#Stay away from me. Stay at least ten miles away from me at any given time

[sluttish-armchair]

When you’re listening to psytrance to focus and you hear fucking Teal Swan in the mix

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley wins a box seat ticket for the first game of the World Series final, he doesn't think his day could get any better. But when he's given a seat in the press box by mistake, he meets a gorgeous sports writer from New York. And he has one of the best nights of his life.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut (18+)

Length: 6300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was half asleep, sipping on his coffee while he drove to North Island from his house in the soft pre dawn light. He really hated these early training days that started at six o'clock and didn't end until after dinnertime. He'd be in the air all day, and then he'd probably be too tired to stay awake to watch game one of the World Series. 

Everyone on base was excited that the Padres were playing the Angels. A Southern California showdown for the ages. Tickets to game one in San Diego were selling for almost a thousand dollars per seat, but the sports radio host Bradley was listening to was giving them away.

Bradley yawned as the host asked, "Who was the first major league baseball player to pitch a ball over 100 miles per hour?"

"That's easy," Bradley mumbled. "Nolan Ryan." And then he realized that it was 5:30 in the morning and perhaps nobody else who was listening knew that fact. "Huh," he grunted, reaching for his phone at a red light. He dialed the number and was shocked when he got through to the host. 

"Good morning, caller! What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Bradley. From Coronado."

"Do you have an answer for me, Bradley? Which major league player was the first to pitch over 100 miles per hour?"

"That would be Nolan Ryan."

"You sound confident in your baseball knowledge," the host replied. "Double or nothing? I'll upgrade your ticket to a seat in a box suite if you can tell me which team Ryan was pitching against."

Bradley smiled to himself as he pictured the boxes of his dad's old baseball cards that he still had in his garage. "He was pitching against the Chicago White Sox."

And just like that, Bradley was the proud owner of a suite ticket for game one of the World Series at Petco Park later that night. 

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

Your flight from New York to San Diego had been delayed so many times, you were a little surprised you managed to get to your hotel in your rental car and then make it to the game on time. At least you'd been able to start writing your article on the flight. Unless the game went into extra innings, you should be able to finish by your midnight deadline. Because if there was one thing the New York Times didn't mess around with, it was the hard cutoff for your submissions. 

As you made your way to the media entrance at Petco Park, you pulled out your lanyard with your credentials and looped it around your neck. As soon as someone learned that you were a sports writer for the most prestigious newspaper in the country, they were either impressed or they did a double take. You were a freshly thirty year old female with a ten year career in sports journalism, and you didn't take shit from any guys about it. 

In fact, you loved it when men tried to one up you. Because they never could. You knew more than they did about sports, you were an amazing writer, and you found pleasure in shutting them down. Preferably in front of their friends. And then they would inevitably try to ask you out. And you would shut that down, too. It was a game that you were very good at now. 

As you were scanned into the ballpark by a security officer, you quickly made your way up to your assigned press box. You expected the heavy hitters to be there. And of course you'd be the youngest, and probably one of just a few women in attendance. As you climbed the narrow stairs and swiped your badge one last time, you opened the door and strolled past a table filled with food and drinks. And then you saw them: Carl from ESPN, Jack from The Chicago Tribune, Harold from the Los Angeles Times, and Quincy from the Philadelphia Inquirer. You would keep your guard up, because it was just a matter of time before one of them made some sort of comment about your ability to do your job. 

The room was already filling up as you claimed a spot on one of the narrow counters where you could set up your computer and get to work. You removed your lanyard and tossed it next to your stuff, and then you waved to Raya from MSN Sports, the only other female in the room. When you turned to grab a drink and some food, you noticed the flash of a handsome face and a mustache. And then you stifled a scream as you saw and felt a plastic cup of cold beer meet your chest before soaking the front of you completely. 

"Oh, fuck!" came the deep, raspy voice of the most handsome man you could remember seeing in recent history as he stared at your chest. You supposed it was a fair trade, because you couldn't look away from his face no matter what you did. He was hot; all tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy, brown hair. And the blush that crept in and colored his cheeks made him look boyish as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

When he swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to your chest again, you looked down as well. Great. Your light blue lace bra was plainly visible through your white blouse, and the beer was even dripping onto your jeans and your new, white Chucks. 

You just shook your head and shrugged. "It's okay. Shit happens. But why did you bring a beer in here?" you asked. But he still looked so embarrassed and flustered, you decided to mess with him. "Who do you write for? I'll send them my laundry bill."

"Write?" he asked, and yep, that was confirmation that he had the sexiest voice you had ever heard. 

"Yeah," you said, feeling a little flustered yourself as you reached for some napkins to dab your shirt dry. "Tampa Bay Times? Boston Globe? Oh Lord, don't tell me you're from Barstool Sports. I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." That was a lie; you would definitely have remembered him.

"No," he said, watching your every move. "I don't write."

You laughed as his gaze flicked up from your chest to your eyes when you looked up at him. "That explains the alcohol, then. But why are you in the press box? Did you get lost up here?"

He smirked at that. "No. I won a radio contest and got a seat in a box suite. But somehow my ticket got mixed up, and they sent me a media pass instead."

"Really?" you asked, eyeing him up and down now. "I had to pay for a four year journalism degree for my media pass, and you're going to tell me I could have just listened to the radio?"

His laugh was infectious and his smile made you a little giddy as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bradley. I don't think I could manage to write an article about sports, even if I was getting paid to do it. You must be very talented." You preened a bit at his words as you shook his hand. "And I'm really sorry about the beer," he added, gesturing to your shirt. "I'd offer to get you a drink or dinner, but the food in here is free, and you're actually working. So, I'll just stand here like an idiot and keep shaking your hand and apologizing until you tell me your name and tell me to stop. I'm really sorry about your shirt." He was still shaking your hand, and now you couldn't stop smiling.

You told him your first name and then you said, "You can stop shaking my hand now, Bradley." 

"Let me grab you some water?" he asked, and when you nodded, he turned toward the bar in the far corner. And you took in his tall frame, broad shoulders and massive biceps which were highlighted by his Padres shirt. 

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself, still mindlessly dabbing your wet blouse with some napkins.

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

Bradley turned toward you with two water bottles, and thankfully this time he managed to keep the drinks in his hands. You were so fucking cute, and your wet shirt was doing crazy things to him. He couldn't stop smiling, and when you looked up at him and cautiously accepted your drink, you were smiling too. 

"Thanks for not drenching me again," you said, tapping your drink to his. And then Bradley heard an older guy call your name, and you turned in his direction. 

"Nice shirt," he shouted so everyone was suddenly looking your way. "That how you plan on getting an exclusive with one of the players? Sex sells now? I thought this was about the game."

Bradley was appalled that another journalist was talking to you like that, but before he could say that your wet shirt was actually his fault, you were shouting back at the guy.

"Harold, you couldn't even drag your sorry, old ass down to the field fast enough to get an exclusive with the mascot. I don't know how you're not retired or dead yet. Didn't you cover the 1922 World Series?"

Bradley watched Harold purse his lips at you before he turned away and took a seat. And when Bradley glanced down at you as you sipped your water, you looked completely unfazed. And he was ridiculously turned on.

"Damn, nobody should be messing with you," he said, thoroughly impressed. "You're an Ace."

You just rolled your eyes, but you looked very pleased by his words. He already knew he wanted to talk to you all night, but now you were setting your drink down next to your computer and opening it as you sat. "This is a boys club. Just a dick measuring contest. I can't let up for a second or I'll get steamrolled."

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your damp shirt as he asked, "I don't want to commit another beer related crime. You seem to know how this press box stuff works. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," you told him as you licked your lips. "As long as you don't spill anything else on me."

Bradley eased himself down on the stool next to yours, and his knee brushed your thigh. He watched you filling out a baseball stat sheet while you opened up a document on your computer. 

"So what was the trivia question?" you asked as you sipped your water again.

"Trivia question?" he murmured, watching your lips wrap around the rim of the bottle before you took a drink. 

"Yeah, isn't that how you won the pass? For the box seat? Even though you're slumming it with the journalists now?"

"I wouldn't call this slumming it," he said, eyeing your pretty face. "But yeah, they asked who was the first pitcher to throw a ball over 100 miles per hour."

"Oh. Nolan Ryan. Angels versus the White Sox. Nice," you said as you smiled at him. Fuck. You liked sports. You wrote about sports. You were gorgeous, and you knew more about sports than he did. Bradley let his mind drift to peeling off your damp, white shirt and licking the taste of beer off your chest while you moaned baseball stats and ran your fingers through his hair. He could definitely get into that. He briefly wondered if you were going to be at the next game here on Sunday.

And then you were keeping the game stats in your notebook at the same time you typed up notes, and Bradley realized he had missed the first few pitches. "Oof, that was a sloppy curveball," you muttered as you peered down at the field before checking the overhead screen. "He's supposed to be their Ace."

"Nah, you're the Ace," Bradley said, and you turned to grin at him as your fingers brushed against his. There was not a lot of room at this little countertop, and when you tried to nudge his arm out of the way, he wrapped it around the back of your stool. 

"How am I supposed to keep my stats with you taking up so much space?" you asked, but your tone sounded playful, and you leaned a little closer to him. "You're massive."

Those words spoken in your voice had his cock stirring. "Yeah well, not a lot I can do about that, Ace."

That grin was back as you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips, and his gaze followed the motion. "So what do you do, Bradley? I'm going to guess you're not a waiter since you can't walk without spilling drinks. And you're definitely not a writer."

"I'm a pilot. A naval aviator," he told you softly, running his thumb along your back and watching you bite your lip. 

"Fascinating," you told him before returning your attention back to the game and scribbling down the pitch count. And that's when Bradley's gaze landed on your badge which was sitting next to your computer. 

He recognized your full name immediately. "Holy shit. You write for the New York Times."

"Yeah," you replied, turning to look at him before pulling your lip between your teeth again.

"Ace. I recognize your name. You're the best sports writer in the country."

Bradley was blushing, he knew he must be, but your bright smile was focused on him, and he couldn't keep his fingertips from drawing lazy shapes along your back where his hand rested. 

"You know me?"

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at you. "You're famous. I read your articles all the time. I downloaded the New Your Times app solely for you."

When you laughed and gently bit the eraser end of your pencil, Bradley groaned. "You're funny," you told him.

"You're gorgeous." The words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. He thought about apologizing, but then you leaned in a little closer and ran your pencil eraser up his thigh along his jeans.

"Stop distracting me," you whispered, kissing his cheek before returning your attention to your computer. Your lips had brushed the end of his mustache, and he could still feel the soft sensation there as you gazed at him from the corner of your eyes. This was going to be a long night for Bradley.

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

Bradley had called you gorgeous. He was playful, and he kept a smile on your lips. When he made a comment about the Angels' catcher, you told him, "You're completely right. I'm adding that to my piece." And he blushed that deep shade of pink again. 

"Damn, Ace. I'll be thinking about your voice when I read your article tomorrow morning." 

"Mm," you hummed, marking down another strikeout. "It would be fun to read it to you. I think you'd blush. The whole time." 

His lips were parted, and he looked a little surprised. "It would be the filthiest of dirty talk," he muttered, and when you giggled, he grinned. 

You had to bite your lip against the desire to kiss his cheek again. "World Series articles and pitching stats? That's what's gonna do it for you, Bradley?"

"Shit, how dirty can you make those pitching stats?" he whispered, thumb still skimming along the back of your shirt.

"You'd be surprised," you told him, shooting him an innocent look as he nodded at you.

"I'm sure I would."

The more you scribbled down in your notebook as the game progressed, the closer Bradley got to you. His big palm was warm on your back and you found yourself leaning into him more and more. By the eighth inning, his leg was pressed up against yours and he just kept getting closer. 

"Ace, you're killing me," he murmured, taking your pencil and erasing the sloppy note you had written about the Padres relief pitcher. "Let me help."

You laughed as he rewrote your note very neatly followed by what you assumed was his phone number. Oh, he was a bold one. Very handsome, very funny and very bold. 

Without a word, he handed your pencil back to you. "What am I supposed to do with that?" you asked, tapping his phone number with the pencil.

His breath was warm on your cheek as he said, "Save it in your phone. Call it. Text it. Let it know when you're in San Diego. I don't know, Ace. I just like you."

Your lips parted right as the Padres catcher hit a home run, and as everyone else in the ballpark erupted in cheers or groans, Bradley pressed his lips softly to yours. And then you tossed your pencil aside and ran your hand up along his neck. His lips were soft, but damn, his mustache was rough and you liked it. 

You pulled back a few inches. "And if I text you, you're going to write back?" you asked. 

"Immediately," he promised. 

"Well then maybe I'll save your number."

He groaned softly as you marked down the home run. "Are you covering game two on Sunday?" he asked as the ninth inning started.

"I'm covering every game," you told him, letting your hand rest on his thigh. The soft noise he made had you scraping your fingernails softly along his jeans as he watched your hand instead of the game. "I'll be back and forth between San Diego and Los Angeles for the next two weeks or so, if they go to seven games. Which, in my professional opinion, they will." 

After your fingers grazed his zipper, you watched his head tip back, the veins in his neck working as he swallowed. You were pretty turned on now, too. And the way he was responding to you was making things worse by the minute. 

"I'm gonna have to drop a grand on a ticket to see you back here on Sunday, aren't I?" he asked as you shrugged and ran your finger along his belt loop. Then you released him and turned back to type a few sentences for your article. 

"Listen," you told him without looking at him. "There's no guarantee I'm even going to let you have my number, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

He was quiet for a beat as you typed away, and then he said, "How about you let me buy you a drink for real? Right after the game tonight?"

"I have a deadline to meet," you told him, and he looked disappointed as he nodded. "But my article is almost done. And my hotel is right across the street. We could go to the bar there?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, his fingers still at your back. "Anywhere you want."

As soon as the game ended with a Padres victory, you tossed your computer and notebook into your bag, and you were on your feet next to Bradley. "Let's get out of here." 

You took his big hand in yours, glancing up at him occasionally as you tried to beat most of the crowd to the exit. And each time, he was looking back at you, smiling. You led him across the parking lot, and your hotel was in sight when you pushed him up against the brick wall outside of the ballpark. Bradley welcomed your body against his, and he looked at you like he couldn't believe this was happening just before you kissed him.

It was dark over here, even the streetlights were dim. His hands were on your back as your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were rubbing yourself gently against him. 

"Ace," he grunted against your lips. "You gotta let me buy you that drink." 

You could feel him growing harder for you as you kissed him and tasted his tongue. Suddenly the hotel bar was the farthest thing from your mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of your hotel room bed instead. 

"Come on, Bradley," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and leading him further down the sidewalk. He went with you willingly, leaning down to kiss your cheek and your neck as you waited in a crowd of people for the light to change at the crosswalk. 

"You smell good. Like the beer I spilled on you," he groaned, holding you close. The movement of his lips had his mustache prickling your neck. You wanted to feel it on all your sensitive skin. You wanted to see if you could make him blush in bed. 

You and he stumbled across the street and into the hotel lobby where you eyed the bar as he wrapped his big hand around your waist. You looked up at him and asked, "Wanna skip the bar and go up to my room? Find out if I taste good like the beer, too?" 

The sound of Bradley's groan as his hand slid down to your butt had you pressing yourself against his thigh. "Lead the way, Ace."

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

The elevator ride to the top floor was filled with the sound of kissing as well as the little gasping noises you made. Your hands were at the fly of his jeans as he pushed you back against the wall and devoured your mouth. Bradley was so hard and ready for you, he was honestly surprised. He just met you. This was not a usual occurrence for him. 

"Bradley," you moaned, unbuttoning his jeans as the elevator jolted to a stop. You abandoned his jeans for his hand and pulled him down the hallway, running toward your room and laughing. You stopped in front of one of the doors and started to dig in your bag.

He stood behind you and ran his lips along your neck as you gasped for him. You were so responsive, stroking something deep down inside of Bradley every time you reacted to him. He wrapped his hands around to the front of your jeans and started to play with your button as well. When his fingers met the soft skin of your belly, your head tipped back against him. 

"I can't find my room key," you moaned as he ran his hands up inside your shirt. He watched as you gripped the bag with both hands and let your eyes drift closed. 

"You're not really trying very hard, Baby," he said with a smirk. He couldn't believe you right now. So pretty and so lost to his touch. He was throbbing and aching for you, too. 

"Because you're teasing me!" you complained with a laugh. But then you turned in his arms, and suddenly Bradley's hands were on your bare back. Your eyes were wide, bag clutched between your body and his. "This is... not something that I usually do. Especially not when I'm on the job." Your voice was soft, and as you nervously bit your lip, Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Same, Ace," he promised with a smirk. "In fact, I've never had a woman seduce me this quickly before. You're irresistible."

Your laughter was the best thing he had ever heard. "I thought I was the one being seduced here?"

"No," he said, reaching into your bag and plucking out the key. "You're in charge." He handed it to you, and you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him hard before you turned and unlocked the door with your other hand. You pulled Bradley with you as you stumbled backwards into the dark room. 

As you searched blindly for the light switch, you pushed Bradley against the wall. You had your fingers in the hair at the back of his head and your tongue was in his mouth as you located the switch.

"That's better," you mumbled breathlessly as you turned on the light, and Bradley pulled away from you a few inches. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered as he tightened his right arm around your waist. He wasn't being shy about how hard he was for you, and you weren't being shy either. You whimpered as you rubbed yourself gently against him, and he ran his thumb along your cheek and down to your lips. "I haven't been this turned on in so long."

Then Bradley watched you reach down and pull off your white shirt in one smooth motion, leaving you in that sinful looking blue bra before him. You were stroking him through his jeans with your right hand when you whispered, "I thought you were going to taste me, Bradley." Your eyes were wide and innocent looking as you challenged him. 

He nodded slowly. "I wanna taste you everywhere." Then he scooped you up as you laughed, and he carried you to the king sized bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You gonna let me do that?"

"Yes," you whispered right next to his ear, and Bradley eased you down onto the bed with his body weight on top of you. As you started tugging on his Padres shirt, he managed to remove his shoes before reaching down both of your calves and yanking yours off. He tossed them blindly behind himself, wincing as he hit the wall with both of them. 

But you just laughed and pulled his tee shirt up, leaving him in his white tank. You were holding his shirt in your hand as he pressed his lips to yours. "You taste so good here," he whispered, running his tongue along your bottom lip as you wrapped your leg around his hip. Then he kissed your chest before licking a stripe across the top of your lace bra as you bucked your core against him. "Fuck," he groaned. He licked and sucked on the top of your right tit. "Your skin tastes like that spilled beer. I love it on you."

"Well then, you better clean me up with your tongue, since it's your fault in the first place." You tipped your head back, and arched your back off the bed, and Bradley followed your lead, letting his big hands find the clasp of your bra. You moaned softly as he unhooked it and moved his fingers around to ease the fabric away from your body.

"God damn," he groaned before taking your nipple between his lips. Your fingers were tight in his hair as he sucked on you, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your other breast.

"Bradley!" you cried out when he rubbed his mustache across your nipple. He was dying to fuck you, but you were letting him tease the hell out of you, and he was loving this.

"You like that?" he asked, enjoying all the cues you were giving him. He couldn't stop grinning as you whimpered a soft little yes before pulling his undershirt off. 

When you ran your fingers through his chest hair and down his abs, Bradley swallowed hard. Because you didn't stop there. You reached right for his unbuttoned jeans and eased his zipper down. He held himself over you, looking down into your needy eyes as you ran your fingers along the elastic of his underwear before delving inside. You licked your pouty lips before you wrapped your hand around his cock, and then you closed the distance up to his lips with the softest, sweetest kiss. You stroked him slowly while barely brushing your lips against his, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

"Ace," he grunted, and you squeezed your hand around his cock and giggled while he moaned for you. Then you gasped and let go of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately pulling himself away from you while he panted.

Your eyes looked concerned, so he put a little more distance between your bodies. "I don't have any condoms," you whispered as you eased your hand away from him.

Bradley pressed his lips to your forehead. "I think I have one in my wallet. It's new."

"Oh," you gasped. "Should have known," you told him. "You're pretty gorgeous, too."

Bradley wanted to ease your mind, let you know that he didn't hook up with a lot of women anymore. He wanted to tell you that the condom was there for just a special occasion like this one. He wanted to explain to you that the last few he'd had in his wallet had been sacrificed to Jake when he'd been in a pinch at the bar.

But you were easing him onto his back, and he supposed it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It wasn't like you were going to want more from him than just tonight. Besides, he hadn't had anything that wasn't casual in a very long time. 

You were on top of him now, straddling his waist in your unbuttoned jeans, and you were reaching for both of his hands. And when you had your fingers laced with his and pinned his hands over his head, Bradley closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your lips were soft on his face and your thumbs were stroking along his palms in a way that was not only turning him on more, but also providing him with some comfort. 

When you whispered his name, he opened his eyes and he felt surprised by the realization that he only met you tonight. 

"Maybe you should get that condom ready?" you asked softly, rolling your hips against Bradley's torso.

"Yeah," he grunted. And then you were easing down his body, taking his jeans and underwear with you. Bradley propped himself up on one elbow as his cock sprang free. You made eye contact with him, lips parted on a soft whimper. 

"Bradley," you sighed, tugging his jeans, underwear and socks completely off. 

Before you tossed everything aside, he mumbled, "Grab my wallet, Baby." Your eyes met his with so much need before you focused on taking the leather out of the pocket of his jeans, it had him reaching for you. 

You shoved it into his hand before you scrambled back up his body and brushed your fingers through his hair, kissing his lips like he was every goddamn thing you wanted.

Bradley removed the condom and tossed his wallet onto the floor. Then he had you underneath him again. You still smelled like the spilled beer as he kissed his way along your chest, and you were trying to wriggle out of your jeans. "I can take care of that," he whispered, pressing the condom into your hand. Then he had every scrap of fabric removed from your body, and he didn't know if he could handle how perfect you really were. "Ace," he groaned when you eased your feet up his biceps and let your ankles rest on his shoulders. 

Bradley's lips found the inside of your right thigh as if he was drawn to you like a magnet. Your eyes were half lidded, and you had one hand in his hair and one on your tits. How was he going to recover from this?

"Let me taste you," he begged, and when you nodded, his lips were on your pussy immediately. He groaned, already addicted to the way you tasted here too. He kissed along your slit and buried his nose against your clit.

"Oh!" you gasped, tightening your grip on his hair and spreading your legs wider for him. Bradley's cock was throbbing against the bedding as he slid his tongue up through your soaking wet pussy until his lips were wrapped around your clit.

"Yesss," you hissed, gently riding his face as you whispered his name. And with each stroke of his tongue, you got a little louder, your fingers pulled his hair a little more. Oh, he was so fucking turned on for you, he wasn't sure he'd last more than a minute once he had that condom on.

"Bradley!" you gasped, pressing your heel into his back while he sucked on your clit. "Put the condom on."

It took him a little bit to get his lips away from your pussy, because he really wanted to get you off with his mouth. But then he rationalized that you wanted him to get you off with his dick instead, and that sounded perfect, too.

"Okay," he panted, brushing his wet mustache against your belly as you opened the condom for him. He rolled it on and kissed your lips as he pressed himself to your core. Now you were holding him in place by his hair as you returned his kisses, softly moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip into you. You felt warm and tight and perfect, and as you took every inch of him, he stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"Oh god," you whimpered, frantically kissing him and licking his mustache. Your voice was coming in little gasps, and he loved the sound of it.

Bradley withdrew and thrust back inside you, and you rolled your hips with his. "You gotta tell me what you like, Ace. I want to make you feel good."

He watched your eyes go a little wider before you reached for his hand. When you took his index and middle fingers between your lips and started sucking on him while he fucked you, he groaned. "Baby. God that feels fucking great. But don't make me cum yet."

With a soft whimper, you swirled your tongue along his fingers before popping them out of your mouth and guiding his hand down between your bodies to your clit. Bradley had to suck in a deep breath and think about one of his superior officers leading a boring lecture to keep himself in check. He never felt close to the edge this fast, but as he ran his wet fingers along your clit and fucked you into the bed, he knew he could cum if he let himself. 

"Bradley," you whispered, and he buried his face against your neck. "Harder."

He bit his lip and fucked you harder while you whined his name, and he kept his fingers on your clit, trying to work you up. He needed to get you off. He absolutely needed to do this. Because he was hoping you'd call him or text him. He wanted you to save his number and use it. He was already dying for more. 

"Ace," he groaned, pressing his lips to your neck as your fingers drifted down his shoulders to his back. 

You moaned, "I like it when you call me that," so Bradley pressed the nickname against your lips with his until you were gasping and clenching around him. When you came for him, you took his fingers from your clit and laced your hand with his as his movements grew more erratic. 

He was saying something as he came inside you, but he wasn't exactly sure what. And you were looking up at him with a soft, fucked out smile and pushing his hair away from his forehead with your warm hand. And then you let him collapse on top of you while he was still buried inside you, and you ran your fingers back through his hair. 

Bradley settled his cheek against your chest and let himself enjoy the feel of your breathing evening out after your orgasm. You were still making soft sounds as you rubbed your calf along his leg. He could have stayed just like this all night. You felt that good. 

Just as he looked up at you, about to ask if there was any way you'd want to see him again this weekend, you laughed softly. 

"Wow. That was fun."

Fun. He wanted to be more than a fun time. "And good, I hope?" he asked softly. 

"More than good," you whispered, laughing again. "Amazing." 

Bradley smiled at you, and he knew he was blushing. "Yeah. Amazing is the right word for it."

And you were smiling so much, Bradley laughed as you tried to hide behind your hand. He leaned in and kissed your wrist. "Ace, I-"

Bradley jerked away from you as an alarm went off somewhere in the room. When you sat up, he gently eased himself out of you with a grunt.

"That's my thirty minute warning," you told him, scrambling out of bed. "I need to finish my article and submit it."

"Oh," he said, watching you bend to locate your phone. "Right."

You looked at him and licked your lips nervously as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. And then you bent to start retrieving your clothing, and Bradley's heart sank as he stood as well. Wordlessly, he went into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash his hands, and when he came back out, you were dressed in your underwear and the white shirt he had messed up.

"I guess," he whispered, pulling on his own underwear, "I should go then."

You pressed your lips together and nodded slightly. "I guess so."

"Okay," he said, quickly getting himself dressed in everything except his Padres tee. He just held that while he looked at you. "You have my number."

"I do," you whispered. 

"You can use it," he told you with a smile, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. And then your lips were on his. And then your fingers were in his hair again. 

You moaned and then pulled away from him, and Bradley forced himself to walk backwards to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off you. 

"Bye, Bradley."

He didn't want to say goodbye to you, so he said, "See ya, Ace," and then he was out in the hallway with the door closing behind him.

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

Oh, Bradley! I love Ace, and I hope you do, too! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[mxtantrights]

un-ordinary human

a/n: okay I mean it FINAL PART. now I did say I wanted to give you angst, so don't be surprised! that being said if you want a short blurb or bullet points about this story after this def come into my inbox and tell me!!! <33 hope you enjoy (and if you see mistakes, know that I am but a feeble human who wrote this all in one go because I had one (1) idea) thank you again for all the love!!!

part one | part two

The portal lay open in front of you. The swim would be short. You would have to hold you breath for at least ten seconds, which you could do. And then you would go through the portal and be back home.

They weren't sure how it worked. If the same amount of time would have passed there as it did here. If it had been years since you left, or maybe just weeks or hours.

You sigh.

"Leaving them without saying goodbye, little human?" Amren asks.

You turn around to face her. There she is leaning against a wide tree, her arms crossed over her chest. She was the one who knew you wanted to leave tonight. You hold told her as such and said goodbye to her.

But not so much the others. Not Azriel or Eris.

It's not that you wanted to hurt them. But you thought it best to leave without being so dramatic. And without having any more conversations about your love life, or lack thereof.

"I think it's better this way." you answer.

"Or you're just being a coward. And you don't want to get hurt again." Amren pipes in.

She walks over to you slowly. You watch as her arm detangle from themselves. And then she's taking your hands into hers.

"It's okay to want to protect yourself. Just don't lie about it, epically to me." Amren adds on.

You smile sadly, "I'll miss you so much."

"I know. But our friendship wasn't meant to happen. So even this little time we did have, I will cherish." she says.

You can't help the tear that slides down your cheek. Amren swipes it away and smiles with you. You sniffle as she grabs onto your shoulders and shakes you bit.

"I'm going home." you say quietly.

"You're going home." she agrees.

She lets go of you. You take a step back and compose yourself as best you can. You roll your shoulders back and you take a deep breath.

Then you do it. You walk into the lake, you walk and walk until the water reaches your waist. You look back at Amren who gives you a small wave. You wave back.

You hold your breath and dive underwater.

-

There's only one word you can use to describe your world now.

Madness.

Walking through the portal was the best decision at the time for you. You could finally go back home, be normal again. Not have to worry about someone picking you off like prey simply because you are human.

But you couldn't possible expect this.

While you only spent less than ten years with the fae, it's been more than fifty years back home. Meaning everything you ever had is gone, everything you've ever known is changed, and almost everyone you knew is fifty years older than you.

You realized very quickly that you couldn't stay in the place you called home. How could you? Walk around with the same face from fifty years ago? They would call you a witch, they would do awful and vile things to you.

So you made the lonesome trek across the canary isles to the other side. Where no one had heard of you, had ever seen you before. And just for added assurance you changed your name too.

The rumbling began a year after you came back.

You'd feel it pass during the day at work at the local inn, or at night while your were sleeping. And sure enough when you'd go outside the next day there was a new crack in the ground. Cracks spanning for miles. Some ran deep, some were just surface level.

