely registers, his body is already rebuilding its emotional walls, caging away his ability to feel and casting it in a permanent shadow. That’s where it will remain, encapsulated in darkness, cut out from the light that his girl had to give. Benny stays by his side, though, letting him know that he is there for his friend, as much as Jo is there for hers.

“Sis, wait,” the ranch owner’s daughter tries desperately, following the woman who just had her heart broken into the stables. Her request remains unanswered, Y/N only stopping when she has reached Meadow’s box, her hands shaking while she tries to unlock the door. When she’s unable to, Jo quickly steps in and opens the gate, holding it for her companion. The bay horse has lifted her head, alerted by the commotion in the alley, but clearly recognizes the person stepping inside. She seems confused by her owner’s frail state of mind, though, pricked ears and concerned eyes taking in the situation.

The cowgirl folds an arm around Meadow’s neck while she buries her face in the Quarter’s brown coat, then she breaks. She breaks into a million segments, lost in the mixture of wood shavings and straw underneath their feet. The air is too thin to breathe and sobs wreck her entire form.

Never in her life has she felt so unwanted, purposeless, and vulnerable as she’s feeling now. Dean let her in and she trusted him to handle her with grace, yet the second she was comfortable with this new way of being, he pushed her out. She thought she knew the man she felt such a strong connection with. Yes, she realized very early on that it was going to be difficult to get through to him. The soldier with thick armor had stacked the barricades high, but that never intimidated her. After all, she had climbed mountains before.

She gave Dean her all, but in the end, it turns out it was useless. Y/N isn’t even sure what’s real and what’s not, if the cowboy has been wearing a mask all along, or just now turned into someone that he isn’t. It doesn’t matter, though. He has made himself perfectly clear; she is not the girl he wants to be with.

The only one stopping her from collapsing is Meadow, who holds still like a statue, aware that if she moves, her owner will fall to the ground and might never be able to get up again. The horse senses exactly how to handle Y/N, the usually so spirited mare now timid and calm, picking up on the despairing energy.

Jo, who had silently slipped into the tack box to get a bottle of water and some tissues, comes back into the stable, tearing up at the sight of the two who have such a strong bond. The thousand-pound animal has curved her neck around her human, resting her large head on the cowgirl’s shoulder. As if trying to comfort her, Meadow twitches her lips, gently rubbing them against her owner’s back, her way of showing affection. People can be cruel sometimes, to others, to horses. Jo has witnessed it, and she knows Dean has too, which has ultimately led to his dreadful decision to cut Y/N loose, and by doing so he has hurt her in terrible ways himself. But at least the girl has her horse.

Meadow, who is oblivious to the reason behind her owner’s sorrow, offers solace nonetheless. Quietly, she waits until the cries die down and the tears begin to dry, and even then she stays close to her person, having a better sense of direction than most humans do. Y/N’s four-legged friend is honest, treats her with kindness, and loves her unconditionally. It’s a special connection no man can ever steal away, yet many can learn from. This incredible being is her soul horse, a term Dean has taught her, the one who she thought was going to be her partner in life until he decided otherwise. He is right, though; it is over between them. She has lost Dean’s heart, but at the end of the day, no matter what happens, she will always have Meadow.

That’s that then. They are over...

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-five here

144 notes · View notes

cto10121 · 3 years ago

Text

Does R&J Play With Gender Stereotypes?

So I came across this piece of meta by @hamliet that rather intrigued me:

There’s also another layer here: the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine. Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one. That’s the first thing Juliet declares to Romeo in the balcony scene: that she will always be loyal, and she shows this in every choice she makes in the story.

Let’s break this down.

“the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine.”

