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joshsindigostreak · 2 months ago

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'Tis the Damn Season

“I’m staying at my parent’s house, and the road not taken looks real good now…”

A Holiday One Shot 🎄

Josh Kiszka x F!Reader

Authors Note: Happy Holidays y’all!! Here’s a cozy Josh piece that is very self indulgent but so sweet!! Happy reading and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts! 🍷🎄

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, 18+, unprotected sex, oral sex both m/f receiving, swearing, internal angst.

Despite the ambient noise of the dive bar you were perched in, for the first time in three days you finally felt at peace. You loved your parents, but visiting them these days could be overwhelming, especially with the revolving door of family members showing up unannounced. There was only so much small talk one could take. You had lost count of how many times you described your job, your passion, as an acquisitions editor at a small publishing house, to various family members. Eventually you had to simplify it with a curt, “I get to be the person to say ‘yay,’ or ‘nay’ on their book submissions.”

You loved your job. As much as it sucked to be the bad guy sometimes, the benefits of being able to work remotely and at your own pace made up for it. Getting paid to read was the best thing to happen to you in your twenties so far, and even though the pay wasn’t spectacular, you wouldn’t trade it for anything. There were times you were worried that making your passion your job would burn you out of reading in your own time, but so far you still found the time to bury your nose in a new tome of choice.

When you had packed for your trip back home, a small stack of books made it into your luggage, along with your trusty Kindle that was loaded with various quick reads that let you turn your brain off and enjoy the ride. It took everything within you to not check your work emails on your laptop, but you were on the precious few PTO days your employer had allotted everyone in your department, and you were determined to use them properly.

The bar you had sought refuge in was a local one a few blocks from your house. It was one your dad would always go to hang out with his buddies when you were younger and he was still working that 9-5 throughout the week.

As you sat on the wobbly bar stool, your ankles crossed and your toes rested on the metal bar attached to the wood paneling of the bar itself. A solitary glass of dark red wine sat on the bar top, inches from the book you were devouring. It wasn’t anything complicated, and many would call it a dime-a-dozen romantic fantasy, filled with magic and tall dark love interests with horrific social skills. But sometimes, the familiar nature of the plot and characters was comforting. The plot might not have been overly unique, but the curiosity of how the author was going to weave together these tropes was half the fun. How was this author going to handle the “oh…” moment between two enemies? What mundane task will trigger the main character into a flashback of a lost love that got away?

This personal game of yours was a slippery slope, as you had to practically pavlov yourself into not going into work mode while reading, but you kept yourself in check for the most part. At least that's what you would tell yourself.

You flipped another page in the book, eager to see how the current scene was unfolding. The imagery was building in your mind so well that you hadn’t even noticed a familiar, sweet and dimpled face, had slipped into the bar with a few friends.

Josh had shed his fluffy, faux fur lined coat, one that was way too ostentatious for the small town atmosphere, but he wrote it off on how practical it was for keeping the cold winter air from chilling his bones. He had decided against the beanie that he typically wore with it, in favor of letting his hair show itself off as it normally did. Tonight was not the night for hat-hair, though the singer was unsure where this conclusion had come from earlier in the evening. The nagging feeling of, you need to look nice, had been lingering in his brain for the past few hours.

In his typical fashion, he hadn’t shut his mouth the entire time he had been inside the establishment. Rattling off story after story from being on the road with his brothers and their band, cracking up at his own jokes, letting the excitement of being home and seeing the same faces he grew up with.

The pool table in the far corner had been where his group had settled, drinks settled on the edge with pool sticks in their hands. Josh was bent over the table settling in to make his shot when a figure hunched slightly on a bar stool, turning a page in the book sitting on the bar top.

Your profile was slightly obscured from where he was an how you were sitting on the stool, and it wasn’t until the bartender came over to refill your wine glass and your name tumbled from their mouth in conversation that it clicked for the rock star who had probably made the worst pool shot in his life at the sound of it.

You. It was you.

His cheeks heated in the embarrassment of his shitty shot and the memories that materialized in his mind’s eye. Sitting next to you in algebra, making eye contact and shrugging when neither of you knew whatever the fuck your teacher was talking about. Or walking past you in the hallway as you slammed your locker shut trying to book it to your next class. He’d ignored the sinking feeling he had every time it happened that had him wishing his locker was in the same hall as yours, not annoying around the corner. But other times of bumping elbows with you in the lunch line, sharing grimaces at the dry square pizza in front of you. A few of the dumb sarcastic quips he’d made in class in a hushed whisper (well, as much of a whisper as Josh Kiszka could produce), just to make you bite your lip and try not to giggle too loud, echoed in his mind.

He hadn’t seen you since the last week of senior year, specifically at a graduation party one of your mutual friends had thrown together last minute. His final memory of your face was how it crumpled slightly as a very tipsy Morgan Pearson had led him up the stairs. It was an image that had haunted him for a long time, because by the time he had made it back downstairs you had already left the party, and he knew you were off on your summer road trip with your parents in the morning. From there he had observed on Facebook you settling into your freshman dorm in a school that was states away, seemingly doing well. Eventually his own band took over all of his time and his internet scrolling was behind him as he saw the world with his brothers.

Fuck.

He needed to talk to you.

Your eyes flitted over to the next page as you took in the new chapter heading, not wanting to be distracted from the cliffhanger the previous chapter had ended on.

The heroine had just discovered some deep family secrets that rattled her entire being, changing the entire trajectory of her journey so-

“Whatcha readin’?”

The fantasy world in your mind dissolved at the sound of that voice. A voice, as the cliche says, you hadn’t heard in years. If it had been anyone else, you would have bitten their head off for rudely interrupting your reading, But slowly your eyes fluttered upwards at the source, using every mitochondria in your body to not visibly react at how…different he looked. Not different in an unrecognizable way, but in a way that showed you that he had grown into his own body. That the boyish awkwardness had evolved into a strong jaw and broad shoulders. He…he had facial hair now, and briefly a memory flashed in your mind of him in junior year lamenting about how patchy his upper lip was no matter what he did.

The sides of his head were shorn down to the skin, and the dim lighting of the bar had you almost convinced he had a mohawk until you looked closer and saw it was closer to a mullet instead. It was a look you would have never considered for him, but it fit perfectly, and he looked beautiful with it.

And there it was, the knot that would form in your throat whenever you were in his presence. You hadn’t felt that particular sensation since the night of that god awful graduation party. The very party where you had last seen the man before you.

Your mouth parted dumbly as he parked himself on the stool next to yours.

“...Josh?” was all you could say.

He breathed out your name, in a low tone that made your stomach flip. As he took a sip of whatever mixed drink he had in one hand, his other reached over for your book to get a good look of the cover. Emotional and muscle memory kicked in and you allowed him in your personal space, practically letting him take the book out of your hands. In the past, the two of you were always spatially close. Eating off each other's plates, unconsciously scooting your chairs closer together, or grabbing the same seats on the bus for field trips. You weren’t attached to the hip, but somehow whenever you would be in the same room you’d always end up next to each other.

Josh mouthed the words of the title silently to himself, eyebrows raising slightly at your book of choice.

“Must be pretty good, you didn’t even notice me walking over,” he said before taking another sip of his drink.

A nervous laugh rattled through you, “y-yeah it’s pretty immersive.”

Your eyes were trained on his face, mapping out all of the same but new features, and you wondered if he was doing the same to you as his warm gaze hadn’t left you.

Josh was most definitely taking you in, as well. You looked so proper sitting on that stool in an oversized black sweater that fell past your hips and hid most of the skirt you had been wearing under it. He tried his best not to make it obvious he was staring at your legs and the tights that were wrapped around them that led down to your boots. But the singer flicked his eyes back to your face, and noted all the subtle changes since the last time he had seen you. You looked so…grown up now, that he felt like he had missed so much in the last few years. It was a feeling he had whenever he came back home, but with you…with you it bothered him, and that feeling caught him off guard.

Because he was Josh, and he could never let silence linger too long, “so what made you bring a book to a bar of all places?”

And in a matter of seconds, you began relaying to him how the trip back home had been the last few days, and how much you needed a break from it all.

“...you remember that uncle that's technically my dads cousin but I call him uncle cause he’s a lot older than my dad?”

Josh nodded along.

“He’s so fucking loud, dude. And he never shuts up and because of this my grandmother turns up the TV and no one tells him to quiet down so between the TV blasting and him rambling about the dumbest things…ugh and my mother wouldn’t stop hovering over me! I needed to get out of there.”

He smiled as you hashed out your family drama, flashing his teeth as he did so. There were follow up questions on his end, asking about your parents and grandparents and how they had been. Josh had been one of your few friends who went out of his way to be charming to your parents. He had earned the, “oh Josh is welcome any time he wants…” invitation by fifth grade alone.

You took a sip of your wine, “oh my god I’ve been talking so much about me, what about you? How’s the band going?”

It was his turn to blush slightly as he began telling you about the most recent tour they had been on, and how this was a mini break between tour legs and that at the beginning of the year they were off to a new continent.

