#That one scene in A Fistful of Dollars

[fragmentedblade]

"Though I don't know exactly what you are or what you're up to... My bullets will find you — until then, you best find a casket store in Penacony, and ask the owner to reserve a good quality casket for you, imposter!"

Hardly could get more Western film than this

[blondedsixties06]

I love him so bad yall

[kitten4sannie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝟏 - 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞

pairing: mafia! ot8 x undercover officer! reader (fem)

genre: mafia/organized crime au, drama, angst

w.c: 3.3k

ch. summary: after countless months of preparation and ensuing anxiety, you finally revisit the infamous Black Pirates, but from the other side of the law, and it’s almost as if you’ve never left.

ch. warnings: not too many….uhhh very light depictions of violence, a bit of blood, a bit of manhandling (not the sexy kind), mingi is unhinged (?) and has a gun lmao, no smut this time but just you waittttt

a/n: hi thereeeee i cannot tell you how excited i am to share this with you all 🥹 this is my first mini series and i’ve never tackled anything this big before so please be patient with me when it comes to updates~~ (also this chapter will be the shortest of them all given it’s the intro hehe) but aaaaaaa i’m so happy we can go on this journey together >w< now sit back, relax, and enjoy ~ and if you like, please pleasee share your thoughts and feedback with me <33

song rec: scene 1 - value ~ ateez, concrete jungle ~ bad omens

fic masterlist

“Are you ready for this?” 

All you could hear was your heart thumping inside your ears, unable to focus on your Commander in Chief’s loaded question, tuning into the sounds of keyboard tapping and faceless chattering about the current crimes and cases that were plugging up the figurative drain of your local prescient, rather than what he was saying to you. Were you ready to infiltrate one of the most prevalent crime families your law enforcement agency has come to know and loathe over the better part of the year? Not as their friend, but this time, as an enemy? They had half your city in the palm of their hands and were itching to take it over, pushing the drug and gun trade into overdrive, washing countless loads of dirty dollar bills, and in turn, leaving you and your agency to clean up the mess they left behind — and what a mess they always made. Bullets, bodies, and broken dreams. Crime and punishment. Officers, regulations, and yellow tape. An endless game of chess that nobody ever seemed to win. The perpetrators of this game, their faces never left your mind, etching their likeness inside the grooves of your memory even after being away from them all for so long, at least, until now — if you stopped being such a goddamn pussy and answered your boss. 

“Y/N…? You can back out if you need to…” He gave you an apologetic smile. “Given your history, I know it might be a lot on you. We can always put somebody else in instead.” 

“No..!” you suddenly protested, bringing a closed fist near your mouth as you forcefully cleared your throat. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve been preparing myself for this since you helped me…change course and join the academy.” Realizing you were digging your nails into your palms, you relaxed your grip, leaving red idents behind. “And, of course, when we realized what the Kim Estate was actually doing behind closed doors.”

“It certainly wasn’t tennis,” the seasoned man chuckled softly, leaning back slightly inside his fraying office chair, rubbing at his eyes from underneath his reading glasses, not aware of how prominent his eye bags were becoming. He let out a small sigh. “Y/N, I have a lot of trust in you. Going back into that world as an undercover operative is not a walk in the park under any circumstances, but this…they have proven to be unpredictable. I’ll ask you once more. Are you sure you can handle this case?” 

In all honesty, you were never too sure what you could handle, both in your professional and personal life, but the uncertainty never stopped you from diving in headfirst. And this, this case, being one of the dominos that would knock them all down, well…it was simply too delicious to pass up. 

You stood up, bowing your head to your superior, before giving him a knowing nod. “I’m ready, sir.” 

-

Your closest friend back in your police academy days and fellow undercover partner, Yeonjun, was the first person you spotted upon exiting your boss’ office, well, specifically his bright red hair, slowly navigating past the maze of desks and whispering coworkers to make it over to him, privy to the looks some of them gave you as you slipped past them — though it didn’t phase you anymore. Your past did not define you. At least, that’s what your therapist had been telling you the past few years. 

“Hey, partner,” Yeonjun greeted you with a smile, reaching out to hand you a paper cup full of freshly steeped coffee, leaning back to sit down on the crowded surface of his desk. “Tomorrow’s the big day. You ready?” 

You took the steaming cup, your jaw tensing as the bitter liquid hit your tastebuds. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Choi.” You always thought of someone else when you uttered that surname. He was the complete opposite of your partner here: calm and collected, soulless when he wanted to be and full of love the very next moment, ticking back between the two like a malfunctioning metronome. You hated him for it. 

“Hey, it’s just Yeon, now. Come tomorrow, I won’t be my normal sexy self.” He pulled his freshly printed fake ID out of his t-shirt pocket and held it up to your face, replicating the toothy smile he had inside the picture. “Well, still sexy, yeah?” 

Chuckling, you leaned in, studying the fake ID, impressed by how real it looked. “Very sexy, Yeon, but remind me why you dyed your hair red? Is it the quarter life crisis settling in?” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, tucking his ID back into his pocket. “Ha-ha, funny. I just thought I should look the part if I’m going in as some renowned hacker.” 

You pushed a few files out of the way to lean against Yeonjun’s desk beside him. “Have you been studying up on your skills then?” 

“Of course, I have. I know I joke around a lot, but I’ve  dedicated my life to this, Y/N…” 

You looked down at Yeonjun’s hand, the one that rested on the desk in between you, his fingers drumming against the surface. “Good, because they don’t play around…”

The drumming stopped. Yeonjun turned his head to look at you, a flicker of light inside his brown eyes, like he was trying to understand you. “Do you…ever think about your life before the academy? Before this? Do you wish you could go back?” 

You bit into your lip, gazing past Yeonjun’s hand at one of the files that contained information about the very people you would be betraying. “I…just want to be good. Do what’s right…That’s why I left all of that. It’s why I’m here now.” 

He leaned over slightly until his shoulder pressed into yours, using his pinky to nudge at yours. “Not many would do what you’ve done, y’know. Giving up their way of life for something like this.” 

You nudged back, staring into the half empty cup of coffee you were still holding onto. “Not many people are this stupid.” 

“Not stupid.” Yeonjun pretended to clink his empty paper cup against yours, giving you a soft smile. “Brave. You’re the key component of this entire operation, Y/N. That’s huge. You’ll make a difference. Isn’t that what this is all about?” 

“Maybe…you’re right,” you replied softly, once again distracted by the folder from before, the one that was slightly open just enough to reveal the image of a man with slick back hair, dressed in quaint Victorian style clothes, with a big bow wrapped around his neck. Kim Hongjoong, owner of the Kim Estate and leader of the Black Pirate Organization. You knew him all too well, and all his closest cohorts. Would they recognize you? You hadn’t seen them since you were a young girl, forgotten by most and lost inside a system that didn’t care about you, except for the ambitious young man that swore he would one day be sat atop his ivory tower with those that followed his path. And now there he was, living the high life inside his big shiny mansion, sipping on fine wine, while you were still forcing down bitter instant coffee day after day, surrounded by people that looked at you, but never really saw you for what you were, whatever that was. Maybe Hongjoong knew. 

“Y/N…? You’re staring off into space again…” Yeonjun whispered near you, getting up from the desk once you came back to Earth. “Anyways, it’s late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow. We should get going.” 

“You’re right, we need as much rest as we can get.” You stretched out your legs before standing back up, just now noticing that you were the only two left inside the workspace, the light from your Chief’s office still peeking out past the dusty blinds. Maybe your Chief knew. 

Packing up your briefcase, you smiled at Yeonjun. “Should I dye my hair too?” 

Yeonjun pouted, resting his own briefcase against his hip. “That’s my thing.” 

-

Particles of dust and dirt filled your lungs, joining the blood that you began to choke on. It hurt to breathe, but your body carried on supplying oxygen to your lungs, not giving you a choice in the matter. You rolled over onto your back to face the night sky, your teary eyes focusing on the twinkling stars and the bright blue moon that loomed over the town, storm clouds rolling past until they blocked out the pretty view. Heavy rain began to pour down, soaking you to the bone. Even though you were losing the will to live, you still held onto the silver pair of scissors that you used to prove a point, even though it might’ve cost you your life. That was still something. However, your dear mentor still stood over you, his neck being clutched tightly by his trembling fingers, crimson slowly slipping past them. 

“See what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you? Ungrateful brat,” he choked out in between shallow breaths. Frustrated, he let out a gurgled growl, tossing his bloodied shank onto the dirt road beside his feet. You could’ve sworn you saw tears slip down his flushed cheeks, but then again, it was raining. “I didn’t want to do this…but you gave me no choice.” 

His closest companion took a step forward to securely grasp his upper arm, urging him, “Sir, we need to get you to the nearest hideout. I won’t let you bleed out like this.” 

The disheveled man’s other trusted subordinate placed a gloved hand on one of his shoulders, squeezing into it with urgency. He surveyed you past his foggy glasses, pushing them up the slope of his nose. His eyes were once filled with a sense of endearment when he looked at you, but now, they held contempt. “She made her decision, sir.” 

The struggling leader turned his head to look back and forth between his dear followers, then at his men who all waited behind them, their rain-streaked faces contorted with conflicted apprehension. They stood perfectly still like statues, until the all too familiar sound of sirens rang out in the distance. That’s when they all scattered, like rats, escaping from the flashing lights and disappearing into the dark of the night.  

Your soon to be killer was the last one to leave, looming over you as though he was Death himself, beads of rain, sweat, and blood dripping from his chin and down onto your face below. “Just one question, darling…” He held his neck tighter than before, growing dizzier from all the blood loss. “Why?” 

A small, self-satisfied laugh painfully bellowed from your chest, causing you to grab at your stomach where it had been sliced into. “The blade cuts both ways, sir. I was just following your lead…” You weakly lifted your hand up in the air, as though you wanted to reach him, but simply couldn’t. “Why aren’t you proud of the monster you created?” 

The man began to beam at you, but the corner of his lips stretched to an unfathomable degree, as though he had carved a smile into his own face. He lifted his chin up just enough to rid himself of the shadow that was cast over him, his brown eyes now void of anything, simply black. Soulless. “Oh, darling…the monster was always there. I simply dug it up.” 

You suddenly woke up and sat upright in your bed, your entire body covered in a layer of sweat, leading you to desperately kick off the comforter that had trapped you inside the sweltering heat. Upon realizing you were no longer caught inside a warped memory from your adolescence, you looked down at your stomach, lifting up the edge of your shirt to see if your scar was still there, sighing softly when you saw the jagged patch of skin. 

Your past doesn't define you. He doesn't define you — none of them do. And, now, you had the opportunity to create your own definition, and get a little revenge while you were at it. 

-

“Do we ring the doorbell…?” Yeonjun asked from beside you, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, getting a bit dizzy from trying to take in all of the glory of the Kim Estate. 

You were too busy studying the faded stains of blood left on the stone floor below to notice how out of character Yeonjun was already behaving, not that you could blame him. A similar prick of anxiety was already embedding itself into your mind, but you waved it away as soon as it made itself present. “We may be entering a lion’s den, but we won’t behave like them. I’ll knock.” 

Yeonjun nodded swiftly, clutching the handle of his messenger bag tightly inside his sweaty hand. “Hopefully they don’t eat us alive.” 

You gently pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, making sure you didn’t disturb the positioning of the micro earpiece that was sitting just behind your tragus. “They won’t, as long as we prove our worth.” 

You grabbed onto the obnoxious ivory door knocker, and just as you were about to make your presence known, you found yourself being yanked into the mansion by someone much bigger than you, Yeonjun’s squeaks of protest becoming background noise as soon as the man slammed you against the nearest wall. What felt to be the cold barrel of a compact handgun pressed up into the bottom of your chin with a click, your assailant’s focused, deep-set eyes boring into your own. “Is this how you welcome all your guests?”

“Not all of them…some I leave dead on the doorstep before they can even get a chance to beg on their knees,” the man muttered in a distinctly gravelly voice, a small chuckle bubbling out of his throat. Usually, the people he dealt with would be pissing themselves at this point, but it just seemed to be another day for this strangely familiar visitor. 

You could almost see your partner out of the corner of your eye, already on his own knees, his distinctively red hair being held onto by a nameless man in a 3-hole knit balaclava. It was then that you angled your head up slightly to get a good look at your old friend, feeling the barrel push harder into your skin. “Every guard dog has to have their fun, right? And, if you blew my head off now, well, where’s the fun in that?” 

“You’re right, doll.” The tall man’s plump lips quirked up into a smirk, slowly dragging his gun past your chin, down your neck, and along the softest parts of your body, poking and prodding at you in an attempt to humiliate you. “Should I see how many new holes I can give you? Fill them all with hot lead?” 

“At least buy me a drink first,” you said through gritted teeth, trying not to show any discomfort when he pushed the loaded gun roughly into your abdomen, directly into your scar, not that he could’ve known it was there. 

He seemed to enjoy your pained response, leaning his head back to let out a sudden laugh, one that was short and abrupt like a bark. “You’re one crazy bitch…” The man licked over his plump lips. “I like that.” 

It was just then that somebody else entered the foyer, their presence so distinctly powerful, the lot of you couldn’t help but notice before he even stepped foot in the room. “Is that any way to treat a valued guest, Mingi? I thought I trained you better than that.” 

Mingi immediately de-cocked the gun and brought it behind his back, tucking it away inside the waistline of his tailored pants. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Seonghwa patted Mingi’s shoulder with a gloved hand, giving him a small nod of understanding, before turning his attention to you and Yeonjun, the both of you cautiously standing with your backs against the paneled wall. “I do apologize for my guard dog. We try to keep him on a tight leash, but sometimes…he gets loose.” His shifting eyes formed half crescents. “You understand.” 

Yeonjun glanced over at you for guidance, and you responded with a small smile, before nodding your head obediently at Seonghwa’s words, Yeonjun following your lead. “It’s not a problem.” 

Seonghwa clasped his hands together, shaking his head slightly, a strand or two of raven hair falling past his forehead from where the rest of it sat perfectly still. He couldn’t seem to understand why he was experiencing a bout of deja vu. “Where are my manners?” He pressed his palm into his chest, and gave a small bow. “I’m Park Seonghwa, the second in command, if you will, here at the Kim Estate.” 

Yeonjun bowed back instantly, pushing his dyed hair behind his ears as he stood up straight. “My name’s Yeon. That’s what I go by online.” 

Seonghwa’s eyebrows raised up slightly. “Ah, I know you.” He chuckled to himself, glad that he was able to pinpoint the air of familiarity, but still annoyed that something wasn’t quite right. “You’re that hacker that’s going around and fucking with the local government, aren’t you?” 

Yeonjun was glad he didn’t eat too much that morning, otherwise he would’ve already thrown it up by now. He brought a peace sign up to his face and smiled. “That’s me, professional shit-stirrer at your service.” 

As more men began to trickle into the foyer to see what all the commotion was about, Seonghwa slowly turned his attention back to you, the true object of his frustration. It’s like he had seen you many times before, in a dream, perhaps? In the casino they ran behind closed doors? Or maybe you were one of the many playthings that were brought in to appease the voracious appetites of his degenerate cohorts. Either way, Seonghwa both loved and loathed the way you were already inside his mind, like you had already lived there, and your existence had simply been unearthed by the sands of time. 

“And, you are…?” he asked in a slow, calculated manner, his head tilting to the side. 

“I’m a diamond expert,” you explained vaguely, motioning to the large suitcase of supplies you were holding. “I can see the value of most things from a mile away, much like your dear leader.” 

Hongjoong was already aware of your arrival. You could feel it in your bones. 

Seonghwa brought a closed fist to his chin, nodding at your words, still not completely sure why he felt so uncomfortable. “But, who are you?” 

Your bubbling amusement was starting to rush to the surface, unable to keep yourself from smiling. And, just like that, you reunited with your dear mentor, except on opposite sides of the chess board. You were delighted everyone was there to witness the beginnings of your awaited rematch. “Why don’t you ask him? I think he’ll have an idea of who I am,” you replied giddily, prompting you to motion your head to the man that stood above the rest of you. 

You felt something stir within the men that looked at you, as though what had been hidden for so long had finally come to light. You weren’t a ghost, much to their surprise — well, at least, not yet. You were, of course, taking a gamble with your life, and your partner’s as well, but risks were meant to be taken, rules were meant to be broken, and strings were meant to be cut.

As though right on time, Hongjoong dug his nails into the mahogany railing of the expansive landing, his free hand unconsciously adjusting the bow that was wrapped securely around his neck. He understood the most out of all them. Value. You looked up to him, moving your fingers as though you were using a pair of scissors. 

“Remember now?” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me;

chapter one: ticket to anywhere

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods. inspired by this edit from @somnambulic-thing.

masterlist | next chapter

——

October, 1990…

——

Everything is wrong.

It hits you, sitting there in front of the vanity mirror, voices swirling about the room full of your girl friends. Your gown, the colors of the bridesmaids dresses, the venue. It’s too lavish, too over the top. Not the small, intimate feel you imagined ever since you were a little girl, friends surrounding you, watching as you married the man of your dreams.

But then again, the groom isn’t who you imagined either. That’s the first of the many issues with this day that jump to your attention.

Clark is fair haired and light eyed. Handsome, in the way that you can tell he spends thousands of dollars on clothing to do so. More acquaintance than the man you always envisioned standing beside you on this day.

This same man, who you found only moments ago seemingly in a passionate argument with one of your bridesmaids. Both of them touching one another in a way that seemed too familiar, like they’d done this dance, had this same conversation at least once before. She begged for him to leave, to get away now, to back out of the marriage. Pleaded with him to consider love, instead of some business endeavor.

Had reached up and kissed him bruisingly, his hands fisted in her gown. The same wrinkled one that stares at you now as your fingers toy with your bouquet, her sad eyes plastered on your face.

You know you should feel something. Anger, betrayal, hurt, resentment — but instead you feel nothing at all. You’re not in love. Haven’t been. Now your mind only buzzes, someone calling your name bringing you to attention, head lifting slightly.

“Are you okay?” they ask, “can I get you anything?”

And it’s two words.

A name, really, that pops into your mind.

“Can you see if Steve Harrington is here yet?”

——

Steve’s not sure what to think when a bridesmaid he barely recognizes — likely because he’s only met them once or twice before — barrels toward him, an intensity in her eyes that has him worrying something has gone wrong.

Everything is wrong, though. Because he’s here, in this ridiculously huge wedding venue, standing in for those in Hawkins who couldn’t make the trip, about to watch as his best friend marries a man who isn’t Steve Harrington.

And as much as it pains him, loving you means doing anything to see you happy — even if it kills him in the end. It’s all he knows, all he has done for as long as you’ve been a friend to him, two wide-eyed eleven-year-olds sitting in some fancy ballroom as you watched your parents parade themselves around like the elite that they deemed themselves to be.

What he doesn’t expect, however, as he’s practically dragged into a room, is to find you standing there pacing back and forth, beautiful as ever and not at all happy for someone who is about to be married.

“Stacy, a moment?” you ask, lifting your head enough that he can see you fully.

You’re absolutely breathtaking, in a way that’s almost cruel, because after today you’ll officially be a wife. After today, he’ll have to accept that his feelings that are not at all platonic toward his best friend he still harbors all these years later can only ever just be that: feelings.

As the door shuts behind Stacy, you rush forward and slam into his chest, and he’s immediately there to wrap his arms around your waist. You’re a vision in a fluffy tulle skirt, the veil on your head brushing against his chin, and it’s then he feels the frantic flutter of your heart against his sternum. It’s then he can feel your fingers curl around the lapels of his suit — can see the flash of tears swimming in your eyes.

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper hoarsely.

Breathlessly.

“What do y —”

“Please…take me away from here. Anywhere, I don’t care. Please,” you beg, and though he has more questions than answers, he dips his head. Because again, he’ll do anything to make you happy.

Even if that includes helping you run from your own wedding.

With a long exhale, Steve steps back a bit, fingers carding through his hair. He moves to the door, head tossed over his shoulder to glance back your way.

“Give me a second,” he says, slipping from the room into the hallway.

There’s no one in the nearby vicinity, this room far enough away from the rest of the guests that escaping shouldn’t be a problem. His eyes catch on the glowing exit symbol in the distance, and he knows his car is a few blocks away, but it’s better than nothing and will have to do.

When he slips back into the room, you’re wiping your hands along your dress, clasping one around his as he extends a palm your way.

He can’t deny the ache in his chest as you take it, the electric jolt that courses through his body, but now isn’t the time. If you’re going to get out without anyone noticing, you’ll have to do so now — and quickly.

“Come on,” he urges, and you’re both off, rushing down the empty hallway unbeknownst to your waiting guests, the world bursting to life in color as the exit doors swing wide open.

——

“Remind me to never run in heels again,” you gasp out, hand tight in Steve’s as you dart through busy city streets, avoiding bodies along the way.

All around, people honk their cars, citizens whistle and congratulate you as you run on by. And you know it’s because you and Steve, for all intents and purposes, look as though you’ve just married. Him in his suit, and you in your poofy wedding gown, the edges now stained a murky soot color.

“And I want this stupid thing off my head right now.”

Steve pauses on the side street as you come to a halt, his chest bumping yours at the abruptness as your fingers reach up to unclasp your veil from your head. Balling it up in your hands, you toss it into the nearby garbage can. Pigeons scurry away in haste, a squirrel skittering away from its hard earned meal.

“How do I look?” you ask, hiking up the edges of your gown as someone nearly trips on it, making their way towards the crosswalk.

“Like a runaway bride.” He laughs, shaking his head. “My car is another block that way. Let’s go.”

He grips your hand again, and you know you really don’t have to hold it, but it brings you comfort all the same. The further you run away from the wedding venue, the more you realize what exactly you’ve done. You’ve run out on your intended husband, on friends, on your family who has spent the money to make it all happen — and everyone will have something to say about it. Word gets around quickly in your social circle.

But it’s a decision for yourself. The first in a long long time.

There’s something so liberating about it — about rushing after Steve as he loops you around other bodies, as he opens the passenger side door for you and helps push your frilly skirts inside, before dropping down into the driver’s seat and shoving his key in the ignition.

And as he turns the key, peeling away from the busy side street, and heads toward the nearest highway, you know it’s the right decision.

——

Neither of you speak for the first half hour driving. The roads are busy, traffic bumper-to-bumper in the city, Steve’s grip a white knuckled one around the steering wheel. There’s also the suddenness in which your reality comes crashing, dress still on your form, the edges sodden around your ankles, the ring on your finger glinting in the slowly setting sun. Every part of this day has done a complete one eighty.

“We’ll probably have to stop in a few hours,” Steve says, a little more to himself, the hum of the radio spilling into the quiet car, “where do we want to go anyway?”

“I still can’t believe you drove all the way here,” you tell him softly, head turning a bit to take him in.

He’s loosened the tie around his neck, his hair is a little unkempt now, the suit jacket long tossed into the backseat. Those bare forearms of his ripple with each turn of the wheel, your eyes dragging along hair-dusted skin. You’ve missed him; more than you ever could realize, his presence a comfort after being surrounded by people who don’t understand you — not really, at least — for so long.

“I wanted to be here,” he says, “I don’t mind driving, you know that.”

You did. You’d spent many nights circling the familiar streets of Hawkins over the span of a few years once you’d both been able to drive. Those same streets that are unfamiliar now, mere memories in your mind. It had been a few years since everything that happened with Vecna, and a few years since you watched your childhood home grow smaller and smaller in your parent’s rear view mirror, Steve along with it, waving from his parent’s driveway.

“And I wanted to see you,” he adds, glancing your way, those hazel eyes bright in the setting sun.

The idea dawns suddenly, lips moving to form the words before you can think otherwise, “Hawkins. Take me to Hawkins with you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, a little hesitantly, weariness seeping into his tone. “It's about…a twelve hour drive. I think we can make it to Ohio before getting some sleep for the night. You’ll just need to direct me with the map.”

You answer with a smile, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out the map, the weathered corners bent like they’d been the last time you’d gone on a road trip with him. After everything had gone to hell at Starcourt, you needed to get away, the two of you taking to the road, a finger swirling around until it landed upon a random state.

It feels like old times, sitting here in the car with him, the windows down, his hair blowing in the wind, and the crisp smell of fall air to greet you.

The drive is quiet for the most part, other than the small exchanges here and there of roads to take, giving him enough time to make sure he’s in the correct lanes and the like.

It dawns on you then how long it’s been since the two of you really talked. Your exchanges throughout the years have been sparse, at best. Always meaningful, but moving twelve hours away has put a strain on your relationship from the get go. Initially you’d aimed for one phone call a week, which had soon turned into once every two weeks, and then down to once a month.

And once Clark had stepped in six months ago, your conversations were even less frequent, and always cut short — Clark never having understood why the two of you were so close.

So you suppose you shouldn’t be too surprised when Steve suddenly asks, “What happened back there?”

“I didn’t want to marry him,” you admit in a whisper, training your gaze ahead at the streets, leaves golden and amber flashing by the passenger side window. “I couldn’t marry him. I didn’t love him — I never loved him.”

It had been an added blessing that it seemed Clark felt the same, his mouth preoccupied with your friend’s minutes before you made your escape out the back door.

“Then why agree to marry the guy?”

It’s an innocent question, but it has your stomach lurching all the same, your lips parting slightly, heart pounding in your throat. “Steve…your parents are like mine. You know why.”

Because it had been arranged that way, Clark’s path pushed in front of yours, the pressures of your parents and their business ventures breathing down your neck. That and Clark had his own goals, as did you, and marrying would help you achieve them.

It wasn’t like you’d ever love him, either.

Love had only been reserved for one man in your life, and he’d never loved you back.

“So you marry some uptight rich guy to make your parents happy? What about how you feel?” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, voice rising in volume. “And you were going to just go along with it?”