Romeo does indeed call Juliet the sun, but Juliet never calls Romeo the moon—or likens him with anything symbolically feminine, come to think of it. The closest she or the play gets is a small but clear association with night: Romeo has “night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes” and Juliet implores “loving, black-browed” night to give her her Romeo. Even then it is so that he can “make the face of heaven so fine / That all the world will be in love with night / And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

Instead, Juliet consistently uses the same love language of authority as Romeo does with her, calling him her lord, husband, knight, “day-in-night,” “mansion of a love,” “god of my idolatry,” and, (my particular favorite), “tassel-gentle” or “falcon.” “Pilgrim” is the lowest social rank she uses, but of course she is following Romeo’s pilgrim-and-saints flirtation and its wink-wink bilingual allusion to his name. Romeo’s use of “sun,” then, could be viewed in the context of both lovers conferring cosmic/earthly authority, beauty, ownership, and sovereignty to each other—the Elizabethan equivalent of calling each other wife/husband. And of course they begin doing that immediately after they marry.

Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one.

Definitely not. Romeo is plenty decisive and bold—making the first move in wooing Juliet, climbing the orchard wall, showing himself to Juliet, immediately agreeing to marry her, nearly killing himself when he thinks Juliet might not take him back and, er, actually killing himself for her. I wouldn’t say he is impulsive, either—though he makes decisions fairly quickly, it is almost always with some deliberation beforehand (“Can I go forward when my heart is here?” “Shall I hear more or shall I speak at this?” and his monologue after Mercutio’s exit) and of course there are instances in which he restrains himself (“I am too bold” and his monologue after Mercutio’s death). The most accurate description of Romeo is that he is a risk taker—at least when he is well and truly motivated. And even then it does not rob his deliberation or even his wits.

He is also not flighty. In fact, he proves just as loyal as Juliet—as soon as he meets her, he forgets about Rosaline and leaves her clear behind. He doesn’t once waver in his conviction that Juliet is for him and makes plans to die with her (and does!). His love for Rosaline is clearly framed by the narrative as shallow, performative, and passive, and the verse bears this out. He was never in any kind of relationship with Rosaline—his love was an unrequited crush that he was at perfectly liberty to have ditched, frankly. After that, it’s Juliet, Juliet, Juliet until he dies.

Also, once more, Romeo is no crybaby. He explicitly cries a total of two times—one even before the events of the play, when he pines over Rosaline under a grove of sycamore, and another when he’s 1) seen Mercutio get mortally wounded, 2) killed Tybalt, 3) learned that he is banished from the city, and 4) mistakenly believed that Juliet no longer wants him (the Nurse’s reply is vague enough to be misinterpreted); at the very least he is devastated to have been the cause of her pain. Anyone would break down in those circumstances. Juliet herself breaks down on hearing the news and arguably is more verbally vehement than Romeo—namely, that even the words “Romeo is banishèd” are worse than if herself, Romeo, her parents, and Tybalt were dead. She ends that monologue with a passive suicide threat: “And Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!” How anyone can argue Juliet isn’t as lovestruck as Romeo is beyond me.

What Shakespeare was most likely aiming for was showing the mutuality of R&J’s love with parallel scenes and even language. Both have chances to act strong, decisive, and bold, both show vulnerability and great emotion and passion, both are lovestruck. Both demonstrate so-called “masculine” and “feminine” traits, which is almost always culturally-and time-based, anyway. There are only a few key differences between the two—almost all of the above traits, however, they both share. It’s almost as if…Shakespeare understood that no man or woman had all masculine or all feminine traits.

Moving on to the conclusion:

In other words, Shakespeare was deliberately playing with gender and its stereotypes in the play, which gains an even more interesting layer to it when you consider that Shakespeare was himself almost certainly bisexual (his sonnets are preeeetty explicit). It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society. And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.

You just opened up 200+ years of fandom wank, OP. I’ll just do a quick sum-up.

The Sonnets are a complete mess. They are contradictory as hell, there is clearly more than one persona speaking, there is evidence that Shakespeare edited and revised them, evidence they were published with his permission, quite a few sonnets are based on pre-existing sources, and, most damnably of all, none of the most likely candidates for the so-called Fair Youth and Dark Lady fit the narrative of the Sonnets perfectly or even satisfactorily—if there is even a clear narrative to these things to begin with. Sonnets were artificial works whose clichés and conventions were heavily satirized in Shakespeare’s own works—Berowne’s own rant-y sonnet swearing he would never believe in love sonnets comes most readily to mind. They were usually not meant to denote an actual real-life relationship, although there was a kind of “game” in trying to figure out which parts are true and which ones fiction. At least one sonnet sequence had a completely fictional addressee (Fulke Greville, I think).