But you knew, you knew what was happening.

How the Canary Isles were rocked by powerful tremors and then sunk. Reemerging as the court of nightmares. You' don't know what scares you most, knowing that the very ground beneath you feet will be submerged underwater at any given moment or that what comes after is fae, and other magical beings.

You wouldn't run. You wouldn't run no matter how much your mind screamed at you to go. And you had plenty of opportunity to. It's not like you would need to pack anything either. Your pay at the inn was enough to eat, bathe and house yourself.

But you couldn't find it in yourself to abandon your home land. Or the people. You couldn't convince all of them that something bad was going to happen without coming off as a with or heretic. So you stayed, you waited, and waited.

All that waiting you did just made you sad. Sad for what was to come, and sad that you didn't say goodbye to Azriel and Eris. You left without a word, without a thought for their pain. You only thought of yourself.

You've regretted it since coming back. But the portal only worked once for you, and closed immediately after.

You waited for five years after the rumbling began. Then it happened. The once large island splintered off into four, uneven pieces. You saw a lot of lives lost that day.

And with the help of those who survived you rebuilt. But in the back of your mind you knew it was for nothing because soon the isles would be gone.

It happens on a normal day. When you are off from work, picking up fresh vegetables for a few of your neighbors. You feel it starting. In your feet, the ground shakes. Then the fruits from the stand to your right start rolling off the display. Apples and pears rolling past you.

The ground cracked where you stood. You tried you best to run. And you did make it quite far. You made it all the way to what used to be the old village, but was now chunks of land in the sea. The land just cuts off with no warning.

And you had no choice. When the large crack made it's slithering voyage to you. There was no decision. There was no left or right step to take. Before you knew it, you were falling into the open ground, into the ice cold water.

-

Amren had this feeling in her gut today. She couldn't bother to eat fresh meat, she couldn't keep focused during training the Nesta, and she couldn't bother to really pay attention to Varian.

Something happened. She just didn't know what.

And she would have stayed this way if it weren't for the interruption almost four hours after she felt it but Eris. He winnowed into the kitchen, cheeks flush and eyes wide.

She was the only one there. The only one to witness him like this.

"I can't feel it. The bond. I can't feel it anymore." he got out.

Amren turned to him, "She went home years ago, wouldn't you have felt it then?"

"I'm unsure. But this, it feels cold. Like I'm tied to a piece of ice." Eris answers, his hand placed over his chest.

In a matter of seconds, Azriel comes bursting into the kitchen. He sees Eris, and his very distressed state, and then he takes in Amren. Amren who has a look of worry on her face.

"It's happened. The Isles, they sunk into the water." Azriel speaks.

Eris looks at him bewildered, "But that can't be. She just got there. Are you saying she went home only to die in five years?"

"Maybe the time was different there. We don't know." Amren offers.

"Nyx said that my hands felt cold. I didn't even notice until I asked Cassian to feel them." Azriel confesses.

"Wait, how could you feel something when you-" Amren cuts herself off.

She looks at Azriel then. His eyes down trodden, watery. It was one thing for him to lose someone he really cared for, but this was more emotion that that. This, this was the loss of a mate.

"Is this what it will feel like? Forever?" Eris asks, mainly to himself but still out loud.

He's seemingly too in shock to put together what Azriel just divulged.

Amren felt it then. The feeling she got that morning. It wasn't some enchantment or some new groundbreaking emotion. It was guilt Guilt that she had let you go to your death.

-

A few months later and Azriel isn't himself. He's tried his best but he cannot seem to function at the level he's used to. His hands remind him of you being gone.

He hadn't told anyone. Still hasn't, to this day. But he felt it. He felt it when you asked him why you were so important to them. He felt the bond snap.

And he hid it. He hid it with ease, with the same amount of effort Eris used to hide his bond with you.

Azriel is standing in Rhys' office, waiting for Eris to come in. Apparently he received a letter from Kalias about something important.

The ginger haired male steps into the room and takes Eris in. The dark circles under his eyes, his usual smirk gone. Azriel never thought he'd see the day.

Eris walks in without a word and passes the note to Azriel. He doesn't even look in his direction when he does it. Azriel reads the note out loud quickly.

Special request. In need of Fire abilities. And espionage skills. Urgent item in need of acquiring.

"I don't see why not." Rhys says.

"It's beneath me, is why." Eris scowls.

"The both of you could use this right now. You won't be back to your old selves but maybe it's what you need." Rhys tries again.

Azriel lets a moment pass.

"I'll go on your orders." he says to his friend.

Rhys chuckles, "I don't want you to go because of me. I want you to go because this is something new."

"Bring a flame-thrower. I'm going home." Eris barks.

Eris heads for the door but as soon as his hand lands on the knob, Rhys starts speaking again.

"Kalias called for the two of you. I wouldn't want to risk any court relations because you decided not to show up." Rhys replies.

Eris turns around, angry.

"Who cares about some lost artifact, which is probably all that it is." Eris argues.

"Kalias does. And if you want an alliance with this court, you'll join Azriel." Rhys speaks sternly.

Eris and Azriel pass a look to one another. They haven't been in the same room since that day they both felt her lack of presence.

"Fine."

"Whatever."

-

Kalias leads both Azriel and Eris down a tunnel of ice. One that was being carved open for years. Over a decade of fae had taken their picks and hatchet to this iceberg in hopes of finding something, anything that could clue them into the history of the court.

And for a while it was nothing. Just ice, the ver present chunk of frozen terrain, and then more ice.

Until a few months ago. When a fae swore he saw something larger than a piece of land. With no distinct shape. They took their time and picked and chipped at the ice until they could get close enough to the unidentified object.

But what they soon realized was their tools could very well disturb the state of the object. They could chip at the ice wrong and a piece could break off.

And that's why Kalias needed Eris. A male in the fiercest control of his fire powers that could melt the ice and procure the object. Once he had the object, depending on what it was, he needed to keep it safe. Who best but the spymaster himself?

Kalias stops once he reaches the spot. He points tot he blurted object in the ice.

"You'll need to be very careful. Too quick and you may very well melt or burn the object. But too slow and the very ice beneath us could give way." the high lord says.

"A death mission." Eris grumbles.

"We could winnow out of here before anything bad happens. But that would presumably leave this object lost to us forever." Kalias adds.

"Please don't kill us." Azriel says to Eris.

Eris raises his hand up to the ice wall. Slowly but surely the ice begins to melt. Drips of water landing on the floor and freezing again into ice.

Kalias watches in amazement.

Azriel does too.

The object getting more clear with each passing moment.

Kalias gasps, "That's a body!"

Eris stops for a second. He takes a step back.

"Keep going, Eris." Azriel says.

Eris places both his hands on the sheet of ice wall in front of him. Carefully he use his fire to melt the ice down even more. Not too quick but fast enough. The ice keeps melting, thinning the space between the three of them and the body.

Eris gets close. So close that he is scared of what he might see. Scared that it might be bones wrapped in clothes and garb. Or there might still be flesh on the body.

"Carefully now." Kalias instructs him.

Azriel's shadows come up the shell of his ear. They only ever do that if they have something to say to him. An important detail. A secret. A wrong move.

Eris pushes a bit farther and the body becomes easier to make out. So easy in fact that he feels like he can't stop. He can't stop, and Azriel's shadows seem to make out what the object finally is.

Eris and Azriel gasp at the same time.

There is the sheet of ice, half frozen and half thawed, is you.

-

"She'll be disoriented at best. There isn't any tonics or healing techniques for this type of situation." a voice says above you. It sounds older, feminine.

"But she'll be okay?" another asks. A male voice. A bit low.

"I'll have to check her vitals every few hours. And she shouldn't be crowded by too many faces. But, by my account, she'll be okay." the female voice.

"Thank you so much Majda." a new voice says. Male. A bit lower than the first one.

"Don't thank me yet. The road will be long to recovery."

"I think we'll take it." another voice says. Another female voice.

You try opening your eyes but they feel so heavy. And everything feels so cold. It wasn't like you to feel this cold. The Canary Isles weren't cold like this. This feels like a tundra nipping at the blood in your body.

You groan at the feeling.

"She's getting up. I need the three of you back."

You can faintly feel someone's touch on you. If you're in bed, there should be no one in your home. You live alone. But maybe something happened?

You try to speak but your throat feels sore.

"Don't try to speak just yet. You'll need something for that. When you're ready I want you to open your eyes." the older females voice says.

You swallow. Then you try opening your eyes again. It happens slowly. You feel like you have to peel them open, but they open. There is no light where you are. Which is weird because you sleep with the curtains half open usually.

The scent in front of you is very blurry. You can make out one face in front of you.

"Shake your head for no, and nod for yes. Can you see me?" she asks.

You shake your head. You reach up for your eyes but you feel her grab onto your hands.

"I applied something to your eyes to help you open them. But I'll wipe it off now before you rub it in." she says.

You nod your head once. She tells you what you're about to feel. And when you fell the damp cloth across your eyes your still flinch. But you let it happen.

As she wipes your vision clears up. And you can finally place her. Majda. If this is Majda, then that means...

Your heart starts racing.

"She's panicking. I need hands. Now." She says behind her back.

Which makes you look to what's right in front of you. Well not what, but who. Amren. Azriel and Eris.

Flashes of what led to you being here go through your mind. The rumblings. The cracks in the ground. The isles being split into four. The last day. How the land swallowed you whole and you landed in the water. Nowhere to swim to.

You're back here. Again.

"Lovesick fools, Amren!" Majda yells.

Amren comes over to your side. She rushes over and makes you lay back down completely. You're not in control of your emotions or your body. You can feel yourself flailing around but you can't stop yourself.

Weakly, you whisper, "Amren?"

"I know, I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." she says.

"I won't give you the whole dose but, you need to calm down." Majda says to you.

Then you feel the pinch in your arm. You look over to your left side. A needle in your arm. It beings back memories of Beron. Poking and prodding at you, trying to figure you out. You let out a wail.

"That dose was nothing. It went right through her."

Amren looks behind her, "One of you do something!"

You watch as both of them walk over to you.

Eris slower than Azriel, who joins you on your left side where Majda is. He kneels down and extends his hand to yours.

As if to ask you to take it.

You want to cry. And that is what you do. You feel the tears roll down your cheeks as you look at him. His eye wet too. His lips form a sad smile when you take his hand softly.

The fear and the pain seeping through you seems to slow down a fraction. You feel like you can breathe again. You look over to your right side, where Eris and Amren are.

Eris makes a move to come closer to you but seems to think against it. You reach out your hand for him. He looks down at your hand, shock written all over his face, and then back up at you.

You nod your head at him.

He gives in fairly quickly. Eris takes your hand in his. You can feel the warmth from him and you let out a sigh. You settle into the bed below you a bit more.

"We thought you were gone. We felt it, the coldness." Eris says.

You're brows scrunch in the middle and you look over at Azriel. The last you checked, he couldn't feel anything like Eris could.

"I lied too. I'm sorry." Azriel speaks.

You shake your head, wanting so desperately to speak to them. To tell them how sorry you were. How you shouldn't have left without a goodbye. Or how you shouldn't have left them in such turmoil.

You take your hands and move them up both of their arms, willing them closer. Eris takes the hint first and sits on the edge of the bed. When your hands travels further, up his opposite shoulder he stills.

Azriel leans forward and places his head forward, into your side. Your hand snakes from his arm to the back of his head, your fingers in his hair.

It's then, and only then, that Eris tucks his head into your shoulder. And you finally feel like you're able to breathe normally. You reach up and rub the nape of his neck.

Sure the first time you got her had been some freak accident. But this time? This time had been fate pre-determined and unrelenting.

[bloatedandalone04]

Thief - Too Close Part 2

Series Masterlist

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 11.2k | Previous Part | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“Oh, my God, Leon,” you gasp as you open the front door, the chilled air sweeping in and making you repress a shiver as you wrap your cardigan further around your body. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” he mumbled, the metallic taste of blood consuming his mouth. “I just need you to help me, first.”

You nodded almost instantly, your hand grabbing his and beginning to pull him into your house. 

At his resistance, you glance back and give him a confused look. He just shakes his head. “Not here,”

Shaking your own head, you tried not to focus on the way his lips dripped blood and the black eye that had formed on the left side of his face. “Leon-”

“Please,” he cut you off, his voice muffled as he leaned against the doorframe, his body feeling like it could give up on him at any given second. His tone was harsh without him meaning it to be, something that had your brows furrowing at the unfamiliar sound. “Please, baby, just trust me. I need you to come with me.”

You chew on your bottom lip before reaching over and tugging on your converse, ignoring the way the back scratched against your ankles due to your lack of socks. You grab one of his arms and wrap it around your shoulder, your other hand closing the door behind you. 

Leon blindly reached in the pocket of his jeans, his fingers finding the keys to his car. He hands them to you while also trying not to put his entire body weight on you. He felt embarrassed at the thought of you seeing him like this, beaten and bloody and bruised. He hated that he showed you this side of him when it was the last thing he ever wanted to involve you in.

But he had no one else to go to. He hadn’t seen his family in years, and his few friends were miles away. He didn’t trust your father’s men and he sure as hell didn’t trust his boss. That only left you.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you helped him walk to his car, propping his weight onto one side of your body as you pulled open the passenger side door. 

“My place,” he mumbled before letting out a grunt of pain as he fell against the seat. 

Closing the door, you nearly sprint to the drivers side and climb in, your eyes immediately looking over at your boyfriend. He leaned against the window, his heavy eyes trying to stay open as blood fell from his mouth beyond his control. “I don’t know where you live,” you quietly point out, your heart dropping when you catch sight of the blood that covered the steering wheel. 

Leon groaned as his forearm pressed against his abdomen. “I’ll tell you,”

You cover your hand with the sleeve of your cardigan before wiping away most of the blood and starting the car. “Okay,” you shakily breathe out, looking over at his motionless form. “You need to stay awake for you to be able to tell me, you know that, right?”

Leon just nodded, waving you off and groaning at the pain that shot through him at the movement. 

Without another word, you back out of the questionable parking job done by him and leave the driveway. You pull out onto the dirt road that led to your house, glancing over at Leon, who was slipping in and out of consciousness. “Where am I going?” It would be at least a ten minute drive until you were on the highway, but you still wanted to be prepared when you got to that point. 

Leon huffed quietly, raising his hand to weakly point at the windshield. “Turn right when you reach the main road,” was all he said.

Hundreds of trees passed by in a blur, the setting sun making the dirt road a bit harder to see. “Where is Harvey?” You ask, knowing about Leon’s close bond with him. He was one of the few people on your dad’s side that Leon actually trusted and had been assigned to scout out many areas with him, resulting in a friendship forming. 

One of his shoulders raised in a shrug. “I don’t know,”

You tear your eyes away from your beaten boyfriend as you finally reach the end of the road, barely coming to a stop before turning right. “Where to now?” You question as you glance over at him. He was hunched over, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips parted. “Hey, stay awake. I need you to keep your eyes open, okay?” You tried not to sound panicked as you spoke to him, knowing that you needed to keep him talking so he wouldn’t pass out. 

“Keep going…it’s maybe a five minute drive until the next turn,” Your heart felt like it was beating a million miles per minute and you took a deep breath as you looked back at the road. He sounded so tired and on the verge of passing out before you made it to his house, something that wasn’t ideal as you would then be forced to take him to the hospital, something that would most likely do more harm than good because of his job.

In another attempt to keep him talking, you keep your eyes forward as you ask, “What happened?”

Leon just shook his head, a pained grunt leaving his mouth at the movement. His head was pounding and even the sound of your sweet voice didn’t seem to help it in any way. 

You curse under your breath, shaking your own head as you gripped the wheel tighter. “I knew we should’ve done this at my house,” you muttered. “Fuck whatever my dad would’ve said about it.”

Leon dismissed your worried tone with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine,”

“You’re not fine!” You felt like a mother scolding her kid on something they were told not to do but did anyway. “Why can’t you tell me what the hell happened?”

“Y/n, please,” he begged, something he had never done before. It had you shutting up pretty quickly. “Not now.”

You wanted to push him more, but decided against it when you heard the quiet whimper he tried to hold back. “Okay,” you mumble, reaching over to brush his hair out of his face with one hand. “Okay, just…tell me where to go next.”

It was considered a miracle when Leon somehow made it through the rest of the ride.

The highway turned into a road, and the road turned into a dirt path. It was dark out now, the sun had long since set and left you to turn the high beams on to be able to see even a little bit in front of you. 

With the mix of dust and dirt that surrounds the car, you were certain you were lost and that Leon had given you the wrong directions by accident. Just as you were about to ask him where you were, he sits up straight and nods his head to the right. “Stop over there,”

You reluctantly do as he said, stopping in the direction he pointed to. Before you could ask him where his house was, you look over and see a trailer. It looked empty and if you didn’t know any better you’d think it was abandoned. Looking back at your boyfriend, you see a look of embarrassment flash across his face before he moves his hand to open the door. 

Quickly getting out of the car after grabbing the keys, you reach him just as he falls forward, his hand gripping the door frame tightly as you wrap his arm around your shoulder. With Leon putting most of his weight on you as you stumbled towards the trailer, you took it upon yourself to fumble around with his keys before finding the one that would unlock the door. 

As you tried to lead him over to the couch, you nearly jumped out of your skin at the pained yelled he let out when you tugged on his arm. He pulled away from you and that was when you noticed the odd shape his shoulder was in. “Oh, God,” you say quietly, tugging on the bloody sleeves of your cardigan as you shift uncomfortably. “I think it’s dislocated-”

Before you could finish that observation, Leon grabbed the wrist of his injured arm and pulled it forward quickly. The sound of his bone snapping back into place had you covering your mouth with your hands, your eyes widening at the loud yell he emitted before stumbling forward and knocking a glass cup off the table. 

It shattered on the ground just as he fell forward and landed on the couch with a low groan, his eyes closing as soon as his body hit the cushion. “Leon?” You rushed over to him, caressing the sides of his face and lifting his head. You gently slap his cheek, your heart stopping when you get no response. “Fuck.”

You stand up quickly, looking around the unfamiliar room before making your way down the small hallway. Entering the bathroom, you pull open the cabinet and grab bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and a couple pill bottles. 

You throw the items on the couch beside him before rummaging through the small kitchen, grabbing a few dish towels in your search. Once you had everything you needed, you sat next to Leon, your heart loud in your ears as you wet the towel with the peroxide. Gently placing your hand under his chin, you lift his head as you use the cloth to wipe away the blood that covered his mouth.

Glancing at his still closed eyes, you found a small amount of relief when you notice the way they moved under the lids. Briefly, you wonder what he was dreaming about, before continuing to clean his face of the horrifying red substance. 

-

Leon huffed as he walked up the long driveway, any and all air successfully drained from his lungs once he reached the front door. His finger pressed down on the doorbell as he placed his other hand in his pocket, his eyes fixated on the marbled design that lined the frame of the door.

He will never understand why Clark had such a big infatuation for marble. Having been in the house more than once, Leon knew all about the marble countertops, marble flooring and marble fireplace. Fuck, was the man arrogant. 

A few seconds pass and Leon raises his hand to knock instead of ringing the bell again. Before his fist could come into contact with the wood, the door swung open and revealed someone he had never seen before. In person, at least. 

“Hi,” you say cheerfully, if not a bit hesitant. Leon doesn’t say anything as his hand drops back down to his side, making you shift from one foot to the other, a pair of fuzzy light pink socks keeping you warm from the cold marble tile that made up the front hall. “Are you looking for my father?” You ask quietly when he doesn’t answer, leaning against the door and half hiding yourself behind it. 

Leon nodded, standing up a bit straighter, trying to ignore the very little clothing that covered you. A light grey tank top and black sweat shorts left your arms and legs bare, exposing your smooth skin to him. 

He tried to keep his wandering eyes at bay as he cleared his throat, but he couldn’t deny that you were even prettier in person compared to the countless pictures in frames that were littered around your house. 

“He’s not here right now. He’s still out running an errand,” you say and Leon knew right then and there that you had no idea of what exactly your dad got up to in his free time. You were so innocent. 

“Oh,” was all he could say, shoving his other hand in his pocket as he stepped away from you. “Okay. Thanks.” Part of him curses at how short lived the conversation between the two of you was. 

Before he could fully turn around, you moved forward and opened the door further. “You can wait for him inside, if you want,” you call out to him, bringing your hand up and biting down on your thumb when he turns back around to face you. “Only if you want. I know how long the road to our house can seem sometimes, I’d hate for you to have to come back again later.”

Leon tenses up at your offer, something you notice. 

You step away again. “He should be home soon,” you mumble. “He said by six and it’s nearly five thirty now.”

You seemed intimidated, and he hated knowing he made you feel that way. You were just being nice, acting so differently from the way your father acted. Without even knowing you, Leon could tell that you and Clark were total opposites. 

Your dad was ruthless, mean and ignorant, only focusing on what he could do to get more money and have his perfect little town bowing down to his every need. He was dangerous, much like Leon was, and had more blood on his hands than you would ever know.

But you were sweet, had kind eyes and a curious smile. You welcomed him into your house with a small grin and a tilt of your head, only worried about him having to make the same trip twice in the same day. 

How could he turn up that offer from someone like you?

Turning back to you, he dropped the tenseness in his body and wiped the stone cold look he was so used to wearing off his face. “Okay,” he said again, stepping towards you and trying to ignore the scent of vanilla that filled his nose when he brushed past you. 

You close the door and move to stand next to him. “Um,” you play with the bracelet on your wrist, one Leon recognized as the one he was sent off to get a few weeks prior. The one that read ‘Daddy’s Girl’. “You can wait for him in here.”

Leading him into the den, you took notice of the way he moved as if he already knew the layout of the house. Seeing as this was your first time meeting him, there was a very real possibility that he had been here many times before without your knowledge, something that was made even clearer as he walked around the side table and avoided stepping on the area of the floor that creaks. 

He sits down on the leather couch and glances up at you, who was still standing near the doorframe. “So,” you trail off, looking at the various paintings you had grown up with that hung on the tall walls. “How long have you known my dad?”

‘Known your dad’? Fuck, you really are innocent. 

You had no idea that he was one of the many men who worked for your dad, had killed for your dad and had stolen for your dad. Leon was in disbelief that you really had no clue what was going on behind closed doors in your own house, the mansion that it was.

“A while,” was all he said, holding back a smirk at the way you refused to meet his eyes. 

“That’s cool,” you nod, your fingers tugging on the gold around your wrist. “What are you two planning to do once he gets home?”

Leon shook his head, leaning back on the couch and resting his arm on the back of it. “How old are you?” He asked, watching the way your face heated up at his question. “You seem old enough to figure that question out on your own, sweetheart.”

And what a sweet heart you had. 

You give him a playful shrug, daring to step closer to him. “I’m twenty one,” you answer him, moving to sit on the coffee table that was a couple feet from him. “And you seem old enough to answer a simple question without getting defensive about it.”

The way you returned his tone had him failing to hold back a surprised smile. “It’s just business,” he simply said, making you squint in confusion, but you didn’t voice it.

“Oh,” was all you said, matching the way he said it at the front door. A few seconds pass before you look back up at him, a small grin on your lips - the same lips Leon had failed to stop glancing at every time you looked at him. “How old are you?”

He shakes his head at your question, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. “Twenty seven as of this week,”

Your brows raise in surprise. “Oh, wow,” you trail off, discreetly crossing your legs and leaning back on the table. “You’re younger than most of my fathers friends. Better looking, too.”

Leon was caught off guard at your sudden burst of confidence, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel the tiniest bit turned on. But you are his boss’s daughter, there was no possible way that anything could happen with you. It just couldn’t. 

Still, he found himself returning the flirt with no hesitation at all. “You’re not too bad yourself,” he said casually. “You must get your looks from your mother.”

You shrug, a grin on your lips. “She was quite the pretty lady,” you agree. “So, what’s your name?”

The two of you talked for the next two hours before you were interrupted by your dad stumbling through the front door, the sound making you move away from your place next to Leon. You had moved off the uncomfortable wooden table and sat next to the man as your conversation went on, both of you noticing the way the space between you grew less and less, yet neither of you did anything to stop it.

Until your dad entered the room and you stood up quickly. “Dad! You’re back!” You hugged him, ignoring the way Leon’s eyes burned a hole into your back. “I was just keeping Leon company until you got home.”

Leon stood up as you pulled away, trying to keep his wandering eyes under control. “I hope that’s alright, sir,”

Your dad ignored your confused look, the whole ‘sir’ thing never making sense to you. “No problem,” he answered, placing his hand on Leon’s shoulder as he guided him towards his office. “Sorry I’m so late. I had some unfinished business.”

“That’s okay,” Leon answered, glancing over his shoulder and meeting your eyes. “Nice to meet you, Y/n.”

You gave him a small smile and a wave, watching as the two men disappeared down the hall. All you were left with was the small ounce of hope that filled you at the thought of seeing him again.

-

The few pictures that lined the walls of the trailer held unfamiliar faces, but you could tell by the appearances that they were Leon’s parents. His father’s striking blue eyes and his mother’s bright blonde hair were the perfect combination to make the man still passed out on the couch a few feet away. 

The photos filled you with a sense of happiness, knowing about his past with his family and how bad it was. The fact he still had their pictures made your heart swell as you never really took him as the family type, not after what he told you, anyway.

The one picture that had your heart skipping was one that was stuck to the fridge by a magnet. It was the smallest one, a simple polaroid that included the two of you. Only half of Leon’s face was visible in the photo while the rest of it was taken up by you, your lips pressed to his cheek in a messy kiss. It was slightly blurred as you had taken the photo when he was least expecting it. 

The small, half smile on his lips was what had your heart pounding loudly in your ears. It was a rare sight, and that was further proved when you compared the polaroid to the pictures with his family. His dad’s hand was gripping Leon’s shoulder tightly, the older man’s face stern and unfriendly while Leon looked uncomfortable. A hint of a smile was present on his face in the photo with his mother, his arm loosely hung around her shoulder, but neither photo showed him looking truly happy, like the one with you. 

Your hand reached up to absentmindedly touch your necklace, your finger running along the carved LK while you examined the small space of what you could only assume Leon considered his house. 

He had never told you where he lived or what his living situation was like, and you never expected it to be like this. All of the other men who worked for your father would always brag about how much money they had and how nice their houses were, so you knew Leon also had a fair amount of money to his name. It was odd that he was living in the middle of nowhere, but it also brought you the smallest bit of comfort knowing that it was quite the drive to get here. 

That means he’s as safe as he could be when he’s not with your dad, right?

Before you could get too lost in thought, you hear the sound of the couch creaking, the old springs squealing as Leon pushed himself into a seated position. The worn out blanket you had thrown over him fell to his lap, his body hunched over and mirroring the way he looked back in the car. 

You were rushing over to him and sitting down on the couch within seconds. “Hey,” you murmur, lifting a hand up to brush away the hair that covered his eyes. “How are you doing?”

Leon groaned quietly, his tired eyes fixated on the dried blood that stained the sleeves of your cardigan - something you had meant to take off and discard before he woke up, but forgot when you caught sight of the photos. “Sorry,” he muttered, holding your wrist in his hand.

 You shake your head, placing your other hand on his shoulder, gentle as to not disturb his sore arm. You try not to think about how loud the sound was when he popped his shoulder back into place, the sickening snap making you feel nauseous. “Are you seriously apologizing for that?”

He shrugged, withholding a wince at the pull of his muscle. “This was one of your favorites,”

“And I’ll get another one,” you wave him off, pulling your wrist away and tilting his head slightly, making him squint from the light of the lamp you had turned on. A somewhat sigh of relief leaves you as you observe his face, a small amount of blood that you missed still sticking to his skin. “It looks like the swelling has gone down a bit.” 

You reach over and grab the pill bottles, dumping one from each container into your palm and trying to ignore how you could feel his eyes watching your every move. 

“Here, take these,” you hand him the pills and narrow your eyes at the blood that still stained his hands. “I’ll get you some water.”

He shook his head, placing the pills in his mouth and grabbing your arm again. His free hand reaches beside the couch and pulls out a half empty bottle of whiskey and you watch as he sips a fairly large amount of the liquid before swallowing. 

You refrain from showing your distaste for the way he coped with pain and instead grab the wet cloth from before, the tan fabric now stained red. Wiping away the blood from his hands, you break the silence, “How are you holding up?”

Leon couldn’t meet your eyes, his face heated from both the punches he took earlier and from embarrassment at the fact that you had to take care of him when he wished you never saw him this way. He always came off as a tough guy, one who was careful and used violence as a last resort. He said he could take care of himself, and he could - the blood on his hands not actually being his own, but his attacker’s. Yet here he was, beaten and bruised, knuckles sore from the punches he threw back and shoulder burning with pain. 

“I’m fine,” he answered, looking around the room in shame. This was not how he wanted you to see this place. Actually, he didn’t want you to see this place at all. He only slept here, really. He was always with your dad, and by default, at your house. All this trailer was to Leon was his safe place, somewhere only he and Harvey knew the location of. Well, him, Harvey and now you. 

But you didn’t seem interested in where he lived. You seemed more concerned about him in general, your weary eyes giving away just how worried you were about him. He shouldn’t be surprised, you were never one to judge someone for their misfortunes and further embarrass them for things they had no control over. 

And it also didn’t come as a surprise that you looked past his secrets and discarded them as not being your business. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”

Leon sighed before nodding and carefully sitting back, his hand lazily holding yours in an attempt to give himself some form of comfort. “Your father was getting really angry earlier. He was frustrated because he was tipped off of a potential outsider among his men. Something about missing money and information given to an old enemy. Whatever it was, he was pretty pissed when Harvey and I got to your place,”

You furrow your brow. “You were at my house today?” 