He pointed over his shoulder at his friends who were still milling around the pool table, “...in fact Danny is right over there.”

You turned and gave the drummer a once-over. The last time you had seen Danny Wagner he was this gangly awkward teenager who nervously laughed at everything. But there he was, in a red sweater with perfect spiral curls spilling over his shoulders. The sweater itself was very form fitting on him and it was easy to see how muscled out his shoulders and arms had become over the years.

“Holy shit, that’s Danny Wagner?” You gave him a slight wave when he made eye contact with you, and he politely waved back with a shy smile.

Josh, rather indignantly, noticed the way you were looking at Danny and a sharp stabbing feeling of jealousy shot through him. Heat reached the surface of his cheeks and he momentarily contemplated reaching over to gently turn your chin back to him.

But before Josh could even shove that thought away, you turned to fully face him, and gave a nod to the bartender to get you another glass of wine. Something deep down felt more settled when your attention was fully back on him.

However, you could feel those big brown eyes staring at you as you glanced at Danny. It was such a fixed stare that you were all too familiar with. In the rare moments that Josh was quiet, he would be staring into space, deep in thought. More often than not you chalked it up to him zoning out, but having those unblinking eyes on you had your heart hammering in your chest.

It wasn’t the first time he had looked at you like that. There were several small, fleeting moments throughout your adolescence where you’d catch his eyes on you. On the bus coming home from a field trip, walking towards you at your locker, in US History, and even at various house parties you found yourselves at. Your reaction was always the same: the skin of your neck would heat up and prickle up to your cheeks as they flushed. He never called you on it, and for a long time you had convinced yourself that he just hadn’t noticed. Because he never said anything, the idea of it actually meaning something was too great to get your hopes up for.

There it was, Josh thought.

That flush of color that darkened your skin whenever he looked at you for too long. It had taken him an embarrassing amount of time to figure out that he was the cause of it, but when he did he would sometimes make you blush on purpose. Maybe it was an ego thing, but he also couldn’t believe you reacted that way to him. He hated the term of someone being out of someone’s league; but even after being in the spotlight for his career and knowing what it felt like when a room full of people swooned at him he still didn’t feel he was in the same universe as yours.

You were always so poised and collected, even during your awkward stage. Whereas he was always pinging off the walls with his endless supply of energy and charm.

Why would you even consider a little shit like him?

The blissful silence was interrupted however, when you saw the door to the bar swing open and a new group of people rushed in to escape the cold. Josh’s back was to the door, but he watched your eyes travel to the side to look behind him, and he didn’t hesitate to whip his head around to see who you were looking at.

Only one of them rang a bell, a dirty blonde in a bright blue winter coat. Was she in his home room? No…but her locker had been on the same hallway as his.

“Is that…?”

“Miranda Sheridan,” you murmured a little too quickly as you turned back to your wine and fiddled with the corner of your book. In all honesty, you didn’t have an issue with Miranda. The two of you had gotten along just fine in school. Well enough that you secured invites to her house from time to time. Well, Josh, had secured invites for you.

“Oh yeah her parents had that huge property!” He excitedly remembered while throwing a gentle wave in her direction.

You hated the way your stomach twisted when she waved back.

Her parents owned a couple of acres out in the county, which wasn’t very elaborate, but it was perfect for a lot of the parties teenagers would get themselves into. Josh particularly remembered her dad had an old toolshed in the back that their friends tried to hot box more than once.

Naturally, her place had been the place to host the main graduation party. You tried to think of anything else, but your mind flooded with the memories of walking around her house with a cliched solo cup, trying to find Josh, your anchor in social situations, and coming up empty and settling on the couch. When you finally laid eyes on him, he was being led by the hand towards the stairs by another girl. No it hadn’t been Miranda, but someone else in your grade that had a very obvious crush on Josh and never tried hiding it.

Josh looked over his shoulder, his tongue between his teeth as he laughed at something someone said as he walked by. His smile faded as soon as he saw you, sitting all by yourself on the couch. His feet were moving for him, but not towards you. He was already ascending the stairs, eyes locked on yours before the girl attached to his arm tugged at his wrist to get his attention and he followed her upstairs and out of sight.

That had been the last time you had seen Josh before tonight.

And by emotional muscle memory, your stomach plummeted just as it had years ago.

Before you could stop it, you bit out, “we went to her graduation party, remember?”

The singer’s head snapped back to face you.

That party.

His voice was quiet, “you…you left early, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t feeling well.”

He could tell it was a lie. An excuse.

“I just meant…I tried finding you after-”

“After what?” Once again your mouth betrayed you.

The trunk of the elephant in the room was practically wrapping around Josh’s neck, and his chest felt tight.

Even softer, he said “after I came downstairs…”

In response, all you did was hum into your glass as you took another sip, an eyebrow arching like a freshly-awoken cat.

“I had to get home anyway. I had to be on a plane early the next morning.”

That, he remembered. Your parents had surprised you with a trip across the country as your graduation present.

But Josh struggled to find the words of what he wanted to say. He hadn’t even been upstairs for twenty minutes before he finally flew down the stairs to find you, only to see the couch filled with different people and one of your other friends informing him that you had caught a ride back home.

It hadn’t been a complete cut off, the two of you still texted as normal for a few weeks and liked each other's facebook statuses. But the texts became less frequent, and eventually dwindled down to leaving each other on delivered for days at a time. With the band finally starting to take off, and you drowning in your college classes, communication became near impossible.

“Right…”

“Plus I didn’t want to interrupt your night. You were having too much fun up there.”

This time it was Josh’s turn to twist the side of his mouth and quirk an eyebrow, “what exactly do you think I did that night?”

You scoffed slightly and tilted your head, “Josh.”

“No, I want you to say it.”

You stared at him. It felt dumb to get to this point but you weren’t embarrassed. But the same jealousy and adrenaline from that night flooded your system, and after rolling your lip between your teeth you replied,

“You and…whats her name…hooked u-”

“We didn’t hook up,” he said firmly, not blinking.

“Made out-”

“We didn’t make out, either.”

“Well what were you doing up there?” You huffed.

“Don’t get me wrong, she clearly wanted to do both of those things. But before she could even try to kiss me she was doubled over puking all over the bathroom sink. I spent the next few minutes holding her hair while she let it all out. Apparently all of the vodka shots caught up with her.”

You sat there, face unmoving as you took in what he said. For years you had it built up in your head that while you were fleeing that house your best friend was hooking up with someone else.

Now the embarrassment started to creep in.

The quiet tone returned, “I didn’t even like her like that anyway.”

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you now.

You had to get out of here. This was too much.

“I need to get going,” you began as you started to dig through your purse to pay for your drinks.

Josh was quicker than you and he turned to the bartender and slapped his card down on the bar top and asked to pay for his tab and yours.

“Josh you don’t have to-”

“But I am,” he said firmly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he scribbled on the receipts.

That tone…that tone was new coming from him. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t annoyed, but he was being authoritative in a way you hadn’t heard before.

Your insides were squirming for multiple reasons now.

After the bills were settled he faced you again. He wasn’t letting you slip away again. He couldn’t.

“Let me walk you home.”

You slid off the bar stool, “it's only a couple blocks, Josh, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

There was again, that tone.

Not wanting to fight anymore, you nodded and the both of you made your way to the exit for your coats. You caught Josh tapping out a quick text to who you assumed was Danny to let him know where he was going.

Silently the two of you slipped outside and into the winter air. The icy breeze stung your face after being used to the heat of the bar. You shivered slightly, but tried not to show it as you turned toward the direction of your house.

Josh shoved his hands in his pockets for warmth, noticing the tiny flakes that had begun to fall from the sky. Had it even been forecasted to snow tonight? In any case, he purposely walked a little closer to you, letting your arms brush together.

“I didn’t know it was supposed to snow tonight?” You wondered out loud.

“Mother Nature is spiteful, that way, I guess.”

He hated how awkward it felt now. How the familiarity and ease of talking to you had evaporated as soon as Miranda Sheridan had chosen that specific bar to walk into.

Soon enough, your house was in view, and your steps picked up the pace to get there faster. Josh followed you into the driveway and to the side of the garage where there were stairs that led up to your room above it. You moved into that space your senior year after your dad had renovated it, and he had only been in it a handful of times before graduation.

Before you could even reach for the rail, Josh’s hand flew out of his pocket and took a hold of yours, gently lacing your fingers with his.

The sudden contact had your heart in your throat.

“You really thought I hooked up with her?” He felt your hand stiffen at his words, but he continued, “as soon as I saw you on that couch, I knew I was making a mistake.”

The flakes started coming down harder now, growing in size as they fell.

“But you still went up there.”

His shoulders sank slightly, “I know…I shouldn’t have though. She wasn’t the girl I liked anyway.”

Denial is a strong thing, and you were letting it win, “she wasn’t?”

“No…I liked someone else but I second guessed myself all the time around her, thinking she’d never be into me anyway.”

“How could you be sure of that?”

Josh’s fingers squeezed your hand, “I don’t know she just…she could do so much better than me and there were plenty of better options out there. Never thought I stood a chance.”