Shakespeare’s sonnets do break a lot of these rules and conventions, and radically, and as they seem to have been compiled over many years, they lend themselves to autobiographical speculation. But, as a bit of a poet myself, I feel this: No one writes 154 sonnets—plus a whole narrative poem!—to one lover or even multiple lovers. Poetry is much less personal than laypeople think. Outside the sonnets, Shakespeare is not linked to any man romantically, and, besides his wife, only to two women (unnamed citizen’s wife and Jane Devanant).

Even if we assume Shakespeare’s bi, though, that doesn’t mean R&J is a queer narrative, which brings us to…

It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society.

A queer narrative that has its lovers express their love through the language of heterosexual marriage (husband, lord, wife, lady, pilgrim/saint), and commit suicide by a chalice-and-blade symbolism that mimics heterosexual sex (Romeo drinking a “cup” of poison and Juliet stabbing herself with Romeo’s dagger. Freud couldn’t have done it better). If Shakespeare was thinking “gay allegory!!!” he would have had to at least change or erase the symbolism (straight coding?) of the double suicide, or have Juliet attribute to Romeo explicitly feminine imagery. He would have to have done some major plot rejiggering. He would have had to, in short, change the whole story.

(Unless by “queer narrative” you mean “anything that has an emotionally constipated male lead who doesn’t growl sexily and a female lead who doesn’t cry/faint at the drop of a hat.” That’d be most every narrative, lol.)

Also, I’m hard-pressed to think of love romances that are 100% patriarchal narratives, and those that do (Casablanca, maybe?) are not really true ones, anyway. Patriarchy inherently opposes all romances of love and sex, including heterosexual. It demands that men be raised as soldiers to kill enemies, slaughtered, and discarded, and women as chattel and land to be bought and sold. Marriage was that transferral of property. Having children is necessary, not out of love and care for them, but to propagate the species and create even more future warriors and womb incubators. It grudgingly accepts only (mostly straight and like maybe 1 or 2 gay) love narratives that can be subsumed into this narrow paradigm, but the tension of interpretation is always present. Ideally, it prefers to ignore, diminish, scorn and mock, or even suppress them. I suspect most people’s problems and discomfort with R&J stem from this pathology, this deep-seated unease over anything that touches on human experience patriarchy can’t quite control or subsume.

Shakespeare was obviously no lover of patriarchy (in his personal life, though…well, it’s debatable). His plays resist it greatly to various degrees, and R&J is no exception. R&J hews much closer to the reality of heterosexual love and love in general, which are informed by, though are not inherently tied to, patriarchy (as are gay relationships, sadly). Shakespeare is just being a good writer in throwing most of that rotten apple away; it doesn’t apply to what he was trying to do, anyway. R&J’s challenge to patriarchy, though, is heterosexual in nature.

And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.

True dat.

#romeo and juliet #shakespeare #cristina metas #rj meta #r&j meta #rj are just so boyxgirl op #accept it and you will find peace #repressive traditional gender roles are back in fashion it seems #the victorians couldn’t accept romeo as a man either and had him be played by an actress #but if we’re going to take our notions of gender from the victorians of all people well…

10 notes · View notes

detectivecarlosreyes · 4 years ago

Text

In Case of Emergency (Ch 10/10)

Ao3 | 2.9/21.4k | Buddie | Status: Complete

Prev. Chapter

Chapter 10: What’s Next: The Epilogue Eddie and Christopher have a plan to ask Buck to move in, Buck gets his closure and Chris goes to camp. Set in the end piece of 3x18: What's Next.

As with all the other micro steps they had taken in the relationship up until this point, each one had to be approved first by Chris, because Eddie never wanted to overstep his son’s comfort, and this was no different.

“Bud, would you be okay with me asking Buck to move in with us?”

“Isn’t he already living with us?”

“Kind of, I know he stays over a few nights a week at the moment, but this will be a little different. It’ll mean he won’t have his apartment anymore and will live with us all the time instead.”