“Stop judging me! It’s not that simple.” His eyes dart to yours, unused to you ever raising your voice at him. “You don’t get it. You gave up that life. I had no choice but to go with them when everything happened the way it did in Hawkins.”

“Yes, because I was tired of feeling like a failure of a son,” he grumbles, carding his fingers through his hair, “tired of being looked at like I was Jonah Harrington’s biggest mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake.” Your fingers reach over the center console, briefly hovering above his bicep before resting there gently, feeling the tension in his form dissolve. “I thought I was doing the right thing for my family. I was trying to buy time and get my inheritance so I could be done with it all eventually. It was stupid, I know. But I’m making this decision right now, running away with you, for myself.”

His hand slides down to grasp yours, bringing the back of your knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there. He’s done it thousands of times over the years, but it has your heart skipping like it does every time, chills dancing along your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, dropping another gentle kiss to your knuckles, “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too, Steve.”

——

The moon comes out to play, and the two of you stop at a gas station just as Steve’s watch reads eight at night. The place is dilapidated at best. Neon glowing lights flickering along the top of the pump, the numbers worn away by weather, the inside of the building covered in inches of grime.

You’d intended to grab some snacks and water bottles, but the lack of sanitation efforts has you wanting to wait for the next convenience store instead. So as Steve pumps the gas, you lean onto the hood of the car, skirts spanning around your thighs, thanking someone as they pass and comment on how beautiful you look.

“You do look beautiful, you know?” Steve lifts his head, those corded muscles on his forearm drawing your attention once more. Head shaking, you tip your head up, eyes narrowing on his face curiously. “A shame you got all dressed up for that guy though.”

“Shut up,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him, propping your map up on your thighs. “So if my guesses are right, we’ll be getting to Ohio in a little less than three hours. Hopefully the hotels in Powell aren’t full. I’m already pretty tired.”

“If worse comes to worse, we could always sleep in the car —”

“Steve.”

“What?” He raises a hand in surrender, smiling at the angry furrow of your brows. “Wouldn’t be the first time we camped out in the back seat of it.”

“I’d prefer a mattress after the day we both had,” you tell him, folding the map and tucking it beneath your thigh. “We also need to keep an eye out for a store. Pretty sure I saw a cockroach in the gas station, so I’m not trusting anything in there. Plus pork rinds and jerky didn’t exactly sound appealing to me.”

Steve grimaces in agreement, the gas pump clicking, signaling his full tank. He replaces the nozzle on the holder and pushes the flap back into place, snatching the map from your hand as he passes around the front of the vehicle to slide back into the front seat.

You follow suit, shoving your skirts about your thighs, finger toying at a hole in the hem that you must have made while running through the city streets. The realization of thousands of dollars, all for naught, with the lingering fear of your parent’s disappointment swirling in your gut has your stomach churning uncomfortably. But there’s little time to linger on those worries, as Steve slides a finger along your forearm to draw you back to reality, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Look at me,” he demands softly, hazel eyes glowing in the seedy gas station light that flickers above. Lips twitching, you meet his stare, chest warming under the burn of his affection, “there’s that smile I love. Everything is fine.”

There ends up being a small grocery store at the next exit, a little family owned thing, with very few shoppers lingering inside. You offer to go in alone, but Steve insists you’re in another state and he’s not about to leave you by your lonesome. So you end up standing beside him, him all tousled in his dark pants and wrinkled dress shirt, and you in your dress, drawing the attention of curious customers.

“We got lost on our way to the airport for our honeymoon,” Steve tells one person who wanders a little too close for his liking as you grab bags of chips off of a rack, tossing in a jar of salsa for good measure. “Going to stop at that hotel down on Verdant instead. Really want to go above and beyond and treat my wife, you know?”

The one that looked all seedy, like it was practically falling apart, windows broken and covered with wooden slats. The customer eyes the two of you wearily, offering well wishes, sounding a little uncertain as they slowly but surely back away, not wanting to talk any further.

Nothing quells your giggles at that, head pressing into the bag of marshmallows you found, eyes pinched shut to keep your tears at bay. “Steve, they probably think we’re crazy.”

“Speak for yourself, honey,” he chuckles, reaching over to snatch the bag from you, “why do we need these?”

You pluck it back, pouting. “If you must know, they’re for me. I don’t share with guys named Steve who have too many opinions.”

“If we’re getting marshmallows, we need graham crackers and chocolate too,” he points out, reaching over to grab the other two s’mores ingredients from the end cap you’re standing in front of, tossing them into your shopping cart. “For two adults, it looks like we’re buying for a bunch of kids about to enter into a sugar coma.”

“Look — we’ve had a stressful day,” you huff out, pushing the cart further down the aisle, “we’ve earned s’mores and snacks. Plus we need it for the rest of our trip. I saw a coffee shop next door too. I’ll buy it. I feel bad you drove all the way to the city, only to leave again.”

“If I have coffee now, I’ll never fall asleep,” he exhales, shoulder brushing yours as you meander through the aisle, snatching a package of water bottles for the car off a pallet. “I do think we should grab breakfast tomorrow morning. Maybe do a little touristy stop before heading back to Hawkins. What do you think?”

Time alone with Steve? Time you haven’t had in way too long, if you’re being honest with yourself. Even now, standing in the store with him, getting gas with him before that, you realize just how much you’ve missed your best friend. Things like this, so banal and generally uninteresting, have you smiling until your cheeks hurt, brimming to overflow with excitement.

It’s an easy choice, really. “Sounds perfect.”

——

One room. There’s only one room with a single bed left in the whole damn hotel. You suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise, because nothing has really turned out how you anticipated today.

Still, you ask the woman at the front desk again, and she arches a brow in confusion — likely assuming you and Steve are already having marital issues merely hours after you tied the knot. There’s no use explaining it to any more people tonight. For now, you’re a newlywed, and Steve is your doting groom.

“Not like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

Steve’s voice is a low rumble near your ear as you stare at your distorted reflection in the silver wall of the elevator across from you. The thing is you have shared a bed with Steve numerous times over the years. As teenagers, when you often snuck over to Steve’s, after your parents left for business trip after business trip. He’d leave the window unlatched, a hand there to grab you as you scaled his trellis, blankets already pulled back on your side of the bed.

But for some reason this feels different. Hours ago you’d been engaged to another man — hours ago, after you’d caught said man in an affair, you’d only had one thought. And it had been this man standing before you; though then again, it had always been that way.

Steve Harrington, your beautiful best friend with a big personality and even bigger heart. Steve Harrington, the one that you always wanted, but also the one that never was.

With a steely sigh of resignation, you watch as Steve swipes the key card, flicking the light on in the doorway. It’s a simple room, not the upscale hotels you’re accustomed to. There are no lavish furnishings, no glittering chandeliers. Instead you’re met with a dresser and a dilapidated television. Against the back wall is a bed, the linens starchy beneath your fingertips, though you suppose they’ll have to do.

Steve whistles, glancing up at the popcorn ceilings. “Could be worse, right?” It’s an awkward chuckle, his hands reaching down to undo the buttons around his arms, hair on his chest visible a moment later as he unbuttons the top of his dress shirt. “Shit — just realized we don’t have any clothes. Should have stopped somewhere.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, because he’s seen you in nearly every state of undress at this point.

In bathing suits over the summer, sitting atop his bathroom sink in your bra after Billy Hargrove had shoved you particularly hard at the Starcourt mall while under possession, your ribs scraped against the hard ground. And you’d seen him the same, beaten and bloodied after his altercation with Jonathan, after the Russians had taken him for questioning and beaten him to a bloody pulp, after the events with Vecna that had left his skin raw and battered.

Though you suppose this is a little different, as it’s the first time he’s going to be undressing you, despite being under different circumstances than those you dreamed of throughout the years. Fantasies you’ve long pushed aside in the catacombs of your mind, to be filed away as ‘things that’ll never happen since he’s your childhood best friend.’

Your fingers tremble as you turn in front of him, exhaling deeply as you mutter out, “I can’t reach the buttons. Could you…please?”

There’s a sense of awareness that settles over you as he approaches from behind. Broad, battle-calloused hands rest at the nape of your neck, drifting lower where they settle on the endless row of buttons there. His breath prickles along your skin, those nimble fingers of his toying with that first button, his inhale shaky as he undoes another, and then another, and another. With each button, more flesh is revealed, the ghost of his touching a phantom along your spine, the dress starting to sag around your breasts, your hands coming up to cup the gown close to your chest.

Steve’s eyes meet yours in the mirror affixed to the wall in front of you — hazel, and sparkling in the ethereal moonlight that pours through the softly parted curtains, tinged with an emotion you can’t quite put a name to. A deep exhale falls from gently parted lips as his knuckles drag along your spine, a delicate line that stops once he reaches the base, freeing you from the last of the buttons. White tulle drops to the ground beneath you, toes kicking it out of the way, leaving you standing there in a cream nightgown, lace detailing around the edges hugging the sumptuous curves of your breasts.

Steve’s throat bobs, clearly not wholly unaffected by all of this, as he peers at you. Your feet carry you backward toward the bed, legs curling beneath your form as Steve moves to unbutton his own shirt, tossing it haphazardly into the corner once it’s free from his torso. He’s the same and different than you remember. All broad chested, a dusting of hair along his upper body, a line from his naval down beneath the dark pants hugging a pair of toned thighs. Scars line his sides where the demobats had bitten into his flesh, his shredded back a tapestry of markings that catch your eye as he walks around the opposite side of the bed and slips in beside you. You avert your eyes, trying to not draw attention to the fact you’ve been ogling, ignoring that simmering ache low in your belly that forms.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing, only settling down on the mattress and shifting so his thighs brush your hips, his head resting on a pillow as he gazes at your profile.

Rolling onto your side, you reach over and trail your fingers along the forearm he tucks under his head, thumb running gentle stripes along the width of it. “Thanks for saving me today.”

“You know I’ll always be there for you,” he whispers back, reaching over your form to turn off the bedside lamp. “Always.”

——

Stones knock against the bedroom window. Rouse you from bed. Head poking up from your pillow, you wander over to the windowsill, hand covering your heart as Steve’s head appears in the opening, body practically thumping against the floor in his hastiness.

Broad palms settle on your biceps, the backs of your thighs pressing into your mattress as he leads you to sit down, hazel eyes meeting yours. Your fingers reach up to glide over his chest — to feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest.

He’s real.

He’s here.

After worrying for days that something has gotten him too, he’s right here in the flesh.

Alive.

“I saw the news,” you gasp out, swallowing the harsh knot growing in the back of your throat, “Do they really think Eddie Munson did it? Do they really think he killed Chrissy? Fred? Steve, what’s going on? Is it the Upside Down? Let me help you.”

“It’s bad this time. Like — like really bad.” His fingers touch along your temples, poking and prodding, gauging your reaction. Your only reaction, however, is to grip at his wrists, fingers bracelets around his pulse points, head tilting to the side. “Are you in pain anywhere?”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you reassure him, pushing forward to loop your arms around his waist. To push him back against the bed so he can settle down a bit, his thighs against yours. “Your heart is racing. What’s wrong? I’m coming to help next time —”

“You’re not helping this time. Last time was a mistake.”

You’d been driving in the rain one evening back in July and saw Max and El walking on the streets, looking a little dejected, and ended up peering in the window at the Holloway’s when something had gone wrong and demanded the girls tell you what was going on — especially when you were El’s tutor and she usually told you everything. Once you’d found out Steve was missing too, all bets had been off the table for staying out of whatever was bump in the night.

He rolls over onto his side, hand coming up to cup your cheek, smothering your grimace under the softness of his touch. “I can’t…I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you.”

“Steve.”

Your hand rests over his, eyes boring into his, noting the flush on his cheeks, the glittering lower line of his lashes. Whatever this is, whatever he’s dealing with…the weight is crushing him, and your heart breaks with the immensity it.

His fingers reach over to grasp at your Walkman laying on the bedside table beside your bed. He drops it down onto the mattress between the two of you, a pleading look in those hazel depths.

“Put your favorite song on loop. Keep batteries on you at all times, and keep the headphones nearby until I tell you it’s safe.” Your mouth opens to speak, but he continues, “Please, just trust me. It’s safer for you this way. People are dying.”

“Let me help, Ste —”

“Please,” he begs, dropping his forehead against yours, “just trust me, okay?”

You nod, and in the morning, as you start to feel your body coming to wake, his fingers trace your temple. Like he’s trying to memorize every detail, the calluses on his fingers from years of baseball soothing your soul.

“I love you,” he whispers, like he always does.

I love you, in the way he loves Dustin and Robin or any of the other kids.

I love you, in the way he’s loved you since you were eleven.

I love you, in the way you always tell one another you do.

I love you, in the way he always has, but not in the way you always wished he would.

“I love you,” he says once more, and you slip back into sleep.

——

Went to try and find us some clothes. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Be back soon. - Love, Steve.

With a yawn, you roll over in bed, clutching the note to your chest. It smells like your best friend — that warm vanilla scent with something minty beneath. Comforting and completely him. The space beside you is still warm, the imprint of his body a reminder that he’d even been there at all. Popcorn ceilings meet your field of vision as you flip onto your back, holding aloft your left hand, light coming through the window catching on the glittering diamond there.

“Never thought you were one for a rock that needs an insurance policy,” Steve teases, appearing in the doorway with bags of clothes and other products in hand. “Then again, never thought you’d marry a guy named Clark. What is he, Spider-Man?”

“You mean Superman?”

He shoots a mocking glare your way and settles down beside you on the bed, pulling out various articles of clothing.

“It’s not designer, I hope that’s fine.” You shove at him lightly. He’s gone with a pair of black leggings and a chestnut colored sweater for you, along with a pair of boots that’ll be nice for the fall weather outside. “I eyed the shoe size. Hope they fit.” The shoes are a size too big, but they’ll work, and you laugh as he pulls out a bra and a pair of underwear. His eyes narrow a bit your way, “Just wanted to make sure I covered all the bases. I already got judged enough at the store by the cashier, so do not even go there right now.”

You snicker, tucking the clothes against your chest gratefully. Honestly, nothing sounds better than a new pair of comfortable clothes, ready to be rid of the flimsy dress dancing along your thighs.

“This is perfect,” you tell him honestly. Steve himself went for something similar — a pair of dark blue jeans, a black sweater, and a pair of simple shoes. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping you from reaching for your wallet. “You couldn’t exactly walk around in your dirty wedding dress for another day.”

“Yeah, but you’ve already done too much for me —”

“You’re my best friend. Stop acting like you’re inconveniencing me. I asked for this. Plus we haven’t hung out much in…oh, I don’t know, two or three years? That’s a lot of lost time to make up for.” As your features soften at his words, he adds, “Now hurry up and get dressed. There’s a diner around the block that looks nice enough and I’m starving.”

——

Fifteen.

You’re fifteen and it’s a dare.

Tommy and Carol think it’s funny.

Seven minutes in heaven with Steve Harrington.

The room is silent, all eyes on you. And maybe it’s the cheap liquor stolen from Steve’s parent’s expensive cabinet running through your system, but when Carol points at you and laughs that you won’t do it, you grip Steve by the collar of his shirt and stomp off to the nearby coat closet.

Steve’s breathless behind you, body thumping yours as you both stumble inside and the door is shut. Without hesitation, you tug on the rope chain connected to a single lightbulb and squint as your eyes adjust to the orange glow radiating off Steve’s golden skin, flushed by the summer sun.

“Time is ticking and we don’t hear kissing!” Tommy cackles, though it’s muffled through the wooden door separating you from the rest of Steve’s guests.

The rest of the room dissolves into fits of giggles, drowned out by the harsh thump of your heart pounding in your ears. The light flickers up above, and part of you wonders if it’s the only imperfection in the Harrington home. Something so trivial, and yet it distracts you from this nerve wracking moment, in this closet, with this boy.

“I’ve — I never…” you babble, feeling your chest heat, embarrassment choking off the rest of your words. “So, like, if we…do this…I don’t really know what I’m doing. And I think if I’m going to get it out of the way, I’d want it to be with someone I trust, and there’s no one I trust more than you. So, like, why not, right?”

Steve’s grinning. A goofy little thing that grows as he steps a little closer, one of his palms curling around your hips, toying with the belt loop on your jean shorts. “You want me to kiss you, hmm?”

Steve’s different now. He’s grown in the four years you’ve known him. He’s handsome, not that he hasn’t always been. But there’s more of him now. His chest is broader, his hair is longer, he’s popular now. By default, you are too. None of that has ever mattered; as long as you have him, you’re happy. But it’s at fifteen that you really understand the love you feel for him isn’t wholly platonic. In fact, the older you get, the more time you spend with him…it only solidifies in your heart that whatever his soul is made up of sings to your own.

It’s equal parts surreal and terrifying.

“Hey…hey,” Steve whispers, voice a coo that he only reserves for you, “what’s the pout for?”

“You’re teasing me,” you tell him, tipping your head up a bit, the fire in your eyes clashing with the worry in his, “and I already told you I’m nervous. You only have one first kiss and I —”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I'm being an asshole. Let me start over again, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he lifts a hand and cups your cheek. The pad of his thumb runs over your bottom lip, parts you for him gently. Shaky breath skitters along your bottom lip, heart thrashing wildly behind your sternum as he takes another step closer and tilts his head down a bit, the warmth of him permeating your thin tank top when his chest brushes yours.

“It’s just me,” he breathes out, noting your trembling, taking another step closer.

His hips bump yours and linger, all the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. A steady beat of ‘kiss me, kiss me, kiss me’ in time with their wings throbs in your blood.

Steve’s thumb strokes back and forth against your lip, drags it down further as your breath mingles in the middle, as you lean up onto your toes and meet him there, humming into his flesh.

The space between you shrinks and he’s there, warm and gentle against your flesh. You barely have time to register the fact he’s kissing you, because a knock sounds from the other side of the door, signaling your time is up. Both of you jolt apart, a little breathless, your hand coming up to rest against your mouth. He swallows thickly and opens the door, the closet awash in bright light, and though he seems mostly unaffected, a solid realization drops into your gut.

You’ve never loved anyone before, and maybe people will say you’re ‘too young’ to know anything about it, but you know with absolute certainty you love Steve Harrington.

——

Steve’s beaming because you’re glowing. Practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you wander through the park you’d stumbled upon shortly after breakfast, shoes crinkling against fallen leaves as you kick them into the air, glee personified. He wishes he had a camera, if only to capture the way you look right now. You, with your head tipped up to the sky, arms out at your sides, catching the small droplets of rain that began falling only minutes ago on your upturned palms.

He’s already suggested heading back to the car and getting on the road for the remainder of the trip to Hawkins, but the more it rains the happier you seem. As though you’re shedding your old life, a little lighter than you had been hours ago.

He hates that Clark’s ring is still on your finger, especially when he feels the way he does simply looking at you in this moment, but he can only imagine the enormity of the emotions welling in your system. You walked out on your family and your marriage; he knows your family, and knows what consequences might come from your actions.

Maybe you need a moment before popping the bubble and accepting fate? And who is he to hinder your joy? He’d spend every day trying to get you to smile like you are right now, having done so all the years of your friendship, only now it twists his gut tight. A harsh coil, curling around his esophagus, robbing him of his voice and air.

“I love how free and open everything feels here,” you tell him, practically skipping over to his side, shoulder brushing his. “I’ve been in the city so long I forgot what it’s like.”

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. For a moment he can pretend you two are the only people in the world. “And soon you’ll be back in Hawkins,” he says, curling an arm around your shoulders, tucking you in close. “Are you excited?”

“A little nervous to see everyone,” you admit, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s been…”

“Almost three years since you visited.”

He’d come to visit you in the city, on weekends where he could get away and book a plane ticket. But even then, he’d only see you for a weekend at a time. Nothing like before, when you’d spend nearly every day with him, and then once Robin joined the picture, she’d become the third part of your trio.

He can’t wait to have the both of you back together in the same state again.

There is so much he already imagines doing, places he wants to show you, things he wants to share with you.

“Everyone misses you, though,” he reassures you, hating the way your features drop when you whirl around to face him, the amber leaves wrinkling around the edges of your shoes. “They’re going to be so excited. Swear.”

“Pinky promise?” You hold out the sad little pinky, eyes leveling with his.

“We haven’t done one of these since we were seventeen when you asked me to teach you how to parallel park and promised to write my science paper if I helped you pass —”

“Yeah, because I failed the road test and was the only one in our class to not pass on the first try. It was embarrassing.” And you’d been miserable about it. Made it everyone’s problem. He’d thought it cute, the way you’d ripped Tommy H to shreds when he said it was okay you failed because Steve could always chauffeur you around, and you’d flipped the guy off with your favorite finger to throw his way.

Still, he curls his finger around yours and grins, “How do you feel about getting on the road? If we leave now, we should be in Hawkins by dinner time. Maybe we can bother Eddie for a free drink. You know he owns the Hideout now? Expanded it, so it’s a restaurant too now. The owner had passed and trusted Eddie would take care of it. Everyone’s really proud of him.”

You don’t. He’s never told you. It happened the past year, and with Clark entering your life, communication had dwindled a bit. He tried to hide his upset with those first few phone calls. Tried to pretend he never noticed how you’d spoken quicker, as though you were trying to speed up your catch up sessions, as though someone were looking over your shoulder.

It hurt to have the little bits he got to keep of you — the parts he liked to think were for himself — cut even shorter.

Things are different now, he reminds himself. You’re here, with him, heading back to Hawkins.

But for how long…that weary part in the back of his soul whispers. Just as quickly as he has you back, he knows he can lose you now. The thought alone stirs dread within him.

“Do you mind if we stop at a phone booth first? I want to call my family. Make sure they at least know I’m okay.” You’re already gesturing to the booths he can see in the nearby distance, hidden under a halo of golden and flame colored leaves dancing on tree branches.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He knows them. He knows it’ll be anything but civil conversation.

He watches a grimace flutter across your features. “I think I owe at least that to them.”

——

Calling is a mistake. A huge, unfathomable mistake. The phone booth rests on the outskirts of the park, leaves falling to the ground around you, the fall chill in the air adding to the drop in temperature once you step beneath the awning and dial the number you know by heart.

Steve remains behind you, a comforting hand on your shoulder you accept by lacing your own fingers atop his. There’s a quick greeting, a simple ‘hi’ that spills out from you in a nervous rush, and then the phone blares to life. What feels like dozens of voices burst on the other end. You can hear your father shouting in the distance when your mother says who is calling.

Clark’s voice also appears in the background, and you wonder why he’s with them. It’s not like you ever spent much time with him outside of family obligations.

The relationship had been a ruse, a predisposed desire foisted upon you both by affluent families in want of furthering their ‘prestigious bloodlines,’ a result of societal pressures becoming too much. Many had insisted many married for less, that these arrangements were more common than you were led to believe, that love wasn’t afforded to people ‘like you.’ You hated it — hated all that it stood for.

Your relationship with Clark had never been deeply emotional or physical. A kiss on the brow or a peck on the lips for appearances sake, but you never allowed him near your heart. He was a friend, sure; someone you could talk to, could vent to — but that was all it ever had been.

You were merely upholding the optics your families expected of you both. The plan all along had been to eventually separate after Clark received his promotion within your father’s practice, and you obtained your inheritance before finally deciding what you wanted to do with your own life. Figured it was the least owed after throwing away everything you once knew to play a role you detested as a ‘perfect daughter’ to one of the largest plastic surgeons in the country.

“Where are you?” your father demands, voice a gruff bark, “You must have some grand explanation for walking out and throwing the thousands of dollars I threw into your wedding away.”

“I’m safe,” you tell them, smiling softly to yourself as Steve’s fingers squeeze tight around your shoulder.

“Don’t think we didn’t see you run out with Harrington's son. I had the venue pull the security footage —”

“With Steven?” your mother gasps. “You didn’t tell me that, dear.”

“If this is some affair, you and Clark will deal with it in couple’s counseling. I expect you back here this instant, young lady. I did not raise you the way I did just for you to run back to that hell in a handbasket town —”

“I need time away,” you say, a little bite to your tone you don’t expect, heart hammering away, “I don’t know how long. But I need this, okay?”

“Sweetheart.” Clark’s voice pours through the receiver. It’s fake, you know it’s fake. All appearances because he knows his promotion is in jeopardy. He can’t be sole heir of your father’s practice without the wife needed to secure the deal. “Let’s think rationally here. Come back home, I miss you. Please, my love.”

Steve stiffens behind you, his ear having lowered down to the earpiece. You shake your head and he softens when you tug him nearer by his sweater, relishing in the warmth of his body to block out the cold.

“I only wanted to call to tell you all that I'm okay. And I’m okay. I promise.” Voices start to rise in volume, but the phone slams against the holder and the line grows dead, ready for the next caller. Fingers rise to pinch at the bridge of your nose. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out. Steve opens his mouth to speak, but you offer a stiff shake of the head, murmuring, “Can we just…go? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, sliding a hand down to take yours in his, pulling you from the phone booth. You follow listlessly behind, free hand toying with the edge of your sweater. For someone who always takes up a room with her personality, you seem so small now. Deflated. He hates it. Hates that they hold this power over you, knowing he escaped the same thing years ago now and never looked back. “I love how they still think I’m some shitstain on my family legacy even after all these years. Kind of funny, right, seeing how those people are so miserable, and yet for the first time in my life I’m actually happy.”

You laugh at the blasé nature of his words. He always knows what to say to make you laugh, always has. “I’m glad one of us is.”

He stops, whirling around to cup both your shoulders. “You’ll figure it out too. This will all blow over. It’ll be okay. Do you want me to take you back home?”

The word sinks deep in the pit of your stomach. Home. Is it home, though?

“No,” you mumble, sounding a little forlorn, “no, I want to stay with you.”