Your jaw started trembling and you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or from what he was implying.

“You really think there are better options than you?” You mirrored his earlier comment back to him.

His eyes slowly met yours, deliberately giving you the look he knew would darken your cheeks.

“So much better…”

“I don’t think so…,” your voice was almost as soft as the snow that was accumulating on the ground around you.

Consequences be damned, you started to lean towards his face.

His long eyelashes fluttered slightly as he realized what you were doing, and he leaned in and gently brushed his full lips against yours.

At the contact, your heart went from hammering in your chest to exploding. Years of daydreaming of this scenario had finally come to an end, culminating in a kiss that had your knees shaky.

He pulled away slightly to look at you again, only to surge forward and slide his free hand up your jaw to cradle your face. His lips pressed against yours even harder, a sudden wave of emotion taking the wheel in Josh’s mind.

The both of you had years of pent up feelings and the dams were breaking.

His other hand reluctantly dropped your hand in favor of wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

The move took you by surprise, but you relaxed in his arms and tilted your head slightly and parted your lips. Immediately his tongue ran along your bottom lip before delving into your mouth. A low groan rose from his throat and his fans flexed slightly against your cheek.

A gust of wind whipped around you, causing you to shiver against his lips.

“N-need to get you inside,” Josh chuckled, leaning his forehead on yours.

You took a step backwards, resting your foot on the first step.

“Come up with me?”

He answered with a quick kiss on your lips and mumbled, “lead the way…”

With a grin you turned and hurried up the steps, trying your best not to slip in the slush. Your hands shook as you unlocked your door, nearly stumbling inside to escape the cold.

As soon as you had shut the door, Josh pushed you against it and started unzipping your coat and planting his lips on your neck. You made quick work of his too and both outer layers were haphazardly thrown onto a chair in the corner. His icy hands started fiddling with the bottom of your sweater, and you both paused at the silent question of going forward.

He lifted his head out of the crook of your neck to look at you, “we don’t have to if you don’t…I mean we can just hang out if thats all-”

You shushed him by taking his strong jaw in your hands and gave him a searing kiss. He kissed you back as another wave of emotion washed over him.

After letting his lips warm up against yours you pulled back and stared into his eyes, “Josh…this is all I want right now.”

His eyelashes fluttered again, and this time his cheeks were darkening at the look you were giving him.

“You sure?”

“Please…”

Not needing to be told twice, his hands disappeared under your sweater and swept across the skin of your sides. You jolted slightly at how cold they were, but didn’t let it deter you from kissing him again, melting into his touch. His hands slowly rose to cup your breasts through your bra, and the light squeeze had you fighting to keep the low whine in your throat.

Josh noticed you holding back and leaned in to whisper in your ear, “it’s just me…let me hear you…”

The low tone of his voice had your body shivering under his hands and when his teeth grazed the skin of your neck you didn’t even try to hold back the breathy whine you made. Impatiently you helped him get your sweater off of your body, flinging it blindly to the side. You stared at the hungry look in his eyes as you reached behind your back to unhook your bra. Wanting to torture him even further, you purposely took your time letting it slide off your arms and onto the floor. His eyes never left your chest as he reached to take one of your breasts into his hand, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. Before you could fully register the feeling he was bending his head down to replace his fingers with his mouth, moaning into your soft skin. He gave the other side the same attention, before reaching behind you for the zipper to your skirt.

As he knelt down to shimmy it down your hips, you practically clawed at his long sleeve shirt off of him. The lighting in your room was dim, but you were able to see all of the muscles on his body that were definitely not there the last time you saw him. His arms were much more toned than you thought, and his shoulders and chest were defined in a way that had your lip rolling into your mouth between your teeth.

Josh made quick work in getting your boots off, helping you step out of them and your skirt. His eyes flicked up at you and they were so much darker than before. He rose to his feet quickly and slammed his mouth onto yours, squeezing your hips and the back of your thighs as he directed you to jump and wrap your legs around him. With a level of coordination you didn’t know he had, you were spun around while he walked the both of you to your bed. It was still in the same place it always had been, in the corner by the window.

He gently sat you on the edge of the bed, kissing down your body until he was once again knelt before you on the floor. The sight of his blown out pupils and swollen lips sent a flash of heat to your core, and you couldn’t even squeeze your thighs together as he was rolling your tights down your legs and swiftly off your feet.

You never could have anticipated how the night was going to turn out, so your choice in underwear wasn’t the sexiest pair you owned, but that didn’t stop your best friend from planting kisses along the waist band, tentatively dipping his finger tips under the cotton material to start pulling them down. Your breath caught as you raised your hips to help him out, and within seconds your final layer of clothing was added to the pile on the floor.

Looking down at him, you scooted back towards the headboard with your legs shut, and he crawled up the bed after you. With your head settled on your pillow he hovered above you for a moment, bringing his hand to trace along your jaw and down your neck, looking at you in a way you had only dreamed about thus far.

You weren’t going to get emotional, but you couldn’t help it. It was just fully hitting you, as you felt the heat radiate off his body, and the weight of him as he settled on top of you. Thankfully your eyes only welled up a tiny bit, but Josh still noticed and his brow furrowed. His eyes softened and he seemed to sense why you were suddenly still and quiet. He could always guess what you were feeling, even when you were kids.

His thumb brushed your lips so softly you barely felt it, “I know…”

He kissed the corner of your mouth before leaving a trail of kisses down your throat, chest, and stomach. He brushed his lips across the skin right above your core where your curls started to grow. He was so close to where you needed him. Carefully he planted a few kisses on your thighs before drawing your legs up and bending your knees, taking his time in case you changed your mind at any point.

Slowly, he spread your legs apart to finally get a proper look at you, and his breath caught in his throat as your gorgeous core laid bare before him. He was glued to his spot on the bed, eyes sweeping your body, having his own moment of realizing that this was real, and you were actually beneath him like this. His eyes traveled back up to yours, unusually silent for someone who always has something to say, no matter the situation.

Instead, he traveled down the soft flesh of your thigh, leaving searing kisses in his wake. Just when you thought he was going to reach your core, he turned his head to do the same to your other leg. A low whine rumbled in your throat, and you felt his lips spread into a smile against your skin. You felt the faintest huff of breath as he tried to contain a laugh.

His mouth hovered over your core, just out of reach. He wanted to memorize you, every detail, every feature that was so uniquely you. He used his thumbs to slowly spread your lips apart, dumbfounded at just how wet you were for him and how your arousal was beginning to pool and drip off of you.

Your hips twitched in his hands, desperate for any contact beyond his feather-light touches. The way he was looking at your body, with blown out pupils and a parted mouth was only driving you crazier.

At last, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore before dipping his head down to plunge his tongue into your center, moaning as he finally tasted you. A years-long curiosity was answered, and it was better than anything he had tried to imagine.

The vibrations had you involuntarily arching into his face. He wasted no time to begin lapping at your folds, swirling his tongue wherever he could. But when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit, stars exploded behind your eyelids as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Fuck…” was shouted towards the ceiling, and it encouraged him even more as he sucked even harder on your clit as one of his fingers circled your entrance. One of your hands shot down to his hair, tangling your fingers in his curls to hold him in place. His tongue was swirling around your clit now and the finger that had been teasing you slowly entered. Immediately your walls clenched around him, relishing the friction and slight stretch it brought you.

Josh continued to pump and curl his finger inside you as he spoiled your clit with his tongue. He was so hard that his pants were nearly suffocating him, but he ignored it in favor of giving you all of his attention. A second finger joined the first inside you, and he curled them upwards to hit that spot inside you that had your fingers nearly pulling out his hair and grinding against his face. He could feel the muscles in your thighs tense and strain against his ears. You kept trying to close your legs completely around him, but he used his other hand to anchor you down and keep you spread so he could reach you properly.

The spring inside you was coiling tighter and tighter, each drag of his fingertips and swipe of his tongue sent you hurtling closer and closer to the edge.

You were past the point of moaning and could only muster pitiful whines and whimpers. You were so fucking close, and clinging to his fingers so tightly that he could barely move them. He flattened his tongue against your clit, letting your hips grind and chase your high against him for a few seconds before closing his lips around it once more and sucked on it harshly as you shouted his name. His fingers and mouth worked you through it, letting you ride it out and prolong it as best he could. When your clit became too sensitive he peppered kisses along your thighs again, continuing to pump his fingers slower and slower until he was sure he had felt the last twitch and aftershock of your orgasm.

He carefully pulled his fingers from you and immediately brought them to his mouth, savoring your taste while cleaning himself off. You used this moment to pull your hand from his hair and down to his cheek, tilting his gaze to you as you propped yourself up on your other elbow. The moonlight caught the shine of your arousal mixed with the matted facial hair.

Josh quickly sat up on his knees to work at his belt, impatiently sliding off the bed for a moment to fully pull his pants down his legs and off his feet. He was left in his tight boxers, leaving nothing to the imagination as his length pulsed under the fabric.