With understanding now shining in his eyes, Christopher was on board with the idea immediately bouncing in his seat, “Ohhhhh, okay!”

“So that’s a yes? You’re okay with him moving in?”

“You asked me ages ago if it was okay if he could stay over sometimes. It will be better with him here all the time.” And then he added, as sassily as a 9-year-old could, “Besides, I like it when he’s here, Bucky is a better cook than you.”

“Oh, so we’re being cheeky now, are we?” Unable to let the slander stand he descended upon Chris with a grin and attacked him with tickles, leaving peals of laughter echoing throughout the house in its wake.

Eventually, when the giggles subsided, he told Chris his plan and left him with the important job to decorate the small cardboard box that he bought the other day that they would present Buck’s house key in and make it official.

Now he just had one more thing to do before everything was in place.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

In some ways, Buck had felt like he was still reeling from that moment he first saw Abby after all that time apart. Even now, it seemed as if after finally getting that long overdue sit down with her, that it didn’t seem like it was enough, maybe nothing they said ever would be.

Sure, he was glad to see her happy and had found herself again while she travelled, he could never begrudge her of that after the years she had with her mother. It just would have been nice to get some communication about where she was at wit the relationship. If she had been honest about it when she knew she wasn’t coming back anytime soon he would have been fine with it, because at least then he wouldn’t have felt so strung along, feeling like him waiting wasn’t enough, that he wasn’t worth coming back to.

The fact that though she was sorry for the way he found out about it all, she didn’t actually apologise for how their relationship ended; or more specifically by not actually explicitly giving him the courtesy of breaking up with him. Despite not wanting to harbour any grudges over it he knows it will probably always leave a bitterness to the relationship.

It wasn’t until after he walked away, leaving her on the park bench did he realise why the conversation left him lacking. His part in the relationship was never an important factor to her, not once in her explanation did she seem to consider what she did would affect anyone else but herself. And really, that was the crux of the relationship, it had revolved around her and her needs leaving the relationship unbalanced.

Eddie was right though. Seeing her again, getting that closure, it was something that he needed to finally tie up that frayed, loose end and allowed him to close the book on the chapter in his life once and for all, no longer questioning what went wrong.

It made him realise how lucky he was now. Having found himself in the best relationship he’s ever been in. One that left him and Eddie as equals borne out of mutual love and respect of one another that didn’t leave one more important than the other. They were partners in more ways than one, feeding off each other and becoming each other’s anchors.

As he walked away with Eddie on his mind as he left, he sent him a quick text saying he was going to stop at their favourite bakery and picking up their usual on his way home.

When he finally pulled into the driveway, Buck breathed a sigh of relief, happy to put the day behind him and just be with Chris and Eddie. Getting out of the car, with the bag of freshly baked goods in one hand and his keys in the other he makes his way to the door, fumbling to find the house key only to find it missing.

With a frown he knocked on the door, feeling silly not having his key on him. Eddie was quick to answer looking almost bemused by the circumstance and opened the door wide. Stepping inside, he touched a kiss to Eddie’s cheek as he passed.

“I think I lost my key? But I swear I had it yesterday, I-I can’t imagine how it could have fallen off the key ring.” He offered the explanation as to why he was knocking on the door, something he hadn’t done in some time.

“Don’t worry about it, we can just get another one cut,” Eddie responded lightly and Buck could hear Eddie’s footsteps following him after closing the door, trailing him to the kitchen.

“How did it go?” Eddie asked him gently, changing the subject as he placed his hand over his own still holding the bag of baked goods that he sat on the kitchen bench.

He sighed another relieved sigh before smiling at him, comforted by his tact, “You were right. It didn’t go exactly how I thought it would, but I’m glad I saw her, I needed the closure.”

“That’s good, I’m glad you got what you needed.”

Before he could elaborate more on what else he realised from his meeting with Abby, the clatter of crutches interrupted them and Chris all but crashed into his side, wrapping his arms around his hips.

“Buck! You’re back!” Gasped Chris before turning to his dad excitedly, “Can we give it to him now?”