“Yeah, it was only briefly as your dad sent us away pretty much right after we got there since he wanted us to go interrogate this guy named Linus,” his free hand raised to give air quotes to the word ‘interrogate’. “It was a total setup. We were attacked as soon as we got there.”

“Where?” 

Leon’s tired eyes stayed fixated on the carpet as he answered, “Some old repair shop,” after you nod in understanding he continued, “Harvey took a crowbar to the face and I got a fist to the jaw and it was complete chaos after that. I don’t even remember what happened until I was nearly crawling out of there and covered in blood that wasn’t all mine. I don’t even know what happened to Harvey.”

You give his hand a comforting squeeze, inching closer to him out of habit. 

“I didn’t know where else to go. Thought about calling up your old man and saying some not-so-nice things that would’ve probably made him finish the job the guys at the shop started,”

You shake your head at that. “No,” you say. “No, you’re one of the few guys my dad actually trusts. He wouldn’t do that.”

He gave you a look, one mixed with pity and one that said ‘you’re delusional’. “He’s the one who sent us there in the first place,” he pointed out, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “He had to have known what we were walking into, it explains why he didn’t go with us. He wanted to make sure that if he was being betrayed, it would be us who faced the consequences. It’s his way of delivering the message.”

You look away, wanting to not believe that your dad was capable of sending off his best men straight into a trap that could’ve easily gotten them killed. But, then again…your dad was a very closed off man and never allowed you to be involved in this kind of thing. He wasn’t even aware that you knew about it and still thinks you’re his oblivious, obedient little girl. That girl was long gone, replaced by a woman who was completely in love with a guy who had seen things and done things she could never imagine. 

“He had you attacked so he could prove to the outsider that he wasn’t one to be betrayed,” you trail off in realization. Tears gather in your eyes and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth. “Leon, I’m so sorry.”

He quickly shook his head, pulling his hand from yours and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. He presses you against his chest, pain be damned, and wraps his other, much sorer, arm around your waist. “It’s not your fault, don’t be sorry,” he says, his chin resting on the top of your head. 

Your hands wrap around his arm as you press yourself closer to him, finding that it was you who now needed a sense of comfort. “It is,” you cry. “All I’ve ever done is defend and ignore what he’s done. I acted like if I pretended it never happened, then he was still the same guy who raised me, who taught me how to be strong and to look out for others. I can’t believe he would do this.”

It was then when you realized that he wasn’t teaching you how to look out for others……he was teaching you how to look out for yourself, to hell with anyone else.

Leon tensed up as he debated on how to handle this. Should he tell you what you already know, but most likely won’t believe without confirmation from him? Or should he just shut up and provide you with the comfort and care you had given him since he showed up on your doorstep covered in blood?

His hold on you tightens and his jaw locks as he decides to go with the first one. “He’s not who you think he is, baby,” Leon hated that he was the one to tell you that, but at the same time was glad you were hearing it from the person who cared for you the most.

Lifting your head quickly, you roughly wipe away your tears and sharply inhale. “Tell me more,” you say. “Tell me everything.”

If your dad was a bad guy, you wanted to know any and everything he was capable of, even if it broke your heart in the end. You felt betrayed, like your respect for your father had been abruptly shattered and your trust was running thin as the seconds went on. 

How long had you been oblivious to his ways?

You had only recently been informed of what he did for a living, after years of suspicion on your part, and the person who told you was none other than your boyfriend of, at that point, four months. Leon had tried to hold off on telling you for as long as he could, in fear of your own safety and not his, but every time you looked at him with desperate eyes and a slight pout, he caved more and more.

Now, ten months into the relationship and you were only now finding out how truly cruel your father is. He sent his two best men into a trap to protect himself when he was having doubts about the loyalty of someone in his circle. Better them than him. 

Better Leon than him, actually. 

You were mad, upset and embarrassed, and your continuous flow of tears only added to that, but you couldn’t help it. 

“I can’t,” he hesitantly answered, hating the fact that he dropped this massive bomb on you but couldn’t say anything else without risking your well-being. Now that was something he refused to do. “You know I can’t, it’s too dangerous.”

Your shoulders dropped in disappointment, your lip quivering as you inched closer to him. Bunching his torn up shirt in your hands, you refused to meet his eyes as you begged, “Please,” you felt beyond pathetic at this point. “It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” he agreed, caressing the back of your head as he held you against his chest. “I know it’s not, princess, and I’m so sorry I can’t tell you everything you deserve to know, but I won’t risk losing you like this. Not now, not ever.”

You nod in understanding, though your heart fell a bit at what else he was keeping from you. “Isn’t it risky for you to be telling me all of this, too, though?”

Leon felt his heart flare up at the fact that you were still so concerned about him when he had just completely flipped your world upside down. God, you were perfect. “It can be,” he confirmed, his hand running up and down your back, despite the ache that it caused to his sore fingers. “But I don’t care what happens to me, just as long as you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Not knowing what else to say, the words “that’s sweet, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me and I would rather die than lose you” threatening to leave your lips, you settle on pulling away from him and standing up. “Come on,” you say quietly, holding your hand out to him. “You need to go shower, rinse the rest of that stuff off you.”

That stuff meaning blood. A lot of it. 

You stained at least two cloths with blood from just his face and his hands, so you were a bit more than terrified to see what was hidden underneath his clothing. 

Leon stood, his hand tightly clasped in yours. “I’ll only shower if you shower with me,” he towered over you, his height intimidating you in the best way possible.

“I don’t have any clothes here,” it was a poor excuse and you both knew it. You just didn’t want to see the bruises that surely covered his chest. 

“Well, I do,” he pointed out and tugged you along to the small hallway. “You’ve worn my clothes hundreds of times now, what’s so different about this time?” 

You keep your head down as he opens the door. “You’re hurt, Leon,”

“I’m fine,” he dismissed you, dropping your hand as he moved the curtain back to turn on the water. He hissed quietly when he felt the hot water seep into the various cuts on his arm, something he hoped you didn’t hear but you were right there.

“Yeah,” you bow your head, a small smile on your lips as he turns to face you again. “You seem it.”

He shakes his head as he steps closer to you, his hands tugging on the hem of his ripped shirt. You tried to prepare yourself, but who were you kidding? Nothing you did could’ve prepared you for the sight you were met with when he discarded the article of clothing on the floor near the sink. 

Scattered across his chest were various cuts and slice marks, both dried and fresh flood surrounding each one. The movement of his shirt ripping away from the wounds caused a new wave of blood to rush out, a bit beginning to drip and create trails down his skin. 

On his lower torso were multiple bruises, shaped like someone’s fist. The dark, purpled skin stared at you as you stepped back, your hand covering your mouth. There was a large bruise that was half on his front and half on his side, and you knew that was the reason he couldn’t sit upright in the car as his ribs were undoubtedly bruised as well. The scar from his bullet wound looked so painless now when compared to the rest of him.

Leon avoided eye contact as he turned away from you and discarded the rest of his clothes before disappearing behind the foggy curtain. 

You let out a shaky breath when you heard him groan out in pain as he tried to quickly wash away the blood in an attempt to make you forget about what he had endured. It was no use as the image of him being covered in the cruel markings of a sadistic man was now burned into your head.

Slowly, you shrug off your cardigan and kick off your converse next to his boots, your shirt and jeans following shortly after. When you were bare and in the same vulnerable state as Leon, it was then when you moved the curtain back and stepped in behind him. 

His back was to you, his hair soaked and the tiled floor gathering a pale pink hue of water. You reach your hand out and place it on his shoulder, feeling the multitude of knots beneath your fingertips. 

The skin of his back was no better than his front. More bruises littered the surface, but they were bigger than the ones on his abdomen. You knew right away that they were the result of him being kicked multiple times while he was down. 

Your heart broke further at the thought and you stepped closer to him, the water now misting over you as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. Your chest pressed to his back and the side of your face pressed to his shoulder, your touch feather light in fear - the thought of you hurting him even further nearly brought you to tears. 

His hands, which were placed flat against the wall in front of him as he stood under the showerhead, moved so they were holding yours. Your joined hands rest against his chest as his head tilts back and leans on yours. 

The water was now hitting his face directly, the dried blood you had missed now trailing down his chin in streams of red and pink, making the falling water a dark color before it got the chance to hit the floor. The black bruise around his eye burned just a bit as the water hit it and he was unable to fully open it as it felt far too heavy at the moment. 

The split in his lip probably would’ve had him cursing as he felt the water seep into it, but the painkillers had already kicked in and left him feeling numb all over. The sting of the water invading his wounds had faded to a stiff discomfort, his whole body feeling heavy with fatigue. All he wanted to do was sleep, preferably with you wrapped up in his arms as you helped wash away everything that had happened during the span of the day.

Sleeping right after taking a high dosage of medication was dumb, and he knew better, so he’d let you swoon over him for a little while longer before you were forced to return home to your father when he noticed your absence. 

“I’m staying here tonight,” it was as if you could read his mind and knew how to push his worries aside whenever he thought about them. It further fueled his theory that you were made for him.

It was late into the night, the sun had set when you were still driving over here, and he had been passed out for at least a good two hours while you cleaned him up, so the exact time was unknown, but neither of you cared. 

It was reckless, you both knew it. 

Your father was a smart man, and it wouldn’t take him long before he put two and two together. The sudden disappearance of his daughter, all the calls he made to Leon having been unanswered, the few drops of dried blood on the doorstep of your house.

Luckily, all it did was draw suspicion. As of right now, your father was sitting in the den, the room heated by the fire and a glass of whiskey in one hand as he stared at his phone, expecting a call from you at any second to explain your absence.

And you would call, after you were done taking care of your lover and making sure he was on his way to a decent recovery. Only then would you grab your phone from its spot on Leon’s dashboard and tell your father that you were staying at a friend’s house and apologize for the late call. 

“You don’t have to,” but man did he want you to.

You brush off his quiet words and place a kiss on his wet shoulder. “I’m not leaving you like this,” you answer. “I can’t.”

Leon turned in your arms, his own wrapping around your shoulders while his hands tangled in your hair. He pulls you against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of your head as you gently wrap your arms around his middle. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he murmured into your hair as the water cascaded down both your bodies. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

You shake your head and move closer to him. “Thank you for letting me in,”

-

Leon’s words from a couple of weeks ago sounded throughout your head as you wiped away angry tears from your face, your eyes staring into the cold ones of your father. 

“You can’t say anything about this to him. He doesn’t even know that you know about his job or mine. It’ll only make things worse. Promise me you won’t say anything to him, please.”

You cursed yourself for agreeing to that promise as you inhale a shaky breath, your built up frustration and betrayal rising the longer you stayed in the same room as him. 

Don’t say anything. Don’t yell at him. Don’t break your promise.

It was on repeat in your head as you pushed past your dad and made a beeline for your bedroom. “Where do you think you’re going?” He called out and followed you out of the den. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“Yes, we are, dad,” you seethed as you stormed down the long hallway. “I’m twenty two, okay? I’m not a child anymore. You can’t just keep me here.”

You weren’t sure how the argument started, but things had been tense between you and your dad ever since you found out about how he set up Leon and Harvey - who was fine, by the way. He showed up to the trailer the day after you patched Leon up, his body in the same condition as his partners and his clothes stained red. 

Still, he gave you a bloodied grin and asked if you could help him next. 

You could see why Leon liked the guy so much. 

“I don’t care how old you are, sweetheart. As long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll be following my rules. And I said no,” his words dripped venom, an anger you’ve heard from him that was often directed to others, but never at you. “So, there is your answer.”

You inhale sharply, annoyance quickly bubbling inside you.

“I wasn’t asking for permission, dad,” you muttered as you shoved open the door to your room. Of course he followed you in. “I was telling you. Giving you a heads up, that’s all.”

“You’re not hearing me-|

“No, you’re not hearing me,” you cut him off and grabbed the bag you had packed and placed on your bed a mere half hour before all of this. “I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t tell me what to do as I’m a grown adult. If I want to leave the house without telling you, then I will. But that’s besides the point as I actually did tell you this time. I can’t stay here forever. I have my own life.”

You thought you did a pretty good job at getting your point across, but clearly you were wrong as his sarcastic laugh met your ears.

“Not while you’re living here, you don’t,” he simply said and your eyes widened in anger and disbelief. “One day, sweetheart, you will see that my keeping you here is for your own good. It’s a cruel world out there.”

You were quickly becoming pissed off, your shoulders tensing and nose flaring.

He always treated you like a child, despite the fact that you hadn’t been for a long time now. This wasn’t the first time you had brought up wanting to leave and move away from the only house you had ever known, but every time it ended the same way. 

Your dad would brush you off and tell you that you don’t know how to take care of yourself, or you wouldn’t make it a week out in the real world and it’s better to let him take care of you a little longer. 

You feared that you would be pushing thirty by the time he deemed reasonable for you to move out. That was too late, you were ready now.

There was nothing left for you here. You had long since graduated high school, and even that you had to fight your dad on as he insisted he hire a teacher so you could be homeschooled. He said you didn’t need to go to college or university as people only go there to get a good job in the future. According to him, you would never need a job as he’d pay for everything you could possibly want.

It was too much. 

You wanted out. You wanted freedom.

Before you stop yourself, you mutter the words, “It’s a cruel world in here, too,”

Your father gave you a confused look and you could see a flash of panic in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I know who you are, dad,” you say quietly, deciding to just get it over with. You blew it, that much was obvious. You never were good at keeping quiet about the things that pissed you off. “I know what you do. Maybe not all of it, but I know enough.” 

He looked beyond shocked and you had to silently applaud yourself for being able to keep quiet about your knowledge of his job for nearly a year.  It was a hard task, but you did it nonetheless. “Who told you?”

Leon flashed through your mind and you quickly bit your tongue. There was no way you’d throw him under the bus and tell your dad that it was him who told you damn near everything. “No one told me anything, dad,” you were lucky that you had always been a good liar. “I figured it out on my own. The late night meetings with those guys, the secrets, the random calls you can’t take while I’m in the room. You haven’t exactly been all that discreet about it.”

He looked speechless as his lips parted and his brows furrowed, a look of realization taking over his features. “So… how much do you know?”

“I know enough,” you mutter and push past him. “More than enough for me to not want to be part of your fucked up world any longer.” It was the first time you had ever used that kind of language with him, and he quickly decided he didn’t like it.

He grabbed your wrist tightly. “Y/n,” he said sternly, his hold not faltering even as you tried to pull away. “You’re not leaving this house. We’re not done talking about this.”

“I am,” you successfully pull your hand away and watch as a look of betrayal flashes across his face. His eyes narrow and his jaw locks as he looks you up and down with an unreadable expression. 

“Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She raised you better than this,” he spit and the anger in his voice had you stepping back.

You fall quiet at that, your eyes stinging at the mention of the person you missed the most in the whole world. It had been years since you lost the one person who made your childhood at least somewhat normal, and you believed a part of you died with her. 

Your father hardly ever talks about her, while you talk about her all the time. He never cried, never even teared up since her passing, making you believe that he really was heartless. 

Shaking your head, you turn away and head straight for the door. “I don’t think she would be,” you say without looking back at him. “In fact, I think it’s you who she’d be disappointed in, not me.”

“Y/n,” he warned again when you grabbed the doorknob. “Walking out that door might just be the stupidest thing you will ever do. If you leave now, I promise you it’ll be the biggest mistake of your life.”

His threat only fueled your need to leave, and with a final look at the man, you turn your back to him once again and open the door before slamming it behind you. 

-

It was late, and you probably should’ve left a bit sooner as the drive was still a bit unfamiliar to you. What should’ve been a twenty minute drive became a forty minute one, and by the time you turned the car off and got out, it was dark out and the only sound that filled the air was crickets. 

Your head was pounding and your eyes burned as a fresh wave of tears filled them. You raised your hand to knock on the thin metal door, your gaze fixated on the small window that was made up of frosted glass. 

A few seconds pass and you knock again, this time seeing a silhouette behind the glass. Slowly, the door opens and you step back when your eyes meet Leon’s. A huff of relief leaves his lips as he leans over to place his gun on the counter, not expecting that it was you who was at his door.

When he caught sight of your tear filled eyes, he pushed the door open further and gently grabbed your hand. He pulled you into the trailer, his eyes flickering all over the surrounding area before he shut and locked the door behind you. “Baby,” he said quietly, his hands caressing the sides of your face. “What happened?”

At the touch of his hands and the softness in his voice, you break down entirely. Loud sobs leave you as you press your body against his, your hands fisting his shirt while your tears dampen the fabric.

“Hey,” he said softly, his hand holding the back of your head as you pressed your face to his chest. Your cries caught him off guard completely, as did your entire appearance. He assumed he was about to get robbed or perhaps someone was there to settle unfinished business, hence why he had his gun ready. He didn’t expect when he opened the door to be met with the distraught sight of his sweet girlfriend. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head and bury your face into his shirt. 

“Talk to me, angel,” he murmured against the top of your head. You look up at him, a small bit of relief filling you at the faint bruise that was around his left eye. He had pretty much fully healed since the night he came to your house, covered from head to toe in blood, a mix of his own and someone else’s. His eye was bloodshot and the dark skin around it had lightened up considerably. His lip had scarred over from where it was slit, leaving it a lighter shade than the rest of his mouth. 

The cuts on his chest turned to scars, and the bruises faded back to his natural skin color, only a few dark marks left on him that had yet to heal fully. You’re still in awe at how he can go from beaten and bloodied to almost completely recovered within a couple of weeks. Part of you hypes yourself up at how well you took care of him on the first night.

A shaky breath escapes you and your teary gaze meets his, watching the way his blue eyes soften at the sight of you. “My dad,” you start, wanting to wrap yourself in his arms and never leave. You wanted him to take you away and give you the life you were robbed of while growing up. “It’s my dad.”

“Okay,” he trails off, keeping you in his arms as he leads you over to the couch. “What about your dad?” 

He gently pushes you into a seated position on the couch before sitting next to you, putting a few inches of space in between so he wasn’t crowding you. You look over at him with guilty eyes, your vision more than slightly blurred due to the tears that have gathered along your waterline. Still, he was the most beautiful man you had ever seen, his dark brows pressed together in concern, his eyes glossed over with worry and his lips parted slightly as he waited for you to say something. 

“I’m so sorry, Leon,” you begin quietly, hating how shaky your voice came out. You wished you were as strong as he was. “I got into a fight with my dad and I told him that I know about his job and what he does, and….I’m sorry, I know I promised I wouldn’t say anything but he was getting so controlling and aggressive and he…brought up my mom, I just couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Your rant was cut off as a sob escaped your mouth and that was all it took for Leon to move closer and wrap you back up in his arms. He wasn’t mad, no, not at you. He’d never be mad at you when it came down to you and your father. Without any hesitation, he’d be on your side within seconds. 

He was mad at Clark, not only for making you upset, but also for bringing up the sore subject of your mom. You had cried to Leon on more than one occasion about how much you missed her and how you wished you could’ve said goodbye. It wasn’t fair for your dad to bring her up when he was the one who was responsible for her death, but you didn’t need to know that just yet.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he rubs his hand up and down your back while his other tangles in your hair, holding your head against his chest. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” you cry. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything to him but I did it anyway. What if he finds out about you? Or us? Or how you were the one to tell me, or what if something happens to you? I’d never forgive myself-”

“Y/n,” he softly cuts you off and you fall silent, the quiet beats of his heart against your ear filling you with a small amount of much needed comfort. He didn’t know how to calm you down, didn’t know what to say that would make things better for you. All he could do was hope that you’d believe him and feel even the slightest bit at ease. He couldn’t stand to see you so upset, so unlike yourself. “Nothing is going to happen to me, okay? Do you hear me? I promise.”

Your tears didn’t stop as you asked, “What about us? Did I just ruin everything for us? What if my dad finds out that we’ve been sneaking around behind his back for almost a year now? He’d make sure I never see you again,”

Leon’s jaw tightened at that. “That won’t happen. He won’t take me away from you,” his words were almost enough to convince you. “He won’t take you away from me.”

“But how do you know that? How can you be so sure?”

“Because I love you, more than anything else in the world, and nothing can come between that. Nothing can get in the way of how I feel about you, not even your dad,” he says and you feel your heart skip a beat at his words, your tears stopping as you gaze up at him. “I don’t care that you told him that you know about his job, okay? Whatever comes from that, we’ll deal with it together. I just care about you.”

You bring a hand up to wipe your tears away, inching your face closer to his so you could brush your noses together. “I love you,” you say quietly and press your forehead to his. “So much. Nothing can take me away from you.” 

Damn right he felt like saying but feared he was beginning to come off as too possessive - not that he isn’t afraid to tell you just how much he loves you and plans for you to be with him for the rest of your lives, but still. There are certain times and certain places for that. 

Before Leon could say it back you had lifted yourself up and placed your hands on his shoulders, your chest now pressed to his. You close the gap even more by connecting your lips in a kiss, all the stress, anger, frustration, guilt and sadness from the day being poured into it.

It wasn’t the first time you came to him to get your mind off things, and it surely won’t be the last. 

He didn’t mind one bit, though, as he, too, has gone to you to relieve his stress more than a couple times now.

It was just how the two of you functioned. You would always be there for one another and are each other’s safe space. Neither of you would want to have it any other way, the trust between you so deep and strong and right. 

It always felt right. 

Leon wondered if there would ever be a right time for him to ask you the question he knew you’ve been wanting to hear for months now. 

The thought had his ears burning, his shoulders tensing and his mouth pulling away from yours before things become too heated. 

What better time than now?

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but before you could ask why he stopped, he kept one hand on your waist while his other reached into the box beside the couch. It was his ‘junk box’, his own take on the standard junk drawer everyone seemed to have in their house. While they were normally filled with random things - junk, to be exact - Leon’s was filled with the few items he brought with him when he left his parents house back when he was only seventeen. 

His first hunting knife, a gold coin from the arcade he used to love going to as a kid, an old polaroid of him and his first pet -  a dog he considered to be his closest friend from the ages five to sixteen (eleven years was not long enough in Leon’s opinion, but clearly it was too long in his dad’s) - his high school yearbook, and perhaps the most important item; his grandma’s ring. 

It had been passed down to his mother and then to him and he remembered the exact words she said when she handed him the box with the ring inside of it, “Hold onto this for me, will you? Find a nice girl, one who makes you truly happy, and give this to her when the time is right. Don’t wait too long, the good ones never last. And when you find her, don’t ever let her go. Don’t be like him.”

He would never be his father. 

He remembered packing the last of his things and giving one last look at his childhood room when she had wandered in, her hands tightly clasped around the box. She had been crying, likely because her only child was leaving for God knows how long, but she also couldn’t blame him. Leon’s dad was a miserable man, and he still probably is. He drank too much, gambled, and verbally abused his son until it became physical. She almost wanted him to go, to leave and never come back to the house that was the cause of so much of his pain.

She gave him a final kiss to the top of his head as he took the ring from her and then he left. 

That was over ten years ago. And he hadn’t seen his parents since. 

His mother had tried reaching out to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to return any of her calls or letters. He was living with a friend for a couple years after he left, and that was how she was able to send him various letters asking him how he was doing, if he was okay, and telling him that she missed him terribly. 

When he took the job to be a carrier for some sketchy guy across town, that was when he completely lost contact with her. She couldn’t send him any letters as she no longer knew where he was, or if he was even alive. 

There’s nothing he regretted more than how he ended things with his mom. If he could, he would relive all that childhood torment from his father just so he could leave again, but this time he would take her with him.

Then she could’ve possibly met you. If he never got himself caught up in the world of mobsters and murderers, would he have even met you? He liked to think so. 

If he didn’t meet you through your dad, he believes you would’ve met some other way. Maybe on one of the days you were able to leave the house and go into town, maybe then you would’ve run into each other on the street. Maybe then you both could live a normal life together. 

He holds the box in his hand, his nerves beginning to eat him alive as he lifts his head so he is looking up at you. 

Meanwhile, your heart was in your throat as you stared at the black casing, your hands fisting the dark shirt he was wearing. “Leon-”

You weren’t able to finish asking him what he was doing before he took his hand off your waist and opened the box, the silver ring now being on full display. Your quiet gasp fills the air as you can’t seem to take your eyes off it, the lamp on the side table making it sparkle just slightly. 

“Leon…” You say again but are ultimately left completely speechless. 

“I’ve been thinking about how to do this for months now, but I never knew when the timing would be right,” he said and you are finally able to tear your eyes off the ring and look into his. “I know now that the timing will always be right when I’m with you. There will never be a dull moment between us. There will never be a day that goes by where I won’t want to be with you and see you wear this. I’m so in love with you I feel like my heart physically aches when we’re apart. Just one week of knowing you was all I needed to know that you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

A teary laugh escapes you as you shake your head, your eyes following the movement of his hand as he takes the ring out of the box.

“You’re the single most important person in my life and I can’t imagine a future without you in it. You are my future, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you more than life itself, and that’s why I feel safe asking you this,” he takes your hand in his, grinning slightly at the way you began to shake with unshed tears. “I know I’m going to be okay as long as I have you to keep me on the ground. You’ve seen me at my worst, and I promise you that you will see me at my best every day for the rest of our lives, if I can help it.”

You laugh again and tighten your right hand on his shoulder as he holds your left one.

“So, with that being said,” he held the ring between his fingers. “Will you marry me?”

The tears have made their escape down your face as you nodded quickly, wrapping your arms around him before he got the chance to put the ring on your finger. “Yes,” you say and press multiple kisses to his face, the last one being on his lips. 

-

Meanwhile, back at your house, your dad was in the den, the flame of the fire casting an orange hue across the entire room. He was sitting in his chair, his arms flat on the armrests and a glass of whisky in his hand. 

He couldn’t believe you. How could you turn your back to him after all he’s done for you? Did he really raise you like that? A spoiled, privileged brat?

What happened to his sweet and shy little girl? 

Who had corrupted you right before his very eyes? 

A knock on the doorframe carried that answer. “Sir? I got those files you wanted,” Nathan, one of his many men, says as he enters the room. 

“The ones on Kennedy?” 

“Yes, sir,” Nathan answers as he moves to stand in front of his boss. “I hope you don’t mind, but I read through a bit of his background. There’s some real shady stuff on this guy.”

One of Clark’s brows raised. “Like what?”

“Well, apparently he left home when he was a teen, practically a kid still, and took a job from Frank back when he was nineteen. He worked for him for a couple years before he seemingly disappeared and no one had heard from him for a while after that. I asked one of the guys he used to work with and he said that Kennedy had been working with someone named Redfield for the past five years now, and he was sure he still is.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his glass. “Redfield?” He asked and watched as Nathan nodded. “I don’t recall a Redfield working for me.”

“That’s the thing, this Chris guy is part of a mob that’s located across the state,”

“What are you saying?”

Nathan swallowed nervously as he held the files in his hands. “I think you’re being double-crossed, sir,”

Clark’s jaw tensed as he held out his free hand and grabbed the files from the younger man. “Not for much longer,” he muttered, downing the rest of the alcohol and opening the folder. “Thank you, Nathan. That’s all, you can go home.”

The man flees the room as Clark begins to sort through the countless pages that told him everything he needed, but somehow didn’t know about the man he trusted with his life, the same one he let into his house, and the same one he allowed to talk to his daughter. 

Leon Kennedy was a traitor. 

And Clark now was fully aware of who it was that turned his only child, his daughter, against him. 

It was only further confirmed when he shamelessly searched your room and came across the necklace that displayed Leon’s initials, the one you had carelessly forgotten to grab in your rush to leave.

[praycambrian]

chief among the many deranged justified aus i will never write is the time traveler's wife one, where raylan's occasional chronological slip as a little kid turns into a full-blown problem as he keeps growing up, until by the time he's a teenager he's lucky to get two or three linear days in a row without falling into another time--only ever another time, but not another place, because he only seems to travel within harlan county. It just makes him that much more desperate to escape. He runs away at fifteen (not for the first time) and doesn't even make it within ten miles of the county line before he's tripping and falling into a snowdrift that wasn't there a second ago, because he started walking in may and now it's the dead of winter in another year, god only knows when. Raylan has no way of guessing. At least, not until he stumbles his shivering way out onto a road he recognizes, and from there he's able to make it up to the cabin before dark, but only barely, and his hands are too cold to fumble in the planter for the hidden key but it's fine because Boyd's already inside and opening the door for him and raylan can tell from how old he is that it's sometime in the 90s, during those bad years Boyd doesn't like to talk about much. Doesn't matter. Raylan's happy to see him in any time. And it's easier, sometimes, to do it like this, when they already know how to talk to each other. Raylan doesn't really know his own Boyd yet; their daddies would hear about it. He thinks it'll be soon, though, from what Boyd's let slip over the years--even though truth be told that ain't much. Boyd's different every time, at every age, but the one thing that stays the same is he'll never tell Raylan what happens before Raylan gets the chance to live it himself. Sometimes, like right now as he's sitting with Boyd in front of the fire in the cabin that's become his refuge across time, Raylan can't wait to get there. The future. He thinks there must be something special in it, some kind of powerful reason for Boyd to come and find him here so long, over so many different years: to find and take care of him when nobody else does.