Now, it was your turn to crawl over to him, your mouth watering as your eyes traveled down his torso and followed his happy trail to the band of his boxers. You reached up and curled your fingers around the elastic, peeling the final layer of clothing down his thighs and let them pool around his ankles.

Your eyes were on his cock now, marveling at just how thick it was. Tentatively you reached your hand up to wrap your fingers around it. The feeling of it twitch slightly against your palm sent a shot of arousal through your body.

He stood stock still at the edge of the bed, his entire body tensing as you touched and felt him. His lower lip was trapped between his teeth and he nearly drew blood when you bent forward and placed a soft kiss on the head. But it was when your lips wrapped around him and your hand slid to the base that his head rolled back on his shoulders and your name escaped his lips.

A drop of pre-cum landed on your tongue and you wanted nothing more to keep going until he was a whiny mess, shuddering under your touch.

All too soon his hips backed away from you, pulling his cock from your mouth as you looked up at his almost apologetic eyes.

“If you keep doing that…”

“But I wanted to keep doing that,” you nearly whined up at him.

He closed his eyes for a second and breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself down.

He looked down at you, dark eyes swimming in desire, “but there’s so much more I want to do with you first…”

He kicked the boxers fully off his feet before kneeling over you on the bed again, flattening you back against your pillows as your legs spread to allow his hips to settle against yours. Briefly his cock was trapped between you, and the feeling of it radiating heat against your skin made you anticipate the next move even more. He captured your lips with his as one of his hands reached down to grip himself, running the head of his cock through your folds and allowing your arousal to coat him before he positioned himself at your entrance.

You took his bottom lip between your teeth and angled your hips towards him, desperate to finally feel him.

Slowly he pushed forward, trying to pace himself so this night wouldn’t end embarrassingly fast.

The way he stretched you as he pushed all the way in had you seeing stars. You felt so full in the best way, like he was made for you.

“S-so tight…” he hissed as he fully sheathed himself inside you, his pelvic bone resting on your clit.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips to keep him in place, wanting him as close to you as possible.

The two of you remained still, getting used to the feeling of one another before Josh’s own needs started to creep up on him. He pulled back out slightly, before pushing back in. He buried his face into the crook of your neck as he began to move, kissing your neck and throat as you mewled at the stretch and drag of his cock. One arm of his framed your head while the other slid underneath you to grip your ass. He tilted your hips this way so that his pelvis was grinding perfectly against your clit as he built up speed.

Your nails dug until the skin of his shoulder blades as you tried to hold onto him. You were still so sensitive from your previous orgasm that your second one was quickly building up inside you. You locked your ankles at the small of his back while your hands reached for his face to crash your lips against his.

At this point he was slamming into you, chasing not only his own high but yours. He needed to feel it. The euphoric squeeze around his fingers earlier wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed to feel your entire body shudder and quake underneath him; around him. The sound of your bodies colliding with each other was driving him insane.

The hand that had been gripping your ass slid around your hip and snaked between you and his fingers pinched and rolled your clit expertly, making your second orgasm his only priority.

Your back arched at the contact the combined friction of his thick cock and his fingers had you flying off the edge, clamping down around him as you shouted his name again into the air.

“God..fuck…sh-,” expletives tumbled from his mouth as he felt you shake from your orgasm. He tried to hold back but his cock twitched inside you and he bottomed out one last time as his release coated your walls. He tried his best to keep working you through yours, using every synapse in his brain to ignore his own heightened sensitivity.

Eventually, you both came down from your highs and your bodies relaxed against each other and the bed. Your eyes fluttered open to find him staring at you, his face soft like it had been when he had first looked at your body fully. His lips were parted in awe, and you brushed your thumb across them.

“That…should’ve happened a long time ago…” he confessed trying to catch his breath.

“Agreed.”

His mouth formed a smile and his eyes twinkled, “but hey…this time I really did go upstairs with a girl and hooked up with her…”

“Josh!” Your eyes widened and you playfully pushed his shoulder. He laughed into a kiss before turning to look at the door on the far wall of your room.

“Bathroom, right?”

You nodded with a smile and he slowly pulled out of you, hissing at the sensitivity and the cold air hitting his cock. He beelined for the door and you heard water running briefly before he returned with a thankfully warm washcloth to clean the both of you up. He discarded it into the hamper before crawling back into bed with you, gathering your body in his arms under the covers.

The way his breath washed over your neck was so comforting and warm that sleep quickly overtook you and you drifted off while you felt his lips brush your skin.

The next morning, sunlight streamed into your room. Josh was the first to pry his eyes open, and in the silence he took in just how much of a time capsule your room was. The same posters were on your walls, a couple film posters he had given you himself. An obsolete iHome sat on the top of your dresser, surrounded by a collection of jewelry and trinkets that looked familiar to him.

You stirred in his arms, and he rasped in your ear, “Mmm…morning, lover.”

The endearment sent a jolt of adrenaline through you and your eyes shot open. It was real. He was really in your bed, his strong arms holding you as those beautiful eyes looked at you in reverence. Your heart was stuttering in your chest.

“Morning…” you replied, forefinger and thumb capturing his chin and pulling him down for a slow kiss.

For a while the two of you just cuddled in silence, before a buzz from Josh’s pants pocket on the floor alerted him to a text. Reluctantly, he reached down towards the floor to fish his phone out of the pocket. His notifications were a bunch of texts from his brothers asking for his whereabouts and when he was going to grace them with his presence again. Quickly he typed out a few responses, not fully giving away how his night ended up but letting them know he wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.

He sighed as he placed his phone on your nightstand.

“I’m being summoned…”

You felt a pang in your heart, the other reality of him eventually leaving hitting you.

He felt you tense in his arms and his brows furrowed, “what’s wrong?”

You turned to face him fully, not wanting to sound needy or clingy, but not knowing how else to put it, “I just…I don’t want you to go…”

“You can come with me if you want! I’m sure my mom would love to see you and Jake-”

You cut him off, “right but…what happens after that?”

He looked confused, “what do you mean?”

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you at this point, but you needed to know, “what does this mean…?”

Realization formed on his face as he connected the dots, then shyness crept over his features, “what do you want it to mean?”

“We can’t just go back to being friends now…I can’t pretend that this never happened and-.” your chin wobbled a little as you tried to explain yourself, trying to keep your emotions at bay, but remembering how he had literally just called you lover made it impossible.

“I don’t think we can go back to being just friends either…” he started. You started to panic before he continued, “and I don’t have it in me to even try to pretend this never happened. I can’t go back to being a stranger, or just some guy you went to school with.”

“You were never just some guy, Josh…”

He rolled over you, hovering his face above yours, “then maybe…we can see how this goes…?”

You bit your lip, “yeah?”

He smiled, “yeah,” before slotting his lips over yours and giving you the most tender kiss so far. He relaxed on top of you, allowing himself to be wrapped up in your arms as you lazily made out together as the sun slipped behind some clouds and it began snowing again.

Eventually you made it out of bed to shower and get dressed. As Josh donned his outfit from the night before, he couldn’t help but be a little smug at how it would be a dead giveaway to what he had been up to the previous night. But then he remembered who his brothers were.

He looked up hastily as he tied his shoes, “I do have to warn you that my brothers are going to be really annoying about this, but just ignore it.”

You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “it’ll be fine, Josh.”

He smiled and rose to his feet, kissing you again.

Soon you were carefully making it down the snowy steps, trying to get to your car when Josh froze on the bottom step. You nearly collided with his back when you looked in the direction he was looking at and made direct eye contact with…your father. Your dad was standing on the covered porch, drinking a coffee.

Well fuck.

Josh and your dad seemed to be in a weird staring contest, silently communicating with each other.

You stepped around Josh, hitting your key fob to unlock your car.

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I told you you were always welcome at my house, Josh…”

Your face flushed with embarrassment, “oh my god, Dad…”

Quickly you and Josh bolted to your car, but not before Josh gave a toothy grin and wave at your dad, exclaiming, “nice to see you!” before shutting his door.

You gave him a look as you clicked your seatbelt and started the car.

He threw his hands up. grinning, “what? It could’ve been worse.”

But as you pulled out of your driveway, and pulled up to the first stop sign on the street, Josh reached over the console and took your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips and giving them a soft kiss. The embarrassment from earlier melted away as he gave you that look again.

Your cheeks betrayed you and splotched with red. Inwardly you figured you’d always do that when he looked at you like that, and the thought warmed you instead of bothering you this time.

It wasn’t long before you pulled into Josh’s family driveway. The drive over had been pure muscle memory and comfortable silence between the two of you.

But as you got out of your car, you were met with the all too familiar voice of his youngest brother, Sam.

“Oh my fucking god, I knew it!” He yelled from the top of the driveway.

“Shut up, Sam,” Josh warned as he rounded the car to you and took your hand.

“Shut up, Sam,” the younger brother mocked right back at him, laughing his signature laugh.

But for once, the holidays didn’t seem as daunting now that you had your best friend, Josh, back at your side.