Buck looked between Chris and Eddie quizzically and only became more confused upon seeing Eddi’s face light up, seemingly unable to deny his son’s request. “Alright, we can give it to him now. Why don’t you go get it.”

“Okay!” And then he was gone, moving as swiftly as his crutches would allow back in the direction of his room.

He turned back to Eddie, feeling very much out of the loop, “Eddie? Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Annoyingly all the response he got in return was Eddie’s smiling eyes and him saying that he would just have to wait and see. Buck rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement at Eddie’s answer but held his tongue in favour of waiting for whatever he was told wait for.

He didn’t have to wait long, with Chris re-entering the room at a hurried pace carrying a small blue box. Buck watched as Chris slowed to a stop in front of Eddie to which Eddie, bent over and whispered something in his son’s ear.

He knelt down when Chris turned back to him, much like when Chris gave him that card at his welcome back party at Athena and Bobby’s all those months ago.

“What’s that you got there, bud?”

Chris just grinned his excitable goofy grin that Buck loves with all his heart and held out the box to him. Buck looked between Chris and the box outstretched in his grasp and took it delicately. Upon closer inspection of the box Chris had just handed him, Buck realised that it wasn’t just blue. It had been hand decorated with a blue marker around the sides, with the drawing of a house adorned on the lid.

With a sharp look between the two Diaz’s, he lifted the lid on the box to find a key resting on a pillow of white crepe paper that he knew was leftover from one of Chris’s class projects that he helped to construct. His key. The one that Chris insisted that they paint the thumb end of, so everyone knew whose key it was, was the same blue as the ring that he had attached to Eddie’s key to his own apartment.

“This is my key. I thought I lost it. What are you two up to?” He asked even though he was already putting the clues together, but he wanted a verbal confirmation of what this gift represented.

“Did you want to ask him Chris?” Eddie asked, moving to stand behind his son with his hands resting atop his shoulders, clearly as excited as Chris was about what was about to be asked.

“Bucky, will you move in with us? O-officially.”

Buck couldn’t stop the sting of happy tears prick at his eyes or keep the wide grin that threatened to split his face. “It would be my honour to move in with you.”

Opening his arms wide, he invited Chris for a hug who instantly fell into his chest wholeheartedly. Looking up over his head, Buck looked at Eddie’s glowing face and reached around Chris to take hold of his wrist to drag him down and make the hug and them complete.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Waking up the next morning, Buck revelled in the domesticity of the moment, sharing the bed with the man that he loves; In the place that he could confidently call home without any further hesitation even though in his mind he’d been calling it that for some time. Everything was perfect and felt so, so right. He knew that nothing had really changed considering that he had been practically living in the Diaz household but it felt different, there was a permanence to it now.

He watched as Eddie slumbered, a much more peaceful and restful version of the man than what he used to be when they first started sleeping in the same bed, no longer on high alert on their days off. Now, Eddie woke sluggishly uninhibited by expectation, knowing that there was no hurry to awaken while Buck was present beside him.

At some point, they left the comforts of the bed and migrated to the kitchen, where Chris would join them from the living room have been watching tv while he waited for them to wake. In the kitchen, he would begin preparing them a cooked breakfast, a common occurrence for when they have the luxury of having a morning together while Eddie moved around him to make the coffee.

With May’s graduation party in the afternoon, they eventually got dressed, doing their best not to dress too similarly but still end up deciding on the same colour scheme. And then, as with the last few gatherings they had been to, the three of them arrived together at the Grant-Nash household in Eddie’s truck.

And with that happiness that came with the day before, Buck found him celebrating and being even more affectionate and open than usual, riding on the excitable energy of everyone around him. Through it all he did eventually find himself seeking out Bobby, remembering what he said on the train and didn’t get the chance to address it in his office after the fact.

With the din of the music at their backs, he joined Bobby on the deck, hands in his pockets, “Hey, um, I just wanted to apologise, f- for the train.”

Bobby just waved away the apology with a shake of his head, “Look it’s alright, we both got a little hot. You doing okay?”