“Okay, well…I have one rule when we get back into the car.” His hair dances along his brow as a stray wind picks up. There’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw, and the urge to run your fingers along that new part of him rises up within you. Head tilting to the side curiously at his words, he continues, “Your life back in the city? Doesn’t exist right now, okay? All of that — leave it right here on this walkway. Think you can do that for me?”

You nod, the city laid there to rest on that sidewalk in the middle of Powell, Ohio.

——

Steve visits the first winter after you leave Hawkins. Feels a little out of place as he appears at your parent’s doorway, holding out a bottle of wine he grabbed from a supermarket, in a suit that he knows is ill fitted on his body because he borrowed it from Eddie Munson. Your home is huge; towering white walls, marble floors, a sprawling staircase. But it’s cold and it’s empty and feels empty, without memories to fill it.

Not like your home back in Hawkins, where he spent his days laying on your bed as you studied, or on the couch watching movies, legs tangled in blankets, chairs set around to make silly forts. He misses baking in the kitchen — or rather you baking, while he prattles on about anything that comes to mind as you tossed ingredients together with love and care.

His heart swells as you rush forward, practically leaping into his arms, perfect as you’ve always been. All beaming smiles, melodious laughter, and that incomparable beauty that radiates from within you.

You feel like home — like his; and yet, you’ve always felt that way.

But you’re here and he’s in Hawkins and you’re miles apart now.

And the way your father pulls him to the side after dinner for a not-so-innocent glass of whiskey outside reminds him exactly of that.

“This childhood crush you have — I always thought the two of you would grow out of it. But it’s clear that is not the case.” It’s a dark sound, a sound that has Steve swallowing thickly, fingers tightening around his glass. “We allowed it for as long as we did because it was good for the two of you. Having friends in that town. These are the people my daughter needs to be around. Her peers, her friends, people that she can grow with.”

Steve swallows again. It’s not unlike the conversations he’s had with his own father before his parents left Hawkins. ‘You’re not good enough for her, you’re not good enough in general, you should have scored that hoop, should have won that baseball game, should have gotten better grades, should have joined the family business.’

Should have, should have, should have.

“I love your daughter, sir.”

He’s always dreamed of telling you first. But the moment was never right, sometimes you’d be dating someone, or he would be. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if your feelings were the same. If he learned anything from the knock on his head thanks to Nancy Wheeler, it was that life only passed you by if you waited.

The older man leans back on his chair and sips his drink, the air bitingly frigid, and yet Steve feels hot beneath his clothing. Can feel every wrinkle of fabric against his slick skin. “You know I can’t allow that.”

“Not to be disrespectful, sir, but she’s her own person —”

“That may be true. She has her free will, and both of us are well aware how stubborn she can be, but sometimes that clouds her judgment —” Steve’s mouth opens, but he’s cut off, “What will you be able to provide her? Where are you working these days? That movie shop?”

“I’m — ah —”

“If you were to marry her, how would you provide for your home? For your children, should you have any?”

Steve flounders on the spot. He has his job, and maybe it doesn’t pay what he would like, but he’s also taken up working side jobs with a local contractor. Has started learning how to build, how to fix, has started remodeling Hopper’s old home that he bought off of him when he married Joyce. It’s a fixer upper, but it’s one of the few things he has that he can fully say are his and his alone.

Maybe he doesn’t have everything now, but in a few years…

“Imagine in a few years. You might make her happy now, but what if she wakes up one day and realizes love isn’t enough? When the bills come in and finances are tight — it creates a strain on a relationship, a stress that I don’t think your childhood whims can even sustain. Not forever, at least. She’s used to this.” He waves his hands to the lavish home you live in. “All she knows is this.”

And he cannot measure up. He can’t provide this. Will never be able to reach this unimaginable wealth. Can’t take you to fancy five-star restaurants, still drives the car he’s had for years now, lives in a home that doesn’t have fully functional windows. A home where when it rains he lays out buckets to catch the water droplets that dribble inside through the roof that still needs a ton of love. He has no pension, no fancy 401k, and the barest of savings to his name.

Not enough, he’s not enough, not good enough.

It’s the words that are unsaid that speak the loudest.

He understands immediately what the older man means.

He’s not enough for you.

He’d never been enough for his own family, so why did he assume this would be any different?

“I know I cannot tell you what to do,” the man across from Steve says, a smug grin across his lips that has his blood running cold, “but I would like to make it very clear you will not have my blessing in the matter. Is that understood?”

Steve says nothing, because the door slides open and you’re there in your sparkly dinner dress that likely costs more than what he makes in a week. The differences in your classes have never been so firmly drawn in the sand. You take his hand and urge him inside, smiling at him like he hung the moon, and your father presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Steve, remember what we talked about, son.”

And he’s gone, but his words remain. Swirling, swirling, swirling around inside Steve’s mind. Like little crystalline shards, little daggers, that sink into his skin and twist. Barbs, tangling within him, leaving him reeling and aching.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, brows furrowing, hands cupping his cheeks. “Hey, are you okay?”

You’re warm, stroking his skin so comfortingly, and he smiles down at you, forces it onto his face for your sake. “I’m okay,” he lies, but though you frown a bit at his reply, you smile weakly when he adds, “Missed you, that’s all.”

“There’s a movie playing tonight that I think you’d like. Come with? For old times sake?” Hopeful. You sound so hopeful.

“Sure,” he says hollowly, the mantra of ‘not good enough’ echoing impossibly loud as you walk him down the hall.

——

The rain falls harder now. Thicker droplets that drop against the windshield, little tracks like tears falling down the glass, pushed away a moment later by wipers.

You tug your thighs up closer to your chest, head nodding along to the song playing on the radio. Steve seems far away — lost in thoughts that form a haze over his eyes. Moments ago you’d run your fingers over the backs of his knuckles and he’d offered you a smile, but that wouldn’t do.

“This mountain I must climb,” you sing out, filling the car with your off-key notes, “feels like a world upon my shoulders.”

“What are you doing?” Steve chuckles, head turning your way. There’s a nervousness about him that feels unfamiliar. A conscientiousness that’s usually not there when it comes to him.

Trying to break him out of whatever spell he’s in, your hand splays out, clutching at the sleeve of his sweater dramatically, waving his arm in the air.

“Through the clouds I see love shine —” Another grand swirl of your free hand, and a laugh bursts from him. “It keeps me warm as life grows colder. Come on, Steve!”

“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,” he mumbles beside you, thumb tap-tapping against the steering wheel. From where you’re sitting, you can see the twitch of his lips, the corners climbing upward. “I don't know if I can face it again.”

You both break into a fit of giggles as the next lines come through the speakers. And then, with your hand against your heart and his waving out in a flourish that teasingly thumps your chest you both cry out in equally as horrendous voices, “I wanna know what love iiiiis. I want you to show meee.”

You turn to face him, staring intently in his eyes, both of you wailing from deep within your bellies, “I wanna feel what love is. I know you can show meee.”

Your head falls against his shoulder, both your shoulders shaking as the song continues around you, eyes following the tracks of the raindrops spilling onto the glass. Comforting, it’s comforting and feels like home.

The chorus blares again and you catch Steve mouthing the words to the song, his eyes a little misty, your heart splintering down the middle.

Trying to break the quiet tension in the car, you tease, “Is that a tear in your eye I see, Steve Harrington?”

He shoves you lightly, though he makes no effort to move you from his shoulder, sniffling noisily. “Shut up.”

“It’s an emotional song. I don’t blame you,” you giggle airily, looping an arm around his waist, the gearshift digging into your middle. You’re about to ask him what has him in his thoughts just as a rectangular object flashes by your side of the car. “Oh! Was that the —”

“Welcome to Hawkins,” he says softly, your head whipping behind you to catch the back of the sign declaring your entrance to your childhood town.

“I’m back?” You breathe out, nose nearly pressing up against the windshield, despite Steve trying to pull you into your seat by the back of your sweater. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles breathily, “you’re home.”

“Home.” Endless rows of lush trees fly by, the rumble of distant thunder drowning out the Foreigner song blaring through Steve’s stereo system. “It’s been so long. Still kinda smells.”

“Definitely still smells over here,” he admits, finally managing to get you to rest back against your seat. “Calm down, you dork.”

Wrinkling your nose at him, you suddenly jump, clapping his forearm rapidly with your excited palm. “Oh my gosh — I get to finally see your place!”

“You get to stay at my place too,” he muses, smirking in a way that has your toes curling a bit in your shoes.

You watch as familiar buildings come into view. Different than they were before the town had been devastated by Vecna, but they're all the same. He winds down roads with names you can still remember, weaving along streets until making his way down the path toward where you knew Hopper’s old cabin to be. Only as you pull up, glancing out the window up at the beautiful trees above, it’s much different than you remember. Gorgeous, nestled away as it is in the middle of one of the most peaceful places in all of Hawkins. Larger and triangular on top, with wide windows and a wrap around deck. Beneath a wooden awning are two wooden chairs, facing your direction. A porch light glows with a yellow light, illuminating the deck and the car just feet away from where Steve parked.

“Were you expecting company?” You push the clasp of your seatbelt free, grabbing your things and pushing the passenger side door open. Leaves crinkle and crunch beneath your feet as you step out, rain droplets falling onto your head.

“Looks like Eddie is still here. That’s his fiancée’s car.”

“Eddie’s here.” He nods at your query, stepping in closer, arm there to loop around your shoulders. “Your home…it’s so much different than it was. It’s — it’s amazing, Steve.”

“Figured it needed some remodeling, seeing as monsters had ripped through it.” He grins to himself at your compliment, though, pride radiating off of his form. “It does look pretty great, doesn’t it? I’m proud of it. Mr. Lafferty gets all the credit. He taught me everything I know.”

“Mr. Lafferty…” The name sounds familiar. He’d been one of the few carpenters in town.

“He passed away a few months ago.” Steve grimaces. “But he helped a ton. We expanded the place, added some rooms, and updated it. It’s…well, it’s home.”

“Show me?”

He nods, pulling you along the makeshift walkway beside him. Rocks shift and move as you follow him, shoes tapping against the wooden steps leading to the front door. Steve pushes it open and you’re greeted with high ceilings, wooden beams along the walls, a fireplace set in the far right corner, two gray couches nearby with a wooden table in the middle of the space. There’s a television in the corner, and set back against the far wall is the open kitchen area.

“You are…not at a wedding,” Eddie murmurs, appearing from within the refrigerator, open beer can in hand. “Thought you were getting hitched.”

“Decided marriage wasn’t for me,” you laugh, rushing forward to slam into the man, sighing happily into his chest as arms loop low around your waist. “But Steve tells me you’re getting married.”

“Yeah, somehow tricked a girl into saying yes,” he chuckles, taking a step back to look at you. “You look great.”

“You do too!” His scars look faded by time now, his hair longer than you remember, earring twinkling behind those dark curls of his. “And who is this?”

There, on a little mat in the corner of the kitchen, is a little orange kitten. It peers up at you with honey colored eyes, a little nervous as it pads closer to Eddie. The metalhead scoops the kitten in hand, little kitten limbs spilling over his forearm.

“This is my nephew, Garfield,” Eddie says, rubbing at a tiny furry ear. “Steve found him behind the Hideout. I managed to convince him to keep it. Poor guy is out here living all on his own, it was only a matter of time before he started talking to the trees. As his best friend, I needed to look out for him, you know? So I figured talking to a cat would be more acceptable.”

“Very funny, asshole.” Steve plucks the kitten from his friend, holding it between the two of you. Your eager fingers reach out to pet it, the little head tilting upward to maximize chin scratches, a rumbly purr vibrating against your fingertips. “You fed him?”

“Fed him, cleaned up after him. By the time you have human babies, I’ll be a pro.” Eddie clapped his best friend on the back, giving you another hug. “I should get back. Promised Abi I would grab pizza on the way home. I’ll see you both around. Enjoy your night, kids.”

His ringed fingers waggle and your cheeks burn. “Oh, it’s not like —”

He offers a parting bow and slips out the door, his boots thundering on the front steps, leaving you alone in Steve’s home. Alone again, you take another glance about the space, noting the staircase against the opposite wall.

Raising a finger in the air, you ask, “Your cabin has a second floor?”

“Yeah.” He nods, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs. “Come on.”

Following him, you walk the few stairs leading to his bedroom, taking in the large king bed set against more windows that bleed moonlight into the otherwise dark space, the tan and cream pillows piled high against a dark comforter, his closet in the corner. There’s a woven basket in one corner, various plaid and knitted blankets poking out. To your left is what he tells you is the bathroom, door closed for now.

Even without the fire presently burning in the fireplace, the home feels warm. Like something Steve has put his heart and soul into to make it exactly what he envisioned. Proud doesn’t even start to touch the emotions welling up within you for the man.

All of this. He’s done all of this in the years since you’ve been gone.

“So, uh, you can use the bed? I have a ton of blankets, so I can always sleep on the couch. For however long you want to stay.”

“Steve, no.” He arches a brow. “This is your home. You didn’t plan on hosting. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Or…” Steve places Garfield down on the edge of the bed, the kitten curling up into a content ball, paws kneading into the comforter below. “we just…share? Again, nothing we’ve never done before. Just like the thousands of other times we’ve done it.”

“I mean. Hell, we did that last night too.” You shrug, because he’s not wrong to suggest simply sharing again.

“Exactly.” Steve watches as you walk around his bedroom, taking in the sights. “I got you pajamas. They’re in the car, so I’ll just have to run out and grab them quickly. We can go shopping for more stuff in the morning. If you’re…planning on staying for a bit.”

“Yeah…I mean, I haven’t thought about for how long, and I don’t want to put you out for longer than I —”

“You can stay however long you need to. Or want to. Not a problem.” Steve clears his throat, hand coming up to run along the back of his neck.

“Okay.” You nod.

“Okay,” he echoes.

That’s that.

And later, as you both curl up beneath the blankets, Garfield lying comfortably near Steve’s feet, you whisper into the darkness.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

You can feel him in the bed behind you. There’s enough distance between you that it feels like a chasm, though.

“I’m cold.”

He exhales a yawn. “Do you want me to throw more logs on the fire?”

“No…” You shift backward a little, your frigid feet touching his warmer ones. “Can you, uh…get closer? Like when we were younger.”

Bandaged knees. Summer slick skin. The smell of sunblock in the air. Bodies huddled together, legs tangled and arms wound right. Nights where you fell asleep against him on the couch during winter, his heartbeat a lullaby. Laying under the stars at Lover’s Lake, losing track of time, and having to rush back home as the sun set to get ready for school, his hair a wreck. Images flicker in your mind, memories of times long ago.

It feels different now. Changed, as his body sidles in closer, a muscular arm coming to curl low around your waist. A hum pours from you as he tugs you against his chest, the feeling of his breath at the back of your neck a comfort that has your head nuzzling further into a fluffy pillow.

“Is this good?” he asks, resting his forehead against the back of your head, the rumble of his chest vibrating along your spine.

“Perfect.”

And as his breathing slows and he starts to drift off to sleep, you can’t help but to think about how warm he feels. About how easy it would be to lose yourself in this fantasy — of staying here, in this home, with the person you love.

Therein lies your problem.

——

please please interact if you like. it means the world to content creators. and as always, i am so happy to share a new story with you all. 🩷

[gingeralecranberry]

CHAPTER 1

𝟐-𝟏 ; 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AS YOU’RE RIPPING ME TO SHREDS

☺︎ cw:

mentions of death, fighting, canon-typical violence, gojo may be ooc he's a lil bit of a weirdo, sukuna and gojo both deserve their own warnings, scarring, brief mention/description of injuries, Megumi is an edgy teen, that one scene were itadori is chained to that weird ass pole, mentions of executions, semi-graphic descriptions of Sukuna's finger (cause it really is disgusting)

"Under Jujustu regulations, Itadori Yuji, I will exorcize you as a curse!"

Under the shrouded night sky, the moonlight blanketed the scattered chunks of jagged debris strewn across the school rooftop in a soft radiance. The holes in the structure croaked with a melancholy groan, the noise swept away by the sound of the wind. Spiderweb-esque cracks stretched their slender fingers across the concrete, across the pale gray walls, across the splintered siding of the building.

"Wait, really, I'm fine!"

Across the expanse of carnage, the two teenagers stared each other down.

The older of the two boys sat on the far end of the building, laying in a pool of his own blood. Spiky black hair matted to his forehead, both from sweat and his injuries, he raised both his fists in a false circle. The heightened collar on his gakuran cast an intimidating shadow over the lower half of his face, highlighting the kindlings of desperation burning in his muted green eyes.

The younger of the two, a much more spritely and jovial personality, raised both his hands in mock surrender. The pink hair that'd previously been ruffled to stand up nearly straight cascaded down towards his forehead again, the ominous black markings all over his body seemingly being swallowed by the flesh tone of his skin. The sharp black talons on the ends of each finger dissolved, almost as if they'd never been there in the first place.

"More importantly, you and I are both pretty beat up, let's get to a hospital."

Stuck at odds with his logical rationale and his gut feeling, Megumi Fushiguro could feel the familiar feeling of frustration welling up in his throat.

'I can't tell if the one speaking right now is Itadori or the cursed object! Damn it...'

His hands were stationary, still in the same faux circle he'd arranged them in earlier. He hesitated to drop the stance, fearing an ambush.

'...What should I do?!'

In the near deafening silence, both of the combatants failed to notice the presence of a third person on the roof. As if it were just any other day, the new guy waltzed in seemingly without a care.

"What's the situation?"

Fushiguro immediately dropped his hands in favor of whipping around to look behind him, jaw dropping open as his eyes settled on the familiar sight of his teacher. His internal wheel of emotions seemed to spin back and forth between horror, relief, and utter mortification. Eventually, his wheel settled for a nightmare cocktail blessed by all of the above! "Wha... Gojo-sensei?! What are you doing here?!"

Kitted up in his signature gakuran, blindfold, and a bag from the local pastry shop, his white hair stuck up from the pressure of the blindfold on either side of his face.

Leisurely, he greeted his student with a smile, "Hey." He stood idly on the sidelines with his hands shoved in his pockets, "I wasn't planning on coming, but man, you're roughed up..." As though a million dollar idea flashed on a big screen behind his blindfold, a cruel grin ran its way up the man's cheeks, "I should show the second years."

His student grimaced, doing his best to twist his broken body away from the camera. He hissed through gritted teeth, swallowing both his physical AND mental pain in an effort to keep his dignity. Still, Gojo persisted, leaning in close as he began to snap what the Sendai-student assumed were dozens of pictures. "Hahaha! Face this way!"

Itadori could only stand by and watch in what he described as abject horror-fascination.

Eventually, when it seemed the older man got his fill of amusement, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "The higher-ups wouldn't shut up with a special-grade cursed object gone missing, so I stopped by while doing some sightseeing." Curiously, he examined the surrounding area through the confines of the black fabric pressed over his eyes. "So, did you find it?"

"..."

"..."

The teenagers exchanged glances momentarily.

"Um..."

Oblivious to the situation at hand, Gojo tilted his head to the side, "Hm?"

"I-"

"He ate it."

Collectively, all heads turned towards the voice originating from the huge hole in the concrete wall of the school.

"Huh?"

Quiet footsteps resounded against the desecrated rooftop in the dead silence of the encounter. Peeking from the shadows cast by the ruined architecture, a tall man in strange attire stepped into the low light of the moon. Donning a pair of black hakama pants and a matching plain black haori jacket, he traipsed towards the trio missing the common trepidation one would have when confronting the strongest curse alive.

He raised a finger, matter of factly, "The finger, he ate it."

The two teenagers blinked at him stupidly.

Gojo's posture, on the other hand, straightened with excited recognition, "Sensei!"

'Sensei? That guy barely looks any older!'

Before Itadori could think about it any further, the white-haired teacher disappeared from view before reappearing on the other side of the rooftop. In the blink of an eye, he was already falling into stride alongside the newcomer with an eerily calculated ease. "What are you doing here?"

Still, the stranger paid no mind to the sudden change in position, walking forward at the same measured pace, "It's been 10 years since you graduated Gojo. You don't need to call me Sensei, especially since we're coworkers now."

The other sorcerer hummed, "Well, calling you by your last name feels too formal, but I don't wanna say your first name..." He trailed off, letting the silence hang in the air for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

"..."

Finally, he tacked on, "So... What are you doing here? Did you miss me so much you had to visit? No need to feel embarrassed!"

Fushiguro could feel his nose crinkle in disgust.

'God, he's humiliating.'

Completely unphased, the older man's eyes were still trained forward and locked on target. "When one of Sukuna's fingers goes missing, it doesn't take a genius to figure out the higher-ups are going to panic. I was sent in as back-up." Finally he came to a stop in front of the pink-haired teen in quest, "Itadori, was it?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

The 15-year-old gulped down a lump of spit, tilting his neck to look up into the other's (eye-color) pupils.

Instead of trying to kill him (like expected), the stranger offered a hand, "(name) (surname), may I?"

"..."

"..."

"...Huh?"

"Oh, uh-" The man shook his head, cringing a little at his own lack of decorum, "Sorry, I should probably explain myself first." He retracted his hand in favor of letting it fall to his side again. "I'm a cursed object specialist. Since you swallowed a cursed object, I want to do a quick check to make sure nothing's wrong with you."

"Oh," Yuji murmured, "Yeah... yeah, that's fine."

(name)'s neutral face shifted to a grateful smile, doing a quick visual inspection first.

'No signs of markings... but what are those?'

Without warning, the older man's hand gripped the teen's chin gently, tilting his head to the side to scrutinize the new scarring on his cheekbones.

A moment of silence passed among the group.

Finally, the specialist's arm returned to his side, "Fascinating..." He placed a hand on his chin, sitting on any potential questions before asking, "Does anything feel off with your body?"

The teen glanced over his appendages, looking for any injuries, "Not particularly."

He hummed again, satisfied, "Truly fascinating."

Laying a hand on (name)'s shoulder, Gojo moved his former teacher out of the way before inspecting the teen himself. "Damn, it really did combine with you... That's hilarious!" He trailed off, continuing to scan the composition of the teen's newly concocted and brewed cursed energy. There seemed to be a particularly mischievous idea forming in his head, indicated by the curling of his lips. "Say, can you swap out with Sukuna?"

Itadori blinked, "Sukuna?"

Gojo nodded, "The curse you ate."

The teen paused, "Oh... Yeah, I think I can do that."

Upon being given the greenlight, the white-haired menace started to stretch. Rolling his shoulders and squatting to open up his legs he continued, "Then give us ten seconds."

Megumi opened his mouth to voice protest, but (name) simply shook his head in response.

The teacher righted his posture, shaking out his arms, "Once ten seconds are up, come back to us."

Seemingly already familiar with the danger pertaining to the entity inside him, the younger teen also seemed hesitant to comply, "But..."

Immediately, he was cut off, "Don't worry. I'm the strongest." Upon seeing the boy's shoulders relax a little, he called over his shoulder. "Megumi."

Fushiguro gave a small grunt in response.

"Hold on to this."

Despite tossing it to his student, (name) ended up catching the bag in one hand and shifting to wedge himself between Megumi and where the fight was going to take place.

Fushiguro's eyes trailed up to the bag, gesturing towards it with his less injured arm, "What is that?"

"Kikufuku from Kikusuian!" As if he wasn't about to go up against the King of Curses, Gojo smiled eagerly and started to make over the top gestures with his hands as he spoke, "It's Sendai's speciality, and it's super good. I personally recommend the zunda and cream flavor!"

Quietly, the eldest of the four released a tired sigh, holding the twine straps in one hand. Megumi, though, narrowed his eyes, mumbling a rather pissed off, "This guy actually went and bought souvenirs when people were out here dying...!"

As Gojo went on to argue about the specifics of his souvenir shopping with his student, (name) closed his eyes, allowing the thrum of cursed energy to trace the outlines of his feet where they connected with the ground. Despite having fought special grade curses as a special grade sorcerer, the man still hadn't ever faced such... malicious decadence twisted into the very source of the energy itself.

Undoubtedly, the King of Curses was only a handful of yards away.

Then he wasn't.

Megumi's body surged forward in alarm, "Behind you!"

His teacher paid his cry no mind, wagging a finger at him with a hand on his hip, "Kikufuku's not like other souvenirs-"

The large cloud of dust exploded from what little remained of the concrete floor, brushing against your closed eyelids. As if tapping into your third eye, the outline of the battlefield appeared like a blueprint before the expanse of darkness in your head...

...two large husks of cursed energy gave particularly strong outlines.

"--And the whipped cream inside is simply exquisite."

You fanned away some of the aftershocks of the explosion with your hand, opening your eyes.

Not even a foot in front of you, the Ryomen Sukuna was hunched over... with your former student perched on his back.

The curse gave an angry laugh, immediately weaving to strike Gojo again. He wasn't expecting the man to match his pace, ducking and sliding out of the way with every fist that came soaring his direction. Eventually, instead of dodging, the man parried, sending the Curse hurtling through the air to the other end of the rooftop.

Another plume of dust flew up like a smoke wall, obscuring the King from view.

"My student's watching, so I'm going to show off a little."

Ah... something about hearing his own former student saying that made a little memory in the recesses of (name)'s heart flutter with bittersweet nostalgia. He remembered when he would've done the same thing.

Oh, to be young and stupid.

With something akin to a groan, Sukuna advanced again.

'He's unbelievably fast? No, that's not it.'

The two met midair, the curse finding itself on the receiving end of a fist straight to the face. Once agaain thrown nearly head first into the decaying building, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, just barely managing to correct his footing before landing, "For crying out loud... You jujutsu sorcerers are always trouble, no matter the era!"

Following his proclamation, he leapt into the air, bringing his wrath down onto the roof where his opponent stood. Before he could make contact with the floor however, it seemed the concrete hardened and reinforced itself with an electrifying concentration of cursed energy. Two of his four eyes glanced to the source, widening.