And meanwhile Boyd's sitting next to this skinny hopeful kid, telling him any story he likes except the only real story there is, which is this: that Boyd Crowder has loved Raylan Givens since he showed up with a cowboy hat in Boyd's backyard when he was ten years old. That he loved him before he knew him, and he loved him in the mines, even though it broke something in him every time he turned around to find Raylan gone, disappeared off to some other Boyd and leaving the real one fretful and jealous, just starting to put words to something that'd been growing a long time in the dark. Boyd even loved him when he left--when he turned his back in Boyd's face, turned a deaf ear on Boyd shouting "you expect me to just wait for you? To stay here forever, so you always have someone to pick you up when you show up at six or sixteen or sixty looking for me?" Boyd had left, too. Made it nearly a full year in the desert, dreaming every night of Raylan, young and old and familiar, cold and alone in the place he hates most, and then Boyd got himself drummed out and shipped back home, having found that heartbreak wasn't enough for him to stay gone. But this kid doesn't need to carry all that. So Boyd won't breathe a word of it. He'll let this Raylan keep holding on to his future with both hands, just like Boyd's holding onto his own. Because his Raylan will come back eventually. He has to, because he already has: limping through the long grass and sweeping that hat off to run a hand through his silver hair, tired, confused, until he caught sight of Boyd and his face changed completely--the thing Boyd's never forgotten--relief and satisfaction and then a kind of surprise, like he'd found the word he'd been trying to think of for a long long time, as he said "oh. It's you."

[plsimsuchasimp]

cheating.

part 2 here

Ft: Suna Rintarou x !gn reader, a little bit of atsumu miya x !gn reader

Genre/warnings: one (1) curse word, cheating, brief implied sex, angst, hurt/comfort, fighting

Wc: 1.8k

NOT PROOFREAD!

a/n: i’m so sorry for this angst but i had to do it for y’all... didn’t have it in me to write a happy ending, maybe later.

The rain was pouring down, clattering against the roof of the gym. You, sitting against the wall in a corner by the benches, watched Suna’s team play, smiling slightly at the way they seemed to seamlessly move together. Your boyfriend looked concentrated, green eyes flickering from one player to another. 

His phone buzzed beside you, and you picked it up, intending to set it to Do Not Disturb so you could do work, but the notification caught your eye. 

“Hey!” It read, “it was so good to meet you >;) you made me feel good <3″

Instantly, your heart drops into your stomach. Silently willing for the notification to disappear, your eyes cling to the screen as yet another popped up. “I miss you babe, we should do that again”

Your eyes begin to burn, trying to deny the obvious truth of what you saw in front of you. Suna Rintarou had cheated on you, and from the looks of it, with a stranger. You swallow, hard, as the lump in your throat grows and tears begin to form in your eyes. No wonder he’d been overly affectionate in the past week, he probably felt guilty.

What hurt most wasn’t that he didn’t tell you, pretended that everything was fine; no, it was the realization that you just weren’t enough for him. All the time you’d spent on him, everything you’d done, the words of confirmation and the countless amount of love and affection you’d given him, it all wasn’t good enough. 

You were bad enough for him to seek loving in a stranger’s arms.

Clicking the phone off, you put it down and stared into space for a moment, fighting the tears that threatened to spill onto your cheeks at any second. Practice was wrapping up, and you couldn’t face Suna right now. Luckily for you, he was on cleanup duty this week, so he had to stay late. 

Trying to shake the rigidity out of your limbs, you gathered your things and stuffed them into your bag, not taking the time to organize them so they all fit. Head down, you headed for the door, hoping that Suna wouldn’t look over. Opening the door, you were faced with another harsh realization: It was raining and Suna was supposed to drive you home. That wasn’t happening today, for sure. Glancing around, you spotted Atsumu pulling his umbrella out of his bag, and rushed over to him.

“Hey Atsumu,” you said, attempting to keep your voice steady, “Can I catch a ride with you?” He was going to ask why, when Suna had a perfectly good car, but then he caught a glimpse of the tear streaking silently down your face and decided it might be better to wait until later.

Unusually serious, he agreed and put a comforting hand on the small of your back as you two hurried out of the door under his umbrella. Opening his car door for you, he let you in and then went over to the driver’s side, sliding in and turning on the car so it would warm up. 

Stealing the occasional look at you, he noticed you were shaking and turned up the heat in the car although he was warm from volleyball practice. He started driving, sensing that you didn’t want to talk. Jaw clenched, he drove in silence for a couple minutes, then dared to speak.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hearing sniffles from your side of the car and seeing your shoulders shake, he pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. Gulping, he awkwardly reached out a hand to pat you on the back, but this only made you cry harder.

Looking up to face him, tear streaks staining your cheeks, you tried to stop shivering from shock. “S-Suna,” you mumbled, fighting to keep your voice from completely breaking, but another sob escaped before you could get anything more out.

“Wha’? Suna what?” he prodded, brow furrowing in concern. You rarely cried, so he knew this was something really serious.

“Suna c-cheated on me.” The last couple of words were whispered, your voice breaking, and Atsumu’s mouth dropped open. Of all the things he’d expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Your relationship with Suna had always seemed perfect. He’d seen the way Suna looked at you, his eyes soft, seen the way his behavior changed around you, seen his eyes light up whenever you smiled. This wasn’t possible.

He opened his mouth, shutting it again when words failed him. You were hunched in the passenger’s seat, shaking so hard he could hear your elbows accidentally hitting the car door. Without a second thought, he took his sweatshirt off and covered you with it, hoping that it would warm you up at least a little bit. 

“I- I’m so sorry,” he muttered, unsure how to comfort a clearly distraught you. As soon as your shudders subsided, his mind turned to Suna and what he would do next time he saw him. No doubt he deserved to be beat up for what he did to you, hurting you like that, but it just didn’t make sense. Suna was totally in love with you, and it was obvious to any outsider. 

He started the car again, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your shoulder, trying to calm you down. “Y/N, I’m gonna drop ya off at home, okay?”

A quick nod from you reassured him, and you two drove with just the raindrops crashing down on the roof of the car. When you arrived at your house, you made a motion to give back his sweatshirt, but he just waved a hand and said “Don’t worry about it. Ya can return it to me when I next see ya.” Your lips trembled and you turned away from him, making the way to your door and letting yourself in. He didn’t leave until he saw that you were inside, then started driving back to the gym.

You shed your jacket and turned on the heater in your house, not bothering to turn on the lights or draw the curtains. Kicking your shoes off, you crawled into bed and under your blanket and let the tears come, hugging the pillow that smelled too much like Suna.

Meanwhile at the gym, Suna was just finishing up and wondering where you’d gone to. The guilt of his mistake still hung with him, and he was looking to take you out to dinner tonight and spend some more time with you. However, when he saw his phone laying faceup, the bold words in text still plainly on the screen, he knew that you’d found out, and his heart contracted. Sinking to his knees, he struggled to breathe through the upcoming panic. He was in love with you, and he had no idea what had possessed him to fall into someone else’s arms for the night.

The feeling surged when he remembered that one of your biggest fears/insecurities was not being good enough, and a short gasp fell out of his mouth as he realized just how much he’d messed up. The gym door swung open, banging against the wall with the sheer force of the push. There stood Miya Atsumu, a murderous expression on his face.

“Suna!” He barked, and the middle blocker glanced up briefly before returning his attention to the phone clutched in his hands, frantically pressing the call button as it once again went straight to voicemail. The sound of your voice was almost too much for him to bear, his breathing accelerating and his head pounding. 

y/n please pick up please i’m so sorry i swear i didn’t mean it they mean nothing to me i love you i love you so much please don’t leave me

His fingers speed across the keyboard, hoping against hope that you’ll talk to him. Any sort of contact. The phone is suddenly knocked from his hand by Atsumu, the look on his face nothing short of furious. 

“What the fuck were ya thinking?” He spits, rage evident in the bulging veins of his neck. “You hurt y/n so badly that they had to drive home with me rather than face another second of ya.”

His words stung Suna, because they both knew they were true. He doesn’t resist when Atsumu pulls him to his feet, glaring at him and shoving him towards the wall. 

“You’re pathetic. Y/N is the best person ya will ever meet, and ya ruined it all.” Once again, Suna doesn’t reciprocate, his eyes falling miserably to the ground. Atsumu’s fist comes up and hits Suna straight in the stomach, forcing the breath out of his lungs as he collapses to the floor. Atsumu looks at him with an expression of pure disgust, walking away to leave Suna where he is, slumped against the wall.

His eyes are dull, the life drained out of them, because he knows Atsumu is right. A notification causes his phone to buzz and he picks it up immediately, hoping to see anything from you, but it’s just another text from the fling. Hatred for himself and the person fills him, and he slams his phone down, allowing his head to sink into his knees. 

He needs to see you, so he grabs his stuff and rushes to his car, barely remembering to lock the gym on his way out. Going ten miles above the speed limit, he makes it to your house ten minutes after you had. 

Walking up to your front door, he knocks urgently, over and over again. He hears shuffling from behind, and the door opens to reveal you in an oversize sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to him and sweatpants, eyes red and puffy from crying. 

The instant you see him, time seems to stop. The hurt is written all over your face, and the regret all over his. He can’t seem to move, can’t do anything besides whisper your name.

“Y/N.” 

You shake your head, new tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and turn away. “I don’t want to talk to you, Suna.” 

With those words, his heart shatters a little bit more. He was your Rin, your Rinnie, never Suna. “Please-” the door slams in his face and he hears the lock turning, signaling the final goodbye. He screams, pounding on your door as the panic overtakes him. 

“Please! I love you! I’m so sorry, just please don’t leave me! I’ll go insane if you do!” Tears stream down his face and yours, mourning each other on opposite sides of the door. His words wrack you, tempt you to open the door and forgive him, but you can’t. He already showed you he didn’t care.

Half an hour passes, with the yells from the door fading into whimpers. Finally, you hear a car door slam, and you allow yourself to sob, held immobile on the floor. 

You’re broken, and it’s his fault. His head falls onto the steering wheel, not caring that it sets off the car horn.

Still, the rain patters on the roof, both of you less than three hundred feet apart, but forever separated.

He’ll never love anyone like he loved you.

[erimeows]

Feverish

You were surprised to have been called to the med bay a little bit past nine in the evening, woken up by your phone ringing and Ratchet on the other end. You clutched your robe close to your body as you raced through the hallway, sleep in your eyes and worries in your head.

The lead medic had given you no explanation, only telling you to come meet him outside of the med bay as soon as you could before he hung up on you.

You wondered if it was an emergency, if someone was injured or dying, if something had happened during patrol- Wait, no. Their night patrols didn’t start for another hour or so, and if it had been an emergency, someone like Bumblebee or Optimus would’ve called you in a panic.

Still, the whole situation was weird, and you were worried, so when you saw Ratchet outside of the med bay leaning against one of the walls, you immediately approached him with your concern etched in your features. 

Upon seeing you, Ratchet stood up straight, then put a strong servo on your shoulder in a reassuring manner before looking down at you. His pale blue optics burned into your (e/c) eyes, and though you tried your best, you couldn’t read his expression.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the medic spoke.

“Optimus Prime has fallen ill.”

“What?” You immediately sputtered, and your eyes flew to the door of the med bay; closed, you couldn’t even see Optimus. You just prayed that he was okay. In the time that you’d known the Prime and his team, you’d seen him injured or sick plenty, though the former was much more common. He never prioritized his own health and tried to push himself to do things, even when he was unwell, so he took forever to recover... Hopefully it wasn’t something severe. “How bad is it? Is he awake? Have you told the team yet?”

“Hey, hey, slow down. It’s nothing crazy, (y/n), so don’t worry,” Ratchet’s words, said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, soothed you, if only a little. If it were serious or ‘crazy’ as he put it, he would’ve told you directly instead of lying, so you believed him. “This morning, I was the first to wake and go into the kitchen to make myself an energy booster when I saw him stumble in... As in, he was literally stumbling over himself and I could see steam rolling off of him from overheat. He insisted he was fine, but something was off, so I dragged him to the medbay for testing. He’s low on energon and coolant, he was overheating, and there was a minor glitch in his vents from some battle damage that I had to fix. He’s recovering fine, but my main concern is that his chassis seems to be overheating to kill an infection. I think it’s just your run-of-the-mill space bug based on the labs I did, so I gave him some antibiotics.”

“You didn’t answer some of my questions-” You started, now concerned with whether you could actually go and see Optimus or not.

It wasn’t uncommon for the red and blue bot to ignore his own needs, but for him to have ignored symptoms that could’ve turned into something much worse had Ratchet not caught them... You wondered if there was something bothering Optimus that was making him neglect himself, more than he usually would.

“So demanding, you youngin’s,” Ratchet huffed and rolled his optics at you. “It’s not that bad, he’s awake, and no, I haven’t told the others yet. Our nightly patrol is soon and I have to break the news to them somehow, which is why I called you here. You can’t go with us anyway and they need me since we’re down one bot, so I want you to stay with Prime. He responds the best to you...” You blinked and then blushed at that, (s/c) cheeks burning bright. It was true that you and Optimus were close, but for Ratchet to acknowledge it like that... Well, you were flattered. You’d loved Optimus for as long as you could remember, and even though Ratchet surely meant that in a platonic way, it was nice to know that the effort you put into your relationship with the bot meant something. “His condition isn’t from a decline in his physical health- I had to pry like hell to find out what it was, but Prime finally broke and told me that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten an energon cube or ran a self-evaluation to make sure he was functioning properly, which is why he’s energy-depleted and why the damage to his vents went unchecked. He’s so stressed from the leadership that this team needs that he isn’t taking care of himself anymore, and now, it’s led to him falling sick again. I think there’s something else going on in that processor of his, too, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else... I just know it’s more mental than anything.”

You stopped, frowning. What else could Optimus be hiding from everyone? Was he doing something dangerous? Had something happened? Was he breaking down from stress?

“O-Oh.. Okay,” You mumbled and leaned into the servo of Ratchet’s that was on your shoulder, sighing when he ran his thumb over a sore spot on the groove between said shoulder and your collar. The two of you had developed a close bond over the past couple years since they’d been on earth, with you, Sari’s tutor and caretaker, also acting as a second medic for the team with Ratchet’s training. While he’d trained you in how to care for the Autobots, you’d given him the basics of human anatomy and medical care, so with that time spent together, you were close- whether the old grump admitted it or not. “What about his medicine? How often does he take it? Is there anything else I need to do?”

“One pill every six human hours, they’re the white gel capsules that are rationed out on the table by Prime’s med-berth. I just gave him a dose, so don’t get him another one until three in the morning. He also needs to drink plenty of energon, coolant, and lubricant to get better, so make him do it, even if he gets pissy with you- shove it down his throat if you have to... But those are all things that I already told him, and he’s fully capable of taking care of himself. I don’t need you in there to take care of him so much as I need you to stay in there to make sure he doesn’t get up and do anything stupid. You know how he gets when he’s sick.”

“Unfortunately, I do...” You let out a long sigh and crossed your arms over your chest. It was going to be hard dealing with Optimus- hell, you could already imagine how he would be trying to sneak out of the med bay to go on patrol or trying to make you bring paperwork for him to do. You wouldn’t allow either, but considering how much larger he was than you, you’d have to convince him to relax instead of just being able to hold his aft down like Ratchet or Bulkhead could. “I’ll make sure he stays put. I’m assuming you’re taking over leadership until he recovers, Ratchet?”

“As the team medic, I’m second in command, so yeah... I have to. I’d let Prowl do it, but Primus knows he doesn’t want to, and I wouldn’t let Bumblebee or Bulkhead within a ten mile radius of any form of responsibility like this. I’m really the only option.”

“Right...” You imagined what a patrol without Optimus, led by a stressed and grouchy Ratchet would be like, and then cringed. “Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

With that, Ratchet withdrew his servo from your shoulder and waved at you before turning around and walking down the hallway. You figured that Optimus shouldn’t be left alone for too long, so you quickly entered the med bay and shut the door behind you.

It was dark, with a small night light plugged into the walls that illuminated the room just a bit. You could see Optimus, who looked uncharacteristically pathetic, weakly laying on a med berth with a small side table on the ground next to him. On the table were some energon sticks, a cup of coolant, and the white pills that Ratchet had mentioned. 

“(y/n), is that you?” Optimus asked, trying to sit up, but immediately groaning in what you assumed was pain and flopping back down. His eyes squeezed shut, a strained grimace taking over his face-plates. You pulled one of the stools by a wall-counter to the side of the room where Optimus’s berth was and put it right by his side table so you could sit by him. You were close to his face, so you leaned down to look at it as his optics slowly opened back.

He was sick, and it would take at least a few days if not a week to recover; you could tell just by looking at him. His ocean-hued optics were abnormally dark and foggy, his powder blue faceplates were stained dark with heat, and though he wasn’t steaming like Ratchet had described this morning, there was definitely still heat radiating from his frame.

“Yes, Optimus, it’s me... I’m here to watch over you,” You leaned in to kiss the top of his helm, able to feel just how hot the metal felt against you. When you pulled back, you frowned at the absurd amount of heat- almost hot enough to make your lips sting, while Optimus’s normal temperature was a bit cooler than that of an average human’s by a degree or two. “Ratchet called me down here and told me what’s going on a bit ago. The team’s on patrol right now.”

“Slag, I can’t believe Ratchet told you,” Optimus groaned again, this time in annoyance instead of pain. “I told him not to earlier when he was fixing my vents... He’s probably going to tell the rest of the team, too. I have to get up and go supervise the patrol-” He forced himself to sit up this time, forced back a wince, forced his optics to open fully, but the second you pressed a rushed hand to his chest plates and attempted to push him back, he froze.

“Oh, no you don’t!” You argued, eyebrows furrowing in frustration as a pout formed on your face. 

“Oh, yes I do!” The Autobot argued back without hesitation, but didn’t actually move to push your hand away or leave even though he was fully capable of doing so, only resting one of his servos on the one of yours that was on his chest- stumbling and overheating or not, he was much larger and much stronger than you. Then again, he probably knew that Ratchet would beat him to a pulp the second he recovered if he dared lay a single digit on you to escape the med bay. “As much as I appreciate the concern, I don’t want it nor do I need it, and I certainly don’t want it from my team. It’s bad enough that you know. I know they’ll start asking questions when I don’t go on patrol with them, and if they hear that I got sick from overexerting myself and not getting enough rest and energon, they’ll never let me hear the end of it-”

“Well, maybe that’s what you need, so lay your stubborn ass down! I did not come here with my hair all fucked up and in this stupid robe in the middle of the night when I could’ve been sleeping just to have you run away from me when I’m trying to take care of you! You getting up right now just drives home how bad you are about prioritizing yourself,” Optimus’s plump and normally soft lips, now chapped from dehydration, pulled together into a tight frown- it was the face he made when he knew he was in the wrong. “You’re getting out of your bed when you’re supposed to be resting so you can go lie to your team and tell them you’re fine when you’re not, and for what? Your pride?”

“No, I just don’t want them to worry for me. I’m already stressed out enough and the last thing I need is for that to contribute to their struggles. They’re all dealing with so many of their own problems, and I’m sick of being a burden to everyone around me...”

Optimus huffed, but gave up and laid back down, much to your relief. He still held your hand, though, and you let him- even if he was sick, you didn’t want him to let go.

“You’re not a burden, and just like how they’re dealing with their problems, you’re dealing with yours. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved and respected, and not to insult your acting skills, but... They won’t believe you if you walk out there overheating and struggling to stay standing to tell them that you’re perfectly fine. Ratchet told me how you were stumbling around this morning.”

“I hate that you’re right,” He mumbled, and you wondered why he always had to be so childish when he was sick. 

Then again, as much as you hated Optimus’s stubborn personality, it was a major component of who you’d gone and fallen in love with all that time ago. It was crazy, you thought; just the extent that you loved Optimus Prime to, and how terribly unaware he was of it. You thought it best to keep the fact hidden, as you didn’t know what his feelings were, and he had so much on his plate already... It hurt to think that he didn’t know how loved he was- not just by you, but by everyone around him, who he was always bending over backwards for, completely unaware that they’d do the exact same for him.

“And I hate that you treat yourself like this. Plus, as much as Ratchet threatens us all with consequences for our actions, he’s not going to tell them what’s going on in depth; just that you have a fever and that you’re resting, you know he respects patient confidentiality. He’ll probably even downplay it because he knows that’s what’ll make you happy.”

“No, you’re just trying to reassure me, but...” Optimus paused and let go of your hand, fully settling back into the berth. You took your hand back and looked off to the side, already missing his touch. “I know you want to, and that Ratchet probably told you to spend the night here and take care of me, but I’m alright now. I’ll stay and rest, I promise. You can go to your room to sleep, I know you’re usually not up this late, and I’d hate to keep you up with my problems.”

You didn’t really want to leave him, but you were tired, and you believed his words. His tone was genuine enough.

“Are you sure?” You asked and received a nod in return. So, you stood up and collected yourself. “Okay, if you’re sure... I’ll leave and go get some rest, then come back at three to give you your antibiotics and make sure you’ve got something on your stomach.”

Silence. 

The second you turned around to leave, though, Optimus was grabbing the back of your robe and holding the cloth between his digits, tone low as he spoke again.

“Actually, (y/n), wait... Don’t leave me. I need you.”

You turned back around and looked at him, confused. Hadn’t he just told you seconds before that he was fine and that you should leave to go get some rest so that he could fall into recharge as well? What was with the sudden change of heart? Was there something going on with his physical condition, or was it something else?

“Huh? But Optimus, you said you needed to rest...” You muttered, which earned you a shake of his head in return.

“I will,” Optimus promised. “Please, just stay and don’t question it. I lied to you, I don’t know why, but I can’t be alone right now. Don’t leave me.”

The plead from him was unexpectedly vulnerable, honest, open. You appreciated it, but at the same time, you were concerned about what exactly was going on with him- you felt like there was more to the story than stress and leadership and lack of self-care. While all of that was definitely in character for Optimus Prime, there was something else that he wasn’t telling you about, too. With how close you were to him, it wasn’t abnormal for you to have deeper discussions, but for him to admit that he wanted- no, needed you there with him and couldn’t be alone was something you’d never thought you’d hear in your lifetime.

“Okay, I’ll stay until you tell me to go, then. Thank you for being honest with me.”

With that, you sat back down on the stool and looked at him. A little bit of that light had returned to his optics, but he still seemed like he was in rough shape.

“Thank you.”

Silence again.

Instead of adjusting to get comfortable and slip into recharge, Optimus just sat there with his back against the board of the berth, optics trained on you. It had taken a while to get used to when you’d first met him, but nowadays, you were used to the Prime’s intensity, especially when it came to eye/optic-contact. Still, though, the way he was staring at you now... You couldn’t quite interpret it. Then again, could you usually? Optimus was hard to read sometimes.

“You’re not resting,” You teased, but received a serious response in return.

“I’m thinking, and then I’ll rest.”

“You’re sick, the last thing you need to be doing is overthinking like you always do,” You reached out to him, rested your palm on the side of his face and tenderly ran a thumb over the apex of his cheek. Surprisingly, he leaned into your touch with a smile.

“What if it pertains to you? It’s either I tell you and get my closure, which is daunting, or I sit here overthinking it like I always do.”

You felt your heart drop to the bottom of your stomach and flinched. It had been obvious that something was on his processor, but it had to do with you? What was it? Did it have to do with your feelings? Tense, you talked again.

“...Have I done something? I’d rather you tell me.”

“You’ve made me fall in love with you.”

The words were whispered but still felt so loud, filling the room with their impact in a way that made your cheeks hot and your heart beat hard against your chest.

“Your illness must be making you delusional,” You laughed nervously, but Optimus only gave you a sloppy grin and laughed. You moved your hand to the top of his helm to check his temperature, but it hadn’t changed- as much as you wanted to believe it, you were sure he was being serious and not having feverous hallucinations like you’d initially suspected. Still, you thought it proper to ask. “Do you feel hot? Are you overheating again?”

“No, (y/n), I’m just in love with you,” Optimus peered at you, smile falling a bit. “I mean, yes, I am sick, and I’m still overheating, but I’ve been in love with you for- Ah, I’m actually not sure how long it’s been... I just know it’s been too long.”

There was a pause, in which the two of you seemed to be processing what important things were said; in the span of just a minute or two, Optimus had boldly laid his feelings out for you on the table, unabashed and proud, the tension that came with two years worth of pining that you’d been doing solved so... Quickly. You were surprised you hadn’t felt your jaw hit the floor.

Had he really loved you the whole time? Or was this a recent development? Why was he only telling you now? Had his stress over his feelings for you also contributed to his sickness?

“I’m not sure I can talk about this in good conscience when you’re so vulnerable,” You smiled back at him, (e/c) eyes meeting his ocean-hued optics as you removed your hand from his head. Shyly, he reached out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “It feels selfish, but... I love you, too, and that’s why I want you to rest and get better, maybe not stress out so much.”

You kissed the back of his servo as he pulled it away, earning what you hoped was a blush and not more symptoms of overheating.

“I’d kiss you if I weren’t afraid of getting you sick,” Optimus sighed. You were sure that you probably couldn’t catch whatever he had going on since he was a Cybertronian and you were human, but you didn’t want to test that theory, so you left it alone.

“It’s okay,” You reached out to hold one of his servos in both of your hands, squeezing reassuringly. “I can feel the sentiment. Just focus on getting better, okay? We have all the time in the world.”

“Sometimes I fear we don’t- Have all the time, I mean, and I suppose that’s why I finally broke down and did this- I like to believe I’m impervious to everything around me, but I’ve already died once, and every time I get sick, I always think about what will happen if I go offline without telling everyone around me just how much they mean. I didn’t want to be scared anymore, not when it came to you.”

“I...” You stood and got on top of the berth so you could sit next to Optimus, curling into his side. “Me, too.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” The Prime asked and wrapped an arm around you. Gentle. Strong. Warm.

“Would you like me to be?” You asked in return with a tilt of your head.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll be here,” Optimus looked at you, clearly somewhat doubtful, but you only shook your head with a smile. “I promise, I won’t leave you. Just get some rest, okay?”

“...Okay.”

So, you stayed, and when Ratchet walked in the next morning to see you curled up by Optimus’s side on the berth with your (lip/chap)stick smeared on his servos, both of you sleeping peacefully for once, he couldn’t help but think that Optimus getting sick once in a while wasn’t so bad after all.

[heliads]

Hostage Situation

When Y/N L/N is kidnapped by Peter Pan to serve as a hostage and coerce her kingdom into leaving Neverland alone, she can only laugh. The mutual hatred between her and Pan, however, may lose its fire after a while.

masterlist

Your feet tread methodically around the grounds. You loop around the castle, walking past scraggly bushes and dying trees, eyes occasionally flickering to the large mountains in the distance. Your mother and father keep an impressive castle, but their focus rarely extends to the upkeep of the grounds themselves. Kings and Queens don’t exactly bother themselves with gardening- that will fall to the servants or, when you’ve managed to bore yourself enough, you.

Technically, you should be back in the castle. You are a princess, after all, and princesses rarely roam about the grounds in dirty, faded boots that have walked more miles than the most experienced of messengers. This being said, you’re not sure anyone will spare you enough thought to care. You may be a princess, but only in blood and title. Anything else must be fought for, and you’ve given up such pastimes long ago.

You suppose you’re still musing over this, which is why you don’t see the shadow swooping down over you until it’s too late. By the time you feel the uncanny stillness, or notice that an unusual darkness has swarmed around you, the shadow’s eerily human arms have wrapped around you, and your feet are already lifting from the ground. You struggle, but it is in vain, and soon you’re watching trees and rivers pass miles below you. You lock eyes with the shadow being, but its glowing white gaze betrays nothing but an emotionless urge to complete orders. Wherever you’re going, someone is waiting for you, someone who is controlling this shadow.

This realization troubles you more than you like. You don’t much like the idea of being taken somewhere, and you’re not about to just sit around and let it happen. You wait until the shadow swoops low over a rolling set of hills, and begin to fight back with renewed vigor. Although your blows tend to sink through the only somewhat corporeal shadow, you manage to stun it enough that it drops you. You fall through the air, catching yourself in the boughs of trees and scrambling down. 

Your feet pound on the dirt as you sprint away from the shadow, but even this effort is useless. It appears out of nowhere in front of you, and as you skid to a stop it raises its hands and a wave of shadow rushes from it. The darkness pools around you like ink, rising to swallow you whole. You can only see one last thing before the darkness engulfs you completely: the white beacons of light that are the shadow’s eyes. Then there is nothing to see at all, and you can feel yourself falling to the ground.

When you wake up again, you find yourself lying down. You’ve been propped up against a tree, and when you open your eyes, you realize you’re in the middle of a forest. It’s a different forest than the one you were just in, and at a different time of day. The shadow must have continued the journey while you were still unconscious. You shiver slightly at the thought- wherever you are, it won’t be good. You move to sit up, but a wave of dizziness yawns open in your stomach and you lean back once more. You go to steady yourself, but your hands don’t move- they’ve been tied together with rough rope.

You had done your best to stay silent, but it’s not like you’re alone. Across the clearing, about a dozen or more boys dressed in robes of faded brown dance around a campfire. An almost maniacal glee spreads across each of their faces as they whirl and jump around, dancing to the haunting sound of a flute. The music stops after a second, but the boys continue dancing. You shiver slightly, then straighten up as a new boy approaches you. This one is dressed not in the russet tones of the others, but instead a dark, forest green. He must be their leader.

He crouches down in front of you, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Welcome, princess.” You raise an eyebrow at his tone. “An interesting welcome, sure. Nothing says fun like ropes and a kidnapping.” The boy just chuckles. “It wasn’t like you made it easy for us.” You shrug, eyes wandering away from the boy to skim the trees surrounding you. An idea is starting to click into place in your head. There’s a story you heard once, from a traveling merchant. There was an island deep in the ocean, full of boys who never seemed to grow old. They were led by one in particular, one boy who could make grown men shiver in their boots.