A grin took over at his face as he turned to Bobby, thinking about the previous day, “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good.”

With his thoughts on Eddie and Chris, he corrected himself, “Actually, you know what? I know I am. I’m moving in with Eddie and Chris, they just asked me yesterday.”

“That’s great news Buck,” with that, Bobby offered his hand in congratulations before pulling him in for a hug. Buck sunk into it finding a parental comfort in the embrace and feeling like everything in his life was finally falling into place.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

And so, with him now living with Diaz pair, it was time for him to start the process of ending the lease to his apartment. He had a month to pack his things and sell what furniture he would no longer need, which was most if not all of it.

Boxes were gradually transported between the two locations with Chris helping with the packing and unpacking of the small bits and pieces that he had which decorated the apartment. Chris became the deciding force of what he should keep, even if he didn’t think he needed to keep them and helped find a home for them in the house, wanting to make the space his as much as theirs.

They only had a couple of weeks with him though, before he set out for the long-awaited camp, leaving a card with the two of them as they saw him off, decorated in hearts and stating simply:

You are going to have a Great Time.

Love, Christopher.

Eventually, through their days off, they had the last of his clothes packed in a bag and the last box was sealed, with the last of the bigger items from the bedroom finally sold and ready to be picked up by the buyers in the following days.

“I can’t believe this is it,” Buck said, sitting on the floor of the now empty apartment, Eddie sitting across from him finishing sealing the box, having let himself into the apartment like always only a couple of hours ago with a new roll of packing tape.

With the box sealed, Eddie propped his elbow up on the box before him, resting his face in his hand with a soft smirk playing on his lips, “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

“Absolutely not. Never in a million years.” He breathed, finding himself staring love-struck into Eddie’s eyes. They sit like that for longer than was necessary, faces only a couple inches apart and bodies separated by the box between them.

Eventually, he broke the silence huffing a chuckle to himself, reminded of something Eddie once said.

“What?” Eddie asked good naturedly, a laugh bubbling on the words as he spoke.

Buck propped his head upon his hand, mirroring Eddie, “Are my eyes twinkling like the stars, Eds? Cause yours right now are shining like the sun, they do that when you’re happy, did you know?”

“Oh my god!” Groaned Eddie, burying his face in his hands in embarrassment, “That was so long ago, Buck! I can’t believe I said that, and honestly, I had I hoped you wouldn’t remember.”

“How could I forget!” Buck quietly exclaimed, bemused by the flush creeping up Eddie’s neck and warming his face, “You were far too cute saying whatever you were thinking, Mr astronaut. I’m surprised that you remember though, you were still so far gone at that point.”

“Don’t remind me, that was still the weirdest hangover I’ve ever woken up to. Not to mention the fact that you not only took off my boots for me, but you also plugged in my phone, set an alarm and left a message explaining what happened.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to sleep the day away or wake up confused, let alone do it all while still wearing your boots in bed!”

“Even back then when I was just your friend from work, you cared that much,” Eddie mused, wonder in his eyes.

Buck shrugged bashfully, “I just did what anyone one would do.”

“The fact that you think that--” Eddie shook his head, “The way you care about people is just one of the things I love most about you.”

Eddie groaned as he stood up, stretching his legs before stepping around the box and reached down to him, “Now, come on, it’s time we finished up here and take these boxes home.”

With a soft smile on his lips, Buck placed his hands in Eddie’s and let him haul him to his feet. They took the last of the boxes home, leaving the apartment completely empty, and unpacked them, and 3 days later they were dropping their apartment keys off at the realtor, making it well and truly final.

It was strange to think that all that time ago when they first gave each other their key that they would end up here. Using them rarely for that intended reason of it being an emergency key before their use quickly evolved into something more intimate. That the key to their home was no longer used for emergencies but became an extension to their hearts instead.

And to think that Buck marked the day that the Diaz’s asked him to move in and mirrored it exactly a year later using a similar box that they presented the key in, having re-commissioned Christopher to reprise his role of decorating another one. except this time, it didn’t have a key but a very special ring instead.

Buck barely got the question out before Eddie was already saying yes.

48 notes · View notes