'That volume of cursed energy... and yet it doesn't feel as though he has any.'

(name) stood to the side, hands behind his back. His eyes were, once again, closed.

"Seven... Eight... Nine..."

Sukuna let out an exasperated growl, chest heaving with the excessive exertion.

"Should be time."

Instantaneously, all muscle control seemed to slip through the curse's fingers like sand through a sieve. Any attempt to grasp at motor function only served for it to escape him quicker.

'Damn it... Again? I can't take over. Who the hell is this... Itadori... brat?'

(name) peeled his eyes open, enamored as he recollected his cursed energy from the environment. He watched the malevolent aura of the King dwindle and dwindle until it was no more than a blot of the outline of Itadori's soul.

The teen's body slowly returned to normality, tattoos and nails regressing to that of the average human. The eyes on the side of his head closed into scars once again, "Oh, was everything okay?"

From the heart of the explosion, the remaining sorcerer sauntered back over the group. Gojo gave a lopsided smirk at the sight, looking over Itadori again with his Six Eyes. "I'm shocked. You really can control it!"

The pink-haired teen nodded, hitting at the side of his head with furrowed brows, "He's kind of annoying though, I can hear his voice."

(name) hummed, "That's to be expected when you're a vessel."

The other teacher expressed his own agreement, "It's a miracle that's all he's doing."

Just like the cursed object specialist had done earlier, when Gojo approached and outstretched his hand towards Yuji's face, the highschooler didn't pay any mind. This time however, when two fingers made contact with his forehead, something didn't quite feel right. With maybe a millisecond to register the strange sensation, his eyelids started to droop. Fighting to keep them open, he made a noise between alarm and discomfort, instantaneously confronted with the creeping, rapidly expanding feeling of his body turning to lead.

"What did you do?"

The youngest of the four crumbled, chin unceremoniously knocking on the sorcerer's sturdy shoulder.

"Knocked him out," he rearranged the Sendai student's body to drape across his back. "If he isn't possessed by Sukuna when he wakes up, he might have potential as a vessel. Now, Megumi, I have a question for you."

"..."

"What should we do with him?"

(name) grimaced, watching the uncomfortable bend of the teenager's spine over the curvature of the other man's back.

Like the responsible kid he was, Fushiguro ruminated on his thoughts before he made a final decision. It was almost as though his eyes reflected each and every one of the potential outcomes while his brain parsed through the best and worst what-if scenarios.

"Even if he is a vessel, Jujutsu regulations demand Itadori be executed."

The cursed object specialist hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath the entire time he observed the first-year. Whether out of interest or apathy, he couldn't tell. Still, he offered a small sigh.

"...However,"

(name) paused.

Fushiguro's eyes met Gojo's, piercing through him with a thousand-yard stare, intense and packed with conviction, "I don't want to let him die."

"..."

"..."

His teacher's lips peeled back into a coy smile, "Personal feeling?"

The young man nodded, completely resolute in his decision, "Yes. Please do something about this."

His teacher's smile only grew wider, a single hand reaching up to brush through his untamed white hair with a quiet snicker, "Now it's a request from a precious student... Leave it to me."

"Wait."

Teacher and student whipped around to the other man situated just a few feet away.

The man cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed that all attention was situated squarely on his shoulders.

"..."

"..."

"...Let me carry him, Satoru."

"..."

"..."

A breeze drifting by was seemingly swept up in the silence that wrapped up the destroyed rooftop like a blanket.

There was a snort.

Then Gojo broke out into laughter.

(name)'s cheeks sprouted a flustered pink hue, extending from the roots to fan the flame over his nose and cheekbones. "You're holding him like a sack of potatoes," He averted eye contact, looking towards the waning moon, "he's already going to be sore after being thrown around like a ragdoll, I thought I would at least spare him the unnecessary back pain."

The sorcerer, despite his blindfold, made the motion of wiping a fake tear from his eye as his boisterous laugh echoed into a near silent chuckle. He took another deep breath, resting his hand on his stomach, "Always so doting to students... I wonder where all that was when you were teaching me."

Fushiguro felt like he wanted to vomit.

'God, he's so fucking cringe.'

"But... the recap and current events don't line up."

The room was dark, its only challenger being the gentle light offered by a generous collective of candles haphazardly stationed around the gloomy chamber. While their burning wax dripped onto the dirty concrete floor, the flame dancing at the end of each wick revealed the hundreds--thousands--of sigils and talismans looming above. The pages, yellowed with age, acted like impromptu wallpaper. A few corners beginning to peel, a few ink-stained fingerprints on others, the imperfections in the calligraphy didn't stifle the atmosphere in the slightest. The energy seeping in from the unknown, shadowy corners of the room was suffocating.

“Hey, I did my best.” 

Sitting with his front pressed against the back of a plain wooden chair, Gojo observed the teenager through his blindfold.  His Six Eyes traced over the intricacies of newfound cursed energy, almost mesmerized by the twisting, turning, warping of the two souls manifested in his singular body.  He rested his forearm against the back of his seat, “The execution’s still on, but I managed to get your sentence suspended.” 

“Suspended?”

Itadori sat flat on the ground, leaning against the room’s singular pillar.  Large, steel manacles weighed heavy on his wrists.  The chains that bound his cuffs to the room’s far wall were thick like pythons.  Wrapping around the pillar like a pair of constrictors, they criss-crossed over one another in an x before melding into their respective anchors. 

“So you’re not killing me right away?” 

Staring into Gojo’s blindfold felt weird and unnatural, but the teen didn’t really have any other options. 

“Yup,” The man would be the one to break eye contact first, maneuvering to reach into his gakuran’s pocket, “I’ll explain it from the top.” 

His slender hand returned with something that looked very familiar.   He presented the object proudly, holding it up in front of Itadori’s expectant face.  “This is the same as the cursed object you ate.” 

Amber eyes raked over the grotesque appendage.   Ugly, wrinkly purple skin scrunched around the knuckles in an uncanny manner that sent uncomfortable tingles down Yuji’s spine.   The texture was only made worse by the lack of a clean cut, bits of flesh left hanging off the finger.  Being this close to it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“There are twenty in total.  We currently possess six.” 

Looking at it was like watching an accident.   It was deeply disturbing but it retained this all powerful magnetic quality that made it near impossible to look away. 

“Twenty?” 

Fighting his compulsion to stare, Itadori made eye contact with the sorcerer sitting in front of him, “Each finger and toe?” 

Gojo’s smile only grew wider and more unsettling in the low light, “No, Sukuna has four arms.” 

Without a heads up, the older man tossed the cursed object into the air.  In the nanosecond it took the Sendai Student to glance at the sudden movement, an abundance of cursed energy crackled to life like electricity.  It snapped like a whip, launching the finger in a cloud of smoke. 

“...”

“...As you can see, we can’t destroy them.  The curse is just that powerful.” 

The boy’s jaw hung open like the fat koi fish in the pond he’d pass on the way home.  Staring at the fresh crater in the previously unblemished wall of talisman, he failed to notice the teacher standing up from his seat. 

Delicately plucking the curse from the steaming indentation he’d lovingly branded into the side of the room, he sauntered back over to his wooden chair.  Completely relaxed, his airy lilt carried through the room, “The curse grows stronger every day, and the seals of modern-day jujutsu sorcerers just can’t keep up.” 

Tucking the finger back into his pocket, he threw his leg over the wooden seat, “That’s where you come in.” 

Finally closing his mouth, the teenager blinked at him. 

“...Huh?” 

“You see, when you die, the curse inside you dies as well.”  Dramatically, the sorcerer slumped forward with a sigh, “Our elders are total cowards, you know? They’re demanding we kill you right away.” 

“...”

Gojo pursed his lips, “But that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” 

Itadori cocked his head to the side, struggling to process the clusterfuck of information he had unceremoniously dumped onto his unsuspecting lap, “A waste?” 

Resting the side of his face against his palm with an awkwardly cheerful ‘mhm!’, the white-haired stranger went on, “There’s no guarantee another vessel capable of handling Sukuna will ever be born again, so this is what I proposed,” he held up a pointer finger, waving it around to punctuate his statement, “If we’re going to kill you anyway… why not kill you after you’ve absorbed  ALL of Sukuna?”

“...”

“...”

Gojo crossed his arms over the back of his wooden perch, offering a non committal hum, “It took a lot of convincing, and Sensei had to pitch in, but eventually, the higher-ups agreed… so now you have two options before you.” 

Staring into the blank darkness of the black blindfold, Itadori finally seemed to notice how dry the inside of his mouth was.  

“You can either die right now…”

He swallowed.

“…or you can find all the parts of Sukuna and die after you’ve absorbed them.” 

JAZMIN BEAN : FAVORITE TOY

☺︎ taglist:

@angelkazusstuff @ahoeindeedinneed @wutap @mysouleaten @ilovebattinson @satansdaughter123

masterlist ☓

[bullet-prooflove]

The War Correspondent: Russell Shaw x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @Claymoresofinfamy23 @mqdhvtter @bribow010 @encounterthepast

Companion piece to: Home

Russell’s relationship with you starts because of mysterious message left on his cell phone by Marcus Madden, a retired war correspondent who used to be attached to his unit in the Army.

“Russell, I need to see you. It’s about Dex…”

Dex was a Lieutenant that was killed during a firefight back when they were deployed and one of Russ’s closet friends. Russell had been the one to escort the coffin all the way back home, to stand guard until the funeral.

When Russell turns up at Marcus’s house, he’s greeted by an inferno, cloying smoke and flames licking their way up into the night sky. The fire crew are already on the scene trying to put out the blaze but Russ already knows there won’t be any survivors.

It’s a day later that he turns up at your door. He knows Marcus had a daughter who was a Medic in the service, that when she left, she set up shop as a P.I. It’s taken him a while to track you down because you’re unlisted.

When you open the door he doesn’t expect you to be so breathtaking. You must take after your mother, he thinks as he introduces himself.

“Your father left me a message.” He begins and he’s granted access almost immediately.

It turns out you’ve been looking into articles your father was working on before he died. His laptop and hard drives may have burned up in the fire but you have access to his cloud. The two of you compare notes, he fills you in about Dex and you manage to narrow down the story your father was working on.

A motivational speaker whose earned hundreds of thousands of dollars describing his experiences as a veteran. His name Dex Hutton.

“It’s not him.” Russell tells you as he studies the documentation and images of this assholes. “The events he described are the same but Dex is dead, he has been since 2016.”

You spend the rest of the evening investigating the impostor. You manage to ascertain his name is Ray Smyth, that he worked in admin services during his time in the Army, typing up mission reports before he was rewarded with an honourable discharge, never seeing combat. He started attending veterans meetings using Dex’s name, telling his war stories before he was asked to speak during a fundraiser and his career took off there.

“He has an event tonight.” You say and Russell is already pulling out his credit card to book tickets.

The two hour session is the most excruciating thing that Russell has ever had to sit through. He listens to this asshole dictating his friend’s life, recounting those stories as if they were his own and it sends a pulse of rage through him. It isn’t until your hand comes to rest on his clenched fist, fingers slipping into the grooves of his knuckles that he allows himself to exhale because no matter how bad this is for him, it’s much worse for you.

It's at the end of the session when Smyth is signing books that he’s arrested for your father’s murder. You’d sent the evidence you’d collated to the police before you’d entered the conference room. Russ would have preferred to kill the motherfucker but this punishment is much worse for a man of Smyth’s character. He’s being eviscerated in the press, his lies exposed. It’s the humiliation that will kill him, you tell Russ and it does long before the trial starts when they discover him hanging in his cell.

Before he returns to his life with The Horizon Group, Russ leaves you his number, jotting it down on one of your post it notes.

“Just in case.” He says, squeezing your hands between his.

You don’t expect him to attend the funeral, but he does with the other surviving members of his unit, all clad in their dress blues to honour your father. He stays behind in the aftermath, helping to clean up the remains of the wake. He ends up sleeping on the couch because you spend the night drinking bourbon and swapping stories. When you wake up the next day he’s gone, the sheets and pillows neatly folded up on the arm of the sofa.

He checks in often after that, dropping by for coffee, taking you out for lunch. He tells himself it’s what your father would have wanted but the truth is he enjoys spending time with you. You don’t pull punches, your wicked smart and you make him laugh. Just the thought of your smile is enough to make his heart beat a little faster in his chest.

Lunches turn to dinner and before he knows it, Russ is in falling in love.

It isn’t him that makes the first move it’s you. He’s too aware of the circumstances of how all of this started, he doesn’t want to take advantage of the situation. When he walks you to the doorstep, he says goodnight but before he can leave, your hand slips into his pulling him back to you and that’s when it happens. You kiss him and Russell, he’s never felt anything like it.

You take him to bed that night, undressing him slowly, hands chasing all over his body with delicate, lingering touches that set his nerve endings ablaze. Everything before you has been fast, hard, rough but this is soft, tender, reverent.

He spends hours tangled up in you, his name on your lips as he loves you like he has never loved anybody else. When he wakes up the next morning, he sticks around, making coffee and breakfast because for the first time in his life Russell doesn’t want to leave, not until he has to.

“The next time you’re back in town…” You begin when it is his time to go and Russell’s palm comes to rest upon the nape of your neck, drawing you for a kiss.

“Oh honey.” He whispers against your lips. “I’ll be here at weekend if you’ll have me.”

“Always.” You promise him, your fingers running through his hair. “There’ll always be a place for you, right here with me.”

Love Russ? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[wildlife4life]

8x01 Fuck-it Friday Coda

I'm back!!! The writing beans came to me and I had to write a post b-day scene. Hope ya'll enjoy!!! (Using this as my Fuck-it Friday as well!) Posted to A03 as well.

Tommy tried to apologize, tried to offer to help clean up, and suggested to give Buck a ride home. 

“Don’t” was Eddie’s first response before the apology could even get past the older man’s lips.

“I’ll deal with it later.” Was his second.

And Buck, merely shook his head and lead the pilot to the front door, hugging him in the doorway with too soft words Eddie doesn’t even try to catch.

He stays seated on the couch, laptop still closed, cone hate crushed in his fist and the stupid noise maker at his feet. Another birthday passing through a lagging computer screen. Another person he loves upset and angry for his choices.

Except there’s silence that echoes around him instead of the bustle of an army encampment. His body isn’t weighed down by miliary gear and the ever presence fear of dying in the sands of war.  Eddie is no longer that man in his early 20’s, running from his problems. Now he’s just a man in his mid-thirties, watching his son run away from him.

The couch dips to his right and warmth seeps into his numb body.  It spreads around his back and over his left shoulder.  The band of muscles around him, flex, pulling Eddie deeper and pushing the numbness further away.

Eddie doesn’t even try to fight it.  He closes his eyes, tipping his body sideways and burying his face into his best friend’s shoulder.

Buck doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t try to apologize or offer to help clean, and he doesn’t suggest leaving Eddie to wallow alone. Because he doesn’t need to say any of those things.

Apologies from Buck aren’t going to salvage the failed birthday surprise.  Offers to clean the dollar store decorations and store-bought cupcakes will in no way make a dent in the disarray that is Eddie’s relationship with his son. And Eddie knows better than anyone, Buck is never going to leave him alone in this mess.

Side by side they sit in the silence that has been lingering since Christopher left for Texas.  Eddie breaths in the mixture of Buck’s cologne, laundry detergent, and something that is just uniquely Buck.  He takes breath after breath, and Buck matches each one with his own. Same rhythm. Same speed. Same heartache.

They sit there for minutes, hours, maybe even the rest of evening. The time didn’t matter, but this moment did, and Eddie needed to stay in it for just a little longer. He needed the line of warmth from Buck to chase away the remaining ache. He needed just a few more deep breaths with Buck’s scent lingering in the back of his throat. He needed Buck to keep holding onto him. He needed the silence to try and remember the echoes of previous birthdays where Christopher didn’t scoff, but smiled and laughed and returned his father’s hugs. He needed his son back.

But at this moment, his son didn’t need him.

It sobers Eddie, admitting that and he comes back to himself, breaking the bubble he secluded himself in with Buck.

He pulls his head from Buck’s shoulder and with a squeeze of his hand to Buck’s knee, Buck drops his arm, but the strength of his support remains. And when Eddie rises to his feet, disconnecting himself from Buck’s side, his warmth, his love, clings and doesn’t allow the numbness to return.

The silence is still there. The hurt and echoes of laughter’s past still resonance around them. There is still a mess. But Eddie isn’t alone with any of it.

Buck grabs the trash bag he laid out earlier and plucks the crumpled party hat from Eddie’s laxed grip. It makes the slightest rustle when dropped in the bag and again when followed by Buck’s red one.

“No cone hats next year, they’re uncomfortable.” Buck states as he tosses Tommy’s discarded blue hat in.

He reaches for the noise maker on the floor and Eddie manages to allow the smallest spark of hope to erupt with a tiny smile, “What do you suggest instead?”

The noise maker disappears into the trash bag and Buck’s eyes catch Eddie’s, lighting up with giddiness, “Depends.  Disney has the mickey ears, but what about universal? Shrek ears? Troll hair? Minion bald caps?”

A grand birthday plan is already in the works for Christopher’s 15th. Because Buck could see past pool clubs and renovation talks. He is seeing past the tangles in Eddie’s and Christopher’s distant relationship, beyond the anger and sadness.  His hope is larger than a single spark and one day, it will charge Eddie’s own.

One day, but not today.  So, Eddie shakes his head at Buck’s hat contemplations and makes his way over to the cupcake stand that is only missing one. “You’re baking these next year.” Eddie says softly.

Buck comes up behind him beaming, “You’re helping.”

Exactly what he needed to hear.

Tagging for fuck-it friday (no pressure): @colonoscopys @mattsire @bigfootsmom @tidesreach @kitteneddiediaz

@inell @pansysgothgf @smilingbuckley @shitouttabuck @dangerpronebuddie

@bucks-daddy-issues @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @lemonzestywrites

@diazsdimples @daffi-990 @diazheartsbuckley @transboybuckley @rainbow-nerdss

@theotherbuckley @lover-of-mine @jeeyuns @watchyourbuck @exhuastedpigeon

@spaceprincessem @starlingbite @glorious-spoon @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus

@prosperdemeter2 @try-set-me-on-fire @homerforsure @bekkachaos @honestlydarkprincess

@thekristen999 @sibylsleaves @mellaithwen @lonelychicago @tawaifeddiediaz

@fruitydiaz @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @gayhoediaz @captain-hen

@eddiebabygirldiaz

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Venus

Good afternoon people of Hawkins I take hammer and I fix the canon so that Eddie and his love are there to save the day.

Alternatively: fuck people like Angela. Throw rocks at them.

Trigger Warnings: vomit mention, pregnancy

****

“What the hell are they doing to Mike’s girlfriend?!”

You sat up ramrod straight, looking directly at Mike Wheeler’s little flame as she’s accosted by a group of leering little bitches led by a trashy looking blonde named Angela. After being accosted one day in Bradley’s Big Buy, fate found you and your fiancé chaperoning Mike’s little trip to see his girlfriend and friend in California. Mrs. Wheeler had paid for the plane tickets and paid you and Eddie two hundred dollars, trusting you to take care of her baby boy and his little friends. Responsibility was something you took seriously. You felt protective, a far cry from your usual antisocial and avoidant demeanor.

The minute you landed in California was when you imprinted on the kiddos like a broody hen imprints on baby chicks. You took a particular liking to Mike’s little girlfriend: she was awkward and scared much like you were once upon a time. Jane Hopper was mousy and shy, and had been trying to be bubbly throughout the trip even though you kept insisting to Eddie something was wrong. You could recognize the signs of someone trying to hold it together. Eddie had insisted you were wrong. Despite his efforts to calm you down, nothing could make you feel safe.

You had been off the whole trip, and the way you were on high alert, the more it seemed like Eddie was right about the cause.

“Hey! Take it easy…” Eddie soothed, pulling at the hem of your Motörhead ringer tee, “Let’s not go berserker on them.”

“I don’t like the way they’re crowding her!” You hissed, pounding your clenched fist on the booth table.

Mike and Will Byers jumped, glancing from you to Eddie then to each other when you immediately stood up out of the booth seat. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet, crouched as though you were going to pounce on someone.

Everyone was already on edge because of you. Going to Rink-O-Mania had been an entire ordeal. Before you entered the parking lot, you were already bitching and moaning about the drive over. Then you started complaining that the rink smelled like feet, and then you complained that the grease from the hot dogs was too overpowering. Eddie had tried to be the peacekeeper. Settling your raging stomach with a thick strawberry milkshake when you started whining about wanting one, and then complaining that the chocolate and vanilla smelled rotten.

The shake helped settle your stomach, but once the nausea was gone you just got more broody and hypersensitive.

“Babe, take a second, okay?” He soothed, pulling you back down into the booth with him, “You’re gonna cause a scene.”

“I don’t like how they’re just grabbing her and lugging her around like a suitcase!” You said.

Will’s hands were shaking, and you could hear him whispering with Mike.

“What’s wrong with her…?”

“How the hell should I know?! She’s been insufferable ever since she got on the plane to California!”

Eddie glanced over at Mike, shaking his head and frowning.

“Mike, take it easy. She’s not feeling well.” He said.

“Eddie, this is stupid!” Mike said, “She complains about every little thing, whines that she doesn’t feel good, then snaps at you if you don’t answer her right away or do what she wants. I swear she’s on the rag! Now she won’t even let El hang with her friends.”

“Mike chill, you don’t understand-…”

You immediately snapped your head towards Will when you heard him make a strangled noise in his throat at the mention of Jane’s “friends”.

“What’s wrong?!” You demanded.

“Nothing!”

Will looked like he had a gun to his head. Hyperventilating. Pure panic on his face.

“Will…” you growled, moving in like a tiger.

“Sweetheart, please. Everything is fine. Don’t start up with the stress.” Eddie begged.

“Yeah, man! Stop freaking everyone out!”

Mike stared you down while Will looked left and right, as though hoping to be saved. A storm was brewing, both in your face and on the roller rink. And unfortunately he didn’t have the spoons or the know-how to quell both at once.

You glanced hatefully at both Eddie and Mike.

“Shut up.” You hissed, before turning back to Will.

He shrank in the booth, the faux leather squeaking.

“Those girls are not her friends… are they?” You whispered dangerously to Will.

He was avoiding your gaze. Fidgeting in his seat. You continued to stare him down until he finally, finally shook his head and muttered.

“No… they’re not her friends. Those are the ones that bully her at school…”

The air surrounding the booth seemed to shift; a cold front of anticipation hitting everyone. You began to quiver, while Mike and Eddie rounded on Will.

“Why didn’t you say something?!” Mike demanded.

“I promised I wouldn’t tell!” Will countered, while Eddie simultaneously tried to pacify Will and soothe Mike.

But you were done. You were so fucking done.

“Fuck this shit.”

You moved out of the booth and sat astride a nearby bench, kicking your shoes off and tying on your black skates. Your face was dark, stormy and murderous, and you looked like you were puffed up and ready to kill someone.

“No, no, no!” Eddie was scrambling out of the booth after you, trying to grab your arm, “Sweetheart, we need to stop and take a breath-…”

“Eddie’s right! What are you even doing?!” Mike demanded.

“I’m going to get my fucking kid.” You said.

“Since when is she your kid?!” Mike snapped.

“Since your mother told me to take care of all of you on this trip.” You snarled, nearly snapping the shoestrings on your skates as you tied them with a vengeance, “If anything happens to any of you, Eddie and I are the ones that are gonna catch hell.”

“You think I’m afraid of Karen Wheeler?!” Eddie interjected, trying to drag you back over to the table, “I get that we have a responsibility, but we need to take a deep breath and not go apeshit on a bunch of kids. You need to think of the situation we might be in...”

His voiced dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

“I’m just going to go get Jane.” You said.

“Dammit babe you can’t just go charging in-…”

Before Eddie could do anything, you had already secured your skates and began gliding out onto the rink. Vaguely over the sound of Bananarama, you could hear Eddie calling your name. You were skating a bit like shit. The motion was a little disorienting, and out in the middle of the rink you could smell everything mixed together with body sweat.

You whipped your head this way and that, before spotting Jane. Cornered by Angela, that bleach blonde jackass.

“Excuse me.” You called out, bumping the blonde with your hip.

The motion was so fluid it simply looked like you were just gliding on by, taking Jane by the upper arm and coasting with her for a turn around the rink. It was done swiftly, no muss no fuss, but you knew from years of experience that girls like Angela wouldn’t let you go so easily.

Jane looked a little frightened, and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a mirror. Your teased hair was waterlogged with sweat, and your sharp winged eyeliner was dribbling down your cheeks and getting into your sleep deprived red rimmed eyes. To Jane, you must have looked like a demon.

“Are you okay, sweetie?!” You called out to Jane over the intro to ‘Venus’.

She waited until the iconic screech passed before responding.

“I’m okay…” she nodded, clinging to your arm when she realized you had come to save her, not scream at her.

“What were they doing to you?” You called out, only to see the intended plan a second later as Jane’s bully and her cronies started tailing the two of you around the turn. You locked eyes with Eddie across the room, watching him stand up from putting on his inline skates and gliding towards you two.

“Don’t panic.” You told Jane, “Just skate towards Eddie, okay?”

She nodded and went forward obediently, nearly falling into his open arms when you gave her a little push. Jane’s bullies were closing in on either side of you, and just as you made for Eddie, you felt a tug at the back of your hair. It was soft at first, then someone yanked you backward.

You landed hard on your wrist and ass, and when you looked up, you were doused in chocolate shake.

The smell was more overpowering than the laughter of Jane’s bullies. Angela stood triumphantly over you, her friends circling all of you as they laughed and pointed.

“Look who it is!” She laughed, “The loser’s fat little mother hen!”