Your attention snaps back to the boy. Now you really look at him, at his knife-sharp grin and the cool confidence he wears like a glove. His smirk widens as if he can read your mind. “Do you know where you are, love?” You sigh, leaning your head back against the tree in exasperation. “Let me guess, I’m on Neverland.” The boy spread his hands as if in pride, and you resist the urge to groan.

If this is Neverland, then the boy in front of you must be Peter Pan. And you have heard enough about Peter Pan to know that any hour spent with this devil of a boy will be absolute hell.

Pan notices the realization sink into the girl’s eyes. She must have heard of him, he assumes, or she wouldn’t be looking at him like that. However, unlike the other visitors, there isn’t a shred of fear in her gaze. No, she just looks like she’s been dealt an unfortunate round of cards, rather annoyed instead of outright afraid. Pan’s not sure how he feels about that.

Y/N considers the rope tying her wrists. “Well, Peter, are you going to untie me or just let me stew here for a while?” Pan frowns. “It’s Pan. And no, you may be a princess but that doesn’t mean we’re all going to bow to you whenever you ask. There’s only one monarch in Neverland, and I’m afraid that title belongs to me. You’ll have to sit tight until they find out you’re missing.” Y/N scoffs, and then her eyes grow alight with suppressed laughter. “Wait- I think I know why I’m here. You’re trying to use me as a hostage.”

Y/N laughs even harder now, and Pan frowns. “I’m not sure why that’s funny. Your kingdom has been infringing upon my waters for a long time now. I intend to stop them.” Y/N shakes her head, doing her best to bite back a grin. “No, I get it. Great motive, but I’m afraid you chose the wrong hostage.” She fixes him with a cool look, finally keeping her laughter in check. “I’ve been kidnapped a couple of times before. Trust me, they won’t come for me. Not the guards, not my parents. I’m not useful to them.”

Pan frowns, curious despite himself. “What do you mean, you’re not useful to them?” Y/N shrugs. “The reason my parents became the King and Queen is because they were able to channel the power of my ancestors. Every monarch in my kingdom uses some magical artifact to gain increased strength, life, wisdom, you name it. The only problem is that it doesn’t work with me, so I’ve ceased to be a worry to them. I can’t use magic at all- not for them, not for you. You can hold me on this island for as long as you want, but it won’t work. They’re not coming after me.”

The words are light, spoken with the last traces of a laugh, but Pan still feels his stomach clench with some unnameable emotion. Maybe Y/N is meant to be a Lost Girl, maybe she’s more lost than any of them. This though alone fills him with loathing. If she’s a Lost Girl, then she’s supposed to stay on the island, even beyond her sentence as a hostage. Pan, however, is fairly sure that he doesn’t want to see this girl longer than a second. She had better be wrong about her parents, because Pan is certain that he’s going to end up killing her before the guards arrive on the shores of Neverland to rescue her.

You wake early, just before dawn begins to stain the tops of the trees with the light of morning. You stand up, stretching, and glance around the clearing. The Lost Boys appear to have gone to sleep, Pan included. They’ve left you alone for now, but you have no doubt that they’re still watching. Besides, it’s not like it would matter anyway- there’s nowhere for you to go. You’re on an island, after all, and there’s no way you could swim far enough to reach another nation’s shores.

Careful not to make a sound, you meander over to the campfire. Your hopes are proven correct when you spy a knife lying abandoned in the dirt. You pick it up, beginning to saw away at your ropes as you walk out of the clearing. You toss the cut ropes behind you, tucking the knife into your boot just in case. On an island like this, you never know when you might need a weapon.

You end up walking for about ten minutes before you get the feeling that you’re being watched. You roll your eyes. “I know you’re there, you can come out now.” One second you’re alone, and the next you’re being shoved up against a tree, an arm against your throat to stop you from moving. “You know, I’m fairly sure escaping prisoners aren’t supposed to call out to their jailers.” You scoff, pushing Pan’s arm away from you. “I appreciate the concern, Peter, but I’m not trying to escape. I’m just having a good time exploring the forest.”

You can see Pan’s eyes darken when you use his first name, but he ignores the jibe. “Who said I care about your wellbeing? I’m just making sure that you aren’t getting any ideas about an escape.” You give him a look, continuing on along the trails of the forest. “Anyone stuck on an island with you would think about escape.” He just chuckles, walking alongside you. “Tell that to my Lost Boys. They’ve chosen to leave the world behind to live on Neverland.” You smirk at him. “And what a sorry, sorry choice they’ve made.” He glares at you, but you just grin.

If you’re going to have to stay on this accursed island, you at least intend to enjoy yourself. 

Y/N wakes up every morning to walk the island. Pan’s not sure why she bothers- there’s nowhere for her to go. Yet every dawn she wakes like clockwork, opening her eyes and beginning her wanderings. Pan has wondered if she’s awoken by nightmares, and that’s why she gets up so early, but if she’s plagued by night terrors Y/N is very good at hiding it. She doesn’t seem concerned at all, just keen to see the forest. Pan’s long since given up on the binding ropes- she just finds some way to remove them. 

Pan’s watching his Lost Boys practice fighting when he senses another pair of eyes watching the sparring boys. He glances up to see Y/N, half hidden among the trees. Her gaze is glued to the boys, and he can almost picture her dissecting every move. There was an opening, when John stumbled, there was an opportunity, when Devin swung too low. Pan’s never heard of a princess that could fight, but if there ever was one, he’s sure that it would be her. Y/N lacks many of the key characteristics of a princess- charm being one of them. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could hold her own in a fight.

After the match ends with a triumphant Devin raising his fists to the sky, Pan steps forward. Instantly, the eyes of the Lost Boys all flash to him, including Y/N’s. He doesn’t speak that often, usually allowing Felix to lead classes. When he does have something to say, the Lost Boys tend to listen. Pan gestures for Y/N to step out of the grove of trees. “Well, princess, care to join the ring? Or are you all talk as we thought?”

She laughs, but Pan can see the glint of a challenge rising in her eyes. Y/N steps forward, and Pan points out a Lost Boy to act as her opponent. “Nick, I’d usually tell you to not rough her up too bad, but to be honest, I think we all want to see her get punched.” Y/N smirks. “If that’s true, why don’t you come down here and fight me yourself?” It’s a challenge, certainly, but Pan speaks before it can gain traction with the Lost Boys. “I’d never dirty my hands fighting someone like you.” Y/N, wisely, says no more, and shifts into a fighting stance opposite Nick.

To be honest, Pan does have to feel bad for the guy. No matter what he tries, Y/N throws him away like he’s nothing. She blocks his attacks, she punches and kicks and basically tears the guy to shreds. It would be humiliating were it not for the fact that Y/N is so obviously better than anyone on this island except for Pan and maybe Felix. Y/N flashes Pan a grin, extending a hand lightly coated in blood that does not belong to her. “Want to send another Lost Boy into the ring, or have you accepted the fact that I’m not going down easily?” Pan returns her smile. “I think I’m good.” And maybe, he just might be okay with all of this.

You’re relaxing by the campfire in the morning when you first hear the sounds of running footsteps. After that fight with Nick (although fight isn’t exactly the right word for it, maybe instead you could call it a bloodbath), the other Lost Boys accepted you immediately. Even Peter seems to approve of you now, and you catch him smiling softly at you across a clearing when he thinks you can’t see. You’re not sure why you notice, or why you keep thinking about it, but you’re fairly sure he shouldn’t linger behind your eyes as long as he does.

You look up at the swiftly approaching pair of Lost Boys, expecting to see them collapse in laughter, but the boys instead look worried, faces drawn with anxiety. You stand up, suddenly tense. What could make these boys look so nervous? They run over to Peter, practically tripping over themselves in an attempt to make it to their leader. Even from here, you can hear their words. “Guards- a ship full- the king and queen- they’re attacking us.”

You can see Peter’s face freeze. He speaks to them quickly. “They were flying the flags of Y/N’s kingdom? You’re sure of it?” They nod. “They’re pouring down the beaches now. They’ll be here any second.” Peter curses under his breath, calling to the rest of the boys to grab weapons and defend the camp. You race over to him. “I can fight. Give me a weapon.” Peter stares at you. “You’d fight against your parents?” You nod. “They’re not here for me, they’re here for the magic on the island. Trust me, they wouldn’t come all this way if they didn’t think they could get something out of it.”

Peter’s brow furrows as he realizes what you’re saying. “You think that’s why they’re here?” You nod. “There’s no other reason. I’ve been kidnapped before, they never came. They’re not here for me.” You repeat, and Peter’s jaw clenches. “Get a sword, you can fight with the others.” He starts to move away, then steps back to you. “And Y/N? Stay safe.” You nod, returning the assurance of safety. Then the two of you run your separate ways, each desperate to save the island that’s somehow become your home in a matter of weeks.

You pull on a hooded cloak so the guards can’t recognize you. You can’t take the chance that they’d try to bring you back to the ship, not when you’re supposed to be fighting for Neverland. Your sword moves in a never-stopping arc, cutting through armor and slicing the soldiers like the warriors of old. At last, you pause for a second, noting that the situation on the beach has cleared. Yet you don’t see your parents, even though the Lost Boys said they were here. A chill rises in your throat as you realize what must be happening, and you turn and race back to the camp. Back to Peter.

Sure enough, your parents have found him. They’re using all of their magic against him, doing their best to take him down. Peter is strong, far stronger than either of them. Yet the two of them and additional guards against one Lost Boy isn’t a fair fight, even if it’s against Peter. Your heart is pounding in your throat. You’re going to have to make a decision, one you promised yourself you’d never have to make. 

You fling your arms up, and a wall of magic slams into your parents. They crumple to the ground along with the guards and lie there, unmoving. You can tell that they’re still breathing, albeit slowly. Peter’s gaze flashes from the suddenly unconscious guards to you, who stands there still, breathing heavily. Your arms are still raised from the burst of magic, and you lower them slowly. His gaze seems to burn right through you, and you begin to speak quickly, desperate to say something, anything, to stop the cutting look in his eyes.

“They never saw me, their backs were turned. We can get them onto the ships and away. They’ll think it was you, that you were too powerful for them. They won’t return. They won’t know about me.” Peter steps forward, but your feet feel leaden in your boots. You’re not sure you could move if you tried. His voice is quiet. “You do have magic.” You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t want them to know. I knew if they found out they would use me as a weapon, and I didn’t want to live as their blade.”

Understanding begins to dawn in Peter’s eyes. “You didn’t need the artifacts because you already had power of your own. You were smart to hide it from them.” His brow furrows again, confusion sweeping over him. “Why would you show me? Why would you trust me?” You look away. “You let me into your island, into the Lost Boys, without knowing about my powers for a second. I served no use to you, not even as a hostage. You didn’t want me here because of how I could help you, you wanted me here because of who I was. That’s why.”

Peter’s quiet for a second, and you begin to think that you’ve said too much. “They’ll probably find out after a while. I can board another ship, make my way back to the Enchanted Forest. They won’t bother you if I leave.” Peter says nothing, and you almost fear that he won’t say anything at all. That he’ll let you leave without another word, too wounded over this lie. Then his hand is on your cheek, guiding your eyes back to him, and he kisses you.

He kisses you for a second, then breaks away. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot on your cheeks. “I’m not letting them take you. Not now, not ever. I don’t want you to leave, Y/N. You’ve been a Lost Girl since the day you arrived and I can’t let you go because you want to protect us.” A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips. “What happened to there only being one monarch on the island?” Peter laughs quietly. “I’ll make an exception for you.”

[hogwartsmarvelmommy]

Sleep talk

Harry Holland 

A/N- i literally have no patience so i’m giving you all this way earlier than i anticipated. OOps 🤭❤️

Summary- a bad habit of talking in your sleep gets you into a predicament you would have never expected

Word count- 4k

Warnings- sleep talking. Smut. So much smut. additional warnings under the cut.

🌸🌼 Masterlist 🌼🌸

Warnings: Wet dreams. oral (F receiving) unprotected sex, (Please wrap it up!)

You wondered if anyone else felt that the car was stuffy. Sandwiched between Sam and Harry with Tom and Harrison in the front, there was little to no room. This was day three of the ten day road trip, and you were officially tired of sitting in the car. Sam was respectful, trying to give you as much space as he could with you being in the middle seat, Harry on the other hand was pushed up into you with his hand resting on your leg for the umpteenth time. Not that you particularly minded, but you weren't sure why he was being so touchy with you. Your mind kept wandering every time his fingers brushed across your thigh, and as much as you tried to not think the things you were about him, you couldn't help it.

You had finally given up, and closed your eyes, hoping the ache that was in your core would dissipate. There was quite literally nothing you could do about it yourself, at least in the moment. So with your eyes squeezed shut and your head thrown up on the headrest you tried desperately to get the dirty thoughts about your close friend Harry Holland out of your head.

It probably would have worked too, until you felt his face nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His warm breath ghosting the skin of your neck, spreading goosebumps all through your skin and making that desperate ache grow ten times. You couldn't take it anymore. With your thighs squeezed together, in hopes of any relief you let out a loud sigh. “Harrison, can we please stop at the next place with a restroom?” You asked, hoping that no one noticed the desperation in your tone. Harrison obliged, pulling into a nearly empty rest stop only a few miles further down.

As soon as Sam was out of your way you bee lined it towards the building, rushing to the bathroom like your life depended on it. You stood in the tidy restroom, with mirrors that barely offered a reflection. You splashed cold water on your face hoping the ache would disappear now that you weren't stuck to Harry.

Years upon years of knowing the Hollands, and since day one Harry had always tickled your fancy. The curly red hair, the humor the boy quite simply radiated, the warm kind eyes, and his smile. Oh his smile. This road trip was supposed to be a fun experience, a vacation of sorts, but it just seemed to be a constant torture for you. The other boys sticking you with Harry every chance they got. You were sure it was merely a coincidence, there was absolutely no way they knew about your crush. Right?

Last night though, had taken the cake. The hotel had only one room left and they had stuck you and Harry in one bed. You claimed it was no big deal, but in the middle of the night when he had unconsciously thrown his arm around your waist and pulled you into him, you were sure you were going to explode then and there. And the ache just seemed to keep growing.

The door opened causing you to jump. You looked over to see Harry walking in, weary of the fact that he was in the ladies room.

“What are you doing?” You asked him. The smirk that creeped up his lips let you know, he knew. He had to know. Why else would he follow you into a rest stop restroom?

“I was just worried about you, love,” his voice was low, deeper than usual, and you could feel your pussy clench at the sound of his voice.

“I'm alright,” You whispered. His eyebrows raised as he took another step towards you. You shivered as a million ways he could simply take you right now flashed through your mind.

“I've noticed the things you have been doing you know,” he smirked. Your eyes grew wide, not sure exactly what he meant. You have been doing an awful lot lately. “Every time i touch you, your thighs clench together, probably in hopes to relieve some of the pressure that has surely built up over the last few days,” the truth behind the things he said had your mouth hanging open, unaware of what to say to him. He closed the distance between the two of you arms boxing you in as you leaned against the wall in absolute complete shock.

“I-” You began to try and say anything but his finger pressed against your lips. He took his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked over you, a fire in his eyes you had never seen before.

“Am I wrong?” He whispered as he brought his lips to your neck, leaving the softest kisses down from behind your ear to your shoulder. You let out a moan, as you felt yourself grow wetter. “Didn't think so,” Harry mumbled before bringing his lips to yours. The kiss started slowly, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Moving gently over yours, but soon it became deep and with intent, you could feel his hand traveling down your body stopping right before the pool that had accumulated in your underwear. This was it.

The car screeched to a halt and you could hear Tom cursing at the driver in front of you, you looked around shocked that you had fallen asleep. When did Tom and Harrison swap seats? More importantly, how long had you been asleep and how much of your dream had slipped from your unconscious lips. You were a sleep talker, like majorly, so the panic set in instantly, having just had a wet dream about the boy to your right.

Harrison noticed you had woken up first, turning around in his seat as much as he could to look at you. “Morning y/n, have a good sleep?” it didn't seem as there was any teasing behind his question so you were hopeful.

“S’allright. How long was i out?” you felt Harry's body move as if he was chuckling you turned to see a giant shit eating grin spread across his face. You felt your stomach twist. “What did I say?” you asked burying your face in your hands, you knew this could be bad.

“It's okay love, think only I heard,” Harry whispered.

“I heard,” Sam piped in.

“So did we,” Tom announced from the driver's seat. You groaned in embarrassment, why did you have to have a wet dream in a car with your closest friends.

“Was it bad?” you finally asked, peering through your fingers to see Harry's face. You could clearly tell he was holding back something.

“Oh Harry,” Tom mimicked your voice.

“Better than my dreams,” Harrison added.

“Soo soo good,” Sam chuckled.

This was it, the end of your life, this was by far the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened.

“Please don't stop Harry,” Harry whispered in your ear, eyebrows raised, obviously enjoying this. You were sure you were as red as a tomato at this point, your worst fears coming to life.

“Oh my god, you could have woken me up!” You shrieked, burying your face deeper into your hands.

“It seemed like a very good dream, didn't want to interrupt,” Harrison chuckled from in front of you.

You decided to keep your eyes closed for the next few hours, being sure not to fall asleep. When you finally arrived at the small cabin that had been rented for the night, prior to the trip you were relieved to be able to breath and stretch. You had stayed relatively quiet, you were absolutely mortified and you didn't want to become more embarrassed by anything you could say or do at this point.

“Y/N” Tom called. You turned your attention to him, not having heard what he had just said. “Only two rooms, so I'm going to have you bunk with Harry again. You don’t mind right?” He said the last part with a smirk and you knew instantly you would never live this down.

“Course she doesn't,” Harry chimed in, throwing his arm around your shoulder. saving you from having to respond in any way. You smiled up to him through your lashes, silently thanking him. He nodded at you and winked.

Your heart skipped a beat.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Sam whipped up a quick but delicious dinner before the five of you went to your sleeping areas. Tom and Harrison took the bunk room, Sam settled with the pullout bed, leaving you and Harry to share a full sized bed. It would be a snug night.

“You okay darling?” Harry asked as he settled into the bed next to you, you were trying to not let your mind wander. Sleep, you were going to just sleep tonight.

“Other than being mortified, I'm alright,” You mumbled as you rolled onto your side facing away from Harry.

“Because of your dream?” you felt him shuffling on the bed before his hand reached out gently resting on your hip. “You can't control the things your subconscious comes up with. Honestly it was flattering,”

“Seriously?” you asked, face deadpan. As you turned to look at him. He raised his eyebrows at you. “It wasn't my subconscious Harry, yes i happened to be asleep, but i have been having these thoughts for weeks. Imagining you stripping me naked and having your way with me. Every time you touch my leg, I hope your hand will travel between my thighs. I'm longing for you to scratch an itch I wasn't even aware I had,” you took a deep breath and then realized what you had just said. “You're my best friend, I'm not supposed to be thinking like this,” You went to turn back around, but Harry reached out grabbing your waist. Before you even had a second to respond you felt Harry's lips crash into yours. His fingers gripped onto your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you, you of course reciprocated, your hands rested on his chest as he pulled your body closer to his. His lips left yours causing a whimper to leave your mouth.

He moved his mouth to your neck, leaving soft kisses and light nibbles down the sensitive skin, till he reached your collar bone. He looked up at you, with lust filled eyes. “I haven't been able to get you off my mind,” He admitted shyly, returning his lips to yours. You smiled into his kiss.

“You're joking,” he took his bottom lip between his teeth while shaking his head. You were sure everything melted away at that moment. Your arms went around his neck as his arms went around your waist closing any distance that was between the two of you. The kisses became sloppy and hungry as Harry's hands slipped under your shirt. The feeling of his fingers on your bare skin sending a wave of excitement through your body. “Harry,” You moaned as his lips ghosted over the skin on your neck.

“Tell me what you want love,” his voice was deeper than normal, and filled with lust making you shiver.

“Touch me please,” You nearly begged him. He raised one eyebrow before letting his hand that he had moved to your cheek travel unimaginably slow down your body.

“Where do you want me to touch?” He asked you as his hand made its way to your breast, cupping it and feeling around over your shirt until he had the bead of your nipple between his fingers gently rolling it. You gasped at the sudden stimulation. He lifted your shirt replacing his fingers with his mouth letting his tongue roll it around while his hand glided down your stomach stopping just before the waistband of your pajama bottoms. “Can I?” he asked coyly.

“Please,” You let out as his hand slipped down past your pants and your undies. His fingers gently glided through your soaking folds, before finding your bundle and rubbing it lightly in a circular motion. You let out a moan at the action.

"Take it off for me," Harry said as he pulled his hand away from you.

You began to shake slightly your eyes shooting open, was this seriously happening a second time in the same day? You looked over to see Harry propped up on his elbow next to you, his features illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the curtains. His grin was undeniable.

“Please, i don't even want to know,” You groaned as you buried your face deep in the pillow.

“Oh but I want to know,” He said as he ran his fingers down your spine. “Please tell me what I am doing in your dreams to make you make those noises?”

You lifted your head, looking at him. You could tell him everything and maybe he would feel the same and actually act on your wild dreams, or you could pretend not to remember and hope this never happened again. He leaned in closer to you and his lips brushed against your earlobe. “Tell me how I'm making you moan like that in your pretty little head,” he whispered.

You let out a gasp, at his sudden close proximity to you. You could already feel the juices pooling in your panties.

“Well,” You gulped. “It usually starts with you kissing me,” His grin grew as he leaned in, letting his lips nearly touch yours. You were sure you were about to melt.

“Just like this?” he whispered, not actually connecting your lips.

“Y.y.yeah,” you stuttered out, your mind going wild at what was actually happening.

“And then?” he asked, licking his lips as he stared into your eyes.

“You move to my neck.” He moved his hand so it was on your neck, his fingers brushing up and down your skin.

“Kissing, sucking, or biting?” he asked. You nodded to him, unable to think about anything. He flashed you a smile before moving his lips down to your neck, barely kissing your skin.

“What's next?” he asked into your skin, not moving his lips from where they were peppering the most gentle kisses.

“Either you touch my boobs or go down lower, but then i always wake up,” you admitted, your voice breathy and uneven. Harry lifted his head from your neck with wide eyes.

“You're telling me that's as far as it goes and I have you making noises like that?” The shock on his face and in his voice was cute, and you couldn't help but giggle at him.

“Yes,” you said coyly, a serious blush spreading across your cheeks.

"How long have you been having these dreams y/n?" He asked you quietly. You felt your breath hitch and you didn't want to admit to him that this isn't a new thing, your attraction to him has been a thing for years. You shook your head, not wanting to answer the question. “How long?” he repeated.

“Months,” You whispered, barely audible, But by the cocky look on his face you could tell he had heard you loud and clear.

“And you have never said anything, because?” He asked as he placed his hand on your stomach slowly sliding it down.

“I didn't think it was appropriate,” You mumbled, as you watched his hand as it slipped between the hem of your pajamas and panties. You let out a gasp as his fingers slid up and down your panties.

"So wet, and for what? I haven't even done a thing," Harry teased. You couldn't believe this was happening, especially after the day you had. To say you were embarrassed was an understatement, but in this moment you could care less. "Tell me what you want me to do," he told you as he rubbed you over your panties.

"If we're being honest Harry, all I can think of is how you would feel inside of me," as soon as the words left your mouth you were shocked at yourself, unsure of what exactly had come over you.

"Let's find out then princess," he whispered as he grabbed your pants and panties and peeled them off your body. You felt exposed laying sans bottoms in front of Harry, your friend, who you had feelings for. He reached down, running a finger through your slick folds, and then bringing it up to his mouth. The motion alone was enough for you to nearly die, the idea of Harry tasting you was unbelievably hot, and judging by the obvious bulge in his pajama pants, he agreed.

You reached out to palm him through the fabric of his pants, and as soon as you made contact he let out a quiet groan before pushing you down onto the bed, and finally connecting your lips.

Kissing Harry was everything you expected and more, his lips were soft and gentle all while being rough and hungry for yours. He kissed you with such passion you were sure this had to be yet another dream. It wasn't until you managed to push his sweats halfway down his thigh, revealing his hard outline in his boxers that you were fully sure this was in fact happening.

He moved his lips from yours and down the entirety of your body, focusing a little on your breasts, being sure to pay each one the equal amount of attention, until finally making his way to right above your heat. This was always the part you would wake up, never having experienced Harry between your legs, tongue at work while his curls tickled the inside of your thighs, just the thought of wrapping your fingers in those unruly curls to hold him closer to you made your mouth salivate. When he finally dipped his head down, running his tongue all the way from your entrance to your clit you let out a loud moan, forgetting that the three others were only separated by thin walls. The noises you were making were like music to Harry's ears, telling him he was doing a perfect job, and once your fingers grasped at his hair and began to tug tightly he knew you couldn't get enough of his tongue. He moved his hand from where it had been resting on your knee, slid it up your thigh slowly until his fingers were able to tease your entrance while his tongue focused all on your sensitive nub, drawing circles and flicking it so perfect that once his finger went inside it only took you about two brushes against your g spot for you to completely let go, and Harry rode that shit out, not stopping his precise movements until your moaning and gasping had quieted a little.

He pulled away from you, face glistening in the moonlight with a mixture of your orgasm and his saliva, he wiped his face with the back of his hand before crawling over you, and kissing you again. This kiss was different, more soft and gentle, still with purpose but unlike the first it seemed rather intimate, Harry let his body sink down onto yours, his clothed bulge brushing your sensitive nub while he continued to kiss you.

"Harry," you moaned into his lips, as you hooked your fingers in the hem of his waistband.

"We'll get there baby," he said brushing a few loose strands of hair from your face. The unusual pet name towards you just made your want for him grow. Harry Holland was to good for this earth, too good for you, yet here he was, fueling your fan fiction fantasies, and he was doing it so well you could almost forget that once this was over, you would go back to just being friends, and nothing more. Cause if you were sure of one thing it was that despite your ever growing feelings for Harry, he was not one to develop feelings, in the years you had known him you had never seen him be in a relationship. Which made you think he just wasn't interested.

With his hips grinding against yours while the two of you kissed for what felt like forever you could feel the ache building back up, needing more of him, needing to feel him. He disconnected your lips, pushing himself onto his knees so he could pull his boxers down, his cock which was oh so yummy slapping up against his stomach before he grabbed it and pumped it a few times. "You sure?" He asked you. Eyes full of worry. Once you did this there was no going back, even though your heart would probably break knowing he would never be yours.

"Never been more sure of anything else," you told him. He flashed you his giant Harry smile before lining himself at your entrance, his cock teasing you as his eyes were focused on your face. He wanted to see your reaction to him, to see how he made you feel. He pushed in slowly, giving you ample time to stretch to his size, though with how aroused you were you didn't need all that much. When his hips were flush against yours he started to thrust in and out, slowly at first, bit then harder and faster, stroking your spot with every thrust. The noises coming from the two of you sounded like they were out of a porno, skin slapping against skin, moans escaping from your lips and groaning from him as he pounded into you. After a few minutes of that he brought his hand down between you, letting his fingers rub circles on your nub, it wouldn't take you long now.

"Harry, 'm Soo close," you moaned, your fingers digging into the skin on his back.

"Me to baby, me to," he mumbled as he sped up his rhythm. When the cord finally snapped you felt a wave wash over you, of complete and utter euphoria. You felt Harry twitch inside you before slowing his thrusts down and falling onto your body. Your pretty sure you blacked out for a bit after that, cause when you finally open your eyes, the sun is streaming through the curtains and you are snuggled up against Harry. For a second you're worried it was just a dream, until you notice you are both still sans clothes under the sheet.

"Morning," Harry mumbles, eyes still closed.

"Good morning," you say quietly, not sure what's going to happen from here.

"Last night was amazing," he says after a few excruciating seconds. You giggle and nod your head, afraid that your word will betray you. "I've been waiting for that for years," he adds. Your eyes grow wide as you prop yourself up to look at his face.

"What did you just say?" You demand. His eyes flutter open and look directly at you, a smile on his face.

"I have been waiting for that for years," he repeats matter of factly. He could see the shock written on your face, so he reached out to grab your hand, interlocking your fingers. "You didn't honestly think I didn't have feelings for you did you? Why do you think Tom and Haz were always forcing us to bunk together?" You think back to all the times where the other three boys would group you and Harry off, leaving the two of you alone, and suddenly it all makes sense.

"You like me?" You ask, a smile spreading on your face.

"Baby, I'd be crazy if I didn't," he whispers, leaning up to kiss your lips.

Right then the door flies open and an irritated Tom, Harrison, and Sam are stood in the doorway. You're fully aware of your naked state now, clutching the sheet to cover all the exposed parts of your body.

"You guys were SO loud last night," Harrison says looking back and forth between the two of you. You mumble a sorry, completely embarrassed, until Tom starts to laugh.

"It's about time," he says, walking over and patting Harry on the shoulder before the three of them disappear back into the main area of the cabin.

"Whoops," Harry laughs, placing a kiss on your temple. You look up at him and can't help but smile.

[theguidetocryptids]

Just to preface this post, this was a comm for a member of the Sky:COTL server that I’m in (SORA.) These are not my characters! They belong to Ahmyo in the SORA Discord.

——————————————————

It was my mistake.

I had strayed a little bit too far off my usual route for the winged lights in the area and the krill had spotted me out in the open. I knew that it would hurt, but being able to take solace that it was, at least, my own mistake, would help with the sting. I still scrambled to try and make it to cover, but the creature of darkness roared before I was safe—charged—

But not at me.

Someone had swept in at the last second, like it was a scene straight out of one of the spirit’s fairy tales. The krill had completely forgotten about me, given an easier target. I barely even had time to stand before it was charging down at the other poor soul, but they were more aware of their surroundings. I could see them dive down behind a rock at the last second, the krill catching only dark water and mud.