Fin

Tag List: @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema, @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne, @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @childinthegardenn , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace , @lipstickitty , @jjwasneverhere , @josiee-gvf , @peaceloveunitygvf , @musicislove3389 , @gretavanhockey , @gretavanazula

#josh kiszka #greta van fleet #josh gvf #my fics #my writing #josh kiszka x reader #'tis the damn season #friends to lovers #second chance romance #cozy winter vibes #one shot #enjoy!#🍷🎄

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dykedvonte · 2 months ago

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I think a big misunderstanding is the power people give Curly to actually change things about the way the pony express operates or could’ve done things on the Tulpar.

We are talking about a company that docks pay for bad synergy despite mandated psych evals that should tell which staff members would work well together, only allots for 5 hours of sleep despite having literally no other tasks to truly do and locks all resources behind the access of one person. The last one is likely to manage resources and make it easier to justify collective punishment and blaming one person for it; someone needs something in “excess” or the captain gives in? It’s all on them your pay is docked. Instant resentment.

It’s insidious how the company works, it’s by design to distract you from coming after them, to force tensions to line their own pockets. With all the restrictions and forced interactions, altercations are bound to happen. 5 hours of sleep a day, limited sources of entertainment, no real tasks… the monotony alone would cause bad cabin fever, mix that with just only one absolute mediator and you get the exact environment that allows shit like in the game to happen.

The idea he could just complain and try to throw his weight around to get them to dig into their pocket for the crews comfort is laughable and misses the predatory and dehumanizing aspect of capitalism the Pony Express represents. Curly was and is still just another asset to them. Being a top show pony doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to the actual top. He is the top of the working ladder, not whoever’s in corporate, he wouldn’t even be on the bottom step unlike what Jimmy perceives. The resounding recommendations he would get are almost mocking as they throw him out like nothing just like the rest. Being a shitty fucking company, how much do you bet they’d mean anything anyways, especially since he wanted to leave the field all together.

He made a fuss and they didn’t listen, he says he should’ve done more but you can tell he knows it wouldn’t have changed anything. Jobs like this are willing to make a sacrifice if it means even a penny more. Curly makes a bigger fuss they likely would’ve just found an “unrelated” reason to fire him, hired a more pliable guy or, terrifyingly, promoted Jimmy. The company was failing, going to shut down whether anything happened on the ship or not. But knowing that they were shutting down and that everyone, including him, would be out of a job with this being their last paycheck, he had to factor in not destroying the last bit of their financial stabilities combined with every other issue on the vessel and his own. He gets another cryopod or locks and then he has to break to them that they are not only fired but there will be substantial cuts to their paychecks due to the “upgrades” (things that already should’ve been in place on their part) on top of anything else that could be docked along the way.

You can blame him for saying it so early into the trip but then again, if he mentioned it later who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse? On the capitalism side alone how would people in a galaxy away from home, out of a job and already stir crazy react? Don’t get me started on how Jimmy would have reacted if he realized he only had two days left to fix what would be a very hard to miss “problem” in his head…

I can’t even consider explaining this as devils advocate because it’s just facts of the world we and they live in and factors that heavily affected the situation. People are just so quick to make claims on the ease of the choices when P.E literally makes it hard to choose to do anything but suck it up.

#this is also like a sort of point that while I wanted Curly to do more for Anya I realized he would have to jeaporsiE the crews safety in #some way like if they needed the cryopods one person would be left without one and like it would be curly he’d offer but don’t think any of #them would be happy or feel okay with letting him die over a rapist? he kills Jimmy and now he has to stand trial and be arrested for murder #because it’s not self defense or manslaughter like they could obviously lie but he wouldn’t let them do that in case of a sort of black box #or guilt on their mind specifically with Daisuke who would likely be kept out of the loop not to mention it’s a dead body with a limited #likely recycled air supply so again he’s getting tried for murder and they are down a cryopod #not to mentions again the fact that you need a copilot like I know like aviation law and shit is crazy and like not common knowledge #but you bed a second set of eyes or someone to trade off with so you don’t loose ur concentration or doze and crash #like they don’t just sit their and do nothing like Jimmy probably did some of the time cause Curly likely didn’t want to make him #cause like pissed off and spiteful Jimmy manning the controls even if just helping is not something he wants to deal with and risk their #lives but i digress I genuinely think the biggest flaw of Curly’s in the situation is being a man who could not handle or understand the #emotional gravity of what Anya experienced especially at the hands of someone who he was also #emotonal/mentally mistreated by and wanted to so badly to believe was his friend and improving #like he did not offer her enough or the proper emotional/physical security he could’ve as a captain nor friend but in that it goes right #back to the systems at play that make it so he isn’t meant or supposed to understand so it can’t be perpetuated and blah blah blah how many #times do I have to explain systematic oppression to certain groups in this fandom and it isn’t cut n dry of good guys bad guys and victims #as outliers of the tow categories l #mouthwashing #captain curly #mouthwashing game #curly mouthwashing #the pony express #The Tulpar

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

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How about Fellow and Gidel staying at the Ramshackle dorm? There's plenty of room, might as well let someone in need use it.

(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ As long as they behave and be nice, of course.

(If they do anything suspicious, our ghost buddies are here to help!)

(Who knows, maybe Fellow could even join ghosts on their "selling NRC's mandragoras" thing. His charisma sure is useful)

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“You guys can stay over as long as you behave and be nice!”

That was the one and only condition you had set. Surely they can follow a single rule, you thought. Right?

Well, things started gone south at around lunchtime. Prior to then, Fellow and Gidel had either been lounging on the sofa or sticking their noses into every possible room, nook, and cranny. “Nice place you got here,” Fellow had commented. “Be sure to take good care of it.”

Then noon arrived, and with it, lunch. You were busy finishing a homework assignment when a shrill hiss met your ears. Grim, you realized, and he’s upset.

You set your homework aside and rushed to the source of the sound: the kitchen. “What’s wrong?! What happened?”

You were met with Grim, Gidel, and Fellow, all to the floor. They tugged on the same tuna can, yanking it back and forth, one side to the other.

“Uh… guys?”

Fellow gasped and leapt onto his feet, hands slapped behind his back, as if to conceal evidence of his act. Grim careened back from his released, rocketing into a wall. He desperately clung to his tuna can, even as he slumped from the impact.

“Hey there, kiddo! Done with your schoolwork so soon?” Fellow asked with an anxious chuckle.

“What were you doing just now?”

“What, us? We were lookin’ to grab some grub! Right, Giddie?”

Gidel nodded.

“Th-They ganged up on me and tried to take my tuna can!!” Grim wheezed. “I had to defend it with my life, yanno!”

Fellow maintained his grin, but not-so-subtly grinding the heel of one foot on Grim’s pronged tail.

“Mee-OUCH!!” he howled.

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Listen, fellas. I know you’re my guests, and I’d love to have you over for a meal. Really, I would. Problem is, the headmaster only allots us a certain budget every month for groceries, and it just about cover the necessities for me and Grim.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the resources to provide for two extra people. You can have a piece of fruit or bread or something, but I don’t know if I can do a full meal. I feel really bad, but the money’s tight this month.”

“Wh-What…!” Fellow caught his surprise and reeled it in. “Didn’t you say that you had three other roommates? What about them?”

“Oh, they’re…”

“Boo.”

There was a cold breath at his ear, the soft sound of an invader. A shiver radiated from Fellow’s neck, his fur standing on end. He robotically turned, stiffening when he saw a translucent hand grasping his shoulder and three pale faces returning his gaze.

“Heeheehee! Djdja call us?” the Ramshackle Ghosts chorused.

“H-HIIIIIIIIE!! G-G-GHOOOOOSTS!!!!” Fellow shrieked, jolting back in fear. (Gidel’s reaction was far more controlled, eyes swelling wide.)

“Myah?! H-He totally did a 180!” Grim gasped.

“Your new friend’s real jumpy,” Ghost B cackled. “Oh, this fella will be a hoot to have around.”

“Nice to meet ‘cha. Enjoy your stay, and don’t mind us!” Ghost A added. “We’ll just be floating around.”

“Hey. You guys finally decided to show up,” you said casually. “Heading out now?”

“Yup! Those mandrakes aren’t gonna harvest and sell themselves.” Ghost C exchanged a look with his spectral companions. “We’ll be back before dinner though.”

“Alright, see you then… Oh, wait. I have an idea.” You gestured to Fellow (who was still cowering) and Gidel (who stared at the ghosts curiously). “My guests could make do with some money too. Think they could join you for mandrake picking?”

They took one look at the shivering fur mound that was Fellow. Eerie grins crept onto their faces.

“Sure, why not?”

“O-Oi, oi, oi!!” Fellow hissed. “You’re not seriously gonna sell us out to your dead buddies, are you?“

“Gidel seems okay with it,” you noted, pointing. The cat boy had stumbled forward and was now trying to grasp onto Ghost C’s tail. “I guess he’ll go by himself then?”

His expression fell. “What!! No, he can’t…!”

“They’ll be good chaperones to him, promise.”

“That’s not the problem here! You can’t let a kid wander off with total strangers!! What kinda irresponsible adult does that?!”

Touché.