You didn’t say anything as you got to your feet. Watching the girls circle you was giving you motion sickness, and you slapped a hand over your mouth as the sickening smell of cheap cocoa ice cream and curdling milk invaded your nostrils.

“Aww look, she’s not saying anything.” Angela sneered, getting into your face, “Is Mommy feeling queasy?”

The hot dog grease, burnt popcorn, oil, Angela’s Love’s Baby Soft perfume, and the insoles of skates that had been sweated in since the sixties, were cumulatively gathering together into one rank whiff to make your stomach turn violently. The feeling of saliva flooding your mouth meant the end was nigh. You looked up at Angela, a sly grin on your face as one of her female friends went up behind you with a fist raised.

“Oh, Mama’s feeling queasy alright,” you hissed, spit dribbling out of your mouth.

“You stuck up little bitch.”

Angela only had one moment to react before her friend hit you hard in the middle of the back. The floodgates opened. The punch to the back knocked you forward, and you immediately threw up all over the front of Angela’s blue shirt.

You finally understood the meaning of a Kodak Moment. Her face changed in the span of a second from superior, to shock, to horror and then fear as she began gagging as the smell of vomit hit her nostrils. You coughed up the remains of the shake while her friends immediately vacated the rink, the music stopping mid riff and everyone clearing off the minute “ralph” was heard echoing through the roller rink. Angela began screaming as Eddie nearly bowled into you, laughing so hard he was crying.

“Holy hell!” He cried, his face red with laughter and his smile wide as he led you out of the rink by the arm, “Did you have to do that?!”

“She shouldn’t have doused me in shake.” Was your smug response.

“YOU DIRTY BITCH!”

Angela shrieked, alone in the center of the rink, covered and stinking, “You’re fucking gross! You’re disgusting!”

“Word of advice, sweetheart,” Eddie called over his shoulder, a smug smile on his face while leading you into the waiting arms of Will, Mike and Jane.

“Next time: don’t pick a fight with a pregnant woman!”

[beansprean]

It WAS Panera! Guillermo b like I'm gonna take this full circle djdjdjd

My Familiar’s Ghost part 39

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Wide shot of a Panera Bread in a strip mall, flanked on one side by a closed Family Dollar and an empty space for lease. The sky is heavily clouded but it has stopped raining, the moon glowing brightly above the restaurant from beneath the gloom. Nandor, dressed and dry again and wearing his black and gold traveling cloak, stands in the foreground alone, facing the building. 1b. Close up of Nandor looking up at the Panera with a fond, nostalgic smile, murmuring to himself, 'Very sentimental, Guillermo. 1c. Close up of Nandor's boot as he steps forward across the asphalt. He announces, 'I'm coming for you.' 1d. Close up on Nandor's hand reaching out toward the double doors. The building beyond is dark, and there is a closed sign on the door with a few smears of blood along the bottom in the shape of fingers. 1e. Repeat, 14 years earlier. The scene is now in sepia tone, and Nandor is wearing different clothes. The closed sign now says open, and the building inside is lit up. Nandor's hand curls into a fist and he knocks twice on the glass. A voice from inside hesitantly says 'Come in?' 1f. Shot from inside the Panera as past Nandor pushes the door open to step inside, expression serious. A voice offscreen says, 'We're closing soon, but-' 1g. Reverse shot of Guillermo, 19 years old, hair in an overgrown style with floppy side bangs, oval wire rimmed glasses, a few pimples on his chin, stepping out from behind a curtain that leads to a hallway behind the counter. He is wearing a Panera apron over a black polo shirt. He startles when his eyes meet Nandor's, cheeks flushing red, and interrupts himself with 'Uh...'

2a. Wide shot in profile as past Nandor approaches the Panera counter from one side and past Guillermo approaches from the other. On the counter between them is a thick computer monitor, a card reader, a large tip jar with some change and crumpled bills, and a few flyers and tea samples. Nandor stands tall and imposing as looks down at Guillermo with something between indifference and boredom, cape flaring behind him. Guillermo places one hand on the counter, the other clutching at his chest, and stares up at Nandor with wide admiring eyes and flushed cheeks. He says, 'What...what can I do for you?' 2b. Repeat, 14 years later. The sepia tone disappears in favor of a heavy darkness. The scene is now covered in a thick layer of dust, the computer monitor now a dark flat screen, tip jar smaller and empty. A wall painting in the background hangs crooked. A corner of the wall behind the counter is smashed in and smeared red. The curtain to the back is half ripped down. Present day Nandor stands exactly where he once stood, but appears smaller, more hesitant, twiddling his fingers together as he stares longingly at where he had first seen Guillermo. /end ID

[twyftwyt]

Warnings: slight smut, anger

Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

Authors note: this is a little something I found in my drafts that I’m debating on continuing (as a one shot tho)

“I thought we talked this through. Stop acting up. Not in public. Not right now.”

And he had a point. He really did. We both hated making a scene in public and we rarely had spats. We knew better than to throw fits and fists at each other, but my vision was so blurry from all the hurt and anger that my brain went blank the moment we stepped out of the restaurant.

We had a small argument before we left the hotel, to grab dinner with everyone else, but we agreed on postponing the conversation for later. For when we’re alone, between the comfort of the four walls of our hotel room. But things didn’t go as planned and escalated pretty quickly when something in me snapped the moment he made a sarcastic comment towards me, at dinner. I bit back, of course, and he didn’t like it. We were both on edge the whole evening. I could see him fidgeting a lot, tapping his knee, looking over at me and I purposefully ignored him. Which steered the pot even more.

“You know better than to act like this. Please, I don’t have the patience to do this tonight.”

That was the last text message that I got from him. At one point I got up and went to the toilet only to come back and sit on the other end of the table. As far away from him as possible. A change he noticed in an instant. I was too far gone to start acting right so I just grabbed my phone from where it was laying on the table and started typing away as fast as I could. My annoyance visible to those around me now.

“So you get a free pass in the asshole department and I don’t?!”

The moment I hit sent and my message displayed as “Seen” my eyes shot up at him. And he was already glaring at me. His eyes were low and darkened. I knew I hit a nerve. And I knew that I knew better than to do that, but I was seeing red at this point. I saw him move in his seat till he got his wallet out and put a 50 dollar bill on the table.

“That should cover our dinner. We’re going back to the hotel, because whatever was in that salad is not doing my stomach any good right now.”

What a decent liar. He got up from the table and motioned at me with his index finger. A lump got stuck in my throat, cause I knew what was coming. I hated fighting with him. Especially in cases where the fight had gotten so stupid that we’ve both already lost sense of reality and the thing we were fighting over.

I excused myself from the table and followed in his footsteps quickly. The air outside was cold and dry and I felt his arm wrap around me. His hot breath tickled my hair when I felt his lips press against my temple.

“You wanna finish that conversation in person?”

He felt hot to the touch and his body was starting to shake. Not from the coldness, I knew I had pressed a sensitive button.

“I don’t wanna fight, Noah.”

My tone was more desperate than I intended it to be.

“Then why do you keep saying silly shit?”

“Because you push me, Noah. I don’t even think you realize how you push my buttons at times and it takes all the strength I have in me to not go back to my old ways and tell you to go fuck yourself. It’s stupid, the shit we’ve been fighting over, these last few days. Have you noticed that?! We’re not fighting over little scenarios and situations, it’s deeper than that. But I’m not ready to talk about it and apparently so aren’t you. And that’s okay. We’ll get to it at some point, but we.can’t.keep.doing.this.”

I blurted out the whole thing in one breath and got dizzy shortly after shutting my mouth. We had picked up the pace and he was gripping my arms so tight that I felt like I could fly off the ground if I lift my feet.

“I think we trigger unhealed parts of our brains, thus we go back to old ways and I hate it. Sometimes I don’t even know what to do with you.”

I didn’t know what to do with him either.

“I don’t want fight over silly little things, cause we’re just gonna get tired of each other at one point. But you’re right. We do trigger each other in a way that I can’t understand neither explain and I don’t know what to do with us.”

I knew we weren’t gonna solve this overnight. So we spent the rest of the walk to the hotel in silence. We got in the elevator and as he was fumbling for his key, I leaned on the wall behind me. His tall frame was hovering over me and I could see his shoulders were tense. We were both worked up from tonight. The moment our elevator announced our floor and the doors opened, he grabbed my hand and lead me to our room. He was always firm but gentle. He was quick in his reactions and he kept his composure at all times. I admired him a lot for that. But he was too calm sometimes. Too composed. Too silent. Too much in his head. I was an anxious over thinker and he was avoidant. And we were trying so hard to give each other the needed space and reassurance, but there were times like this, where our worlds crashed. When all we wanted was to just collide peacefully.

He threw his hoodie on the couch and got out of his shoes as soon as we closed and locked the door behind us. The room was dimly lit by only the nightstand lamps and the orange light illuminated off of his body.

“I’m getting in the shower. Do you need something?”

“From the shower?”

He rolled his eyes at me and I smiled at him.

“I wanna take your tank top off.”

And I didn’t mean it in a sexual way. I just wanted to feel him close, to feel the heat emanating from his body.

“Go on then.”

He lifted his arms in front of me.

“You have to sit on the bed, babe. I can’t reach that high.”

I rolled my eyes at him this time. He stepped backwards a few times until his legs hit the wooden board of the bed and he sank down on the soft cushions. I straddled him and untuck his tank top from his sweats, lifting it slowly from his torso. I felt his hands slide down my waist and my breath stuck in my throat. I removed his tank top and put it on the bed beside us, looking down at him, running my fingers through his hair.

“You’re giving me the eyes.”

His own breaths were coming out short.

“What eyes?”

“The “fuck me” eyes. You’re giving me the “fuck me” eyes.”

“I am not.” A lie.

“Don’t play.”

“Or what?”

I saw him clench his jaw and his hands slid down to my thighs, gripping them hard, pulling me down on him.

“You’ve given me plenty of reasons to not be gentle with you tonight. Don’t give me more, Y/N.”

At this point I was grinding my crotch against his, feeling his erection grow behind the three pieces of fabric separating us. So much for staying mad or talking things through.

“I can handle your worst, Noah.”

We were both still coming down from that fight earlier and I knew what to expect. But then again, I think always know with Noah. I’ve studied and learned his ways so well, that I can tell what he’s thinking about the minute I look at him. It’s crazy to think that we’re here now, looking back at what we started as. Just two shy people brought against our will to a friends party.

I felt his slick fingers unzipping my skirt and lifting it up higher around my waist. The button on my white shirt flew, because apparently he didn’t have the patience to unbutton them one by one and I awed in surprise.

“I need you to be a good girl and get on your knees for me.”

His voice was huskier than ever, his eyes darkened. That was the Noah that took over when he couldn’t handle his emotions at the moment and left them for later. And I gave in, cause I was the same in that sense. So I obeyed and slipped down to my knees in front of him, looking at up with deer eyes. What next, my love? What else are we gonna bury with sex?

[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

SIC PARVIS MAGNA Pt.1: "Streets"

DC Birds of Prey x ATEEZ

an AU by @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict & @seventhcallisto

Masterlist & Character profiles

Heavy edm booms throughout the night club, barely heard over screams of distress, punches landing and the shattering of glass bottles. You winced in pain as you nursed the bruise on your knee, a souvenir of your clumsy attempt to get to the bar counter that you were now crouched underneath. You tugged off your heels, knowing that they would likely cause more trouble for you than protection from whatever miscellaneous trash was littered throughout the checkered nightclub floor. The mahogany counter you were leaned up against suddenly shook with a loud ‘thud’, causing you to jump backwards in your hiding spot. Cautiously getting on your knees, you peeked over the counter top, in hopes of at least locating your friends. The scene before your eyes was chaos, a blur of fists and bright disco ball lights flashing inconsistently, doing little to help your eyes navigate the already dimly-lit room. Looks like you were gonna be there for a while. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when a large black figure was thrown over the counter and against the wine cabinet behind it. Glass shattered everywhere, prompting you to gasp out loud and shield your face from any flying shards. The figure slammed to the ground, and awkwardly rolled under the counter next to you. A sigh of relief escaped your chest when you realized it wasn't one of the tattooed thugs that had come barrelling through the club's entrance earlier on. It was a man with flaming, yellow-streaked orange hair, dressed in long drapes of dark fabric. His lowered face was obscured partially by a black cowl with pointed tips. As he tried to push himself up, he shook violently and doubled over even more, evidently reacting to a painful injury. You instinctively reached out to try to help, but he didn't notice you, instead ripping off his bat-shaped cowl and disorientedly raising his head. 

Oh my god.

Nothing could have prepared you to see the face behind the mask. 

One day earlier…

“Hand over what's in the cash register, and no one gets hurt!!” 

Shit. Not again.

Turning around in your spot from behind the cashier, you came face to face with the poorly-dressed man who had entered the store just a few minutes ago. His bloodshot eyes raked your raised hands as he brandished his scratched-up pistol at you. 

Fuck, I knew he seemed off when he walked in.

You mentally cursed yourself for not refusing service to him the moment your gut feeling had kicked in. Now you were stuck behind the cashier of the convenience store, having to choose between forking over the little money in the register and being shot at the scum standing in front of you. Not that this was new to you. In fact, having lived in the crime-ridden city of Seoultham for long enough, you're rather desensitized to being robbed. It just sucked that it had to happen when you were working your shift at the local 7-11. For the 3rd time in a week. When your rent was due in a few days.

Despite the familiar anxiety that overtook you whenever you were looking down the barrel of a shooter's gun, you managed to reach into the beat-up register to grab the few dollar notes, while hardly breaking a sweat. You stared longingly at the crumpled notes as you handed them over to the thief. 

Guess I'm not getting paid this week. Whatever… I'll just ask Taehyun-oppa to send some money early. 

A cry of dissatisfaction broke your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. The thief had counted the money, and he looked nothing but happy. 

“What the fuck is this?! There's barely enough money ‘ere to rent a whore!”

“That's all there is, man, I swear…”

“Yer lyin’! Scoot over and lemme see the register, or I'll shoot!!”

“Dude, it's 11am on a weekend- This place hardly gets any business in the morning! You got some money anyways, so just get out!” 

You eventually gave in (persuaded more by the gun than the obviously uneducated fellow that wielded it), moving aside to let him rummage through the register. He gave a huff of displeasure at the empty metal drawer, before making his way out of the automatic doors. You let out a sigh of relief.

Fucking finally.

☆☆☆

A visit from the patrolling policeman, a couple texts to your boss, and a few hours later, you walk past the next shift's staff and out of the store. Relief washed over you as you walked the familiar path home. 

What a day.

Pulling out your phone, you turned off the Do Not Disturb setting, and was immediately met with the buzz of groupchat messages. The notification bar was flooded with texts from your girl friends. You couldn't help but smile a little at the most recent ones. 

Nayeonnie 🐰: KANG Y/N AND YOO JEONGYEONNNN

Nayeonnie 🐰: Answer ur phones RN. 

Nayeonnie 🐰: omg don't leave me hANGING 😭😭😭😭😭😭

The moment you clicked the notification and opened up the group chat, Nayeon’s contact number popped up on screen, causing you to nearly drop your phone. You quickly stuffed your coat into your tote bag so that you'd have a free hand to answer. 

“Hello? Nayeon?”

“Y/N you're alive!!!”

“I was at work, dude, my phone was on silent mode.”

“Aww you can't even look at your texts while manning the counter?”

“I would if I could, trust me. Anyways, I would've been screwed today if my phone was buzzing with notifications during work.”

“Whaddya mea- Ohhhh shit, did the store get robbed again?!” 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” You murmured, Nayeon sighing out loud on the other end of the line. 

“You really gotta find a safer place to stay. Jeongie and I's door is always open for you. I gotta go now, but I'll text you about this new club I wanted to check out later!!”

She ended the call, and you stuffed your phone inside your pocket, looking up as you turned round a corner. The sight of a dilapidated 4 storey building up ahead greeted you. Home sweet home. 

Halazia Apartments was dead as usual. The apartment complex is still standing on bare concrete and broken foundation, which you doubted you'd come home to because of said things, but with it still standing everyday you were pleasantly surprised that it wasn't rubble and dust. Maybe you're not giving the place enough credit. As you take your steps up the entrance stairs a familiar shadow is on the other side of the door, pushing out. 

“Oh hey,” Your sweet old land lady's only daughter, Chungha, greets you, phone in one hand and her thick brown braid twirled around the other. Despite being older by a fair amount, she looked effortlessly gorgeous yet laid-back (as usual) in her pastel tracksuit. A stark contrast to your windblown hair and wrinkled tee that still had a few glass pieces from the earlier break-in. What wasn't usual, was the stranger standing next to her; a tall, thin man with faded red hair. Something about him made him almost fade into the background, you didn't even notice him at first. His pale skin had a slight tinge of green to it, and his eyes looked like bottomless pits. Not creepy, but more mysterious.

Is that her new boyfriend? 

Your eyes flicker between the two for a moment, internally deciding not to question one of your very few friends. This doesn't go unnoticed by the cute stranger. His figure shrinks a little and he moves closer to Chungha, his big frames almost sliding down his hooked nose. She doesn't react, as if she was used to it, and instead spoke to you again. “If you happen to see that Song guy, let him know the elevator is getting maintenance and he shouldn't try to use it. Don't want a lawsuit." Chungha crosses her fingers and clicks her tongue, as if the problem isn't as serious as it is. Considering you'll have to walk up the many flights of stairs. Fuck, could it get any worse? “Yea sure,” you nod and slip past the tall man (who's still clinging onto her). 

“Thanks, sweetie. Hwa, c’Mon, let's go,” Chungha hums a word of appreciation as she tugs on the man’s baggy sleeve. He was quick to react, eagerly following her out of the building. You could hear her infectious chuckles outside as you started to walk towards the staircase. Shaking your head, you push the mystery man out of your thoughts and headed to the row of mailboxes next to the staircase. 

Multi-colored graffiti decorated the once-blank walls that surrounded the mailboxes. Not that you minded. It gave a somewhat lively feel to the still and dead air of the place. You reached for your assigned mailbox that was labeled ‘#03-01’, only  half of the ‘3’ was scratched off. 

Inserting and turning your key, a grumble escaped your throat when you realized that the mailman had mixed up your mail for the nth time. The heavy envelopes inside were all addressed to ‘Song Mingi’, aka your infuriatingly absent neighbor that lived a level below you. 

Whatever, I had to go tell him about the elevator anyway. If he's even home this time.

Jogging up the stairs to the 2nd level, you crossed over to the first door in the pin-drop silent hallway and knocked, expecting to be met with even more silence . To your surprise, there was a ‘click’ followed by the door squeaking open. Your giant of a neighbor stood in front of you, looking like a lost puppy. He scratched his flaming yellow-and-orange hair, muttering, “Can I…help you, Kang?” 

Honestly, you were taken aback for a moment. It was the first time you'd seen him up close before, heck it was one of the first times you'd ever personally seen him at the apartment. He lived there, but rarely left his unit from what Chungha told you. You didn't see or hear much of him, besides clunking of machinery, aggressive clacking of keyboards that you could hear through the thin floors, or occasional loud conversations between him and the friends he had over. You couldn't help but let your eyes rake over his sharp features for a moment, before snapping yourself out of it and showing him the stack of yellow envelopes addressed to him.

“Our mail got mixed up…again.”

“Oh shit, ‘m really sorry you had to go through the trouble-”

“It's fine. At least you're here for once to actually receive your shit. I wouldn't wanna leave it outside your unit again like some threat from a loan shark. By the way, uh…the elevator’s down again. Chungha said to use the stairs for now.” 

Mingi offered you a crooked smile and took in his mail, nodding and mumbling a low “thanks” before clumsily re-entering his apartment. 

Well. That was awkward. 

And this leads you to where you are now. 

Caught in the midst of an intense nightclub fight, crouched beneath the bar counter with increasingly sore legs, and face-to-face with that exact same downstairs neighbor; holding a cowl in his hands, looking absolutely petrified as he stared right back at you.

The two of you gawked at each other like goldfish, the loud music and fighting nothing but white noise in that moment. 

Just as Mingi was about to speak up, there was a shrill cackle coming from the front of the bar.

“Batsy!!! Where ya at??? The cops are coming, we gotta bounce, you fucking beanstalk!!” 

You could hear a deranged man speaking and punctuating his words with punches and crashes of bar stools. 

Mingi's eyes lit up at the sound of his companion's voice and he quickly shoved his cowl back on, tugging up a baggy hood over his striking mop of hair for extra measure. He caught your gaze, offering a “please pretend you didn't see anything” look back in return. And in the blink of an eye, he was gone. 

Soon enough, the rowdy bar fight was broken up by the cops. Police sirens and yells of “Freeze!” rang throughout the room, prompting both innocent bystanders and troublemakers alike to attempt to flee. You stayed exactly where you were, too shocked by the revelation that you'd just made. 

What the hell was Mingi doing here? Is he a vigilante? Why'd it have to be him to run into, out of all people? 

It wasn't long before a police officer found you huddled under the counter. He'd asked for your name, but took your silence as a sign of shock from the night's events. As you were being escorted out of the club, you could hear groups of police officers discussing in hushed tones as they tried to round up as many thugs as they could. Amongst these officers, you spotted Officer Seo, your elder brother’s friend. Curiosity overcame you and you broke free from the officer's hold to clumsily hobble over.

“Changbin oppa!”

The beefy policeman whipped around at the sound of your voice, and caught you just in time before you tripped. “Y/N! You were caught in the fight??” “N-no, I mean yeah, but I was hiding behind the counter most of the time…” Officer Seo heaved a sigh of relief at your response, muttering, “Taehyun would've killed me if you got seriously hurt.” You couldn't help but smile as Officer Seo waved off the officer who had been escorting you out. He'd always looked out for you, ever since he got to know you and your elder brother through a mutual friend, Yeonjun. “You were here with your friends?” “Yeah, only I don't know where they are…I lost them in the crowd ‘cause I was on my way to the toilet when the fight started. And I left my phone with one of them, so I can't exactly make a call.” You ranted. The reality of your situation was sinking in. The man sighed in exasperation this time, sweeping off a few shards of glass that were stuck in your hair. “Give me their names and a description. I'll get my colleagues to find them. We're holding witnesses outside for questioning, I'm sure they're there.” Officer Seo chuckled at the relieved look on your face. 

“Do you know what happened, Changbin?”

He scratched his head at your question, evidently irritated at the mess surrounding him. “Yeah, buncha thugs came in to stir shit with the club owners. Witnesses say the Birds of Prey had arrived and were tryna take out the troublemakers, but they clearly,” he waved a hand at the ruined bar, splintered chairs, and smashed disco ball before adding on, “left behind a huge mess for us to clean up. As usual.” 

Officer Seo continued to ramble as you gathered your thoughts on everything that had happened. Birds of Prey? Seoultham’s infamous group of vigilantes that would disappear as mysteriously as they came? You chewed your lip and you couldn't help but ponder.

Is Mingi part of them? 

After the nightclub had been cleared out, Jeongyeon and Nayeon had came running, nearly suffocating you with their tight hugs and cries of “Thank fuck you're okay!!” (Jeongyeon was crying). Officer Seo had personally driven the 3 of you back to your respective apartments; Jeongyeon and Nayeon to their shared unit in another part of the city, and you to Halazia Apartments. By the time you got home, it was almost 2am, and you'd quickly gotten ready for bed, exhausted from the night. Right as you were dozing off, you swore you could hear some commotion from Mingi's unit on the floor below…

The next morning, you were still deep in thought. Even as you were making your way to school. Before leaving the building, you'd considered going to Mingi's unit to interrogate him, but decided against it after the complete silence at his level. Normally, in the mornings, you'd hear some sort of heavy machinery operating. God knows what that computer science student, and apparent vigilante, was doing. 

As you turned the corner to walk out of Felony Alley, a man with red-streaked black hair practically threw himself at you. “Y/nnie!!!” The two of you fell to the ground with a thud. Hearing the familiar voice, you immediately relaxed. It was just San, the sweet and bubbly (and very affectionate) mechanic from the nearby bike shop. He snuggled into you as you struggled to get up. “Hey- good morning to you too, San…Can you get off me?” Once you two were up, he hooked a muscly arm around yours while you walked along the sidewalk, eventually leading you to the small shophouse that he lived and worked at with Yunho, who was crouched over a red motorbike at the entrance. “Good morning, Yunho,” you greeted him as usual. Limitless Mechanics was located almost right outside Felony Alley, meaning that you'd pass by it everyday while leaving for college. Over the years, you'd befriended the two mechanics that worked there, and you and your busted-up bike became regular customers. 

Upon hearing his name, the lanky man leisurely turned in your direction. But his face dropped for a second when he realized it was you. “Oh. Good morning.” A wave of uncertainty washed over you at this. Yunho wasn't as physically affectionate and bubbly as his business partner, but he always greeted you with a warm smile. A warm smile that was nowhere to be seen at that moment. You bit your lip out of anxiety, wondering if you'd done something wrong. San seemed to notice, and he quickly started talking to bring focus away from the weird tension. But even he sounded nervous about something.

“So, Y/n! I heard that you were caught at Arriba's bar fight last night…did you- see anything out of the norm?”

“Uhm…” 

An image of Mingi's stunned pikachu face flashed through your mind.

“...as unusual as a bar fight gets, I guess.”

“Ah, I see…glad you're safe.”

The air went stagnant between the 3 of you. Between Yunho's unusually stoic demeanor and San's fidgety yapping, it was nothing but awkward.

Fuck, how many times have I been put on the spot these past few days? It's getting ridiculous. 

“Well, I'll uh…be making my way to college now. See you guys…”

San opened his mouth, presumably to say goodbye, but a look from Yunho made him opt for a wave instead. You turned and walked away as fast as your battered sneakers let you, feeling Yunho's piercing gaze stabbing daggers at you from behind. 