I had to stay put for a minute just to wait for the creature of dark to finally leave, but when it did, I was immediately at the side of my “savior.” I said the only thing that came to mind:

“That was incredibly stupid.”

————————————————

“I don’t exactly feel like that was the stupidest thing ever, y’know? Like, okay. Maybe it’s a little up there, but definitely not even in my top ten. Besides! You’re safe. I didn’t lose any light. Everybody’s happy!”

I was quickly finding out that Eckto, as he’d introduced himself, had a much brighter view of the world than me. Where I saw someone trying to save a stranger from the inconvenience of being krilled, he saw a heroic act of someone trying to be helpful. I wasn’t exactly inclined to agree, considering that he was only a few inches away from hurting himself.

“Well! Whatever. Where are we going next?” He asked, stepping in front of my path.

The wind howled around the wasteland, whistling gently through the masses of pipes that lead towards the only structure for miles around—the Elder’s temple. Where else in the world we could be heading towards, I wasn’t sure. “Nowhere.”

Stepping around him, it didn’t seem that Eckto was going to be so easily deterred. He tailed me for a few minutes, even in the oppressive silence of the Golden Wasteland. I thought that eventually he would get bored and wander off, but . . . that clearly wasn’t happening.

“I’m heading towards the vault.” I offered, slowing down at the top of a dune. My finger pointed towards the tower that lay just beyond the temple, and slowly drifted towards the angry red glow on the horizon. “And I’ll be heading to Eden after that.”

“Oh.” He sounded nearly deflated, as if he’d expected something a bit more relaxing and involving a few less krill and boulders, but it would apparently take more than even that to put a dent in his mood. “Okay, yeah! I need to revisit the Heart anyway. Not like anything bad could really come of swinging by.”

A pause.

“Well, you’ll die.”

“I’ll get over it, I’m sure.” He said, nodding as if this was an uncertainty that he was completely confident in nonetheless. He seemed rather proud of himself as he said, “I’ve gotten quite good at dealing with the whole dodging flying rocks, if I do say so myself. And it’s not like they hurt that bad, honestly.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I said, shaking my head.

“I like to call it, ‘happily oblivious’.”

We continued the trek towards the vault at that point, but the silence didn’t last nearly as long that time. “My name’s Xernae. I don’t believe I’d told you.”

“You hadn’t,” Eckto assured me, “but it wouldn’t have mattered if you never did. I’m quite good at nicknames.”

“And what would mine be?”

I think that was the only time he’d ever seemed stumped by something I’d asked. He started to say something, but closed his mouth with a small “hmm.” “Gimme a few minutes,” he promised. “I’ll think of something! Just . . . not right now, y’know. I need time for the process and all that.”

I was smiling under the mask, but I’d never admit that.

————————————————

“The archives are a lot shinier than I remember.”

I was busy lighting the central platform, having already taken care of the few lanterns strewn about the ground level, but his comment was enough to distract me. “A lot . . . shinier?” I echoed. “How?”

“Well, I appreciate all the spirit mantas and everything, but it’s really been . . . quite a while since I’ve been here. I thought it was more dusty and bookish and everything, but this is more, just . . . nice. Does it get much different from this?”

“You’re going to enjoy the rest of this.” I didn’t exactly give Eckto much time to respond before the central lantern was lit, the platform coming to life with a hum. He seemed to remember something of this part, as he didn’t seem particularly impressed, but the moment that stars started to wink into existence around us was a different story.

“Oh. Wow. I . . . can’t believe I forgot about these,” he murmured, reaching out to cup one of the floating lights. “I must’ve been excited about finally getting close to Eden, before I realized what it was like. That or I really wanted to get away from the krill.”

“I find it hard to believe you were ever scared of them.” He laughed a bit, but there was clearly more to the story than a one-off joke. Fidgeting a bit, I knew we had a bit more time before the elevator would ascend to the second level—it really was painfully slow whenever first reactivated—and there was certainly nothing better to do. “What was your first experience with them like?”

Eckto was quiet for long enough that I figured he wasn’t going to respond, but eventually he seemed to find the words. “I know a lot of moths usually get adopted by a veteran, or at least have another moth that they latch onto as they figure stuff out, but that . . . didn’t really happen for me. Not for any reason in particular, I think, just bad timing and luck as far as everyone I met went. For the Golden Wastes in particular, I had to go it alone.” There wasn’t a sad tone to his voice, but nevertheless, I still got the feeling that it wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling. Comforting others wasn’t something I dealt with regularly, but I felt for him as he continued.

“You can imagine what happened whenever I encountered the krill for the first time. I’d seen the crabs before, but the krill were . . . much more vicious. I think I must’ve lost twenty winged light before I finally made it past the last gate, and that doesn’t include what I lost to my light going out in the dark water.”

“I’m sorry.” I said. I really was.

“Meh. It wasn’t as traumatizing as I’m making it out to be, I feel, but it certainly sucked for a few days after that. I actually usually spend most of my time in the Wastes because of that, in case there’s any moths that need help.” Eckto stood up and stretched, having returned the small star to the pool that accrued around the elevator as we rose.

“I’m not a moth.”

“No, but you did need help. That was good enough for me.”

I supposed that was good enough for me, too.

————————————————

Eden was an eternal storm.

The crystals sucked the light out of your body, the rocks rained down endlessly, the winds whipped around you like a hurricane. Not to mention the krill and the crabs, which only made an uninviting place even more inhospitable.

I took the lead, but Eckto followed not too far behind, tailing me whenever I bolted for the next safe spot. He didn’t seem entirely comfortable with Eden, but he certainly managed the hazards well enough.

Better than me, for certain. For as confident as I was in timing the period between rockfalls, I failed to notice when a stray shard broke away from the main flow, the stone smashing into my face like nature’s worst gift.

My light was snuffed out unceremoniously, but Eckto was there with a flame before I’d even picked myself up off the ground. “I think I might call you Stoneface. It fits your whole strong, silent type deal.”

“I talk a good bit. And I prefer Xernae.”

“You really don’t.” He insisted, helping me to my feet even as the boulders rushed around us. “But Xernae it is.”

I expected a bit more trouble from the patrolling krill, but luck seemed to be on our side after that. Thunder and lightning boomed and flashed in the clouds above us, but before long we were sheltered in the cave right before the point of no return. The Heart was simply too disruptive for us to return home, past that particular bend in the cave. “Not much further now,” I said, as we collected the last few children of light.

“Not at all,” he agreed, “but I’m rather excited to see all the elders again whenever we’re in orbit. It’s been a while since I’ve talked with them.”

Somehow, it seemed perfectly normal that Eckto was on a talking basis with all of the elders. I knew them, sure, but I’d never gone out of my way to bother them. He probably didn’t consider it “bothering,” if I had to guess.

The rest was something of a blur. It was rocks, and darkness, and the division of our own light, but beyond that my memory fails me. Probably due to the sheer amount of rocks that you’re pelted with towards the end, but I never really try to remember them anyway. All that I care about and recall is the Heart itself, and giving the little bit of light to it that I can.

This time, I did end up remembering something else. Towards the end, I hadn’t navigated the storm as well as I should have. I was low on winged light, and in no position to reach the Heart as it was. I was rather resigned to my fate—I would just have to do better next time—but Eckto wasn’t content with that.

The memory’s fuzzy, as they usually are, but I know that he helped me reach the Heart, despite the fact he could have gone on without me.

That was the last thing to see, before the world went black.

————————————————

Home, again.

It was always more serene whenever I had just been reborn. Everything seemed brighter, fresher. The waves seemed gentler, the birds more lively, the candles a bit warmer.

Normally, I was alone. Being serious hardly nets you many friends, as it is, but this time was different.

As soon as Eckto opened his eyes, I sighed heavily.

“I think you were right about the krill thing not being the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” I said, him looking over at me with interest. I smiled, openly this time, tilting the mask up. “Because that absolutely takes the cake.”

“Oh, come on! I was just helping!”

“We’re basically immortal. There’s always next time.”

We bickered back and forth like that for a while, but honestly, I appreciated the gesture. I hope he knew that.

Well, he wouldn’t know unless I told him, and I already knew there would be plenty of time to prepare myself for his no-doubt over the top response. So, I just enjoyed the moment.

Peacefully, and with a friend.

[binxiboo]

The Instagram Incident

5SOS Masterlist // Full Masterlist

Ashton Irwin x Reader

You didn’t intend for this. You knew the guys knew that, but management were fuming.

The day started out almost like a cheesy rom com with Ashton waking you up with a rose in an effort to be ‘cutesy and romantic’ as Michael put it. He guided you—who was wrapped in the fuzzy blanket you slept with—to the dining area of the bus. It was here that you were greeted with a breakfast. The biggest breakfast he could fit on the miniscule table of the tour bus.

After you’d both taken time to eat and had fed some to the three other band members, who were complaining about being neglected, Ashton surprised you with the free time he had before rehearsal. So, you rushed off to get ready for a few hours of exploring the city you had arrived in for the day.

While you were waiting for Ashton to get out of the tiny bathroom you posted on Instagram about the surprise Ash had woken you up with. Any other time that wouldn’t have caused any issues, but you had accidentally tagged your location in it, and the bus was parked outside of the hotel you’d be spending the night in. Nevertheless, you had still managed to enjoy your day in the city, sightseeing, stopping in the park for a picnic, and Ashton buying you some jewellery you saw in a shop window—he’d also bought you a stuffed animal because your reaction to it was so adorable.

It was on your way back to the hotel that you both turned your phones from silent. This was a rule you and Ashton had adopted after your first date; both of you being distracted by every ping or flash of your screens. It was this moment you became aware of the shitstorm you had walked away from a few hours ago.

Ashton’s phone was full of missed calls from the band’s security manager and all three of the other band members. Your phone was full of texts from the other band girlfriends, and then phone calls, and the same from the guys themselves. After listening to their voicemails, you realised their intentions of warning you before your arrival. You checked your Instagram post, as they had instructed you to and realised your mistake. You removed your location tag instantly but the worse had already happened. As your beloved guided you around the street corner of your hotel, you saw the mass of paparazzi outside.

“Fuck, what have I done?”

“It wasn’t your fault, Y/N”.

“Ash, it was solely my fault. It was my Instagram post. It was me who tagged the hotel!”

“But you didn’t do it on purpose, and you didn’t know that this would happen.”

No matter how Ashton tried to calm you, you still retained the guilt of exposing the guys’ whereabouts. Not to mention the earache you were about to receive from management. Plus, the defending argument Ashton was already planning out in his head that he was not about to be talked down from. It was safe to say that this was not a situation you would ever like to be in. But you were in it, and you were about to walk right into the most chaotic storm of your life.

Ashton shielded you from the paparazzi swarming the doors. You silently wished he could do the same once you had both made it through the doors. The head of the management team was waiting for the both of you, backed by a wall of unimpressed security guards.

You spent a solid hour on the edge of tears while Ashton defended you to the band’s security team. Their shouts of blames targeting you and your social media post were relentless; there were at least ten voices booming around the room and the only comfort you could get was Ashton’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand in attempt to keep you present. Speaking of your drummer boyfriend, Ashton had managed to calm down the army in front of you, at least enough to lower their volume, and began disarming the bomb that would send you home from tour and miles away from him.

Finally, the team were convinced that the ordeal was entirely accidental and you were completely unaware there was a location tagged on your post. You were, however, given a warning about future social media posts and issued instructions involving Ashton checking and future posts from here on out. Ashton wasn’t too happy about that one, but you were just relieved to be able to stay with him for the remaining shows.

“I don’t want you to have to wait for me to check your posts before you post them! I trust you, you made the mistake once, you sure as hell won’t repeat it in a hurry, why can’t they understand that?”

Ashton’s rant started as soon as you got to your hotel room. It would humour you how passionate he was about the ‘injustice’ against you had you not still been fighting back the tears produced at the start of the meeting. Once met with your silence Ashton looked at you, dead in the eyes. Just the eye contact you held with each other was enough to break you.

Simultaneously, both you and the tears fell. Ashton’s arms supported you as you sobbed into his chest. You were fine with the results of the situation; you didn’t care if your social media posts had to be monitored –if anything you were comforted by that practice – but the stress of the past few hours and the constant yelling for half of that was an overload for you.

Ashton softened under you as he led you over to your shared bed for the night. He guided to lie down, took your shoes off and began the evening of winding you down for the night.

[kalinara]

So @leupagus has an interesting post about Henry’s age, in story, which got me thinking about my own thoughts about Ted as a father.  I figured rather than derail that post, I’d write my own.  

I think I have complicated feelings about the whole issue.  Part of it may come from the fact that I worked for a few years in Family Court.  And when you work in Family Court, you see some of the very worst shit that people will do to each other and their kids.  I’m not even talking about abuse or neglect situations here.  I’m talking about NORMAL people, the kind who would probably consider themselves to be good parents, even as they use their kids as a weapon to screw each other over.

So that’s probably a factor in why I actually think Ted is a very good father: he sees his son every day.  He takes an interest in what his son is doing.  He makes sacrifices to be sure that he can be there for that time with his son.   One of the reasons he turned down Beard’s invitation for a walkabout after Man City was because he was supposed to speak to Henry after a concert.  Given that concerts generally take place around 7-8 at night, Central Time, that means Ted will likely be staying awake most of the entire night.  He turned down the Higgins’s Christmas party so he could have that morning with him.

From the perspective of someone who worked in family court, the fact that Ted IS making this sincere effort to spend time with his son, the fact that Michelle allows and facilitates this without any kind of judgment or resentment, and the fact that Ted has not gotten it into his head to try to fight for custody and uproot his kid from everything he knows feels downright miraculous.

That probably sounds like damning with faint praise, but honestly, a lot of people are fucking horrible.  

I do think physical presence does matter.  And I think Ted does too, hence his referring to the drone as a “guilt gift”.  We’ve heard dialogue in season one that indicated that Ted was intending to go back to the US during the off-season, and we have no reason to assume that didn’t happen.  But admittedly, that’s not a huge amount of time.  But it’s not completely unheard of in modern times for even intact families to have one parent work far away.  It happens with military people.  It happens with actors on a film or tv show.  And with modern technology, it’s not really the same as it was when I was a kid.  And when Henry’s older, they might be able to work out a more even split of time.

As you can see, my thoughts swing back and forth on this like a pendulum.  Which is part of why this is my post rather than a very wordy reblog.

It’s hard to say how much of this is intentional.  Jason Sudeikis is an actor/showrunner with children Henry’s age.  The children’s mother is an actress/director, and without having any inside information, it wouldn’t surprise me if both parents have spent significant time away from the children for work.  Maybe this is normal for them.

But the “guilt gift” line, and Nate’s monologue, and the images that flash through Ted’s head during a panic attack make me think that we’re maybe supposed to have our doubts and concerns about this whole situation.

When Michelle asked for space, Ted gave her almost five thousand miles.  He fled.  From her and from their son.  And it’s interesting to think about why that might be.

I think about Henry’s age.  8-10.  Again, could just be because of the actor’s own children.  But what if it’s not?   What if the number is significant?

When Ted was ten years old, his father started taking him to a sports bar every sunday.  It’s a sweet anecdote, and sports bars are at least somewhat family friendly.  But why, EVERY Sunday?

When Ted was in fifth or sixth grade, his father saved his bacon by reading Johnny Tremain (and I wonder if there is some interesting symbolism there...).  That’s age 10-11.  It’s a memory so strong that Sharon is able to use it to help Ted out of a pretty awful spiral.

Henry is entering an age when Ted was the closest to his father, and Ted has fled away from him instead.

So here’s a thing I’ve hinted toward in other posts but never said outright.  And now I will.  I think Ted is borderline suicidal.  I don’t think he wants to be.  I think he fights it with every part of him.  But I think the urge, the drive is there.

There’s no monologue where Thierry Henry says he needs a pep talk to kill himself, but a rewatch through the series will point out a fuck ton of times where death, death-related imagery, and suicide-related imagery comes out of Ted’s mouth without anyone noticing or remarking on it.  It becomes particularly explicit when he talks about Rebecca firing him.  It’s even in the fucking opening credits.  One of the chairs that DOESN’T turn red has a little graffitied “Lasso” with the O forming a hangman.

Ted is angry at his father for “quitting”.  We know that’s not how suicide works.  But maybe that’s what it feels like to Ted, if Ted is working so hard to fight those same impulses.  And the Christmas episode is particularly overt about it.  Ted looking mournful and contemplative as George stands over that bridge.  He even tells Rebecca that “it could have gone dark.”  I think he meant it.

We talk about Ted’s habit of creating routines with people.  A way that he can know, for certain, that they’ll still be a part of his life.  And I think that’s true.  But it also works the opposite way: these routines put an obligation on HIM to remain a part of THEIR lives. 

When he learned about Nate’s betrayal, the first thing he apparently did was go bake Biscuits for the Boss.  And brought them, even when he was pretty sure he’d messed up the batch.  I don’t think that’s an accident.

So, let’s run with my interpretation for a bit.  Ted is so much like his father.  Ted is fighting the same demons as his father.  And Ted looks at his own son with the knowledge of what his father’s death had done to HIM.  And maybe, in his own warped, fucked up way, he’s trying to protect him from it.

Ted was angry at his father, before his death.  Because his father spent so much time with work and with his friends.  Henry is bound to feel that anger too.  But maybe Ted thinks that’s better in the long run.  And well, at least if Ted “quits”, Henry won’t be the one to find him afterward.

[cinebration]

Give Me Peace (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]

I always had a vision of the witcher where reader is a siren (alternative, land walking type that can still enthrall ppl with her beauty) and her and Geralt always bump into each other over the years. Ppl are always hunting her since sirens are worth a lot of money so he decides to help her. Geralt refuses to admit his feelings are real for her until he figures out that witchers are immune to siren songs. Basically, lots of angst but a fluffy ending! — Requested by anon

I know this was supposed to have a fluffy ending, but it turned into something else, and I couldn’t bear to change it.

Tagged: @bichibibi​

Warnings: death

Gif Source: august-walker

Over the span of five decades, you and Geralt crossed paths more times than he had ever crossed anyone’s, Jaskier and Yennefer included. The hand of destiny seemed to be at work, nudging you both into each other’s path every ten years or so.

It started first by the ocean. You had spent much time there in that first decade, drawn to the sea and your marine cousins, the sirens of the water. You were a siren of the land, beautiful beyond measure but lacking the enchanting voice of your sea cousins. You did not call men to their deaths as they did. Instead, your beauty drove men to madness.

Perhaps you were the more dangerous breed.

For the first few years, your beauty kept you safe, as no man who laid eyes on you and met your gaze was safe from your spell. You could topple kingdoms if you so felt with that kind of power.

But there came men and women who coveted the prize of a slain siren, especially one poisoning the minds and hearts of their very best.

Thus came your first encounter with the witcher, Geralt. Hired by the townsfolk, he sought you out on the shores of the sea, where you sat on the rocks in low tide and gazed out over the choppy waters. Careful to avoid your gaze, he drew near, armed not with his sword but with his wits, ready to be enthralled.

Hearing his step on the sand, you glanced at him and paused, stricken by his rugged beauty. Never had you seen a man whose looks could entice you as you enticed others. Though he averted his eyes, you saw their vivid yellow irises glinting in the setting sun.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

He grunted.

“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”

“You’re driving the town mad.”

“They are driven mad by their own desire. I can’t hide myself.”

“They don’t see it that way.”

“How do you see it?”

He cleared his throat, glanced over his shoulder to see if any of the townsfolk had followed him.

Slipping down off the rock, you approached him. He took a step back, shifting into a defensive stance. You ceased, bare feet digging into the cooling sand.

“If I paid you more than they did to protect me, would you?”

The muscle in his jaw flexed. “Only if you leave.”

With a sigh, you looked back over the ocean. You would miss it, but forests and mountains were your home; to them you would return.

~~

The following decade, Geralt heard news of a beautiful woman bewitching men near Brokilon. At first he thought she belonged to the druids that populated the dangerous forest, but as he heard report after report of men driven to madness, raving of beauty and unearthly eyes, he knew the woman to be a siren.

He knew it had to be you.

The villagers sent him forth to kill you. Traveling through the forest on the outskirts of Brokilon, careful not to trespass, he found a small hut near the road, partially obscured by the trees but by no means invisible.

Through a half-shuttered window, he glimpsed you brushing your hair. In the light from the fire burning within the hearth, he glimpsed the faint lines of sealed gills. He had heard that land sirens had come from the sea centuries before, but nothing had offered so much proof as the vestigial, malformed organs on your neck.

“Witcher,” you called, seeing him through the window, “have you come for me?”

He grunted.

“You would kill me for something I have no power over?”

“The villagers don’t see it that way.”

“What am I to do? I can’t hide myself.”

“You could do a better job.”

“Come into my home, witcher, and warm yourself.”

Shaking his head, he unsheathed his sword.

“If I pay you double what the villagers are paying, will you spare me again?”

He considered for a long moment. You stared at his face, but he refused to meet your gaze. Out of his peripherals, he saw something of your beauty. It was stellar, he would agree, but it stirred nothing more within him than he expected when seeing a beautiful woman.

It almost made him want to meet your enchanting gaze.

Discipline and strength won out, but not entirely.

“Yes,” he answered. “Just leave.”

Sighing, you put out the fire and gathered your things, amounting to nothing more than a small sack over one shoulder.

“Witcher,” you called, “I have been attacked twice now.”

He nearly met your eyes, so sharply did he turn back to you.

“Men shot arrows through my window, tried to set fire to my home.”

“You are a monster to them.”

“So are you, but you are allowed some peace.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Few men think they can kill you. Every man thinks they can kill me. There is peace in the former.”

Shouldering your sack, you struck off down the road, fixing your gaze on the mountains.

Geralt watched you go until even his enhanced vision no longer saw your figure, your words echoing in his mind.

~~

In the third decade, Geralt came upon you by chance. He passed a hunting party made of hardscrabble men practically frothing at the mouth with anticipation. They rained arrows down into the ravine from their position on the mountain face, arrows with fire burning at the ends. Geralt would have walked on if one of them had not cried, “Burn, enchantress!”

Geralt paused to look down into the ravine. A small shack leaned against the wall, situated by a thin stream. You stood in stark relief among the basalt, knocking away the arrows with a poor shield. One arrow caught in your thatch roof, caught fire.

Geralt hauled the nearest archer off his feet, slamming him against the cliff face. The other men spun, glimpsed his white hair and murderous glare. They fled, screaming obscenities in your direction.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

He didn’t answer, unsure how to.

Running into the burning shack, you stumbled out with your bag and watched the rest of your ramshackle home burn. By the time it had been reduced to a pile of ash and cinders, Geralt had made his way down into the ravine. He avoided your gaze but stared at the curve of your neck.

“They grow bolder every year,” you informed him. “See?” Slipping off the shoulder of your tunic, you presented a livid scar not many months old. “They will be the death of me—and I have not driven any of them mad.”

“Sirens have gone up in price.”

“I have no money to pay you, witcher, to spare me.”

He grunted. “I wasn’t hired to kill you. This time.”

“Until next time, then.”

“Wait.”

You obliged, dropping your gaze slightly so he could look on your face. Wary, he only glimpsed it before averting his eyes.

“They’ll keep coming,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What…will you do?”

“Nothing. We all die at the hands of men.”

Geralt felt something strange constrict his chest. “You can go to the Edge of the World.”

“The elves have no love for my kind. We are as dangerous to them as we are to humans. But thank you for the advice.”

Geralt watched you follow the river through the ravine and wondered why he wanted to tell you to stay.

~~

The fourth decade, he was hired yet again—by you. You tracked him for miles, following instructions given to you by a man in the town. No one had been bewitched therein, for you had bound your eyes with cloth, preventing them from being enthralled.

Only as you navigated the unused road did you remove the cloth. After a day of unceasing travel by foot, you approached Geralt’s campsite. Roach whinnied as you drew near, but she did not rear or cry out in alarm. Geralt sprang to his feet.

Having blinded yourself again with the cloth, you stood at the edge of his campsite.

“Witcher,” you called, “I have come for you.”

“Why?”

“I am being pursued.”

“By?”

“A group of armed men. They seek me out especially, not solely because I am a siren, but because I am the siren.”

Looking on your face, he saw weariness and fear lining your features. The tops of your eyebrows were drawn together, indicative of your distress.

“I have no coin,” you told him.

“You have to pay me.”

“I feared as much.” Pulling tight your threadbare coat, you asked, “May I at least share your fire? I have a penny to pay you for some food.”

Geralt hesitated. As much as he wished to help, felt compelled to—a feeling that worried him—he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trap. A slip of his guard would be all you needed for you to enthrall him and make him do as you wished.

“I will wear the blindfold,” you assured him. “You won’t be afflicted.”

Grunting reluctantly, he tossed you a hank of meat from the spit roasting over the fire. You ate ravenously with less grace than he expected. Only then did he notice how frail you seemed beneath your coat, how few plentiful days you had seen since he last crossed your path.

A surge of feeling coursed through him, one he identified with an urge to protect. Protection wasn’t strictly in his purview, as he was more of an offensive weapon than a defensive one. Yet the urge remained as he watched you warm yourself in front of the fire, eerie with the blindfold covering nearly half your face.

“Have you found your peace?” you asked in the quiet.

“No.”

“A pity. But neither have I.”

“You don’t actually expect to find peace.”

You smiled thinly. “Surely I do. In death.”

Geralt nodded.

“There is a madness in driving men mad,” you said. “I can find no solace among people, and so, living alone in the most terrible of ways—among others—I know what it feels like to be driven mad.”

Geralt watched you as you spoke. The firelight flickered shadows across your beautiful face.

“Few sirens know it themselves. They live free in their youth, reveling in their power. Few make it beyond that. But those that do begin to run, and that marks their end.” You shook your head. “None of us choose this.”

Geralt tried to quell the emotions rising within him. He hadn’t chosen his path either, his life. Destiny had worked hard to bring him here, with all of life’s misery and suffering multiplied tenfold for his status as a witcher. If only the rumors of the elixirs and Grasses were true, that they could make him an emotionless monster.

Instead, he silently suffered beside a land siren who knew suffering intimately.

You disappeared by morning. The band of men pursuing you crossed paths with Geralt a few hours later. Choice words and a rough scuffle sent them back home.

~~

In the fifth decade, Geralt felt drawn to the sea. There was no work there by the ocean, but he drifted there anyway, away from the turmoil of the interior. Two miles away from a fishing port, the beach was unblemished, free of humans.

Only you were there, seated upon a rock at low tide, overlooking the serene waters.

“Witcher,” you called, “have you come for me?”

“I have.”

Geralt mounted the rock beside you, sat down on the rough and slimy surface. You stared out at the horizon, knees held against your chest.

He dutifully avoided your gaze.

“Witcher,” you said, “you shouldn’t fear me.”

He grunted.

“I do not affect your kind.”

Frowning, he glanced up, found himself staring directly into your eyes. They were gorgeous, truly enthralling—but though his heart rate spiked at being exposed to your naked gaze, he felt no different than he had upon arriving at the beach: pained and joyous. He couldn’t believe it.

“See? You are unaffected.”

“I…why didn’t you tell me?”

“What good would it have done? You needed something to fear to still consider me a monster.”

He cleared his throat. “You’re not a monster.”

“Neither are you.”

He wanted to say otherwise, but you were staring at him again. Fighting the feelings in his chest, he reached up and brushed away the hair from your eyes, curling the strands around your ear. The faint gills on your neck revealed themselves.

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against yours. You kissed him back gently. You tasted salty, much to his surprise.

When he pulled back, he discovered it was because of the tears streaming down your face. He brushed them away, but you shook your head, holding his hand.

“Give me peace,” you whispered, “and return me to the sea. I was never meant for the land.”

Geralt avoided the ocean for five decades after, but the salty taste of your kiss never left him.

[soulwillower]

friendly neighborhood spiderman • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: soooo my idea was an e2l spiderman richie x reader. they hate each other at school, but one day while patrolling he sees her with her friends outside and watched her and is like ‘shit maybe she’s not so bad’. then proceeds to be mean to her at school anyways. then a few days later he sees her crying her e yea a out and talks to her as spidey, consoles her, start liking each other. and then at school he’s a jerk and she’s like I can’t take ur shit. make up. friends. lovers. photographer reader.   +    ok so I was thinking maybe her parents are divorced and it’s smth abt how both parents tell her totally different stories abt the divorce. like the mom says we never loved each other, it was arranged marriage, but he abused me and cheated on me. and the dad says she was a psycho always stealing my stuff and bitching at me. we thought shE had schizophrenia. both her parents are ok to her so she gets fed up and leaves home crying. Goes to rooftop sees Spider-Man AND BOOM LOVE. self indulgencE here

warnings: enemies to lovers (my specialty), mentions of a rough divorce, a bit of violence, spiderman!au, slight blood, unedited, she/they pronouns for reader

[losers + reader are 18.]

6.4k words

♡

you're convinced it started when you missed the subway. 

that was the butterfly flapping it's wings; then the chaos of the rest of the day just happened to fall in place because some sadistic twist of fate said it so, and now you're rolling your eyes at your friend in the hallway, backpack loose on your right shoulder with a budding black eye that was throbbing with the pain of a hundred suns. 

you'd snuck up on your classmate in the dark room (first mistake) and then tried to scare him (second), resulting in a metal water bottle to the face. "well if you just ice it, i'm sure the swelling and the pain will go away..." your friend trails off as you sigh, nodding in agreement. "i'm so embarrassed, i'm just hoping it doesn't bruise." 