“Then sounds to me like you should go with him,” you suggested nonchalantly. “You know, as his guardian and all.”

“Grrrrr…! FINE!! L-Let’s get to pulling those screaming weeds then. I won’t say no to a job that pays!”

“Good, good. Happy to be workin’ with ya, fella.”

“It’s FELLOW Honest! Get it right, dammit!”

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Ramshackle Ghosts #Reader #self insert #Fellow Honest #Gidel #a fellow in need is a friend indeed #Grim #twst interactions #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland interactions #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines

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sunshine-daisies-library · 1 year ago

Text

starry eyed lies | ashton irwin x pop star!reader

author's note: had been cooking this one for a while, might be really sloppy bc i had zero time to work on it lol

summary: as a publicity stunt to boost the popularity of five seconds of summer, ashton is forced to fake date you, a rising pop star that has stolen the hearts of listeners around the world.

warnings: fighting, social media, cyber-bullying?, swearing, mentions of weed, fake dating trope, Ashton is labeled a "bad boy" lol, angst

word count: 11.0k

It was supposed to be a simple “fix-all.” Following the tour for Sounds Good Feels Good, the boys were running on a high. Their names were known all over the world, and they were loved by all girls for not only their music but their looks, too. But with a running high, things must come to an end, as the boys began to falter on their positive fame streak. From negative articles to drama tabloids being released about them, the boys were torn apart by critics and haters alike for their rock star-bad boy attitude. Wherever they made a mistake -one drink too many or ending up in another drama with other celebrities- the press was right there to pick them and prod them where it hurt. The boys’ hands were tied, and it looked like it was the end for their band as they knew it.

“I’m really at a loss here,” their publicity manager sighed, holding a news article in her hand. On the headlines it stated “Aussie Punk Rock Boys Strike Again: Another Party Gone Wrong.” Depicted in the photo were Luke and Ashton’s headshots taken by the L.A.P.D. It was yet another public disturbance report with additional fines allotted because they were under the influence. On top of that, Luke was still underage and not allowed to drink.

“I mean, really,” she pressed, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “Another disturbance report? I thought I told you guys to cut down on parties and alcohol. What were you thinking?”

And to be completely honest, they weren’t thinking. With press on their backs and paparazzi following them everywhere they went, the boys felt completely constricted. Stress was building up in their systems and they lacked an older figure -someone more knowledgeable in the music industry- to guide them through their early onset of fame. One mistake after the other just egged each other on, leaving them feeling hopeless and self-destructive. It got to a point where Ashton considered doing one last big stunt to end his career entirely. At least then he’d finally get to go back home and away from the drama.

But he couldn’t do that to his boys. His best friends he more so considered brothers had dreamed of moving to L.A. and making music for everyone to hear. Hell, it was his dream, too. He couldn’t possibly throw all of that away for his own selfish desires. Ashton still had to admit that he was getting tired of constantly being under the spotlight with little reward from it.

“I’m sorry Manuela,” Luke said, hanging his head low. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I hope I can count on you guys when you say that,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because there’s only so much I can do on my end to get you guys out of the hole you put yourselves into.”

Michael leaned over his knees, determined to make things right. “Tell us what we can do,” Michael insisted. “We can clean ourselves up, we swear. We promised to take this break as a time to fix ourselves and really focus on our music.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Manuela pointed out. “Taking a break is the perfect opportunity to get out of the spotlight and focus on bettering yourselves. But, completely escaping the press and media will make you guys fade out of the music industry. So we have to find an even balance between the two.”

“How?” Calum asked curiously. A frown rested on his tired face. Anyone could tell the bad press was getting to him. It was getting to all of them. “Everyone practically hates us.”

Manuela grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, connected to her computer. “That’s where we come in,” she started, sharing her screen to the boys. “What we need is a fresh face that’s receiving positive feedback to get you guys on everyone’s good side again.” She flicked through meaningless graphs and percentages of social media engagement and views on YouTube for their tour diaries and music videos. Ashton winced at the downward trend for each graph. “My team’s first option was One Direction. But considering the break they decided to go on, it’s obviously not a viable choice anymore.”

“So who do you have in mind?” Ashton spoke up, flicking his hand up to ask his question.

Their publicity manager clicked the remote to change slides. On the screen was a beautiful girl, smiling at the paparazzi. You looked shy, definitely new to the L.A. music scene but confident nonetheless.

“Woah, y/n l/n?” Michael awed. “I’ve listened to her music before. She’s sick.”

“And also America’s new pop princess,” Manuela informed them. “After touring with Taylor Swift as her opening act for the 1989 tour, she’s gained considerable popularity. She’s just moved to L.A. and records at the studio a couple blocks down. She’s new to the industry, but she’s promising.” Manuela switched off the TV and turned to the boys. “And she’s probably your only option.”

“Hold on,” Ashton said. He was struggling to wrap his head around this. “What do you want us to do with her? Record a song with her? Not to be rude or anything, but her music genre doesn’t mix well with our type of stuff, and I don’t feel like writing lovey-dovey shit.”

Manuela chuckled at his immediate disgust at the idea. “No, we weren’t thinking that,” she reassured him. “For now, at least. What we need is a good influence in your lives for the public to see. Someone like y/n.”

“So what now?” Ashton raised an eyebrow. “We just knock on her door and become best friends?”

“Ash,” Calum scolded him, smacking his knee. “Be nice. y/n and I are mutuals on social media and she’s had nothing but nice things to say about us.”

Manuela snapped her fingers. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Calum and Michael are already acquainted with her. We need a bigger step to bring you guys into the limelight.” The older woman turned to Ashton, ironically the one member that was most against this whole ploy. “We need you to date y/n.”

The four boys let out shouts of differing emotions. Michael was shocked, Calum was confused, Luke was jealous, and Ashton was no doubt opposed.

“Why him!” Luke whined. “He doesn’t want to do it, let me! I’ll gladly date her.”

Manuela shook her head, adamant on her decision. “It’s gotta be Ashton, I’m afraid,” she said. “His “bad boy” persona is the most detrimental to your overall image. He’s got to be the one. Not to mention, y/n requested him specifically.”

“Oh great,” Ashton groaned, voice dripping in sarcasm. “The plan is to sell me off as some pop star’s boy toy? How come she’s in on it and I have no choice?”

“That’s not the plan,” Manuela told him firmly. “It was created in agreement between her team and yours. She needs all the publicity she can get to boost her fame and, well, you guys are aware of your own situation. It’s all for show, Ashton. All we ask is a few dates in public and even a kiss or two for the press.”

Michael snickered. “He won’t have a problem with that,” he muttered under his breath.

“But,” Manuela cut the boy off. “We’re not asking you to marry her. It’s just a few months and then an amicable split. She’s going on tour at the end of the year, and you boys are going on your writing retreat. By then, both of you will be able to part ways and your relationship will be a thing of the past. She gets the publicity, your reputation gets fixed. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Not for me,” Ashton fought back. He wanted nothing to do with this. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with the band anymore. Each night, he plotted excessive plans to escape his prison called L.A. and fly back to Sydney to be with his family. He was sick of the lights, the glamor, the fame.

He glanced back at his friends. His heart clenched at the dark bags under Calum’s eyes, and Michael’s uncharacteristically extra pale complexion from the lack of sleep. Anxiety had riddled the entire band, and it was clear on Luke’s hands where he had been picking at his fingertips. They were a wreck, and Manuela made it seem like he was their last hope. If he said no, they could pack up their things and go home. He’d get what he wanted all along. But Ashton couldn’t let go of the sparkling looks in their eyes when they received word from One Direction that they wanted them to open up for their concerts. He saw hope in their futures, saw something bigger in store for them. In some way, Ashton could still see that innocence in their eyes, blocked slightly by their stress and nerves. He was their last chance to bring that optimism back.

“I’ll do it,” he gave in. The boys let out whoops of joy, tackling Ashton into a hug. Ashton was frustrated beyond belief, but he faked a smile just to see his boys get their spark back.

–

Ashton was immediately regretting his decision the moment he stepped foot into the restaurant. The restaurant was too expensive for his taste, the kind of eatery that sold mediocre food primarily for you to post on social media for your “friends” to envy you. If this place was your idea as Manuela mentioned, it was only a mere insight of your personality. And without even meeting you yet, Ashton was beginning to loathe you.

The musician checked his watch again, keeping his head down and away from any prying eyes. You were ten minutes late, and if you kept this up, Ashton predicted you wouldn’t even show up. Ashton swore under his breath, growing more and more annoyed by you. He never should have agreed to this plan.

Suddenly, you came bursting through the door. Your eyes peered around the store before finding Ashton’s, immediately heading to the table he had saved. Ashton fought the urge to roll his eyes at your lack of sunglasses or hoodie. It was like you were begging for attention. Which, now he thought, you probably were.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized profusely, setting your bag on the ground and pulling out your notebook. A waitress immediately went to your table to take your orders. Ashton had only wanted water, but you ordered one milkshake and a side of cannolis. “Traffic was terrible, as per usual in L.A. I suppose. And then my publicity manager asked me to get my hair down for today, then she scheduled a nail appointment-” You took a deep breath, running out of air from talking so quickly. “I feel like a dress up doll,” you joked, giving the Aussie a sheepish smile.