Talk about uncomfortable…

Thankfully  your mood had lifted a little once you reached the college campus . Meeting with Jeongyeon and Nayeon for a light breakfast at the campus’ cafe took things off your mind a bit before you could head for your lecture. The two girls had avoided discussing the previous night's events, likely still shocked at what had transpired. Not that you minded. You'd had enough of weird happenings and situations for the day. Or so you thought, when you ended your lecture on DNA analysis and started heading for the biology lab. 

Since you only had one lecture on your schedule, you'd opted to go help out at the biology lab as the professor's assistant, as usual. A side gig to earn some extra pocket money. You walked into the small storage room connected to the lab, stretching slightly as you put down your bag in a chair, grabbing one of the lab coats that was hanging from the clothing rack next to the door. The biology professor hadn't briefed you on what lecture he was carrying out for the day, so you'd have to wait. A clammy hand suddenly reached out and touched your shoulder.

“AH WHAT THE FUCK-”

You jumped forward, screaming out in surprise at the same time. Whipping around, you came face-to-face with a man that you hadn't even noticed when you'd entered the room. It took a moment for you to realize that it was the same guy that was leaving Halazia Apartments with Chungha just yesterday. He was wearing a baggy brown plaid vest, and a few pins in his faded red hair to hold stray strands in place. His eyes were wide, clearly more scared than you were. “I-I'm sorry…you were standing in front of the test tube cabinet, and I need to get to it…” 

You quickly moved out of the way, muttering an apology as you watched him gingerly open the wood cabinet. Were his hands shaking? Now that you saw him up close, he seemed rather timid and soft-spoken. His bony hands didn't have much color on them. 

“Sorry, I didn't get your name…” “O-oh. That was rude of me. I'm Park Seonghwa…” “Well, nice to meet you, I’m-” “Kang Y/n. Halazia Apartments level 3, right?”

He blurted out suddenly, taking you by surprise yet again. A few cogs seemed to turn in his head at your reaction, and he quickly started stuttering.

“C-Chungha told me! I'm friends with her, and I ran into you yesterday, r-right? She told me you were one of her mom's tenants at Halazia…” “Ah, don't worry, man, I didn't think you were like a stalker or something.” 

Seonghwa looked visibly relieved at your response. Your eyes traced over the test tubes that he was now clutching tightly. “So why're you here?” “Uhm, I got a job as a lab assistant here…” “Really? Same here. I've been working as Professor Li's assistant for some time now. Guess we're colleagues now!” Your attempt to sound chirpy went unnoticed by your new associate. He was just as nervous and fidgety as the day before. Clearly, it wasn't gonna be easy to get to know each other. “Are you Chungha's new boyfriend? Your two seemed,” the memory of him clinging desperately to the older woman flashed through your mind,”...close.” Seonghwa looked uncomfortable at your question, and his figure shrank even more. It reminded you of a plant wilting. 

The room went silent for a moment before he spoke up again. “Professor Li said…you don't need to be here today. He told me to inform you if y-you came around… I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.” You let out a breath that you didn't even know you were holding. Deep down, you felt alleviated that you didn't have to spend 2 hours working with such an introverted, withheld colleague. Not after the chaos and rapid fire of uncomfortable situations that had ensued in the last 48 hours. It was draining. You shook away those thoughts as you hightailed it out of the college building. You sent a quick text to Jeongyeon and Nayeon that you were going to miss out on your usual lunch, noticing a new text notification. 

Tae oppa (personal atm💵): dongsaeng-ah

tae oppa (personal atm💵): come down to the museum

tae oppa (personal atm💵): I'm in the city for a bit so hurry up or you'll miss me 🙄

Perfect timing on his part. Taehyun, your one and only elder brother, messages just as you're heading home. With a quick-witted response back (A thumbs up emoji) you're on your way to see him. The museum, that he would go to whenever he was in town, was thankfully nearby your apartment. God, you haven’t seen him in a while. You should probably thank him for covering your rent this month. Like he has for the past couple of months… yeah. An in-person thank you was long overdue.

The doors rattle as you push forward into the Visage of History Museum, aged over time. And in the center, after a few steps in, you notice the familiar jet black hair of Wooyoung talking to Yeonjun. Yeonjun was yours and your brother's childhood friend, as well as his current business partner, so Yeonjun would be around whenever your brother came to visit. Wooyoung, on the other hand, worked at Seoultham’s museum, which was a business partner of Taehyun and Yeonjun. “Oh! Y/n!” Yeonjun flashes his signature smile, and during that split second after your name was called, Wooyoung's head whips your way. “Hey Yeonjun oppa, hi Wooyoung..” you toss your head in acknowledgement, glancing at Wooyoung. His stare - unlike his usual playful one, is wide and clouded in an emotion you can't quite tell. You flinched slightly at the suddenly defensive look in his eyes.

Seriously, what is up with everyone today?

The awkwardness of the unnerving stare makes your eyes flicker back to Yeonjun. “Where's Taehyun oppa?” You mumble, rounding the counter to meet them on the employees only side. Yeonjun clicks his tongue but doesn't mention it. “Wow, only a hey? Not even a hug or anything?” Yeonjun pouts. And unlike usual, Wooyoung doesn't interrupt his friend, only observes with his arms crossed over his chest. Your eye twitches in worry, but instead of mentioning it, you pull Yeonjun into a side hug to shut his whining up for the moment. For a second he’s tamed, and just as he goes to speak once more, Taehyun is rounding the corner to one of the art exhibits. You quickly turn, hoping to briefly step away from Wooyoung’s stony stare.

“Here's the man of the hour,” Yeonjun gestures, patting your back heavily - an irritating thing he's done since you were young. Your older brother's eyes meet the edge of the counter before settling on you, a satisfied grin spreading over his cheeks. “Oppa” you yell while waving enthusiastically, and Taehyun grins back, jogging up to the counter to bring you into a full fledged hug. “Have you eaten? It's already lunchtime.” His grin is contagious, and you scratch the back of your head, laughing nervously. “Uh, no.” 

Taehyun scolds you with a small ‘aigoo’, clicking his tongue. “It's a good thing we ordered pizza!” Yeonjun piped up, waving his phone, which had a delivery app opened up on it. “Pizza? In a museum? Wow, Jun, I thought you'd be more responsible,” Taehyun rolled his eyes at his colleague before adding on, “I'm kinda craving a coffee, honestly. Jet-lag is crazy. Y/N, what's the name of that place you bought me that really good black coffee the last time I visited? The one with that barista who called you a caffeine-addicted ninny?” “...you mean Nightbrew Cafe?” 

You plastered on a smile, trying to ignore how Yeonjun had doubled over in laughter at how your brother remembered your favorite cafe. Nightbrew was the local cafe/coffee shop, and was located practically in the middle of the college, Halazia Apartments and the museum. Naturally, when you first moved to Seoultham, you had started frequenting it as it was convenient. Over time, you even befriended the main day-shift barista, Jongho, who took a liking to you the first time he served you and you blurted out a “You too!” when he said “Enjoy your cake”. It was awkward and embarrassing, but it did lead to you becoming good friends with the muscly man. 

“Jongho didn't call me that, by the way!” You fumed, smacking Taehyun's shoulder defensively. “Oh, is that his name? But I remember it so clearly! He definitely did. Maybe I'll ask him, I wanted to go down to grab another one of those delectable coffees anyway. Go with me, sis, I don't know where it is.” Wooyoung had been quiet this whole time, but he suddenly blurted out after hearing that Taehyun and you intended to interact with the barista.

“H-he’s not working today!” 

“Who?”

“Uh- Jongho… he took an emergency leave today….”

You crossed your arms, looking suspiciously at Wooyoung. He immediately avoided your gaze, opting to state at the ground and shift slightly in his platform sneakers. 

“You know him?”

A hint of panic flashes across Wooyoung’s face. His eyes darted around hesitantly for a few moments, almost as if he was thinking of a lie.

“We…we're neighbors.”

“Hm. Okay.” You noted his odd behavior, once again reminding yourself that it was a far cry from the usual flirty and big-mouthed man he was.  After living in Seoultham for a few years, it was odd to you that your favorite barista and Wooyoung knew each other, and you didn't know. After all, the city population was generally low, and most people knew each other. 

Taehyun and Yeonjun looked uncomfortable as the two of you exchanged blank stares, before Taehyun hesitantly spoke up. “Dongsaeng, I'm actually not craving coffee anymore…let's go grab some snacks at a convenience store?” He rubbed your back soothingly, obviously trying to cut the weird tension between you and his business partner. Both him and Yeonjun could tell that there was something unpleasant going on between you and Wooyoung. You brushed off your elder brother. “Sorry, oppa, I'm kinda tired after my lecture. And Beomgyu said he wanted to play an online game with me too.” You quickly made up an excuse to leave as you added on. “By the way, thanks for paying my rent again, there have been way too many robberies at my workplace lately.” “Hah! You'd think with so many vigilantes here, there'd be fewer of those incidents,” Yeonjun scoffed jokingly. 

Wooyoung subtly chewing his lip in response to Yeonjun's words didn't go unnoticed by you. 

Later on in the evening…

“Beomgyu! Dammit! The guy on the left!” You yelled in frustration, the controller beginning to creak under your harsh grasp even as you slammed the buttons. The distant crackle sound of Beomgyu cut through your headset, his loud voice booming in your ears. “My left or yours!?” and bam! You were suddenly shot and dead, you tossed your controller next to you in anger, groaning into the microphone when your revival rate depleted when the guy who'd shot you started t-bagging your downed body. “What a dick.” You grumbled, groaning once more when your partner, Beomgyu, had died just as suddenly as you did. The screen flashing to whoever won the match when they got the final kill. “Dude, you suck.” Beomgyu’s static voice irritated you. 

“Shut up, it’s your fault we lost” You mumbled, throwing yourself the rest of the way onto the couch you currently sat at. “Excuse me!?” he retorted, but you drowned him out, glancing to the clock. There was a knock on your door. 

“Someone's at the door- I gotta go, bye oppa-” “Dude! I'm not done-” you shut off your console. Stretching before another set of knocks rang through your quiet apartment. 

“God, who the fuck’s here at this time-?” you fumed under your breath as you crossed over to the doorway. The handle of a battered baseball bat snug in your hand as protection in case whatever behind the door was trouble. You yank open the multiple locks on your door, a little harder than you intended, still agitated at your last game. You weren’t prepared to come face to face with one of the people you’d been dreading to see. 

“...Song?”

“Uhm, you can call me Mingi…” 

Mingi fidgeted under your heavy gaze as you looked him up and down. He took up nearly the entire door frame, but seemed to shrink in front of you in that moment. Your eyes lingered on his wringing hands and crumpled t-shirt. Almost as if he suddenly remembered something, he straightened up. “We- we need to talk. Can I come in?” You hesitated before stepping aside, allowing him to make his way into your apartment. Whatever he had to say, it was definitely going to answer some of your suppressed questions. 

Minutes later, Mingi sat on your two-seater couch, looking impossibly tense. He was fiddling with a piece of paper that he had produced from his pocket, putting it away when you’d re-entered the room with 2 mugs of barley tea. Was he looking at a fucking script?? You scoffed under your breath at the idea, before sitting in the armchair opposite the couch. 

“So? What’d you want to talk about?” 

“I…uhm…the bar fight at Arriba! You were there, right-?”

“Yes, I was there.” You decided not to give any confirmation that you’d indeed seen him that night. You still didn’t know why he’d come to talk to you about it. Shouldn’t he be informing his fellow vigilantes? Or…is he taking out the witnesses? Your grip on your lukewarm mug tightened, secretly preparing to smash it on your neighbor’s head at the first sign of threatening movement. Mingi’s jaw visibly shifted at your short answer, but he pressed on. “Did you…did you see anyone or anything weird, by any chance..? Anyone…familiar?” 

Wow, straight to the chase. 

You opened your mouth, ready to give another vague reply, when you fully took in Mingi’s form. You’d been so focused on watching out for danger, that you didn’t notice his expression and the look in his eyes. The poor guy looked like he was about to cry. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him, so you let down your guard. “Song, if this is about me seeing you without your mask, I-” 

*BANG!!* The door to your apartment suddenly slammed open, prompting you and Mingi to whip your heads toward the red figure that was barrelling through. 

“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FU-” 

Before you could even fully process the situation, you were dangling by your sweater collar, pushed up against the wall. Your eyes raked over the rainbow-streak-haired man who was holding you up. The man who currently had a jagged knife pressed against your throat. Mingi was hurrying over from behind, yelling in protest at his apparent associate. “Joong-hyung, put her down! She doesn’t mean any harm!” “Ha! We don’t know that yet! You were takin’ too fucking long to interrogate her, so I had ta’ step in. You’re welcome, Batsy!” The (obviously deranged) stranger punctuated his last word by applying just the slightest bit of pressure on his weapon, drawing a drop of blood from your neck. You cried out loud at the sting. You were beginning to feel dizzy from how fast everything was going, not to mention from the sharpness of the blade on your skin. Is this it? Is this how you were going to die? 

No. Hell no. 

Sudden adrenaline rushed through you, fuelled by desperation to survive the situation you were involuntarily put in. You sent a kick to your captor’s stomach, forcing him to loosen his grip on your collar and drop you. Landing on the hardwood floor with a thump, you rolled away. The escape drills that Changbin taught you a few years back were being put to use. Your baseball bat, leaned against the couch, came into view, and you immediately dived towards it. “Kang- Y/N, please calm down-!” Mingi attempted to grab you, but not before you got your hands on the bat and brandished it at him and his associate. “I swear to fuck, Song, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I took Judo for like, 5 months when I was 14, so you better keep your hands off me.” He stared helplessly in response, his associate hobbling over to him. A combination of scattered voices and hurried footsteps at the doorway pulled your attention away. A spark of hope, albeit rather preposterous, bloomed in you, deep down hoping that it was Chungha, or your friends, or your brother - anyone who could get help. 

Oh my days.

Instead, 6 men came jostling in, and your grip on the bat tightened. They were all dressed in variations of dark-colored clothing and masks, yelling different things at the one that had almost killed you just a minute ago. A red-haired man draped in an oversized, dark green suit, who was the only one not wearing a mask, irritably waved a hand at the other 5, effectively silencing them. He stepped forward with a hand out. “Miss Y/N, please calm down, I assure you that we mean no harm, and we just want to talk…” You were distracted by his features for a moment. His skin was almost glowing, prominent cat eyes and a hooked nose, his hair a bright red. He looked like an olden day Greek sculptor’s rendition of a siren; alluring and mysterious. The hand that he had extended towards you had tiny vines entwined around them, twisting around at his fingertips. It didn’t take a degree in criminology to figure out that he was one of the most prominent names in Seoultham’s vigilante scene. “Y-you… aren’t you-?” “Yes, that’s me, I’m Ivy.” The infamous hybrid vigilante, known for his captivating charm and plant-like abilities. His voice was silky and had an aura that made you relax. Just a little, though. You were still on guard. After all, there were 8 strangers in your house, one of them being your neighbor who you’ve barely talked to. Ivy lowered his hand before approaching the man on the floor. 

“Quinn, are you okay?” “Don’t use that name, V, we don’t know how much this chick knows!” Quinn, the rainbow-streak haired man, scoffed at Ivy as he stood up from where he was crouched earlier. “She’s no harm, dude, I sweat!” “Its ‘I swear’, Hawke.” “Oh, sorry…” You had to do a double-take at the 2 who spoke next; a tall masked man in a coat, and another who had a pair of large, feathered- are those fucking wings?? You couldn’t help but gawk at him. The rest of the group included a feline-like man wearing a cat mask, a silk-masked man in a dark leather jacket, and a brooding, hooded figure with their face concealed entirely by a stitched-up mask. Mingi stepped out from a corner, hesitating before speaking up. 

“Can we…can we talk to you?” 

Christ. What have I gotten into? 

[genandguice]

𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. ryan gosling

warnings: i do not condone these thoughts or actions….

infidelity. smut. and with plot 👎🏼 also reader smoking cigs. female reader. oral m receiving, piv, little bit of breeding

𝐰𝐜: 4.7𝐤

Ryan’s touch on your abdomen is so slight that it tickles, and you find yourself smiling against his lips as they move sensually against yours. Every faint movement from him sends a tingle across your stomach. For a moment, you’re distracted from the heat and the pulsing between your thighs, you let yourself moan into his mouth just to keep from giggling, until his hand starts to travel further north. His fingertips are destined to grip the curve of your breast, and you tremble in the anticipation, your moans become unsuppressable. The muscles in his back stretch and flex under your hands and your legs tighten around him as the notion of his strength settles in your mind; how deeply, how harshly he could ram his hips into you, how tight he could hold you down, or how easily he could hold you up, how these very muscles would feel under your hands, using all his brawn to lift you up and down on his cock.

“Cut!”

“That’s lunch everybody! 2 hours today!”

The sound on set resumes around you as your costar lifts away from his position above your half-naked body, taking his body heat and his natural, masculine smell with him. A pang of disappointment replaces his warmth as he leaves you, perfectly chipper and unaffected by the sudden halt as he pulls his t-shirt back on, bringing you back to reality. You aren’t a controversially-aged couple dramatically kindling a resisted desire, but an unknown actress and her married A-list costar.

You’d always heard he was great to work with, a gentleman and a sweetheart, that he had great chemistry with everyone on set, but that wasn’t the case with you- he hardly spoke to you.

You give a multi-million dollar performance moaning and writhing underneath him, and he doesn’t seem to notice you at all.

You think he must be desensitized, all the roles he’s played with so many women, a scene is just a scene. But more likely, he just loves his wife.

Either way, it seems you’ll never have the chance to abolish your yearning for the real thing.

Your silk robe is handed over by a nearby assistant and you wrap it around yourself, deep in racing thought, hoping no one had noticed the ever present wet spot in your sole article of clothing. You’ve been shockingly invisible to most of the crew, despite being the leading lady, and most currently one of only two nude bodies in the room, but it finally pays off as you’re able to scurry to your trailer unbothered. With your cunt literally weeping, screaming for attention, you’re thankful for an extra long lunch. Maybe if you take care of yourself the next take won’t be so stimulating. It’ll be nice to spend some hours locked away.

Trailer locked, blinds shut, robe open, panties down, and you’re in wonderland. It’s almost embarrassing to be so worked up like this over someone you’re working closely with, but as your middle finger seamlessly and mercilessly glides over your slippery bundle of nerves, you couldn’t give a shit. The mental images of Ryan pounding into you, the guttural sounds he’d make as he hits that spot deep inside you, earnestly driving you toward a life-changing orgasm, it was all you could think. Your back arches up off the dark leather couch, your moans heighten in pitch, volume, and frequency even as you try to hold them back, and you’re finally at the edge.

And then someone is knocking at your door.

It takes everything in you not to scream. It’s as if everyone you work with is cock-blocking you at every step. You throw a quick, silent tantrum, kicking your feet and punching your fists in the air, furiously grieving the second suspension of your pleasure, before you tie your robe to hide your body and stickiness once again. You kick your panties to the side before you crack the door.

“Hungry?”

Of course it’s him.

“Kinda thought I felt your tummy rumbling so I brought you something.” Ryan gestures to the bag of takeout he shakes in his other hand. You want to be frustrated, the ache between your thighs is painful, but he just has a way about him that cheers you up. You crack, and you snicker, and it pulls a smile from him.

“My tummy?”

He shrugs and looks at you as if you’re the one who’s ridiculous while he opens up the bag. “Your tummy.”

His terminology makes you feel like a little girl, and it’s conflicting. On the one hand, it makes you feel precious, and desired, as if he’d eagerly sweep you up in his strong arms, pet, caress and cradle you like a kitten, call you a “cute little thing”, but on the other hand, it’s just more evidence that he’ll never take you seriously. You are just a little girl to him; too young and silly to garner any real attention.

“It is reportedly- reported by you, your favorite.” You inspect the bag with one arm slithering through the door, while Ryan waits patiently and confidently for you to approve.

“It is my favorite, where did you hear that?”

Again, he shrugs, but this time with a humbly accomplished smirk that blesses his features all too well. “I have my sources. But you can only have this food on one condition.”

You huff a laugh. “What condition?” What could he want from you?

He gives you that “you’re ridiculous” look again. “You let me eat with you.”

Immediately your mind has returned to its racing, but one thought stands out among the others. “Ryan, I’m still in my robe.” You laugh nervously, feel your cheeks getting hot as your thoughts turn dirty, the confession turning your attention back to your bare crotch lingering underneath the garment. But he’s oblivious to that, and consequently unfazed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. And I do not believe in the sexual objectification of female nudity.” He points a finger at you as he corrects himself, “Or near nudity.”

He’s dangerously convincing; finally giving you that characteristic Gosling charm and the attention you’ve wanted for, and although it’s almost alarmingly sudden, it’s irresistible.

“Alright.” You open up the door and let him in, cheeks still burning. You feel more naked and displayed like this than you do when you aren’t wearing it, the fabric highlighting and accentuating every curve of your body. But Ryan walks right past you as if it’s nothing.

He takes a seat on your dark leather couch, freshly dry of your sweat, but not before covertly noticing the discarded panties behind the door.

The twitch is his pants makes him second guess himself, maybe he shouldn’t have done this- but nobody will know about a slight involuntary reaction to finding out the young girl in front of him was truly naked beneath a single, thin layer. He has plenty of control over himself. You’re his costar, he can’t avoid interacting with you just to subside meaningless temptation forever.

But his doubts linger back as his eyes lift and land on you. The way they’ve done your hair up for the movie, how the color of the silk compliments your skin tone, how the fabric hugs your thighs with each movement. His minds eye shows his hands sliding up the inside of them, bound for the sole part of your body still unknown to him. Though you settle into the opposite end of the couch, as far as you could be, he finds the proximity intoxicating, and his thoughts difficult to purify.

“Why’d you wanna eat lunch with me anyway?” Your legs are carefully tucked under your knees to shield your undress, arm resting on the back of the couch, resting your head on your hand, cigarette delicately balanced between your fingers on the other. The food has long gone, and you still have nearly an hour left for lunch, but for whatever reason, he’s stayed; sitting, legs spread wide, listening, laughing, blabbering back, occasionally slapping his hand on the couch, so close to touching you, to emphasize his sentences.

And with every passing minute, you feel the pull between you growing stronger, more tangible. The air around you is static, you can barely look him in the eyes, and he can’t allow his gaze to linger anywhere but yours.

“We hardly know each other. It’s a little un-gentlemanly of me to touch you the way I do and not know anything about you.” He laughs, and you swear you see a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. “But I also thought you could use a friend, you know. You must get lonely in here all by yourself.”

“What makes you say that?” You look at him curiously as you drag from your cigarette.

He’s taken aback by the question, as if he doesn’t have an answer, he just assumed you must be lonely, and his demeanor shifts as he spends a short moment reflecting. His body tenses, almost imperceivably, he guards himself up, and then it’s over as fast as you could notice it.

“Well,” he laughs, “Maybe I’m projecting.”

“…Are you lonely?”

“Everybody gets lonely sometimes.”

It hurts to hear that he hurts, but it downright sickens you that it gives you a flush of hope. Why would he come here now, confide that in you, if not to act on it? It was a reach, but one to give you just enough reason to abandon all shame and morality standing in your way.

“Your family doesn’t travel with you?” You cautiously elongate your legs out toward him as you put out your cigarette, careful not to flash him. When he delays to answer you, eyes lingering on the hemline lying in just the right position to keep you covered, you know you’ve trapped him.

“Ryan?”

He shakes his head, eyes unmoved, and softly speaks. “No.”

He’s faired no better, made no progress clearing his thoughts since he stepped foot in your trailer. He can’t explain the effect you’ve had on him, not anymore, not with the way he’s half-hard in his pants and remains seated, gazing at the apex of your thighs, hoping the robe would rise just a few inches higher. But no, it’s only his cock that continues to rise, and at this point, he’s a willing participant.

“That must be hard.”

As you make your risky, but valid remark, his eyes finally meet yours, and the state of them confirms your suspicions; dark and hooded, he’s voluntarily trapped, with no ambitions to escape.

“It is.” His gaze lingers on you, almost daring you to continue, and the atmosphere thickens. Where your attraction was once unrequited, it was now matched, filling the air with a steaming fog of sexual tension.

“Your wife doesn’t get nervous about you being so far away, and lonely? Getting close with other women?” You edge closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you.

“It’s not usually such a problem.” His eyes are everywhere, rapidly roaming your body with a hunger that makes your skin tingle. From your lips, to the slope of your shoulders where your robe threatens to slip, to the gentle swell of your breasts against the fabric, back up to meet your own ravenous gaze, traveling in a never-ending loop.

“Usually?” Your voice is raspy with need.

“This is different,” he admits, barely above a whisper. You can see now how his breathing is quick and heavy; the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control it, mirroring your own arousal.

“How so?” You shift onto your knees, now mere inches away from him and the erection straining against his pants.

“I’ve never been in such… irresistible company.”

Ryan is a good man. It was something you’d always known, something you were always told. You still believed it. Just as you believed you were a good young woman. But everyone has their weaknesses. And yours just so happened to be each other. All the time you’d spent together on this movie, trying desperately not to indulge this very feeling. What if something cosmically, intensely amorous lie on the other side of it?

“So you want me to… help with your loneliness?” Your tone eases into a seductive tenor that fuels the sinful craving taking over him.

Ryan’s adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, and he nods, silently pleading for you to relieve him.

“Are you sure?” You ask, closing the gap between you and snaking your hand over his thigh, feeling how it trembles at your touch. You lean in to whisper, lips gently brushing his tragus, “I wouldn’t want to desecrate your vows.”

Your freshly-manicured fingers massage the tent in his crotch, stroking every ounce of hesitation right out of him. He couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to.

“God, yes.”