"-y/n, what's up with you? wh- oh." your other friend says as they join you, eyes landing on your swollen cheek. 

it was this moment that richie tozier, certified asshole, walks near with three of his friends. richie, the bane of your existence. also, the boy whose locker is four away from yours. sensing your fatal hesitance, richie grins, "y/n's still upset because someone dropped a house on their sister." he making everyone snicker. you glare at the ground. 

you don't want him to see your face; any kind of ammo would be enough for richie to take and go miles with, and you're not in the mood for one of your typical screaming matches, as much as the others at this school love to watch. 

"woah, y/l/n, who gave you the shiner?" he asks as he twists his fingers around his locker combination. 

"why? you trying to match?" you threaten, and richie just smiles. he's laughing into his open locker as you roll your eyes, your friends peeling away eventually as you start to search through your locker. 

"so," richie starts just as you thought the silence would stay until you could flee. you groan, leaning your head on the locker as he continues, "did flash finally figure out who's been saran-wrapping his car?" 

you narrow your eyes, "how'd you know that was me?" you ask, certain that nobody had seen you besides three of your friends. it's doubtful they'd tell richie. 

his face pales slightly and a rosy blush blossoms on his high cheekbones as he shakes his head, adam's apple bobbing as he gulps. "because, e-everyone knows." he stutters out weakly. you give him a weird look, shaking your head. "bullshit." you mutter as you brush past him, slamming your locker closed. “creep.” 

- 

richie hadn't meant to stalk them. y/n y/l/n's friend group just happened to be on the route he usually patrolled after classes, so he unintentionally ended up watching them pop in and out of the drugstore.

it was nearing a golden light around the city as richie sits on the fire escape of some building across the way - y/n's distinct figure sliding out of the store, arms wrapped inconspicuously around a bag and smile bright enough that richie can barely see the shiner still catching the light on y/n's left eye. 

he briefly wonders where it's really from, and if y/n was okay. he wonders if y/n was robbed, or if he could've been there to stop it. 

it's not until the three others in y/n's gang of idiots run out of the store that it clicks in richie's head - they definitely just stole those cookies, chips, the bottles of pop, the - richie tilts his head, squinting his eyes. yes, y/n definitely stole that handle of tito's. 

then y/n’s lifting the sheet in their hands - it looks clear, and then it’s being wrapped around a car in the parking lot. he’s alarmed, for a moment - y/n wouldn’t do that to just anybody, he doesn’t think. but then he laughs into his mask when he recognizes the car: flash thompson’s. 

he’s a nightmare, and he makes richie’s life hell just as much as flash makes y/n’s life hell and the rest of richie’s friends. so he leaves her be to saran wrap the car. 

feeling relieved that when he got his powers his vision repaired itself, richie can't help but chuckle, watching y/n's hair glint in the light and the way they tilt back in laughter, the gaggle of friends traipsing away from the store and down the block. richie's lips quirk in a small grin: shit, maybe y/n's not so bad. 

- 

but despite that, richie and y/n's rivalry did nothing but steadily increase for the next week.

maybe it was because you were furious that you and your bio partner, richie's best friend stan, had gotten a b- on your lab, or maybe it was just  because richie was just feeling a bit more testy than typical. 

you're sure it's because when you go to your debate club's meeting, you find none other than richie tozier sitting across from your chair. 

"why is he here?" you ask the teacher, and he nods to richie, "i requested he attend a meeting, try it out. richie's quite talented, you know. i figured we could bring in a new challenge for you." 

“just because someone can talk a lot doesn’t mean they have anything good to say.” you snap. 

you can't even look at the cocky smirk on richie's face, his feet kicked up as he lounges at the desk. "intimidated, toots?" he asks cooly, and you roll your eyes. "never." 

and then ten minutes later, you’re doing a brainbreaking exercise where you’re split into groups of two and debating over a topic given to you. but you and richie were far more distracted by each other. 

“you know, for someone who everyone says is the best intellectual match for me, you’re a straight up douche and i can’t wait to graduate and never see you again.”

“compatible intellect, doll, not personalities. maybe if you stop acting like such an infant and stamping your feet around, we can part ways even faster.”

you glare at him. he glares back. then nothing else happens. 

the stress of the day caught up to you nearly immediately as you got home. you're holding back tears as you ignore your parents, who are screaming at each other; instead changing into sweats and a sweatshirt, brewing yourself a mug of tea, and slinking up to the roof with a blanket, prepared to mope around in the drizzle of rain. at least on the roof, nobody will see you cry. 

but the universe just can't let you have anything as of lately, because as soon as you finally settle down on the roof sitting on the blanket, and nearly letting a tear escape, a figure stands up a mere twenty feet from you, and you jump a bit. apprehensively, your eyes squint, and you're shocked to discover a spiderman suit bright in the dreary lighting of the overcast afternoon. 

the suit-clad person seems to be surprised by you as well, as you stand up, you're wary, unsure of how to act. of course you've heard of spiderman - he's all anyone can talk about lately, but you never expected to see him this close. what do you say?

"are you real?" you croak out. 

"am i- yes, what kind of question is that?"  his voice is way younger than you expected, and you're almost thrown off. he's closed the distance between you now, standing between you and the edge of the building, about four feet away. 

you narrow your eyes, immediately wanting to test him. "well, i don't know, i've seen people around jackson heights just wearing costumes like spiderman-" you argue, shrugging. 

the bickering is unexpected from a literal superhero, but it's strangely familiar to you. frowning, you walk closer to the masked figure, watching as spiderman takes steps backwards. he's at the edge of the building, and so without any thought, you place both of your palms across his sturdy chest and shove as hard as you can. "wait, wait what are you-" and spiderman's voice fades as he stumbles back, falling off the edge of the building with a yelp. 

for a moment, your breath leaves your lungs, and your hands slap your mouth. what did you just do? you can't breathe, tears clouding your vision yet again. 

but then a sticky, stringy substance slaps to the side of the building and the figure comes flying up, having catapulted himself up and back on the roof with a web. you gasp in relief, but the figure is already talking. 

"-what the fuck is your deal?" are the first words from the masked boy as he walks away from the ledge. your eyes are still wide, heart thumping fast and your tears are still there, threatening to fall. "-what if i wasn't actually spiderman, i- you could've killed an innocent person, holy sh-" 

you're tuning him out, though, the realization that you could have just killed someone finally pushing you over the edge. you crumble onto the blanket and let out a short, cut off sob. 

"woah, woah, hey..." spider-man looks hesitant, but then comes towards you where you fall to the gravel. "-hey, what's h-what are you doing, why are you crying?" he says, voice going softer. you frown, wondering why his voice seems so deep and forced. batman did that to conceal his identity, you think before letting out a sob, shaking your head. "shouldn't you be out, like, fighting crime or whatever?" 

"i'm here to make sure people are okay. you're clearly not okay." he argues, and you're too tired to try and argue with this stranger. 

"my parents are getting divorced," you sniff, eyes squeezing shut as more thick tears leak down your cheek. you know you probably look destroyed right now in front of this hero, but you don't care. after silence from him, he sits down right next to you on your blanket, backs leaning against some electrical box.

"and.. i can't tell who's lying. they told me completely different things." you cut yourself off, swallowing thickly. "my mom says it was a l-loveless marriage, that he- my dad used to... hurt her. and cheat on her-" you hiccup, wiping your eyes, makeup leaking on your hands. 

"my dad says she's psychotic. that she steals his stuff, that she always yells at him, and i can't-" you sigh, looking up at the clouds, watching a flock of birds fly away in the misting of the wet weather. "i feel like they see me as a pawn to play off each other. and at my school, i'm just the antagonist. people only like me because they like to see the fights i get into with this other kid." 

"midtown is just like that, i'm sure none of them mean anything by it-" you look at the boy, squinting as you take in the red fabric stretching over sharp cheekbones.

 "-how d'you know i go to midtown?" you sniffle. does spiderman go there, too? or teach there? how old is he, because he certainly seems too young to be a teacher?

he leans back, exhaling in an admission of guilt that flares a feeling of familiarity in you somewhere, something that's on the tip of your tongue. "lucky guess?" he states, choking it out as if he was trying to form the right words. you decide to brush it off, the feeling of being able to vent to a complete stranger suddenly making you feel better. the light mist in the air even feels good, now. 

"i can't deal with it. i just don't know. why should this have to be something they vent to me about? it hurts, i don't know what to believe and i just don't know what to do. i'm lost, i just need to have someone here for me." you hug yourself slightly, "am i selfish?" you finally ask, voicing the thought that's been nagging you for months. it's silent for a moment. a car horn sounds in the distance, a dog barks, people call to each other in the street. below you, the street is dotted with tiny moving umbrellas, concealing people underneath their net of dry safety in mere splotches of yellow, black, pink from how high up you are. 

spider man's nudging you in the ribs softly, then, calling you back to your own body. "listen. i know selfish, okay? i'm the definition of it, but, uh..." 

"y/n." you sniffle. "-y/n. trust me, you're not selfish for wanting to be loved, to be cared for...it's, um..." he scratches the back of his head, and you briefly wonder what color his hair is. what texture, length, how he styles it. 

"you deserve good things to happen, and, uh, it's not selfish for you to be overwhelmed. you're going through stuff that people our age shouldn't go through. especially not alone."

"so you are my age?" you ask, sniffling. sensing him tense next to you, you brush it off. you kind of figured as much from his...immaturity. "and you - spiderman - think you're selfish? do you know how much of a paradox that statement is?" you jest, shaking your head. 

spiderman's head tilts back, and he laughs. it seems to surprise him almost as much as it surprises you, because he shakes his head, trying to stifle it quick. "you forget," he starts, his fingers tapping at the tight fabric on his thighs. "that i also have a life. i'm not just spiderman. so... yeah, maybe spiderman's not the most selfish person ever, but... i am. the real me." 

"you have to care a lot about people to want to do what you do." you say, feeling better after talking to someone and hearing his reassurance. "you're not always spiderman, but... y'now, spiderman is always you. i'd say that makes you a good person." you say simply. you sigh, heart still hurting.  you start with a deep breath, then a quiet, "you ever feel stuck? like..."

"like you're playing two people at once?" he finishes. you swallow, feeling oddly seen by this masked stranger. "yeah, spiderman." you say dejectedly. 

-

and that was the start of an odd, unlikely friendship between you and the masked stranger. he'd stop by your building almost every other day, even if for a few minutes, always to check in on you, to ask how your day was. it made your chest fill with butterflies and the air fill with your laughter. 

despite your new friendship, things at midtown sort of took a turn for the worse. 

it was just richie, really. your black eye was gone but richie seemed to be compensating for something every time he saw you - the person who used to be a challenging enemy turned into a malicious tormentor, who would comment on every single thing you do. it was driving you mad. 

you're just lucky richie doesn't know that you do all the school's photography somehow, or at least, doesn't remember, because he's gone the days that you take photos for the decathalon, the honor society, and the band. each time you asked, someone told you some lame excuse like, 'oh, tozier's at the orthodontist.' 

richie doesn't have braces, though. 

you can’t help but wonder why richie’s never there, why he’s always sneaking off, buying new backpacks... bruises on his eyes...

the last straw is when you and stan are just trying to finish this replacement lab to get a better grade, and richie's sitting at the end of the table with bill denbrough, the two of them playing paper football and laughing loudly like they're fourth graders. 

you resist the urge to beg stan to get his moronic friends away from you, knowing that it would just insult the boy and get you nowhere. 

so, with gritted teeth and a tight grip on your pen, you work in relative silence with stan while the two imbeciles chuckle at each other at the other end of the room, disturbing the quiet peace of the library. 

"so, y/l/n, you goin' to prom?" richie asks out of the blue, feigning innocence. you grip your pen tighter, knowing it's a trap. don't bite, y/n. don't bite. don't bite, don't bite, don't bite-  "it's a little soon to be thinking about prom." you say, trying to skirt around the issue. 

"it's okay, not everyone can get a date, you can still go with friends." he says, also trying to sound nonchalant. you snort, "like you could get a date either." 

bill laughs as he pulls out some homework, having finally decided to make good use of his time. "you can go together, then." bill mutters. stan huffs a laugh at that, too. "i have plans that night." you say immediately, eyes not leaving your paper as stan smirks at you in amusement. 

"no, yeah, y/n. let's go together." richie says, "i can meet the ol' pops and get to see your mom again. that reminds me, i can’t stop by to see her, so give her a big old kiss from me tonight, will ya?"  he asks with a wink. 

"is everything a joke to you?" you ask, trying to hide your irritation by acting bored. you ignore the feelings you get from his wink. 

"only funny things, doll." richie smiles, a crooked grin that, if you didn't know his personality, would make you swoon. it's suddenly no wonder to you why the people at this school always giggle and whisper and laugh with him; he's utterly gorgeous. 

"it's not your fault your mom likes me more than your dad." he jokes, chuckling to himself. "shut up, i'm trying to do homework." bill says, then promptly kicks him under the table, which you're grateful for because the pain that flashes across your face momentarily is concealed from richie's gaze as he winces and ducks down for a second. 

that shouldn't have hurt you because he's obviously just joking with you and doesn’t know, but since the tenseness in your house recently and the ugly divorce, things have just been extremely hard. you cannot stand his audacity; richie thinks he can say whatever he want and get excused because he's too damn pretty. you clench your fists. 

"y/n, i'll give you ten dollars to slap him." stan says, barely paying attention; a pen hangs from between his lips, brows furrowed as he works on your reassignment, eyes calculating. you think, for a moment, how nice it'd be to be real friends with stan. if not for richie. 

and for some reason, in that split moment, you don't think. you're pent up, angry at the world, at your teacher, at richie, at your parents, and because you can't be friends with stan because richie gets in the way of everything - and you whirl around, catching richie by surprise as you land a slap to his face that resonates throughout the whole library. a gasp sounds from somewhere behind you as the librarian startles out of her work. 

suddenly, four pairs of eyes are staring at you. 

you blink back, face feeling as warm as richie's red cheek looks. 

the librarian didn't hesitate to send you and richie to the principal's office, resulting in a suspension for you and richie alike, the two of you not meeting eyes in the waiting room outside the administrative offices. 

the subway trip and then consequential walk home was lonely, rainy, and dismal.

- - - 

besides your parents and your immediate friends, the only other person you told about the suspension was spiderman, when he came to see you on the roof that afternoon. you told him about richie, how you'd decked him for hitting a sore subject with you. 

"you know, he seems like a dick but... i bet he means well. i'm sure he does." is all spiderman had said, acting fidgety before leaving. despite that, it had still felt good to know you could trust him. 

the next monday at school is when you see richie again, face clean and clear of any evidence of your fist. 

you were walking home from school when you passed across the football field. he was with his friends on the turf, seemingly not getting on the subway yet. they're sprawled out, all seven of them, smoking cigarettes or playing a game of travel chess, one of them reading a book. there’s an empty can of coke, one of the glass bottles, filled with gross water and cigarette butts. stan sits with richie, beverly marsh laying with her head in his lap as she smokes, sunglasses red and blocking the sun. 

before you get too close, before they can notice, you snap a photo of them. they just look timeless. 

but then, as you put away your camera, richie sees you. you get ready for a fight; but what comes is just  sheffling feet and fingers fidgeting slightly. "y/n." he starts off with as he walks up to you, all by himself. 

you watch him, your own eyes flowing with guilt. "hey, richie." you say, trying to be better about controlling your attitude. "i wanted to say i'm sorry." he says, and you widen your eyes. he what?

"i sometimes don't know how to stop running my mouth, and i went too far. i usually do. and i'm sorry, i just want to start fresh." he says honestly. you swallow - something about his words, about the way he said selfish...

you shake your head, "no, i'm sorry too. i shouldn't have hit you." richie shrugs, "i deserved it, s’okay." 

it's quiet. 

"being friends is good." you say, shrugging. "as long as i can still tell you that i think you're acting like a three year old."  "as long as i still can act like one." he counters, grinning. and then he's shaking your hand and walking away. 

you feel better the rest of the day. 

- - - 

"you know, i'm a photographer." you whisper that same night in the dark.  "you are?" the boy in the suit next to you sounds genuinely shocked. you beam, "y-yeah, i actually got a few wicked shots of you from a few weeks ago."

"are you the one that's been selling my photos to all the papers?" he asks, and you laugh, head tilting toward the sky. "no, not me." he hums, a laugh escaping that doesn't sound like his usual voice he uses around you. you've accepted that spiderman's been hiding his identity and voice from you because you may recognize him. you've also decided that he's probably from midtown - but there are over seven thousand students at midtown, so chances are still slim. 

why is it that this boy, who you don't even know the name of, has captured your attention? why do you feel like kissing him all the time? 

“oh, here’s a shot i took.” you say, pulling out the photo you’d just finished developing in the dark room today. “couple days ago. i just finished developing it.” 

you show it to him, and you can’t tell his reaction at all. “it’s not really impressive, i just - they’re just some kids in my class, but... i don’t know, there’s something about them that i just really think should be made into art.” 

he’s quiet after that, but holds on to the photo hard enough that you’re worried it may wrinkle. 

“god, y/n-” he stops himself, voice cracking and nearing the closest you’ve ever heard it to being true to him. not the weird, batman garbage. 

“this is cool. you should- you should show them, i bet they’d like it.” 

you scoff, “no, they wouldn’t.” you take the photo back, fingers tracing richie’s face, the way his lips curl around a cigarette, the way his dark hair and eyebrows and eyelashes clash with his skin and clothes. you shake your head, “this is the boy i hit. when i got suspended. i don’t think he’d like this very much. probably call me a freak.” 

you meet his eyes - or, you suppose you do - and then his hand is hovering in front of your face, debating. you don’t dare move, and then he’s combing hair behind your ear, giving you chills that run down your spine.

you clear your throat, smiling softly as he moves his hand away.

spiderman doesn’t say much after that. 

it’s minutes until he speaks again. "shouldn't you be getting ready to leave?" he suddenly asks, and you sigh, beginning to pack up your things and gather your backpack. he follows you to the edge of the building and as you climb down the ladder to the fire escape, he webs himself and falls back, landing above you against the bricks when you stand up. 

you're nearly eye level now as he hangs upside down, listening to you rant. "-maybe i'll just walk to mary's place. it's not that far-" you cut yourself off as you're opening your window, eyes landing on the figure in your room, who looks just as confused as you. 

your eyes widen, "m-mom!" you say, alarmed as spiderman hangs next to you, just barely sealed from your mother's sight by the brick wall.

"is someone there with you, y/n?" she asks, tilting her head to get a look. you shake your head quickly, thankful that it's dark out and she can probably only see you, backlit by the lights from the alley below. she explains something about being unable to take you to your friend's house - and you nod along, willing for her to just leave. "that's okay, mom. i can take the subway." you say honestly. it's harder to drive around here, anyways. 

she finally leaves, and you let out a breath, unsure as to how she'd react to know you were with spiderman on the roof. you let out a small laugh, and so does he. 

"well, walking will be fine. she's just paranoid, and plus - i have you." you say, joking as you nudge his shoulder. but instead of laughing or going off the joke as he usually would, spiderman hums in agreement. 

"no matter what, you'll be safe. i promise." spiderman says from where he hangs upside down from the top edge of your fire escape, face almost level with yours. that makes your heart skip a beat, his words swirling around your stomach in a warm pool of comfort. 

you smile, "okay." you whisper. you believe it. 

then, before you slip into your window and he slips out into the night, you turn to him. you can only hope he's looking at you, the mask always leaving it to speculation.

 "can i try something? just once?" you ask, heart hammering in your chest as you step closer to him. he hesitates, and you wonder if he's biting his lips, or his cheek; if his eyes are wide or narrowed in thought. you wonder, for the thousandth time, what he looks like.

but eventually, it comes. "yes," he whispers.

gently, your fingertips find the edge of his mask down near his neck, and in the barely lit up corner of your fire escape you start to peel away his mask, revealing just his jaw, chin, and lips. goosebumps appear on his soft skin in the wake of your touch. 

you feel butterflies. 

his pale white skin reflects off the moonlight slightly, his jawline sharp as your fingers find their way across his skin, his mouth parting to take in a breath, lips full and red in the darkness. you wish you recognized these lips. 

in fact, a voice somewhere in you screams that you wish it was richie's lips. you abolish that thought before you have time to think about it.

you can tell he's nervous, but you don't know if it's because he doesn't trust you and thinks you're going to whip off his mask, or because he knows what you're about to do. you're pulled toward him by an invisible force, the kind that wishes and hopes and needs you to be closer to him, whoever he is. 

his jaw is structured and you feel it clench slightly under your hand as you cup his cheeks, barely raising on your tip toes as you near his upside-down face. you're not sure if he's breathing but, honestly, you know you aren't either. you just have to do this. so you close the gap. 

his lips are plush and less chapped than you'd expected, his presence warm and protecting and exuding bashfulness yet somehow also emanating confidence. he rises almost as the tide does at your grandma's old house in the east, tilting his head as your nose brushes against the skin on the side of his jaw. 

richie’s face flashes behind your closed eyes, and it makes you take in a sharp breath, realizing that yes, okay, maybe you do want to kiss richie. but you're not - you're kissing spiderman. you feel light, butterflies thrashing around. 

his hand, covered by his mesh suit's fabric, falls to the nape of your neck, upside down so his thumb rests right on the soft of your throat, where your heart thumps hard and quick against him. 

you swear you've never felt more like you're flying. you pull away after a few moments, your face burning even with the slight breeze. his hand stays on your neck for a split moment and then he lets it drop, returning to hold his web that keeps him suspended.

you watch with a small, shy smile as he bites his lip, containing what could only be the most beautiful smile you would ever see. you frown for a moment as you get that inkling again that you should know him. 

"please, what's your name?" you finally ask again. he had to trust you, right? you've had countless opportunities to pry, to rip his mask off, to find out yourself. but you want him to trust you with it, to want to tell you. 

his smile slowly fades, and yours does too. "can't you just tell me your name?" you whisper in desperate frustration. 

his mouth opens, then closes as if he decided against it. carefully, one hand pulls his mask back over his lips, concealing him once again as spiderman. the boy you finally knew for a mere minute is gone, probably forever. "i can't. i wish i could." 

"well, okay." you say, feeling heartbroken and frustrated. angry.  

"okay." it almost gets swallowed up by the breeze as you shut your window behind you. he's gone, swinging across streets and over buildings in the distance by the time you wipe your eyes of the tears. 

- - - -

you don't see spiderman the next week. 

it seems as though only knowing spiderman for a little longer than a month and suddenly not seeing him took more of a toll on you than you'd expected; you watch yourself go through the motions of each day with no complaint, barely any words, the world around you boring.

wake up, get ready, drink a breakfast shake, late for class, leave school, homework, wait on the rooftop for your friend who you know will never show. dinner. back on the rooftop. go to bed. 

you're about to leave school on friday when it hits you, the thing that has been missing from your regular school routine. and for some reason, not having been able to see him is just as painful as not seeing spiderman. 

richie. 

you don't know why you're feeling so emotional - or maybe it's just because as much as you hate each other, the fun rivalry you keep alive with him is what gets you through life at midtown. he keeps you on your toes. 

so you seek him out for what may be the first time in your life, just to find him out back on the turf in his usual spot with all his friends. 

"tozier." you call, halting all conversation with his group of losers as they cease their talking, staring up at you with seven pairs of owl eyes. you have no clue why you're nearly in tears. maybe, in an odd way, he's a replacement, a surrogate. for a friend that you'll never see again. and you're furious at both of them.

"where the fuck have you been?" you ask. 

you watch in slight surprise as the color drains from his face, eyes widening in shock. you didn't expect him to have this reaction, in fact - you came here to pick a fight, to get the opposite of... this. richie looks as if he's been caught in the biggest lie of his life, and it's unsettling. 

he seems to shake off whatever the fuck that emotion was he just had as he stutters, "what-what do you mean?" 

you scowl at him, " did you just give up? that easy, huh? i thought you were better than that." 

richie, for a split second, looks like he might get sick, or cry. it just makes you more confused and, for some reason, more angry. for no reason. "y/n, how did you find-" 

"it's been silent in the halls, tozier. i don't know if i should be thankful or weirded out that you decided to mature overnight. you being nice to me, not being a freak... it's weird, but it's... when i said i was done with your shit and you asked to be friends, i didn't mean that i wanted you to ignore me." 

he blinks his owlish eyes at you, "OH." he states loudly, pressing his fingers to his temples as he shakes his head, "christ, i thought- nevermind. you missed me that much, doll?" he tries to ease back into his teasing attitude but you can tell it's forced. and you don't know why. his friends suddenly all look relieved too, as if they know something big that you don't. 

"forget it. this was so stupid." you mutter, walking past them briskly, barely even catching stan's eye. you don't cry until you get on the subway. 

that night, you almost didn't go up onto the roof. 

why should you? spiderman wasn't your friend anymore, he clearly got scared away when you kissed, or when you asked him who he was. it hurts, you think as you look at the dark skyline of queens, it hurts that he won't trust you with something as simple as a name. 

but you're still up there, staring at the cloudless sky and thinking of the taste of those lips as a whoosh, thud and a groan jolt you from your tranquil misery. 

you don't believe your eyes at first, but when the figure stumbles toward you, arm reaching to its neck, you definitely recognize him. "h-hey?" you say nervously, squinting against the dying light to try and see why spiderman's bent like that, stumbling to you, until he falls nearly at your feet. 

you gasp as you get a closer look; it's hard to see with the red of his suit, but he's got a fair blood stain coming out of his neck area, a slash through the neck that leads towards the collarbone. it's not fatal, and probably won't need stitches, but it sure looks like he's in a lot of pain. 

"y-your neck is bleeding." you say, eyes wide in a panic, "are-are you, do i need to get you to a hospital?" you rush, heart thumping. the boy shakes his head, though that clearly causes him pain. "my wounds- they'll regenerate quick enough. do you-do you have bandages?" he asks, and you nod aggressively, running a hand through your hair. "yes, let's go to my room." you say, trying to stay as calm as he is. with a lot of effort and sharp cries of pain, you finally make it into your room through the window on the fire escape, gently helping spiderman to your bed. 

you allow yourself ten seconds in your bathroom to gather your breaths and thoughts before taking the first aid kit and rushing back to the bleeding boy, whose name is still a mystery. 

your hands are shaking as you undo the box, and his hands suddenly fall against yours and squeeze. you look to him then, willing for the tears of fear to dry up and go away. "it's okay." he says, and then you feel even more rotten because spiderman is hurt in your bed and you're still making him comfort you. 

"no-i know. you just surprised me, is all." you trail off, pulling your hands from his to pull out antiseptic ointment, cleaning wipes and swabs. "what- um, what happened?" 

"mugging, guy had a knife. i was trying to get the purse from his hands and he slashed me. it's really not-" he coughs a bit, a fresh squeeze of blood seeping into the fabric. "-not bad. honest." 

you shake your head, looking at him. "i have to take off your mask." you say solemnly. "or else it'll get bad. infected, or- heal into the mask." 

he nods lightly, "i know." is all he says. his voices is laced with nerves. 

your hands are still shaky when you reach to pull up the mask. he makes no attempt to move except to shift himself on your bedspread. you slowly peel the mask, eyes focused on the wound and not on the boy's face. but then, you can't help it. when the mask slips off, the boy's eyes are screwed tight. 

but your breath catches in your throat when you take in his face. 

it's richie. 

of course it is. you press your lips together, forcing yourself to focus on his wound and not all the thoughts swirling in your mind. you don’t talk to each other, one out of anger and one out of pain, and he grips your arm, hand warm on your skin.

you can barely focus as you go to work on his wound, but you’re glad that by the time you’re almost finished, your anger has ebbed away and you’re strangely calm. 

you don't meet eyes until you've got his cut cleaned out and you're satisfied it won't get infected. his eyes are nervous, anxious, scared. yours are surprisingly calm, and almost emotionless. 

"hi, doll." he says, eyes no longer screwed shut, neither out of pain nor anxiety over revealing his identity. 

"do your friends know?" is all you ask. he gives you a curt not as you shakily wrap the gauze around the nape of his neck, figuring a bandaid would come right off. his hand falls from your arm as you move it around his head. 

"i had all them, but i wanted to see you." 

his words send warm waves through your body and you bite your lip.

"why didn't you tell me? the other night?" you ask shortly, knowing that fighting won't get you anywhere. 

“look, i’m sorry that i didn’t tell you, i really am. but slipping the fact that i developed spider-like superhuman abilities into an ‘are we friends or do we hate each other’ conversation is pretty fuckin' difficult.” he defends. 

you nod, because, after consideration, you think you would have probably done the same. "okay. if your friends know, why didn't you..."  you don't know how to phrase it. 

"why didn't i go to one of them?" he sighs, sitting up as you finish clasping the gauze. he rubs his eyes and you realize you're not used to him without glasses - does he even need those anymore? his eyes are so blue, so warm. his eyelashes are long. 

"i missed you. or, i - i don't know, i just... i needed to show you. to tell you. i was afraid to put you in danger but you deserve to know.” he says, honestly.  

you hum, flicking a piece of rubble from his shoulder and then using that as an excuse to run your hands over the material there, feeling his muscles under your touch. "and you had to get stabbed to work up the courage?" you tease. 

he beams, despite himself. and it's beautiful. 

"how else could i get your attention, doll? i tried everything else." 

you shake your head, huffing a bit. "can't believe you let me kiss you." you bury your face in your hands, feeling hot and embarrassed. "i'm sorry you had to do that." you squeak out, mortified. 

it's quiet, and then, "i would do it again." 

you look at him, from where you sit - both so close, almost touching... his breath almost hits your face. "really?" he looks at you like you've grown three heads. "yes." he deadpans, "obviously. why else could i have been spending so much time with you?" 

you laugh, tilting your head back. "so you only want me for my lips?" you joke even though you're nervous. richie groans, hands tangling in his nest of windswept curls. it's charming and it makes your stomach flutter. 