Ashton, however, was not amused. He barely returned your smile, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Let’s just pretend to look happy when the press gets here. We were supposed to have a ten minute prep time but since you decided to be late-”

“I didn’t decide to be late-” you fought back incredulously.

“We only have three minutes max to plan something good for the press to take a picture of,” Ashton finished, sending a glare your way for interrupting him halfway.

You huffed, deep in thought before concocting something paparazzi worthy. “Just follow my lead, okay?” you said, watching a swarm of paparazzi approach the restaurant. The waitress set down your order and was about to dash off when you asked for two straws.

Ashton raised an eyebrow at your idea, not exactly following along. You stuck the two straws into the glass, taking a healthy sip from it. You let out a moan of delight, smiling to yourself at the taste. Ashton fought the urge to chuckle at your almost innocent-like demeanor. He coughed to cover up his laugh, still stubborn enough to maintain his grudge against your tardiness.

You took the paper wrapping of one straw and glanced up at the drummed in front of you. Tying the wrapper together, you raised the knot up. “Tug the other side,” you instructed.

Ashton gave you a pointed look but pulled the wrapper nonetheless, pulling until the paper gave way and snapped in half. The knot remained on your end, making you cheer in victory.

“I still don’t understand what the hell you’re doing,” he grumbled.

You ignored him, closing your eyes and whispering to yourself. Ashton leaned back, not fighting back an eye roll. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m on a date with a weirdo.” How was this supposed to get the band good publicity?

Opening your eyes again, you set the wrapper down. “I was just making a wish,” you explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “You never did that before? Tie a knot in the straw wrapper, pull, and whoever gets the knot gets to make a wish.”

“That’s,” Ashton took a deep breath. “The biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You scoffed playfully, cocking your head to get a good look at the paparazzi. More photographers approached the windows, taking hundreds of photos of the two of you. “Try smiling more,” you told him. “Maybe people wouldn’t crown you with the “bad boy of the band” title if you did.”

“I’m not the bad boy of the band,” Ashton retorted, smiling nonetheless. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it satisfied the press who started flashing their cameras more frequently at the sight of it.

Snorting, you took his hand and weaved your fingers together as you took another sip of your -now shared- milkshake. You let out a quiet giggle despite no one saying anything funny.

“You’re terrible at this,” Ashton deadpanned.

“I’ve seen people do this in movies,” you responded, shaking your head as if he said something unbelievable.

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” he said back, responding to your head shake with a chuckle.

You hummed, turning away and muttering under your breath, “Look who’s talking.”

Ashton couldn’t help but be amused by your clever comebacks. He never expected you to be able to keep up with his sarcastic comments. But here you were, dishing them out faster than he can create one.

“Anyways,” you continued breezily. “You’re so the bad boy of the band.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, readjusting his position in his chair to prepare himself for whatever response you’d curated.

You took a pause to collect your thoughts. You took a bite of your cannoli as you thought to yourself. “First off,” you swallowed the remaining bits of the pastry. “In your first album, you’re the only one looking away from the camera frowning. Luke’s looking away, but at least he’s smirking a little bit. That’s big bad boy energy. And the bandana? Come on, you’re trying so hard to be edgy but I see your smile behind the drums.”

Ashton rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. “Good to know you’ve done your research.”

“I have to get to know my new fake boyfriend,” you waved him off jokingly. “What am I supposed to do? Go into this blind? Surely you’ve done some research about me.”

The Australian musician hesitated to respond. “I may have skimmed the binder?” he responded, a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t expect to have to know everything about you and your career.

You squeeze his hand, reminding him you were still intertwined. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later.”

You both turned to the windows and noticed the swarm of photographers only grew in size, all of them in huddles behind cars. “You think we gave them enough to look at?” you asked. Not waiting for a response, you placed a couple bills on the table and pulled Ashton up with you.

“Where are we going?” Ashton questioned as you both braved the outdoors, instantly getting bombarded by the paparazzi. Taking on a protective boyfriend role, Ashton wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lent you his sunglasses to wear.

“Don’t worry!” you said, raising your voice a bit due to the loud calls of interviewers calling out to them. “I know a place!”

You sprinted down the street and took a sharp right, tugging Ashton along with you. Impressively enough, you were fast enough to lose the press. Soon enough, you found the place you were looking for and dove in.

The drummer blinked a couple times, trying to regain his sight after the millions of flashes nearly blinded him. Once his vision turned back to normal, he looked around the room to see a relatively empty restaurant. The lights were dim and gave the feel of a speakeasy but also had sweet handmade decorations adorning the walls. The place was endearing to him, somehow, because of how unabashedly unique it was.

You directed Ashton to your favorite table in the back corner while you went up to the counter to order for the both of them. By the time Ashton had gathered his bearings in his seat, you returned with a tray full of food.

“Welcome to the “Quilted Corner,” you introduced him to the cafe. “Everyone’s favorite eatery in the darkest corner of Los Angeles. And by everybody I mean probably just me and five other people.”

Ashton nodded dubiously, understanding the unique name for the place once he got a good look at the grandma-esque decorations.

“And what do you have in your tray of horrors?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the assorted foods.

You began to divide the food between the two of you, the mountain of greasy foods slowly turning into a valley and then nothing at all.

“I’m going to change your goddamn life, Irwin,” you declared, taking a napkin and wiping your hands with it. “This is the order Granny Stevenson -the owner- recommended to me when I first came here. I was lost in the city looking for a place to duck and cover from the paparazzi and came across this lovely place.”

You gestured to the spread of foods. “This is the “homesick cure,”” you told him. “It consisted of two double cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a milkshake. All completed with Granny Stevenson’s special sauce.”

“And a heart attack,” Ashton deadpanned.

You ignored his statement. “This place is really special to me,” you confessed. “It actually cured my homesickness and Granny Stevenson is a grandma-away-from-home to me. This place is where I go to write songs or just get away from it all.”

Ashton poked at his order, a thin film of oil coating his fingertips. “I don’t see the inspiration factor here,” he said, his nose scrunched up. “It just looks like another fast food place in America.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sad mis-fed rockstar,” you said with a smirk. You pointed at the one last item you didn’t mention. “Behold the Grandpa Stevenson special.” You held up the dish and smelled it deeply. “A blueberry cheesecake made in-house with all the love this place can put into it. Name a place that sells that kinda love, Ashton.”

“I’m pretty sure Burger King sold that at one point in a mall food court,” he snipped back.

You narrowed your eyes at the pessimistic drummer. “Not sold with love,” you reminded him. “Besides, they actually make this stuff here. No processed shit, only love.”

Ashton scoffed, turning his head away from the table. Love. What a load of bullshit. If you were gullible enough to buy into the “love” this restaurant sold you, you definitely wouldn’t make it in the cut throat music industry. You were too innocent. It was only a matter of time until those producers and media companies tear you apart like they did with him and the band.

Despite his negative attitude, he took a fork and tried a piece of the cheesecake. The light dessert just about melted on his tongue, the flavors of cream, blueberry, and cinnamon dancing along his tongue. It was the best thing he’s ever tried.

“Told ya,” you sang, eating your own meal with a knowing smirk on your face.

Ashton feigned a look of disgust. “You didn’t tell me shit,” he grumbled. “It tastes like every other cheesecake.” That was a lie. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it tasted like home.

You tried to wipe your messy face with a napkin. “No one that thinks this is an average cheesecake makes that kinda face.” When Ashton didn’t understand, you sighed, preparing to make the same face. “It’s the look you get when you touch down in your hometown after an eleven hour flight. Or the face you make when you write a banger bridge for a song you’ve dedicated weeks to. Or it’s the look you get when everything makes sense in the world.”

Ashton stabbed his cheesecake and shoveled more of it into his mouth. Pure Heaven. “Whatever,” he huffed.

The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence, aside from sighs of content from you because the food was that damn good. You finished off your milkshake, but not before picking up the straw wrapper and tying a knot, just like you did at the cafe before.

“Pull away, rockstar,” you instructed. Reluctantly, Ashton followed suit and tugged at the paper, the knot ending up on his side this time. You cheered, clasping your hands together. “It’s your turn now! Your first wish that shall be granted by the straw gods.”

Ashton shot you a look before tossing the wrapper to the side. “I don’t really care for wishes,” he stated plainly. You frowned at his negative attitude and that look alone made Ashton’s heart lurch. He instantly felt bad for the way he’s been treating you; it wasn’t your fault the press hated him. But still, he couldn’t help but put some blame on you. It was better than wallowing in self hate, he supposed.

“It’s okay,” you collected yourself. “You can save that wish for when you need it.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it,” he responded sarcastically.

You chuckled, taking a bite out of Ashton’s cheesecake. He let out a shout of protest but you paid no attention to him. “Trust me,” you assured him. “There’s always a time when you need a wish in L.A.”