You hum in his ear, giving him a squeeze, feeling the thickness of him. You’ve thought about it so many times, fantasized about this very moment where he picks you over it all. The weight of endless possibilities presses down on your mind as you sift through every dream, looking for a perfect place to start. To taste his cock, to feel his tongue lapping at the puddle between your thighs, to prolong the anticipation until he’s begging for you, or just to kneel below him and ogle his stiff, robust, burly form.

His eyes have fallen shut as he relishes in the motion of your hand. With each touch, he's consumed by impure thoughts he’d never allowed himself to give into before. And after truly indulging his fantasies for the first time, he blurts exactly what comes to mind, with a grunt, as if he’s read your thoughts; “I want you to put me in your mouth.”

Your body responds instinctually, a moan escaping your lips at the mental image he created, and the realness of the sound reverberates in his ear, seeps into his bloodstream and gets him addicted to it. He feels his urges thundering through him, fingertips prickling with restlessness, ready to finally act on his instincts and pull every wanton noise you have to give until you’re hoarse.

You move with an enticing grace, slinking down into the floor between his knees as if it were your natural place. Ryan’s eyes track you all the way, completely enraptured in you, as if the moment might cease altogether if he blinked. His cock jumps as you settle into your position at his feet, so eager to unleash him.

Your eyes are locked as you slide your hands up his thighs, the width of his quadriceps dwarfing them. The fabric around his crotch is taught and strained. Your mouth waters knowing what waits for you there.

The zipper gives without a fight, the pants themselves ready to be free of him. It’s the sound that draws your attention to his cock, the heavy thump of it smacking up against his stomach. It’s every bit as impressive as you imagined; thick, veined, glistening at the tip, and you moan at the sight of it alone.

A tentative hand reaches for your neck, gently petting you with his thumb, but the anticipation mingling with the skin-to-skin contact ignites some kind of impatience in him.

His hand reaches up into your professionally done hair and tugs it tight, sending your head back with a gasp.

“As much as I’d like to take my time with you,” he speaks lowly as he guides your lips to his cock, “we don’t have that luxury.”

His commandeering tone somehow gives you that precious and desired feeling. So hopelessly hypnotized by him that you need his guidance to properly do your job, and you gladly accept it, like the distracted little girl you are.

Your lips wrap around just the very tip of his engorged head, swiping your flat tongue over his slit and savoring the taste of the droplets that soak into it. Ryan shudders and he grips the leather with his free hand as you take him further, quickly growing hungrier, suctioning his cock into your wet mouth and stroking your tongue on the underside of it. He’s heavy on your tongue, tastes of salt and sweat and daydreams come to life and you want more.

One of your hands grips him, sturdy and pulsing in your hand as you pump him up into your greedy mouth, and a needy groan rumbles from his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he speaks behind grit teeth, steadily pushing you further onto him with the hand buried in your hair.

The more he fills your mouth, the more your own arousal pools between your thighs, begging for attention. But this moment was about him. The man who’d always put others before himself, who’d always chosen his career and his wife over his own desires. Your talented tongue massages the thick vein throbbing against it, milking him towards a newly free ecstasy with every motion. The hand that supports your mouth drips with your spit, drooling down his cock and soaking him at the base, properly drowning him in pleasure.

“God, I knew you’d be good at this,” he gasps, unable to take his eyes off the sight of you giving him a fresh new world. The idea of him thinking about you that way, trying to imagine how he’d feel in your mouth, just how well you’d please him, makes your pussy flutter.

You moan around him, spurring him on further as his hips jump and twitch. You find a rhythm, swallowing him down and slurping him back up, letting your wrist fall slack and sloppily twist around him. The sound is fucking obscene, wet squelches of your hand and your throat, sighs and expletives shoving their way past his lips. His hand shoves your further and rougher as he loses himself in the feeling, stealing the air from your lungs and replacing it with the feeling of his cock pounding the back of your throat. You’re enthralled, all of your senses filled to the brim with him, tears blooming in your ears, cunt empathetically throbbing with the weight of his impending orgasm, until you’re overflowing.

You pull back at a particularly harsh and deep thrust, gagging, coughing, gasping for air, but pumping him through it all. Your mouth is smeared with a shameful amount of slobber, but you wear it graciously, thirsty for his seed. But after all the time you’ve pined after him, the amount of wanting proliferating inside you just today, you need it spilled and planted elsewhere.

Residual groans and twitches flee his body, fueled the sight of you on your knees before him, wide-eyed, cherry-lipped and needy, still dutifully stroking him. It’s a feat for him not to just hold you in this position until he blows all over your pretty face. The way you worship him, the way you crave him, it fulfills his ego, reaffirms his dominance over you. He makes a mental note to mention how much it truly means to him to be treated with such reverence as your hand slows to a stop, but for now, he has a painfully hard cock to attend to, and a surely leaking cunt awaiting his discovery.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He commands, his hand loosening in your hair, returning to its gentle caress.

The aching in your core becomes all-consuming as your deliverance draws near, and you whimper like a neglected pet.

“I want you inside me,” you plead. “God, Ryan, I want you deep and raw,” he grips your hair for purchase as your filthy words thrill him, and you gasp before he loosens again- “Ah! Oh, I want you to make me sorry for tempting you,” you’re panting, “I want to feel everything you’ve waited to do to me.”

He leans forward with a sigh, aiming to sound displeased, but the excited glint in his eye exposes him.

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You nod vigorously, thoroughly shameless, and he hums in approval, and then-

His lips crash into yours and you’re both reborn. It’s real, and intense, and passionate, and you can feel how much he’s needed you too.

His hand begins to flow down your back, not bothering to pull your robe off, beelining for the curve of your ass, large hand brushing down and over the skin there with a tantalizing touch. Creeping between your thighs, sneaking up the inside, soaking up your expecting whines. The largest swell of your inner leg is sticky with your arousal and Ryan groans into your mouth as he lands upon it- and then he’s there.

Spreading your pitifully slick labia with his middle finger, circling your clit just once, sending your hips lurching forward, then continuing to tease your folds. You grip his muscular arms to keep yourself steady and they flex marvelously under your palms with his movements, stretching, bulging, hardening like those of a Greek god. You’re whimpering in his mouth, desperate and insatiable, until his finger suddenly plunges inside your gushing hole. Your mouth falls open with a gasp and he groans low and long, slowly fucking his finger into you, carefully stroking your walls and exploring the steamy sanctuary your body had tailored for him.

“So fucking wet.” His voice has regained a softness, as if he’s grateful. He kisses across your cheek and down to your jaw,“Gonna be a good girl?” He wants to sound patient, like he’s in control, like he could walk away if you can’t properly hold yourself together, but his aching tone and his now harsh, deep thrusts prove otherwise. “Can’t have you makin’ too much noise.” He huffs. “Need you to tell me you’ll be good for me.”

“I will.” The words rush from your mouth at a shameful speed. “I will, I will, I will.” You mumble and whimper, clinging to his biceps. “Please just fuck me.”

His impatience climaxing once again, Ryan effortlessly scoops you up like a ragdoll and drops you to lie on the dark leather, strong hands preventing you from bouncing on the furniture to return you to the lewd position you held just before he joined you.

He’s breathtaking above you. He always is. But this time he’s primal, any ounce of his normally cheeky self ceased. A tower of a man, staring down at you with black eyes, wide chest expanding further with his labored breathing, cock standing impressively between you, demanding attention, ready to claim you and reclaim himself.

He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, shifting your hips up, vulgarly unveiling your cunt to his hungry eyes. He showers your calf in kisses and growls in praise of the display below him; swollen, saturated and leaking, calling out to him without a sound.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You must have been seducing him this whole time, winding him up with a vengeance until he had no choice but to give in to keep his sanity. How intensely and honestly you beg for him, how you submit to his will, how your body naturally composes in just the way to please him. He’s lost all resistance to your siren song. And so he wastes no time pressing his cock past your folds, drinking up your breathy, relieved whines as he stretches and plugs your tender hole.

He releases a stifled, husky grunt when his dick is fully buried, rolls his hips against you until he’s perfectly sheathed and settled. You can hear him shuddering while you faintly struggle to adjust to him, uncontrollably clenching around him, unknowingly driving him mad. He’s stiff as a steel rod inside you, so snug against your pillowy walls you can feel him pulsating, every tiny shift and twitch in his hips. You can’t help but be stimulated, you’re so full you can feel it in your lungs, and so you clench, and every little breath makes it worse, your body only mustering tiny, pitiful whimpers.

“Relax.” He hisses through his teeth, massaging your lower stomach where it bulged with the heft of his erection.

“If you don’t stop squeezing me like that I’ll cum fast.” But as much as you can’t stop the fluttering of your walls, he can’t stop his cock succumbing to it, hips subconsciously answering the primal beckoning and starting a slow rhythm, unintentionally forcing you to feel every inch steadily slotting in and out of you. So started a viciously stimulating cycle.

“I- can’t help it,” you whine, “so full.”

His dick twitches, his hips stuttering deep into you, “Fuck yes you are.” Still barely holding himself together, his hips just slightly speed up, gain a momentum, gently knocking into your cervix with his force, jostling your body on the couch. He doesn’t retreat more than an inch or two before hinging back into you, determined to keep you stuffed.

“You like it, don’t you? Like being so full of me you can’t control yourself, like making me lose control.” His hands grip your thighs, white-knuckling, imprinting his nails into your skin. It’s inexplicably sensual the way he fucks you, taking his time to ensure your bodies feel and remember every stroke, despite how close he is, and how little time you have left.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip to quiet your noise, muffled squeaks garnishing his thrusts, the pounding on your cunt sends you tightening around him again, all your muscles contracting as he pummels you and-

He whimpers, a strained sound, stilling his hips, eyes shutting tight, orgasm almost overcoming him.

He’s panting as his forearms descend to either side of your head, resting his weight over top of you until his breath is fanning across your lips, your one leg still wrapped over his shoulder and now pinned to your chest.

“Squeezing my cock like this,” his hips resume their leisurely rolling, his cock sinks impossibly deeper with the new angle, he grunts with every thrust, “You want me to cum inside you. Want me to ruin my marriage knocking you up.” The sound you let out is profane, met with a growl from him as he covers your loud mouth with his hand, the impending threat of his orgasm surging once again, but this time it neglects to stop his movements and spurs them instead.

“Be good and quiet for me, baby.” He whispers, catching your lips in a short kiss to make his words stick in your fleeting mind.

“Tell me,” His eyes study yours closely, his shoulder muscles flex as he shifts his weight and his hand slides down your torso, thumb joining with your clit to swirl over it in tandem with his pelvis, “Were you touching yourself thinking about me fucking you like this?” The image of it makes his cock swell inside you.

The way your eyes unfocus for a millisecond is almost enough of an answer for him, but he needs to hear you say it.

“Tell me.” He repeats, voice shrouded in anguish, pleading with you to verbalize how deeply you desired him, to make it all real.

“Yes.” You whine, weakly, brokenly, as you admit your deepest secret, paralyzed in the pleasure of his thumb and his thrusts catalyzing your climax.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he echoes you earnestly, voice straining, “Oh, fuck, yes, yes.” Ryan spends his last spur of energy slamming deep into you, smushing and kissing your cervix, as he begins to peak, pulling you along with him into the powerful, electric whirlwind of finally having every inch of each other.

He’s groaning and cursing feverishly as his cock embeds inside you, spouting, leaking, and twitching right against your deep, needy organ, “Yeah, take it- take it, fuck- fuck, so tight, fuck yes, cum, yes,” his hips stuttering, your legs trembling, juices pouring, you milk each other for all you have. A few gentle kisses on the neck bring you back to earth, and when you turn to him, Ryan gives you one more, real, passionate and lasting on your lips for a while after he pulls away.

“Well the afterglow scene is gonna be authentic.”

FORGIVE ME </3 💋

[venus-haze]

Homelander x Supervillain!Reader Headcanons

Note: Mildly fem-coded reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is mostly from Homelander's perspective. I always thought it was interesting how apart from the "superterrorist" arc in season one (and into season two), supervillains aren't really a thing in The Boys universe, pretty much everyone with superpowers is affiliated with Vought.

Warnings: Violence, some mentions of sex, Homelander being Homelander. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Your powers emerge later in life, so you aren’t one of the many lauded child prodigies who accidentally burned down their own birthday parties or took out a school bus, but almost as soon as you spit at a cat-caller and the side of his car melted from the acid, Vought had its eye on you

Unfortunately for them, you aren’t interested in the slightest. The money’s good, but signing your life away to a mysterious corporation was never in the cards for you. Why let a bunch of suits call the shots when you were the one with powers? Pretty soon you’re melting bank vaults, wreaking general havoc, and living on the run. You love every minute of it

Homelander knows he can take you on, but to his shock and fury, he finds himself in a meeting with Stilwell and the marketing team who tell him that having a supervillain “arch-enemy” would further mythologize him. As much as people love having someone to root for, they’re just as intrigued by the evil thing that goes bump in the night. Besides, you mostly damage property, not people, so they figure you’re not too much of a threat to the general public

He thinks it’s ridiculous, not letting him laser you in half or snap your neck makes him look weak, or even worse, that you’re as strong as he is. The first time he takes you on, you spit at him as a Hail Mary, and to both of your shock, he hisses in pain and his skin blisters–comparatively mild to the outright bone-melting your toxin was capable of, but it cements your space in his mind as his arch-enemy

To his frustration, the suits at Vought are right, social media posts that mention you in regard to Homelander get a lot of engagement and the general public sees him even more as an otherworldly protector figure

You don’t have a supe name, but Vought dubs you ‘Rosethorn’ because you’re “beautiful yet deadly.” They slap your face on comic books that fly off the shelves. You find it ironic that Vought still finds a way to make money off of you despite your refusal to work with them

Homelander isn’t nearly as amused. The first time he sees one of the Homelander Vs. Rosethorn comics he sees red. “More like thorn in my fucking side,” he growls at the cartoonified version of you. He resents you for taking half of his spotlight, but part of him knows his resentment comes from the fact that you don’t have to answer to anyone. You do whatever the hell you want, and some people regard you as a kind of anti-hero rather than an outright villain. He doesn’t understand, you’re a criminal. You rob, cheat, and steal, and just because you hand out fistfuls of dollars every once in a while, you’re turned into some kind of underground folk hero? 

Social media is buzzing with theories that you’re actually a Vought plant to make Homelander look good or that you’re stronger than him and holding back. Naturally, people begin shipping you because of course they do. He has mixed feelings the first time he sees #Roselander trending on Twitter. It doesn’t help that sometimes you leave notes at your crimes scenes that read ‘Give Homelander my regards, XO’ 

Despite the internet frenzy and Vought marketing, you and Homelander have only been face to face a few times following the first encounter, each one giving more fuel to Homelander’s fire as he broods, stewing in his resentment toward you. You laugh at him, taunt him, literally spit at him, and he can’t do shit because Vought says not to

He definitely fantasizes about hate-fucking you, they’re all extremely deranged and elaborate. Overall, he has a lot of really complicated emotions when it comes to you. There’s some underlying affection that he’ll deny to anyone who asks. Sometimes he lets his mind wander, and in the ideal situation you’d reform and join Vought and–who the fuck is he kidding, part of him wants to break the invisible chain that keeps him tethered to Vought and see if the grass is really greener on the other side

Homelander decides he’s going to end your reign of terror once and for all when Vought indicates they want supes in the military. They now think your existence is just one of the barriers standing in the way of that, making the other Vought supes, but especially him look weak and incapable. With you out of the way, it’ll show their supes can handle military missions

Easier said than done, because when he finally corners you, ready to laser you in half like he should have all those years ago, he hesitates, and that’s all it takes for you to pounce

“Why do you let them tell you what to do? You’re stronger than them. Why do they call the shots?” you ask, and he doesn’t miss the conniving ass twinkle in your eye. He knows what you’re doing, and his gloved fists ball up at his side as everything in him screams to just kill you already. He knows you’re right. He’s the one with the real power, but he lets them order him around like a dog

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses through clenched teeth that he wishes were clamped around your throat–except he doesn’t, not really. You’re giving him an out, but he can’t take it, he’s too afraid to. After all, who is he if he’s not The Homelander?

You give him a sad smile, the kind old friends give to each other in movies when they see each other for the last time. He lets out a shaky breath. He won’t miss you. He won’t even think about you once Madelyn hears what he’s done and he gets supes into the military and Vought a lucrative contract with the Department of Defense. Another success for Homelander

“I really do like you,” you say. “I just wanted you to know that before you kill me.” Your heartbeat is steady, gaze locked in on his glowing red eyes. No one’s ever looked him in the eye upon facing their certain death from him before

He grabs your face, resisting the urge to squeeze it hard enough to break your jaw, “You’re a real piece of work. I don’t answer to anyone, got that, Rosethorn?”

You whisper your name to him, your real name, and he repeats it softly before letting go of your face and taking an unsteady step back. “You owe me. I didn’t kill you, and now you owe me.” You nod in understanding before disappearing into the night

He returns to Vought covered in blood, claiming victory over his arch-enemy once and for all. He never played poker, but you’re an ace up his sleeve if he could ever have one

[watchingblsnowandforever]

Hello!!

I'm back to crack posting about my favourite shows and/or characters! =D

We Are ep 8 was gold. It had comedy, friendship, silliness and romance in the absolute perfect amounts.

Warning: long post 😊😅

This scene with Peem and Matt is peak comedy. I rewatched it so many times hehe

Phum: I'm gonna ignore every inch of space to stand right beside you. <3

Peem: *bombastic side eye*

Also Peem: *leans into him*

Khaofang woke up today and chose violence 😭👍🏼

Let's be honest though, that was not the sibling we'd expected to throw fists.

Meanwhile, Toey: that's my hia Fang 😊

Isn't that the million dollar question Mick 😭

If they got together already, how would the series run for 16 eps 😭

Toey with his hias ^ (also Matt edging him on like he's in a competition I'm dying 😭)

Toey with his P'Q:

However savage Q may be, he still shares the same braincell with his friends 😭👍🏼

IT WAS SO MEAN OF THEM TO MAKE MATT PAY WHEN THEY'VE HARDLY EVEN TAKEN A SIP! T-T

Peem before, when Phum even touched him: LET GO YOU ASSHOLE

Peem now: *fond, indulging smile* what do you want to do?

*shakes head with a sigh* boys in love ay

The motorcycle 'hold me tightly' trope being reused with a bicycle aka how to make them sit even closer

Peem saying so-so when Phum asks if he looks handsome: Peem, babe, you were the one who called him handsome first remember? 😭

What secretly. Phum was about as subtle as a football directly hitting your painting (yes I think I'm very funny).

With all due respect, please get the f out and let my boys be. Please and thank you. :)

^This is the answer to any question about Pun. 😭👍🏼

This scene is so, so beautiful. I am absolutely loving how they’re giving friendship/platonic love as much importance as romantic love because yes. I've been waiting for a bl like this forever (or at least since I got into bls hehe-). Bad Buddy and MSP came close, but We Are took the trophy. They love each other so much. Kill for each other? Nah, they'd go together and make that person's life living hell, and that would make my day.

I really really love that they're still so silly with each other in college, and are close to and comfortable enough with each other to be able to be childish and play in the middle of the day, to be each other's safe space.

This friendship is so precious and close to my heart. Even more than the romantic parts of the story, this is what makes me want to watch this series every week to see what new shenanigans they've got up to.

I love them. So much.

Beer is me, I am Beer.

Smiling at them so softly. Oh, he knows. And he ships. 👍🏼

This scene was also so beautiful.

They've finally started acknowledging that there's something between them.

I think more than Phum being unable to express himself, he's taking small steps to guage how Peem reacts. He wants them to be on the same page before he takes the next step.

Like with the kiss, he didn't hesitate to talk about it, to tell how much it means to him and then kiss Peem again. But he waited until Peem kissed him first, and till he was sure that Peem wanted to talk about it.

I really like this about him. He's not taking a step back per se, just making sure that when he takes a step forward, he's not leaving Peem one step behind.

Phum explains again and again how Peem is his safe space (his dialogues this time reminding us of Peem's little speech to his own friends and Fang talking about why he likes Tan with Phum), to make sure Peem knows.

It's already been told to us how alone he's been most of his life, so Peem and his ragtag group of friends is very new for him, but it's fun, and it not only brings him closer to Peem but also a friend group - a support system he didn't really have before. Sure, he has Fang, Beer and Mick, and Tan, but it's nothing like this silly little group that puts paint on each other then plays with water and gets almost black out drunk on a regular basis.

Also, did anyone else notice the two matching rainbow coloured jars behind Peem here? No? 👀

Simp. (affectionate)

I always love these call scenes where one of them somehow travels through his cell phone to land in the other's bed hehe

Peem is so done with Phum and his branded fashion outfits 😭😭

"You were born in Thailand."

Pond and the "I'm Thai" meme 😭

wait.

A bl lead realising he likes someone (his romantic interest) all on his lonesome??

Colour me surprised!

I actually didn't think I'd get to see this happen ever in a Thai bl, but good for him lol

So that's that for this week! If you've gotten this far, thank you so much for reading! 😊

Here, have a bubble tea 🧋

[hotwritergf]

No please I am begging for you to expand on the Gator Tillman headcanon, I will give you my firstborn, a million dollars, anything you want

Hurts so good / Gator Tillman / One shot / Smut <3

CW- smut, hair pulling, degradation, spitting, name calling, p in v, thigh riding, creampie, D/S, pain, blood.

AN- I gotchu anon:,) I hope this is okay!! <3 thank you so so much for your request and taking so much interest in my writing! It means the whole world to me.

“You’re pathetic y’know?” Gator spits out, his words practically impaling your skin. “Look at you, riding my thigh. Since the second I got through the door. Fuckin’ all over me, stupid fuckin’ whore.”

He takes a fist full of your hair, pulling you back from your place in his neck so you can see his face. You can just about whisper out the word “Daddy” before he’s pulling at your hair and biting at your neck so hard, you wince at the thought of the bruises that will decorate your skin in the morning.

“I’m going to fuckin’ ruin you.” He growls, and with a dead pan face he’s eye fucking you before he even lays a finger on your skin. Gator brings his index and middle finger up to your lips, gently tracing them. His touch is featherlight, so painfully soft you’re desperate to feel more. He points to his belt, you know it’s a demand. Hands scrambling to undo his ridiculous sheriff’s belt buckle. “Fuckin’ cock drunk already? Even more of a whore than I thought.” He laughs, that quiet Gator chuckle of his that if you blink you’ll miss. He takes a hit of whatever disgusting flavour he has in that vape and blowing the smoke into your face.

Without warning or any real foreplay, Gator slams inside of you. “Tight fuckin’ hole. Made for me. Made for me to fuck. For me to ruin. I’ll tell you this darlin’ no other motherfucker is gonna have this hole. I’ll make sure of it.” Spitting on his cock before pounding into you again. He mutters, “don’t you fuckin’ dare move. For the same reason you don’t get to go on top. I fuck this whole for my pleasure, not yours. Pathetic little slut.”

He drags his nails into your back harshly, marking up his property. Gator takes your hands from beneath you, holding them behind your scratched up back. Your mobility taken away by that small act of dominance, your face has no choice but to be smothered into the bed sheets.

“There ya go, just fucking take it. Quit ya whining. I know m’ big but you just gotta be a good lil cocksleeve for me.” Pulling your hair backwards, contorting your body so he has access to your face. His wrist swings and you feel the familiar sting of his right hand burning against your face.

“Count with me now.” He spits once more, aiming for his cock but it reaches your back. The spit surrounding the fresh scratches that have begun to bleed. It stings but that’s the last thing you’re worried about.

He slaps your flushed cheek once more. “Two.” You manage whimper, your voice somewhat lost in the scene. “Three” .. “Four”… “Five”…

The pool between your thighs feels warmer, the overly familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach rises. You’re so close, your orgasm building becoming more and more intense by the second. You scream to Gator, signalling that you’re about to come undone on his cock. He takes a handful of your ass and squeezes, digging his calloused fingers into your skin, crescent marks left as decoration.

“Fuckin’ the moans out of you huh?” He teases, he’s not wrong though. The sounds pouring out of your mouth are ungodly and animalistic. You come undone, saliva dribbling from your mouth onto the pillow. Your cum drooling down your thighs. He doesn’t stop. He knows you’re overstimulated from the release.

“Gonna fuck you through the aftershocks. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Whore.”

He flips you over, fucking you in missionary.

He grunts, bending forward to grope your tits. Twisting your rosebuds in his fingertips, he spits on them caressing them before yanking at them once more.

He thrusts into you once more, spurting hot ropes of cum deep inside you. “Fuckin’ dirty whore, letting me do whatever I want to you. God I’d be embarrassed to be your father.”

Pulling out of you to spank your sensitive clit with his tip before easing up on you. “S’all good now baby. I got you.” Gator collapses on the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest. Reaching out for his vape, “so good for m’ princess” he praises and kisses your forehead and wiping the sweat from his.

“Wanna hit?” He offers you his vape, to which you aggressively decline. “Gross.” You laugh and shake your head.

“You’re gross” he repeats, brushing your hair away from your face, planting a kiss your cheek. “You’re the grossest girl ever, my grossest girl.”

[sunlightmurdock]

Blow by Blow | 0.9 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni. Alcohol, sexual content whilst somewhat intoxicated (not drunk but worth mentioning). Fingering, oral (f receiving). Pls pee after sexual activity, this is just fiction, like 5.4k words omg

…

“You have to come out, we’re celebrating!” Jake decides, trademark grin toying on his lips as you duck under his arms and step outside. The evening chill brushes your biceps and instinctively makes you cross your arms over your chest.