"y/n, don't make this so hard." he begs. unable to help yourself, you perk up, "that's what she said-" you start, but then richie kisses you for the second time. 

he's nearly crashing into you, lips finding yours desperately through his own smile of disbelief - that you'd said that, or that he's kissing you? you don't care as you kiss back, hands finding purchase on his chest or in his hair. 

then he's regaining his strength as your tongue finds his and he nudges you over, rolling so he lays above you. you pull him between your hips as he bites your lip gently and then moves on to kiss your neck, filling you with heat and butterflies. 

"i'm sorry i didn't tell you sooner." he whispers into the shell of your ear as he bites a soft mark on your upper throat, and you sigh. "god, it-it's fine-" 

but then it's too late, because your bedroom door flies open.

startled,  you and richie break apart, eyes wide and lips bruised; blood staining his spiderman suit as he lays on top of you, your legs fastened around his hips and your hands tinged with his blood and sweat, both of you breathing wildly. 

your mom stands in front of you, eyes wide and mouth agape in near horror - spiderman in bed with you. "hello, ma'am." richie breathes out and you resist the urge to smother yourself with a pillow. 

"just... keeping your daughter safe, y'know, friendly neighborhood spiderman."

 tag list: @gabiatthedisco  @blisshemmings​ @stenbrozier​  @sft-core @clownsloveyou​  @moon-shine-baby​  @daughter-of-the-stars11   @trashedfortozier​ @oceandog13​ @chl0bee​  @kait16xo @upamongthestarss​ @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @melinda-hargreeves @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie @decafcoffeew @etaerealboy ​

[wonderlustlucas]

home - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.” ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 2.7k ⇢ genre fluff, kind of angsty? ⇢ warnings insinuated that this takes place during covid & that reader has some case of depression/anxiety i literally wrote her as me so like ⇢ summary In which Hyunjin shows you just how special you are.—college!au ⇢ a/n happy birthday to my love, my comfort, my home

What am I doing here?

Unfortunately, there is no one else to blame but herself for being left without plans on this Friday night. Regretfully so, she instead finds herself alone on the upper level of the business building. Scratch that, the whole building, probably – she’s been here since four, and the few students that were once alongside her left hours ago. Initially here to work on an essay, she now occupies her time bouncing between YouTube, Twitch, and Crunchyroll, watching whatever she is feeling at the moment despite Monday’s deadline looming over her.

Sighing, she looks away from a boring page of YouTube recommendations, stretches her neck, and reaches for her hot chocolate. Well, not hot anymore, she realizes with a wince after taking a sip, struggling to swallow the now cold drink. Gaze flicking to the time on the corner of her laptop, she frowns. 9:43. She considers walking home once it hits ten, the unstirred silence of the building starting to prick up her spine like needles. Home, she thinks with an amused exhale from her nose. A too small, overheated double dorm room that technically is a single now that her roommate has gone online for the rest of the semester. Home.

She wonders, briefly, if anyone were to miss her if she were to go home home. If anyone would even notice, anyway.

She wouldn’t expect them to, honestly. It’s not as if she goes out of her way to hang out with anyone, usually opting to cozy up in her room and pretend she does not see the groupchat blowing up with plans to meet at the dining hall, a study session at the library, a trip to the mall. She loves her friends, really, but can rarely find it in herself to actually participate in said friend activities. Sure, there are some nights she actually leaves the confines of her room to join them, but to be quite frank, she’s glad they have learned to simply stop inviting her. Makes the whole looking for an excuse problem a lot easier.

Besides, who would want to go out on a night like this, anyway?

Just as she has flipped to page fifty-three of The Old Man and the Sea, she looks away in boredom, instead opting to gaze out the window. Focusing past her reflection on the tall glass pane, a warm feeling she can only describe as peace seems to settle over her, watching the snow fall like moonlit glitter across campus. The snowstorm had started light when she first arrived, soft enough she could manage with her hood down, dotting her with only miniature droplets of water. Now, though, the flakes are so large she can focus on one at a time as they fly past, covering the ground with a solid two or three inches at this point. In the distance, she can spot snowplows making their rounds to clear the pathways, the route to the business building already turned slushy blue as salt melts the continuous snow.

She sighs, eyes wide like a child as she represses the urge to go outside and grab a handful of it, maybe fall onto one of the lawns and make a snow angel, stick her tongue out and try to catch one of the large flakes. Tomorrow, maybe, she thinks, looking at her grey sweatpants and deciding walking back with soaked pants in this weather would not be the best idea.

So late into March, she cannot help but chuckle at the number of students complaining about the snow and cold temperature on SnapChat, even her friends having to change their plans. She, on the other hand, finds such last chance snowstorm beautiful; sure, she was ready for spring and eventually a break from school, but watching the snow dancing under the streetlights, choreographed by the gentle wind, she thinks it’s something to hold on to, keep her grounded to reality that albeit the stress and monotony of college, such moments like these still exist.

She jumps at the sound of the front entrance slamming closed.

Who the hell? She frowns, annoyed at whoever decided now was a good time to come inside, subsequently ruining her little moment of serenity. Turning red at the thought of some raunchy couple thinking to spice things up in the presumably empty building, she considers packing her bag and heading out. But no matter which exit, they would still see her, and that would be painstakingly awkward. Maybe she could escape into one of the smaller reservation rooms, or at least make some exaggerated noise so they at least know they’re not alone.

Could just be a janitor, or maybe someone else deciding to shelter somewhere other than their dorm to buckle down and do some work, she thinks. No matter who it is and what their intentions are, her leg is already bouncing a mile a minute having gotten used to having the space to herself.

So caught up on how or when she should take her leave, she does not hear the footsteps coming up the stairs until they’re right behind her. Tensing up, she watches in the window’s reflection as the business building’s second occupant steps up onto the platform and… heads towards her. Panic setting in, she tries to decipher who it is through the blurry reflection but to no avail, heart racing at the thought of a stranger approaching her, one of her friends finding her here on a Friday night, a janitor going to ask her to leave.

She turns her head as soon as they stop beside her.

“Hyunjin?” She blurts, taken aback. This was the last person she expected to be here. Somewhat relieved but heart still beating in her throat, she blinks up at the tall boy to make sure it’s really him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he returns, pulling his mask down below his chin and smiling cheekily at her. “I went to go pick up my food and saw you in the window,” Hyunjin explains, tugging the beanie off his head and shaking his hair out, showering her in the tiny droplets. Wrinkling her nose, she takes notice of the Chipotle bag in his hand and how soaked his coat is.

“Here,” she offers, reaching for the bag. Passing it to her with a grateful smile, Hyunjin unzips his coat and sets it over a chair beside her alongside his beanie, wipes the melted snow and sweat from his eyes, and tries to fix his now mused bangs. “So, what are you doing here?” He asks while doing this, regarding her with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Work,” she sighs. Then, glancing to the screen of her laptop and realizing it’s still the home page of YouTube, she grimaces. “Trying to do work. Not really. Just watching the snow.”

“It’s a lot prettier when you’re inside,” Hyunjin comments, following her gaze to watch the frenzy of snow before taking the bag from her and offering a quiet thanks. “But I meant more why are you here?”

She isn’t quite sure what her relationship with Hyunjin is. Having been one of the many acquaintances she barely made at freshman orientation, he did not seem like the kind of person she expected to still be in her life. She wouldn’t exactly say they were close, but she considers Hyunjin a friend, she thinks. After a good month or two forgetting he existed, she randomly bumped into him at the dining hall, recognizing that unfairly attractive face of his in line for chicken nuggets and immediately falling into conversation. Turns out, he was mutual friends with her lab partner, Kim Seungmin.

She does not see Hyunjin as much as she wishes she did. She had not shared any classes with him in the past three years, and even if her friend group and his overlapped in the slightest, it was not always a given that they both would be able to hang out as much as their closer friends do. Still, there always seems to be a random occasion, such as now, where they bump into one another. Each time is a pleasant surprise, of course, and not just because of his pretty face and wide shoulders, but because he has always seemed to care for her in a way no one else does, and that in itself is enough to have her heart racing every time he comes close.

Not that she has a crush on him or anything, but it definitely is hard trying not to fall in love every time he even so much as smiles at her.

Face heating up in embarrassment at his question, she avoids looking him in the eyes and randomly minimizes the Chrome tab on her laptop. “You know,” she drones on, “just taking it easy for the night.”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, opening the lid of his burrito bowl and stabbing a fork into the layers. Even her mouth waters. “I feel like I never see you,” he contemplates, finally taking a bite. His words surprise her. “Uh, yeah,” she coughs, forcing herself to look away before she gets too enraptured over how beautiful he looks even after trekking through a snowstorm, long hair messy but falling over his face in a way that has her fingers twitching to tuck away. “I usually don’t go out with everyone. Not my scene.”

“Aw,” he coos, “I get that. Sometimes I’m the same way, I just want to relax on the weekends after working so much all week.”

Thank you!, she almost shouts, but bites her tongue. She agrees, but even she does not know why she can’t find it in herself to go out and party with everyone else. She’s just lazy, to put it simply. Nevertheless, his words put her at ease, no longer worried that he might think she’s a loser for staying in every weekend.

“Exactly,” she agrees, “parties are fun, sometimes. But I just prefer laying low. I don’t think my friends like that, though.”

Gaze finding his, her heart does somersaults at the smile he offers. “Nah,” Hyunjin says, confident, “no one thinks that. Everyone has their way of having fun. Honestly, all I’ve ever heard is your friends complaining how they miss you and that you would make going out more fun since you’re so funny.”

“Which is true, by the way,” he adds.

She feels as if she is going to combust. “Oh,” she croaks, throat dry, “um, thank you. That’s sweet of them. And you. I guess I didn’t consider that they miss me when they go out.”

Hyunjin scoffs, raising a brow but finishes chewing before speaking again. “Are you nuts? You’re so fun to be around, of course they’re going to miss you.”

“Okay, stop that,” she laughs, burning from the inside out at his compliments. “Just being honest,” he laughs, opening the bag of his tortilla chips. “Want any?”

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” she huffs out an airy laugh, rolling her chair closer to his. Miscalculating that he was going to move, too, she quite literally feels her blood pressure skyrocket as her knees bump into his. And he doesn’t move. “Here,” moving the bag closer to the edge of the table, Hyunjin glances at her for only a split second before focusing on his bowl again.

Reaching into the bag, she feels emboldened not only by his previous flattery, but his proximity as well, and scrambles to continue the conversation. “Why are you eating Chipotle so late?”

“Pre-birthday celebration. Also, DoorDash took forever,” Hyunjin laughs.

“When’s your birthday?” She asks, munching on a chip.

“In,” he pauses, tapping his phone, “two hours.”

Oh. “What?” She gasps, blinking at him. “What? Why aren’t you out? It’s your birthday weekend and you’re here eating Chipotle?”

“Woah, okay Miss I-Prefer-Laying-Low. Maybe I wanted to chill tonight, since tomorrow I’m going out? Hm?” Hyunjin chuckles at her scowl, pursing his lips. “Okay, yeah, I guess but—”

“No but’s,” he interrupts, the amused glint in his eyes disappearing, “I’m here now, and that’s what matters, right? I’m lucky I saw you in the window.”

“I guess,” she mutters, realizing her heart has not stopped its staccato frenzy since moving closer, “you scared me, by the way. I’ve been here alone for hours and suddenly someone is walking up to me, I think I shit my pants.”

Hyunjin bellows out a laugh, and such an airy sound momentarily leaves her awestruck. Oh, god, she’s in deep. It’s over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he giggles, battling her hand to reach for a chip. Even the touch of his long fingers against hers has the entire butterfly population roaring to life in her gut. “Look, I made up for it by gifting you chips.”

“True,” she hums, licking residue salt off her fingers before leaning back in her chair to catch a breather. Too much physical contact and emotion for one night.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Hyunjin asks, taking her by surprise. Again. She thinks she is going to faint if she isn’t able to wrap herself around him within the next fifteen seconds.

“Um,” she starts, then remembers her previous idea of going home after this week was over. “I was probably going to go home next Friday.”

“Oh,” is all Hyunjin says, seemingly disappointed. “Why?”

She grits her teeth. Why? Really? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, not even convinced herself, “I’m bored and lonely here. I love everyone here but I miss my friends at home. I might as well be slightly less bored at home.” Hyunjin frowns.

“Okay, what about this,” he starts, leaning close enough she can count his individual eyelashes and nearly smell the flavor of his lip balm, “you go out with us tomorrow night and if you have fun, you hang out with us next weekend, too. Oh, and whenever you want some company, you text me and we’ll come here or somewhere else and do homework together or just chill. How does that sound?”

All she can do is blink at him. Her initial thought is how dare he try negotiating whether I go home or not? But, there it is, again, she realizes. That extra step he takes, the genuine care he shows her, acting like her well-being is his responsibility. “You don’t have to do that, Hyunjin. I don’t want to bother you every time I feel lonely. I’ll be fine.”

“Christ, you’re dense,” rolling his eyes, Hyunjin sets his fork down, wipes his hands on his thighs, and suddenly leans in to hold her face with both hands, “I wouldn’t offer to sit around and do homework with you when you’re in need of a friend if I didn’t want to.”

Her heart is racing so fast she fears he may be able to hear the thud of it against her chest. What he’s saying is starting to sound a lot more than some friend-to-friend comfort, and it’s making her head hurt, especially with his thumbs ever so slightly swiping against her cheeks. At her silence, he starts again.

“Y/N,” he says, voice dropping an octave, “don’t go home. This is your home, too, you just don’t want it to be.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she thinks she is going to say something, but nothing comes out. There is nothing to say. Hyunjin is right, he has read her like an open book, and he’s here to offer his shoulder to lean on. “Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go out with everyone tomorrow. And I’ll try and stay here for the rest of the semester.”

“That’s my girl,” Hyunjin smiles, leaning closer and pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips. At first, it takes her by surprise. But then it all starts to make sense. The snow makes sense. Her essay makes sense. Being here makes sense. Hyunjin makes sense. His birthday makes sense. She makes sense.

Outside the glass windows, the wind starts to howl, blowing the composed ballet of snow to its final act, covering the pathways and the streetlights and the roof of the business building in perfect white glitter. Inside these windows, she realizes they would notice if she were to go home.

Why would she ever do that when her second home is right here in front of her?

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I loved your fantastic account of the battle of Waterloo and how each nation came to define the rest of the century for all the European countries in different ways. However what are your thoughts about the battle itself? Did Wellington win it or did Napoleon lose it? What were the turning points that you think determined the fate of the battle?

Thank you for reading and liking my previous post on Waterloo. I did heavily lean into studying ancient classical warfare when I was studying Classics but I only got into Napoleonic warfare because of a father who was (and still remains) big Napoleonic warfare military enthusiast. Through his keen eyes as a former serving military man, I also looked at the battle as a soldier might as well putting on my academic critical thinking cap. It’s a popular parlour game not just in Sandhurst but also in the officers’ mess (where those regiments actually fought at Waterloo) and around dinner tables - in my experience anyway.

I’ve always seen such speculative and counterfactual questions as an amusing diversion. I’ve never seriously looked at the detail until I came to France and unexpectedly interacted with Napoleonic scholars as well as soldiers (the cultured and historically well read ones at least) that forced me to think more about it. I’ve always been of the ‘if the Prussians hadn’t arrived in time to save Wellington’ school; and this was always enough to get me by in any conversation.

But my vanity was stung by interacting with one of my downstairs neighbours, a high decorated retired army general, with whom I played a weekly game of chess over a glass of wine during the Covid lockdown in Paris. He didn’t spare me as he knew so much detail about the battle. But a typical failing of French thinking is to pontificate around generalities rather than specific reasons. So for him it came down to pooh-poohing the generalship of Wellington (the rain saved him) and lauding the emperor (he had haemorrhoids and thus a bad day at the office). So rain and haemorrhoids were the decisive factors in determining the outcome of the battle of Waterloo.

It was clear I had to raise my game. So I’ve been reading more when I could.

I had recently finished reading a wonderful book ‘The Longest Afternoon: The 400 Men Who Decided the Battle of Waterloo’ by the Cambridge historian Brendan Simms. The book came out in 2015 but it’s been lying on my shelf for these past few years until I actually took this slim book to read on my one of my business trips.  

The idea behind this short book is so superbly useful. It places to one side the huge, cinematic panorama of history and instead concentrates on one particular farmhouse, on one particular day: 18 June 1815. History is vivified, lifts itself off the page and into the mind, when a historian of Brendan Simm’s immense stature zooms in on the details - and here the details are compelling.

For the course of one day, 400 soldiers, wet, cold, in some cases hungover, who had bivouacked for the night in an abandoned farmhouse at La Haye Sainte, near a crucially strategic crossroads, found themselves staring down the massed barrels of Napoleon’s vanguard – and held them off.  On June 18, 1815, Wellington established his position and sent one battalion and part of a second to the farmhouse under the command of Major Baring. Napoléon’s initial attack was a direct assault that surrounded the house and came near to breaking Wellington’s line; but it held, and the legendary charge of two British heavy cavalry brigades drove back the French.

This is a detailed account of the defence of La Haye Sainte, a walled stone farmhouse forward of Wellington’s centre. Its defenders were the King’s German Legion, which (despite the British army’s penchant for oddball names) was genuinely German. Britain harboured many German expatriates who detested Napoléon, a number augmented in 1803 when he occupied Hanover and disbanded its army. That very year two ambitious officers recruited the first members of the King’s German Legion, which grew into a corps of some 14,000 men and served with distinction at Copenhagen, Walcheren and in Spain before its apotheosis at Waterloo.

Ordered to capture the farmhouse, Marshal Michel Ney - commanding Napoléon’s left wing - obeyed but became preoccupied with his famously unsuccessful cavalry attack. Reminded of the order two hours later, he dispatched infantry that reached the house and set it on fire. The men inside controlled the blaze and continued to fight until Ney took personal charge of a furious assault that succeeded only when the defenders ran out of ammunition and withdrew, having held out for six hours. Had they not defended it so stoutly and if the farm had fallen any sooner then Napoleon would have been able to get at Wellington’s troops before his Prussian reinforcements arrived, and in all likelihood Waterloo would have been a French victory instead; it would now be the name of a train station in Paris rather than London.

I doubt there is a definitive answer to this question which is why certain people love arguing about it because it’s so open ended in terms of cause and effect. You can pick on any episodic event and hail that as the decisive turning point. It’s one reason why we are so fortunate to have so many well researched history books on the battle of Waterloo to replenish the issues for a newer generation to argue with past generations.

If I were to go beyond the ‘if the Prussians hadn’t arrived to save Wellington’ line then I would point to ten decisive turning points which in themselves might not have changed the outcome but taken together certainly influenced the final outcome of one of the most important and iconic battles in history.

Napoleon gives Marshal Davout a desk job

6 June 1815 – All commanders need a good chief of staff to ensure that their intentions are translated into clear orders. Unfortunately for Napoleon – as what is arguably one of the most decisive battles in European history loomed – his trusted chief of staff, Marshal Berthier, was no longer available. Berthier had sworn an oath of loyalty to Louis XVIII – and then fallen to his death from a window – so the job was given to Marshal Soult.

Soult was an experienced field commander but he was certainly no Berthier. Napoleon’s two main field commanders were also far from ideal. Emmanuel Grouchy had little experience of independent command. Michel Ney’s heroic command of the French rear-guard during the retreat from Moscow led Napoleon to dub him “the bravest of the brave”, but by 1815 he was clearly burnt out.

Worse still, when on 6 June Napoleon ordered his generals to assemble with their troops on the Belgian border he chose to leave behind Louis-Nicolas Davout, his ‘Iron Marshal’, as minister of war. The emperor needed someone loyal to oversee affairs at home but the decision not to take with him the ablest general at his disposal would deprive him of the one commander who might have made a difference.

Constant Rebecque ignores orders

15 June – In June 1815 Napoleon assembled 120,000 men on the Belgian border. Opposing him were 115,000 Prussians under  Field Marshal Blücher and an allied force of about 93,000 men under Wellington. Faced with such odds, Napoleon’s best chance of victory was to get his army between his two enemies and defeat one before turning on the other. On 15 June his army crossed the frontier at Charleroi and headed straight for the gap between the two allied armies.

Wellington was taken completely by surprise: “Napoleon has humbugged me” he said. Uncertain what Napoleon’s intentions were, he ordered his army to concentrate around Nivelles, over 12 miles away from the Prussian position at Ligny. This would have left the two allied armies dangerously separated but fortunately for Wellington, a staff officer in the Dutch army, Baron Constant Rebecque, understood what was actually needed. He disregarded Wellington’s order and instead sent a force to occupy the key crossroads of Quatre Bras, much nearer to the Prussians.

D’Erlon misses the show

16 June – Two battles were fought on 16 June. While Marshal Ney took on Wellington’s army as it hurriedly tried to concentrate around Quatre Bras, Napoleon led the main French force against the Prussians at Ligny. Blücher’s inexperienced Prussians were given a severe mauling but despite this they managed to fall back in relatively good order.

This was partly due to a disastrous mix-up on the part of the French. Confusion over orders saw General D’Erlon’s corps instructed to leave Ney’s army at Quatre Bras and join the fighting at Ligny only to be recalled as soon as they got there. The result was that 16,000 Frenchmen who could have intervened decisively actually took part in neither battle.

Blücher stays in touch

17 June – Wellington succeeded in beating back Ney at Quatre Bras but Blücher’s defeat left the British general with a large French army on his eastern flank. He was forced to fall back northwards towards Brussels. The Prussians were retreating as well. Normally a retreating army tries to withdraw along its lines of communication (ie the route back to its base). Had the Prussians done this they would have headed eastwards. The two allied armies would then have been even further apart and Wellington would have been overwhelmed. But instead of doing that, the Prussians retreated northwards towards Wavre. It was to be a crucial move. The two allied armies stayed in contact and on 17 June Wellington was able to fall back to the ridge at Mont St Jean, and prepare to make a stand there until Blücher’s Prussians could come to his aid.

The weather takes a hand

17 June – The night before the battle was marked by a thunderstorm of biblical proportions. Rain lashed down, turning roads into quagmires and trampled fields into seas of mud.

It was a night of tremendous rain and cloudbursts. Wellington said that even in the monsoons in India, he’d never known rain like it. To wake up cold and damp, wet and terrified, then you have this slaughter in a very small space. By evening there were over 200,000 men struggling to kill each other within four square miles.

Private Wheeler of the 51st Regiment later wrote: “The ground was too wet to lie down… the water ran in streams from the cuffs of our Jackets… We had one consolation, we knew that the enemy were in the same plight.” Wheeler was right of course – the rain would inconvenience all three armies, not least the Prussians as they struggled along narrow country lanes to link up with Wellington.

It’s often said that Napoleon delayed starting the battle in order to allow the ground to dry out but the chief cause of the delay was probably the need to allow his units, many of whom had bivouacked some distance away, to take up their allotted places. Napoleon enjoyed a considerable advantage in artillery at Waterloo but this was lessened by the fact that the mud made it difficult to move his guns around and that cannonballs, normally designed to bounce along until they hit something, or someone, often disappeared harmlessly into the soggy ground. Macdonnell closes the gates

11:30am, 18 June – On 18 June the two armies prepared to do battle. Most of Wellington’s troops were sheltered from enemy fire on the reverse slope of the Mont St Jean ridge. The position was protected by three important outposts: a group of farms to the left, the farm of La Haye Sainte in front and the farmhouse of Hougoumont to the right.

At about 11.30am the French launched their first attack – an assault on Hougoumont. This soon developed into a battle within a battle as the French threw in ever more men in a bid to capture the vital chateau. They nearly succeeded: led by a giant officer nicknamed ‘the Smasher’, a group of French soldiers worked their way round to the rear of the chateau, forced open its north gate and burst inside.

James Macdonnell, the garrison commander, acted quickly. He gathered a group of men and they heaved the gate shut again. The French inside the chateau were then hunted down and killed. Only a young drummer boy was spared. Hougoumont was to remain in allied hands all day and Wellington later commented that the entire result of the battle depended on the closing of those gates.

Ney loses his head after his cavalry founders

1.30pm – The infantry of D’Erlon’s corps finally saw action as they attacked the left wing of Wellington’s army. As they reached the crest of the ridge they were met by the infantry of Sir Thomas Picton’s division. Picton, a foul-mouthed Welshman who rode into battle in a civilian coat and round-brimmed hat, was shot dead but his men stopped the French, who were then driven back by Wellington’s cavalry.

The next major French attack was very different. Ney unleashed his cavalry in a mass frontal attack, and thousands of Napoleon’s famous cuirassiers – big men in steel breastplates riding big horses – thundered up the hill. But Wellington’s infantry stayed calm. Forming squares, they presented in all directions a hedge of bayonets that no horse could be made to charge.

Ney needed to call the cavalry off or support them with infantry but he lost his head and threw more horsemen into the fray. When he abandoned these fruitless attacks, Wellington’s line was still unbroken, two hours had been wasted, and the Prussians were arriving in force.

The Prussians arrive

4.30pm – Blücher had promised to come to Wellington’s aid, and kept his word. Napoleon had detached nearly a third of his army under Grouchy to prevent the Prussians joining up with Wellington but Grouchy failed to do this and, by mid-afternoon, the first Prussian units were in action on the battlefield.

At about 4.30pm they launched their first attack upon the key village of Plancenoit near the rear of Napoleon’s main position. This savage battle would rage for over three hours. Faced with this, Napoleon was forced to send many of his remaining reserves to shore up his position – leaving him with precious few troops to exploit any success his troops might enjoy against Wellington.

Napoleon says no, and von Zeithen turns back

6.30pm – At about 6.30pm the French captured La Haye Sainte. Posting artillery and skirmishers around the farm, they unleashed a storm of shot, shell and musketry into Wellington’s exposed centre. The regiments there suffered horrendous casualties, but Wellington’s line held – just.

Ney asked for reinforcements to press home his advantage but Napoleon refused. Instead he sent troops to recapture Plancenoit which had just fallen to the Prussians. Von Zeiten’s Prussian I Corps arrived on the scene. These much-needed reinforcements were set to join Wellington when a Prussian aide de camp rode up with an order from Blücher instructing them to head south and support his troops at Plancenoit. Von Zeiten obeyed. Realising that Von Zeiten’s troops were desperately needed on the ridge, Baron von Müffling, Wellington’s Prussian liaison officer, galloped after Von Zeiten and pleaded with him to ignore this new order and stick to the original plan. The Prussian general turned back and took his place on Wellington’s left, enabling the duke to shift troops over to reinforce his crumbling centre. The crisis had passed.

Napoleon’s last roll of the dice ends in panic

7.30pm – With Plancenoit back in French hands the stage was set for the final act in the drama. At about 7.30pm Napoleon unleashed his elite imperial guard in a last desperate bid for victory. But it was too late – they were hopelessly outnumbered and Wellington was ready for them. His own troops had been sheltering from the French fire by lying down but when the two large columns of French guardsmen reached the crest of the ridge Wellington ordered his own guards to stand up. One British guardsman describes the scene: “Whether it was (our) sudden appearance so near to them, or the tremendously heavy fire we threw into them but La Garde, who had never previously failed in an attack, suddenly stopped.”

Meanwhile Sir John Colborne of the 52nd Light Infantry wheeled his regiment round to attack the flank of the first French column while General Chasse ordered his Dutch and Belgian troops forward against the other. Soon both French columns had withered away under the deadly fire. Their defeat led to widespread panic in the French army: amid cries of “La Garde recule” (“the Guard is retreating”) it dissolved into a disorderly retreat mercilessly harried by the Prussians. “The nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life,” as Wellington described the battle, was over.

This isn’t an exhaustive list but it will do.

Waterloo was a watershed moment for Europe, and indeed the world. The end of the Napoleonic Wars heralded a peace in Europe which was not broken until the outbreak of World War One in 1914. In the century following the Battle of Waterloo an increased respect developed for the figure of the soldier. True the Battle became mythologised in the nineteenth century and is now embedded in our cultural memory as one of the great British success stories.

We still celebrate Waterloo because it was a great British victory - even if we had a little bit of help from the Prussians. It embodied the British bulldog spirit and marked the moment we finally overcame Napoleon and his empire after a decade of being at war.

The ramifications from Waterloo and the Napoleonic Wars are still felt today in contemporary European politics. I think because of this the battle continues to fascinate and to court intense discussion and disagreement.

No doubt my French neighbour the retired army general and I will continue to stubbornly argue our differing viewpoints until the wine bottle empties. But we both agree that we would enjoy having dinner with Napoleon and talk about his military campaigns. I admire Napoleon a little more having read more and for living in France. He’d be a very amusing and stimulating companion.

In many ways, he was also an enlightened and intelligent ruler. His Code Napoleon is an extremely enlightened law code. At the same time this is a man who had a very, very low threshold for boredom. I think he was addicted to war.

General Robert E. Lee, at Fredericksburg said, “It is well that war is so dreadful, otherwise we would grow too fond of it.”

Napoleon would never have agreed with that. War was his drug. There’s no evidence that Wellington enjoyed war. He said after Waterloo, and I believe him, “I pray to God that I have fought my last battle.” He spent much of the battle saying to the men, “If you survive, if you just stand there and repel the French, I’ll guarantee you a generation of peace.” He thought the point of war was peace. And he sure gave not just Britain but also an entire European continent some respite from the spilling of blood on a battlefield.

Thanks for your question.