“Mm, I can’t,” You answer back, turning to face him and starting to walk backwards to keep up with your friends whilst keeping your eyes on Jake. He lets the door swings shut behind him and carries himself forwards after you. His busted up cheek doesn’t look like much cause for celebration, but the ten thousand dollars that tonight raised for charity certainly is. “I need to go and feed Tank.”

“I can let him out and feed him. Have to drop some papers off at the gym anyway, wouldn’t be a big deal.” Shrugging his jacket closer to his body, Maverick offers from just a few steps behind you. Jake quirks an eyebrow.

“Really, Mav?” Spinning back around so that you’re facing the right way, Bradley glances back and watches the brightness in the way you’re smiling at his uncle. “You would?”

“Of course! — It’s the least I could do for my favourite employee, right?” Maverick grins at you. You throw your head back and laugh at the various gasps and vocal complaints that come from Maverick’s other employees that surround you.

“Bro, why are you saying ‘hey’, you don’t even work with us.” Mickey points out, frowning slightly as he lifts his chin to look up at Rueben. Digging his hands deep into his pockets so that he can flex his aching fists without drawing attention to himself, Rueben shrugs his shoulders.

“I dunno, that was cold, Mav.” Rueben points out playfully.

“She’s the only one who does what I pay her to do, so she’s my favourite. Anyway, I’ve got a dog to go feed. You kids have fun.” Maverick waves them off as he nears the parking lot. Jake catches your shoulders and bumps into your back, squeezing your bare shoulders playfully.

“So you’re in, right, kid?” He checks, leaning over your shoulder to check your face. Protected from the cold finally, you don’t even realize that you’re leaning into his touch until he’s letting go. Something in Rooster’s shoulders tighten, the kind of tension he usually gets seconds before he steps into the ring.

Replacing Jake’s warm hands with your own, you brush your palms up and down your biceps, craning your neck to watch Maverick reach his car safely. Rooster’s bronco is parked right next to it. You shoot a quick look towards him and find him already looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“Okay.” You nod softly, eyes unwavering from the taller man up ahead of you. He looks away first, frowning slightly as Phoenix smacks him for not listening to what she’s saying. “Where are we going?”

A club not far from the downtown strip. Phoenix calls it walking distance but she hikes for fun, and you’re wearing heels that weren’t meant for the San Diego streets. Looping your arm through Mickey’s, you end up walking a little slower than the rest of the group. Rooster periodically checks back. You look happy enough.

He’s sure that it’s not going to be your scene and that you’re going to want to leave fairly quickly. But then, you’re under purple neon lights and being talked into celebratory shots with the winners. Jake and Phoenix can pound tequila like it’s water. They make it a competition every time. You’re no match for either of them.

Jake’s a winner this evening and Phoenix remains undefeated in her weight class; Payback’s only ever lost once. There’s a lot to celebrate and it’s your first time playing this game. Rooster watches you like a ball on a roulette wheel, slamming back whatever liquid Jake hands you. He knows that there are two ways for this to end.

Still, four shots in and a vodka lemonade in your hand, you’re still laughing your head off as you make your way through the bodies to the dance floor. He loses you in the mass of dancing people for a moment. When he sets his sights on you again, you’re laughing so hard that you’re clutching your stomach as Mickey and Bob weave around each other.

The music’s loud enough that he can’t really hear himself think, but he swears he can hear your infectious laugh over it.

“It’s alright that she’s not into you, you know.” It’s a packed nightclub on a weekend and yet, Bradley still flinches when Phoenix appears at his side. He rolls his eyes as she rests her hand on his shoulder and nudges a shot glass filled with clear liquid across the bar to him.

“How would you know that she’s not into me? — You didn’t ask her.”

“Roo, she has barely looked at you all night,” Phoenix points out as she runs her fingers through her hair, scalp still sore from the tight bun that she always has Javy scrape it back into. “The bartender, though, she is into you.”

Bradley takes the shot and knocks it back, dismayed to find that it’s vodka. It makes him shiver, shaking his head as he turns his back on the glass. “Think I’m gonna take my chances with your BFF.”

“Is that… jealousy I hear?” Phoenix taunts, leaning into him so that he’ll be able to hear her over the music.

“We’ve barely hung out since you brought her around — you know that you haven’t been to my place in over a month?” Rooster replies. Phoenix points to the shot glass and holds up two fingers. The gym’s closed tomorrow and she is planning on making the most of her time off.

Leaning her head against his thick shoulder, she smiles softly. She has known Bradley since he was thirteen, and the two of them have been on a course of fucked up adventures together ever since. He gets her, she gets him. Instant best friends.

She has seen the worst of him frequently, and the best of him fleetingly. Adoration is a strong word for a man that she considers assaulting multiple times a week, but Bradley really is the brother that she always wanted. Which is why she is so blunt with him, he can take it, and sometimes it’s the only way to get information through that thick skull of his.

Pounding music and sweaty bodies filling the room, Rooster almost feels alone with Natasha at the bar. Just the two of them and their conversation.

“I’m sorry, I’ll make time,” Phoenix promises, squeezing his shoulder. She grins as two more shots are placed in front of her. “Now stop being so moody and get drunk with me.”

Phoenix is a difficult type of drunk, because there is absolutely nothing ‘gradual’ about the way alcohol hits her. She’s fine, and then she’s not. Years of knowing her and Bradley still sometimes misses her tell.

She’s fine when his attention falters. His gaze finding you in the crowd. Bathed in a neon glow, your grin stretched wide as you dance with your friends. Swaying your hips, trailing your hands up along your body and over your head, eyes closed. Jake catches your waist and spins you to face him.

The rational part of Bradley’s brain reminds him that this is just what Jake does. Even Phoenix dances with him, he’s just that kind of guy. But his arms draped around your waist and that slinky black dress has the larger majority of Bradley’s brain plotting otherwise.

Then, Phoenix stumbles and spills forwards, arms flying out for leverage. Rooster steps forwards and catches her, lifting her off of the ground and setting her back on her feet.

“You alright?” He asks.

“I’m — yeah — completely.” She slurs back as she resigns into his arms, letting her head lull back and her eyes blink heavily. Rooster sighs softly, giving her a small shake before she turns into completely dead weight in his arms.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep right now.” Bradley warns her. He lifts his head and looks towards his friends, trying to make eye contact with any of them. Already looking in that direction, you notice him balancing Phoenix in his arms first. Your friends are quick to corral.

Huddling outside, Bradley has Phoenix tucked in against his chest with Bob’s coat draped around her, rubbing his hand up and down her back. Waiting for five different Ubers to turn up, chilled to the bone and suddenly sobered by the way Bradley isn’t looking at you.

Not in a malicious way. Just like there’s nothing on his mind than keeping Phoenix awake and warm until her car is here. She keeps his head on straight, he keeps her out of danger. It’s not always an equal alliance, but it’s one that’s cherished nonetheless.

You’re considering the platonic nature of their relationship, inspecting the way her arms are wrapped around his waist, holding herself close. You brush your hands up and down along your biceps.

“Hey, kid, I forgot to tell you,” Jake rounds on you, talking so quickly that your intoxicated brain struggles to keep up. You blink a few times and he switches from soft fuzz to defined lines and thick muscles. “I found you a fight. I can manage you, if you’re interested.”

Ears perking up at the conversation, Rooster doesn’t turn his head, but he glances across at the way your face lights up.

“Car’s here. Wake up, Nix.” Mickey nudges Natasha with his elbow as he steps to the edge of the curve to signal the driver. Phoenix groans defeatedly against Bradley’s chest. Something about her little competition with Jake not being over.

“Alright, watch her head.” Bradley passes her off into the capable hands of Bob and Mickey, knowing that they’re content enough to crash at her place because of how close it is to the beach. He swings the car door shut and tugs a hand through his stubborn curls.

The option is there to just call himself a car and go back to his place, but it’s a wordless agreement that he’s coming back with you. Safety and all that. The proximity of his apartment to yours. Whatever. Your car is next, slipping wordlessly into the backseat with Rooster sliding in next to you.

You hate when people stare at you for too long. It makes you squirm and shift under their gaze. And yet, you just can’t help doing it to Bradley. Studying him silently for the drive, thinking of what you just saw, of what you heard earlier.

It’s too complex for your tequila fuelled brain at this moment, to understand how the same man who broke through someone’s eye socket and almost blinded them, could stand on a curb with his best friend being so gentle and tender. How does someone go from one to the other.

You never understood that with Jett. With him, the lines were quick to blur and it was easy to lose sight of where the violence ended and the affection began. With Bradley, it’s like those are two different people, much less two different sides of him.

“Give me the keys, Bambi. I don’t have all night.” Rooster insists, walking around the back of the car as you swing the door on your side shut and stumble towards the door.

“Why? — Got somewhere to be?” You tease playfully, your strides long and confident as you head for the stairs. He’s hot on your tail.

“Well, yeah, I’d kind of like to go to bed at some point tonight.” He replies, keeping up with the quick work you make of the stairs.

“I’m literally not even drunk.” You tell him with a small frown. He watches the three times that you try to slot your key into the lock and miss before he decides to intervene. Pressing his chest into your back, he takes your hand and guides it forwards, fitting the key into the lock and twisting.

It complies instantly and you stumble forwards as it opens. Rooster catches your hips and follows after you, steadying you with his weight and swinging the door shut.

Tank barks and leaps up, pressing his paws into your middle, tail wagging excitedly. You drop to your knees and begin greeting him. Rooster stands in your entryway, listening to the excited baby talk from you and happy whines from Tank.

“Rooster, say hi.” You catch hold of his jeans and tug softly. Your chin turns towards him and he’s floored by the way you look smiling up at him like this. You tug again, “Come on, say hi.”

He sighs softly and kneels to the ground. He smooths his fingers over Tank’s fur, both of them seemingly uninterested in each other and each looking at you instead. You kiss the top of Tank’s head and pull back laughing as he tries to lick your face.

Then, you turn, pushing yourself up onto your knees and kissing Rooster’s cheek. Pressing closer to him, you kiss the corner of his mouth. He almost lets you kiss his lips, then leans back. “Bambi, c’mon. Not tonight.”

“Why not tonight?”

Every other night, he’s more than happy to come in and try to get in your pants. You remain on your knees as he pushes himself to his feet. Tank presses into your side, reminding you to pet him more.

“I should get going, now that you’re home, and stuff.”

“Don’t have to.” You reply quietly, looking up at his through your lashes. You press a gentle kiss to Tank’s ear, smiling softly as he leans into your touch.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not!” You insist. Truthfully, the car ride looking at his pretty face and his shoulders straining against that shirt, and his thighs in those jeans — and knowing what’s in his pants. It was all pretty sobering.

“I’m not going to argue with you, baby. Get some sleep.” Rooster leans down and kisses the top of your head. You catch hold of his wrist and tug yourself to your feet.

“Come on, what do you want me to do? — Say my alphabet backwards? - Walk in a straight line?”

“Actually, I would like to see you try to walk in a straight line right now, yeah.” He rests his hands against the kitchen countertop and calls your bluff. It’s refreshing for him to be in this room when it isn’t spinning. Looking around at the framed pictures, the hanging lights and the cute throw pillows, he likes the way you decorated this place. He likes that it’s not just gathering dust now.

Squinting at him defiantly, you stick your arms out at your sides and turn away from him.

“Don’t try to fool me, kid. I want to see a solid six paces, at least.”

Six paces it is. You count the soft taps of your heels crossing the hardwood floor, arms stretched out at your sides. Rather impressively, you make it to the door and spin on your heel to face him.

Extending one leg forwards, the journey back towards him has a rockier start as you miss the pointed heel and wobble, almost twisting your ankle.

“Alright,” Rooster chuckles as he starts towards you, shaking his head. His hands are on you immediately, holding you in place. “Bedtime, Bambi.”

“I haven’t taken my makeup off yet.” You frown at him, catching hold of his broad shoulders to steady yourself as he crouches in front of you. You look down and watch, eyes widening as he lifts your foot and turns his attention to the strap around your ankle.

Large fingers and a teeny-tiny little buckle. Ridiculous manufacturing. Cute, delicate heels — he likes them, but there’s a split second where he really considers just breaking it. You wouldn’t like that. Phoenix’s voice rings in his head reminding him to be respectful of other people’s belongings. He rolls his eyes and squints.

It only works if he moves tentatively slowly, brows knitted together in concentration as he threads the strap out of the loop and free from the buckle. He frees you from the shoes and straightens up, holding onto your waist as you step down from them.

“That was sweet of you,” You comment, now having to tilt your chin slightly to look up at him. “I’m gonna wash my face and brush my teeth.”

“Alright. I’ll leave once you’re in bed.” Rooster decides as you walk by him. He drops down onto your couch and rubs tiredly at his eyes. The rhythmic thrumming of that bass track in the club still pulses in his ears. He’s getting too old for this shit.

Even with that, you make sure that he hears your sound of discontentment from the bathroom. Taking his hand away from the bridge of his nose and resting it against his denim clad thigh, Rooster sighs, “What? You need me to do something else?”

Tank has stolen his spot on the couch already, so that’s not an option. Tank adores fleecy blankets and you just so happened to leave one out earlier. He’s already on his back with his paws stretched out above him, tangled in lilac and white fleece.

“No.” Rooster’s brows knit together once again at your answer. Well, it isn’t the answer that’s the issue. Your tone is. It’s a grumpy little statement, almost like you’re sulking. Pushing himself up from the couch, he walks over the bathroom door and stares at you.

“So why can’t I go?”

“Mm,” Swaying slightly, on the right side of buzzed as you swipe the cotton round over your cheeks, you look up at him dwarfing the bathroom door frame. “You could stay over.”

The micellar water cools the heat from your cheeks, cold porcelain under your other palm. Rooster watches you silently, waiting for further information. He’s not going to say no to another night on your couch, but he’s got a feeling that’s not where you’re going with this. Rather hedonistically, he wants to hear you say it.

“We could cuddle.” You look back up at him with those big doe eyes, bracing yourself against the powder blue sink. His lips quirk softly.

He stretches his arms over his head and rests his hands on the top of the doorframe, his shirt raising up slightly to reveal the sandy hair on his abdomen. “Is that what you want? — You want me to stay?”

Smiling softly at the thought that just popped into your head, Bradley watches as you giggle to yourself and pick up another bottle of something. Squeezing the pipette, leaving two equal drops on each of your cheeks, you smooth the serum into your skin without looking at him. “Like we’re having a sleepover.”

He doesn’t need more information than that. He lets you get ready for bed while he makes sure Tank pees before locking the place up for the night. Then, he takes his clothes off. Laying on your side, facing the closet, your back is to him on purpose.

The metal bed frame creaks slightly, the mattress dipping the tiniest bit as he slips into bed. It’s soft, and your sheets make a real difference. Every time he has slept in this bed before has been a mess of old springs and that uncomfy headboard. He’s glad that you switched out the mattress.

Your leg brushes up against his first. The bottom of your foot presses into his shin as you pull the covers up to your face. “How do you like to cuddle?”

“Just c’mere.” It’s an invitation, but there’s really no need to respond. He’s already looping his arms around your midsection before you’ve even registered the word. He pulls you back against him, your bodies meeting in the middle of the bed. He’s surprised by how warm you are already.

His body heat is still a welcome addition.

“Is this good?” His open palm rests against your stomach, tucked halfway under your t-shirt, his thumb smoothing over the spot just below your bellybutton. His lips press gently your neck.

“Could you, like… squeeze me a little tighter?”

Rooster tightens his hold on you, pushing his leg forwards and slotting it between your thighs. Wrapped in his thick arms, his face tucked into the curve of your neck, you should be feeling lighter already, settling off into unconsciousness. There’s just too much happening for that.

His heart beating steadily against your back, his thumb tucked into your shirt just the tiniest bit, stroking at your stomach, and his meaty thigh slotted between your legs. His lips are pressed right up against the skin of your neck, not doing anything, just resting there.

Rooster feels you shift a little and gives you the room to find the comfort that you need. Then, he feels your hand searching for his through the darkness. Finding the hand that’s on your stomach, your fingers curl between his.

Taking his hand, you slide it upwards, venturing further under the fabric of your oversized sleep shirt. Rooster peeks one eye open as you guide his palm up and over your breast. Catching the hint, Rooster squeezes his palm softly over the supple skin. Brushing the pad of his thumb over your soft nipple, pinching it between his thumb and index, your thighs squeeze together around his.

He closes his eyes once more, settling down like he’s going to sleep, still gently caressing your breast under his warm hand. It’s nice, feeling him touch you, feeling his weight pressing into your back and into the mattress. It’s just not enough.

His thumb swipes over your nipple again, feeling it harden against his digit this time. He traces the pebbled texture of the sensitive skin without opening his eyes. Figuring that it’ll probably be bothering you too much for you to sleep, he settles for just holding your breast in his hand as he tries to direct himself towards unconsciousness. There’s not a chance.

He’s just going to have to wait for you to fall asleep so that he can turn his mind to something other than how bad he wants you.

Swallowing softly, your fingers curl between his once again. Rooster lets you guide his hand away, thinking that he must have been bothering you, quickly realizing that that was not the case.

He slips his hand out of your hold and grabs your hip, tugging you onto your back swiftly. Your breath catches in your throat at how close he is, leaning over you, eyes searching over your face.

“I feel like I never know what’s going through your head.” He admits gently, the swell of his warm palm resting on your stomach, having brushed your sleep shirt up slightly.

Glancing down, you smooth your fingers over the top of his hand, examining the difference in size between the two of you. Rooster swears he almost feels the breath get knocked out of him when you finally look at him again.

“You want to know?” Your voice is so quiet that he wouldn’t be able to hear you if there was any other sound in the apartment right now. He nods back at you, curling his fingers around your waist. You lift your head just a little, your lips are soft and taste of peppermint when you kiss him.

Turning so that he can cover your body with his, Bradley presses his weight into you. His heavy palm cups your jaw as he takes control of the kiss. The way your mouth moves, the pace, he’s keeping it all in check.

“Are you wet right now?” Bradley murmurs against your lips, thumb stroking over the bone at the curve of your jaw. Your skin flushes as he pulls back and waits for his answer. Jett never asked this. Luke Hodge from second period English lit had never asked this.

“Mhm.”

Bradley’s lips quirk upwards. It’s torn between him smirking at you and a real smile. The languid amusement coats his features, but there’s something in those deep brown eyes that tells you he’s happy with your shy, little response.

“Mhm? — That’s all I get?” Rooster’s palm smooths over your stomach and curls around your hip, squeezing the joint softly in his calloused hand. More warmth. Your gaze flitters up and you consider cracking the window behind your bed.

Swallowing softly, it’s unintentional but you’re giving him that deer in headlights look again. Rooster closes the gap between the two of you and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, a soft chuckle slips his lips and he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

Immediate recoil. He feels you tense up under him. The embarrassment floods you like a chill and you move to pull back.

“Baby, baby, no,” Wrapping both of his thick arms around your waist and pulling you into him, you couldn’t leave if you tried. Rooster kisses the corner of your mouth softly. “I’m not laughing at you.”

He slots his thigh between yours and guides you onto your back with little resistance, leaning over you. “I just… Don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” You ask quietly.

“You suck dick like it’s your day job and then, when it’s your turn, you turn into a little church mouse. — What’s with that?” His hand wanders as he speaks, fingers splayed so that he can touch as much of you at once. Trailing your abdomen, your waist, grazing over the soft tissue at the side of your breast without daring to touch is as boldly as you had allowed him to earlier.

It’s never really been your turn. There’s no out loud exchange, but the look on your face tells Bradley what he needs to know. He feels your hips shift, your core grazing his thigh softly as you squirm under his gaze.

“You want me to get you off?” His grip tightens on your hip and he rocks his hips forwards just slightly. Just to let you feel exactly how hard he is at the thought. Glancing down between your body and his, your decision is made whilst the rational side of your brain is still pleading its case.

“Mhm.”

Bradley smirks amusedly. He kisses you softly, hand trailing under your shirt to knead over your breast. Pushing the fabric of your loose fitted t-shirt up and out of his way, his lips attach to your skin. Languid kisses, open-mouthed and tender as his strong palms brace at your hips, keeping you in place for him. His mouth works along your abdomen, nipping softly at the underside of your breath and feeling you careen into him.

“Sit up.” You obey him blindly, sitting up long enough for him to quickly discard your too-big, faded shirt and leave you in a much more vulnerable state. “God, Bambi.”

His hands roam your torso like he can’t possibly touch enough of you at once, walking the line of having a firm touch and a gentle hand. Letting you know his strength and reminding you that you’re at the mercy of it, all while dusting a featherlight touch over the most sensitive parts of your upper body.

As with his hands, his mouth needs to be everywhere at once and it half feels like he has mastered the ability to make that possible. Eyes screwed closed, you deny yourself the sight of him, knowing that it’ll just make your nerves surge, and there’s no way you want to let yourself ruin this.

Four senses remaining. Your hands smooth over the flexing muscles in his shoulders as his tongue trails a circle around your nipple before he commits to taking it into his mouth. Warm, so warm, a flush of adrenaline running through him. The feeling of that under your fingertips.

The peppermint on your tongue, reminding you that you should just be platonically sleeping beside him right now. Your bedtime ritual pales in comparison to this.

The soft groan he makes as his hand paws at your other breast, reverberating in your ears and carrying shockwaves along your synapses. Excitement pooling between your legs at how deep and gravelly he sounds when he moans.

The cologne from before the bar. Inhaling it in the car as you traced the veins on his arm. Intoxicated by it when you had settled between his thighs the other day.

You lift your hips from the mattress and push them down against his thigh. His muscled appendage provides little relief, but you’re still chasing what it gives you. Your underwear presses into your core with each rock, soaked and catching on your excitement.

“All I got was an ‘mhm’,” Bradley muses softly, trailing his nose along the middle of your torso, pressing his lips softly to your navel. His hand slips between your legs without warning and cups your over your underwear. “This fucking soaked, and all I got was a little ‘mhm’.”

Nudging your underwear swiftly to the side, he dips his middle and index finger between your folds and gathers your excitement on the digits. Another deep groan as he looks down at the coating on his fingers.

He palms a hand over the tent in his boxers, kissing your hip bruisingly. “You’re gonna let me taste you, right, baby?”

“Okay.” You breathe out, needing your vision back. Heart pounding as you stare at the ceiling.

“Okay? — Is that all I get?”

“Please.” You whimper softly. Anything to settle the throbbing between your legs, anything to make you feel less restless. Bradley hooks your thigh over his shoulder and presses his mouth hungrily to your thigh. You careen into his kiss as it bruises the sensitive skin, pressing the heel of your foot into his shoulder for leverage.

Grabbing your hips, Bradley manhandles you into place, pressing you into the mattress and keeping you there. He grabs your underwear and tugs it down your legs, pulling back just to get it off your ankles and then settling back into back.

At first, he’s not where you need him at all. Tongue teasing between your folds, pressing tender chaste kisses to your pelvic bone. Ignoring the dripping mess between your legs until he’s satisfied with how your hips buck in desperation for him.

He lifts his gaze, brown eyes on you as he delves his tongue into your soaking core. His fingers press tighter into your hips, keeping you down on the mattress as he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, gathering your juices on his tongue. He spreads it upwards and lubricates your clit with a mixture of his spit and your own juices.

“O-Oh, fuck.”

Before this second in time, you were so sure that Jett had made you cum. Orgasms with other people just weren’t as intense because there were so many other things happening. Bradley’s tongue could be tracing some foreign alphabet on the most sensitive part of your body for all you know. All that you do know for certain, is that you can’t let him stop.

Luckily, he has no intention of that. He’s been thinking about this since the day you gave him head and then denied his reciprocation.

Sucking, licking, alternating between pressure and gentle flicks of his tongue, he has your back arching away from the pretty flowers on your sheets. Your fingers slide into his hair without thought, tangling into his curls, keeping his head exactly where you need it the most.

Rooster sinks his middle finger into you first, groaning as he rocks his hips into the mattress in search of relief. Your walls squeeze his finger as he curls it into that spongy part that has you yelping in surprise.

Worked up enough that you can take his index finger with little resistance, Rooster’s brain damn near short circuits at how well you hug the digits. Even with the diminished capacity, his mission never once falters. His deep groans send shocks through your core and each curl his fingers has you rocking your hips against his tongue for more.

“Fuck, stop - Rooster — stop,” You pant out, voice strained, clawing at the sheets for purchase as your other hand tugs at his hair. “Feels… weird.”

“Just cum, it’s alright,” He mouths desperately along your thighs, stopping when you ask him to but not really wanting to pause long enough for your high to ebb away. “Trust me. Just let it happen, relax.”

You try to exhale slowly and do what he says, but then his mouth is on you again and you squeak at the feeling. You tug harshly at his roots and feel him moan, the vibrations and the tickle of his dampened moustache on your clit and his fingers fucking into you, it’s all too much.

The tightness in your stomach winds until it feels like a rubber band about to snap. And then, it does snap. You jolt against him, lips parted, brows furrowed, the sound caught in your throat. His mouth slows, but remains on the same pattern, sending aftershocks through your already trembling system.

“Fuck,” That image is never going to leave his head. He pulls his fingers from you and kisses tenderly across your hip. “How was that?”

Searching for words, any kind of intelligent conversation that you might be able to string together, it’s a lost cause. Panting, a soft sound of whimpered contentment slips your lips. “Mhm.”

He wipes his mouth and lays down against the pillows. “Gonna cuddle you how I like it normally. Alright?”

“Oh - b-but, wait.” You realise, hand trying to find which way is sound in your hazy mind, stumbling across the waistband of his boxers just by chance.

Rooster grabs your hand and pulls you closer, he manhandles you across the mattress so that you’re laying half on his chest. “This is so comfy.”

You hum in agreement, his arms tucked around your naked form, your cheek smushed up against his thick pectoral muscle.

“Should let me do that more often.” He muses quietly. You nod against his chest.

…