–

“She’s weird,” Ashton grumbled, readjusting the cuffs of his button up. The boys were preparing for their interview with Buzzfeed in their shared dressing room, fighting for space in front of the mirror.

It’s been a total of three months since you and Ashton started your fake relationship and the media has been eating it up. They followed the both of you everywhere you went, hiding in cars and in alleyways to get a glimpse of the so-called happy couple. You played your part well, holding his hand in public and kissing his cheek whenever you had the opportunity. From the public’s point of view, Ashton was just as taken by you as you were with him. The media fawned over his boyish grin and blush whenever you’d readjust his beanie in the winter cold.

On your end, you were genuinely falling for the boy. Behind closed doors, he was just a boy from Australia, new to the fast paced life of being a celebrity. You saw through his cold facade, slowly cracking through the walls he put up around his heart, and you had a feeling you were growing on him. He’d still quip sarcastic comments and roll his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that would rest on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. As rare as his genuine smiles were, you relished those moments because it was the only times you’d see the real Ashton, not the one he’s put out for the paparazzi.

Ashton, however, was still holding out his grudge against you, albeit very weakly. His tough exterior was indeed toppling slowly. Your kind nature was just too sweet to not find you a little endearing. Ashton would never admit that you had grown on him a little, and a small part of him possibly looked forward to your weekly dates. He learned so much from you, it was as if he never wanted to stop listening to you. Not that he would tell you that, though.

“That’s all you’ve ever said about her,” Michael shot back, glancing at the mirror to check his hair one more time. “Come on, mate, it’s been three months. Surely you have something new to say about her?”

Calum agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s come to the studio during her breaks from recording. That’s not even in your dating contract but she still does it.”

“Not to mention she gets us coffee every time,” Luke piped up. “That coffee is addictive, where does she get it?”

Ashton couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He knew you’d always stop by the Quilted Corner -no matter how far of a walk it was- to pick up some coffee. And he knew you always tried to be slick about it, but he’d always catch you tucking away a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the band’s fridge, just for him. He’d never mention it, though. He wanted to let you have your fun.

Calum let out a shout, pointing at the drummer accusingly. “Aha!” he cheered. “I knew she was growing on you!”

“What the hell are you going on about, Cal?” Ashton demanded, exasperated by his friends’ antics.

Calum continued his childish shimmy, the other boys gleefully joining in. “You got that dumb smirk on your face,” Calum smugly pointed out. “You’ve got it bad for y/n, don’t you.”

Before Ashton could respond, the director shouted, “Five minutes till shooting!” Glaring at the boys to keep them silent, Ashton made his way to the chairs in front of the camera, silently praying for this interview to be quick and over with.

“Welcome to Buzzfeed, boys,” the director’s assistant approached them with a smile. She was petite but her voice was strong and insistent. “Make sure to always look at the camera, but above all, smile and don’t look down. The viewers want to see your faces, okay?” Nodding in confirmation, the boys readied themselves for the camera as the assistant swiftly moved out of the way.

“Yeah Ash, don’t doze off dreaming of y/n,” Luke snickered into his ear, making the other boys chuckle along with him -aside from Ashton, of course.

–

The interview went as well as one could expect. The questions about the boys’ past were still continuously brought up but the boys answered the questions with grace they could only credit to Manuela. Luckily enough, the interviewer seemed to enjoy their responses, noting a significant maturity in the boys. They seemed to have gotten over their party phase and turned into serious musicians during their break from tours and parties.

“Final question is for Ashton,” the interviewer shuffled through their papers. “Sources have spotted you and new singer songwriter y/n l/n around L.A. quite a bit following the end of the North American 1989 tour. Now, you both have confirmed your relationship and made it very clear you two are together. Has y/n been an influence in the reshaping of your image in the media?”

Ashton bit the inside of his cheek. Just remember what Manuela rehearsed with you, he thought.

“Yeah, y/n’s been great,” he answered, trying to not sound as monotone as he did during his practice runs. “She’s been such a great influence to me and the boys, always keeping a positive outlook on things. I learn a lot from her, and I’d like to think she’s learned quite a bit from me, too.”

“Like jumping into the neighbor’s pool at midnight?” the interviewer jested, referencing the one time Ashton had drunkenly trespassed his neighbor’s home while they were on vacation.

Ashton tried not to cringe at that one memory, heavily wanting to keep that part of him in the past. “Definitely not that,” he laughed awkwardly. “But definitely in a sense of navigating newly received fame and things like that.”

“That’s great to hear,” they hummed. “Should we be expecting anything from you guys? Maybe a collaboration of some sort?”

The drummed shrugged his shoulders honestly. “It’s all up to her,” he responded. “We’re still taking a break from touring, but we do have an album in the works. Writing music with her is definitely on the table, for sure.”

Ashton wasn’t sure what word vomit was spewing from his lips. Last time he checked, it wasn’t up to you whether or not you wanted to collab with the boys (you were clearly apprehensive about invading his space), he didn’t want to write music with her (possibly due to the fact that the last time you had a joint writing session, he was stuck staring at you curled up on the other side of the couch; you were just mesmerizing but he’d never admit that aloud), and he hated lovey dovey shit (because he hated the warm feeling brewing in his stomach whenever you’d smile or laugh at his jokes). But it wasn’t like he liked you, right? He had to focus on his career, his boys, his life. Not a relationship that’s destined for failure no doubt because of the media.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for you guys, thank you so much for coming to our studio today!” The interviewer finished off the closing statements for their interview while Ashton was left inside his head.

Truth be told, he was conflicted. He had, in fact, gotten significantly closer with you, closer than he’d expected to be at the very least. He still tried to be closed off, tried to push you away from him so he wouldn’t get attached and heartbroken in the end. You just made it so damn difficult.

“Nice responses, Ash,” Michael patted his shoulder as they gathered their things in their dressing room. “Really downplayed how much you liked her there.”

Ashton raised an eyebrow while picking up his phone from the side table. He was stupid enough to not look at the text messages. Particularly the ones from you that stated you were on your way to the studio for your own interview.

“What are you saying, Mike?” Ashton asked tiredly, tired of the relentless teasing and questions he’s gotten about you all afternoon.

“Mike’s saying that we know you’re in so deep with her,” Luke spoke up from the back as he slipped on his jacket. “Like, L-word close with her.”

Love? Why the hell would he love you? This was all a fake set up for their careers, why didn’t they get that?

“Can you guys knock it off?” Ashton snapped, finally raising his voice. “I don’t like y/n and I never will. I don’t even like her as a friend. She’s obnoxious, annoying, and so unbelievably difficult to work with; the two of us will never work out. And thank God for that because if I have to spend more than 10 months with her to save your asses’ careers, I’m leaving the fucking band.”

“Ash-” Calum said meekly.

“No!” he cut him off harshly. “I’m sick of being pushed around like a fucking doll for publicity. The band was doomed from the start because the press won’t leave us the fuck alone. And using y/n as a last Hail Mary is as stupid as it is useless. She’s going to be nothing more than a washed up young celebrity like the rest of us and fade to the past.”

“Ash!” Michael stopped him. “That’s enough, we get it.”

Ashton didn’t piece together their hastiness until it was too late. He turned around to see you standing before them. He didn’t even hear the door open. Your eyes were welling up as your mouth was slightly opened by his outburst.

“Hi guys,” you weakly greeted them.

Ashton took a step forward, freezing when he saw you stagger back. “y/n,” he whispered, unable to know where to start with his apology.

“I have an interview in ten minutes,” you informed them quickly. “I’ll see you around later, yeah?”

You seemed to have taken that as final as you pushed them out of the dressing room and closed the door shut. You didn’t move from the door until you heard all of their footsteps trail off and out of the studio. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as you hang your head low. And to think you thought he actually might have liked you, too.

A knock interrupted your thoughts. “Ms. l/n?” a voice spoke up. “My name’s Ryan and my buddy Shane and I wanted to know if–”

“Sorry,” you said, opening the door sheepishly. You hoped your face wasn’t giving away your embarrassment and hurt you were experiencing. “I-um, I think I need to be alone for a sec.”

“Oh!” the taller one exclaimed. “To call Ashton? I think I saw him walk that way.”

You bit your lip, nodding painfully slow. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Thanks, I’ll be headed there soon.”

You didn’t leave any time for debate or questions as you pushed through the pair and walked in the opposite direction, straight to the bathroom. The two men glanced at each other in concern.

“What’s up with her?” Shane asked.

Ryan only shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’ll remain unsolved,” he mused wisely.

“That’ll be a great name for a show one day!”

“I know right?”

–

You were lucky that there was enough conflict in both of your schedules to postpone your date to three weeks after the interview. To say you were anxious was an understatement. You picked at your fingernails as you waited for Ashton to arrive at the park.

You were conflicted with the entire agreement. A part of you wanted to end the agreement, rip the contract into shreds. Ashton was right, wasn’t he? This plan was useless, and your fifteen minutes of fame were almost up. It was only a matter of time until you were no longer relevant. Then what would you do? You’d have to go back home and start over, and maybe that’s better than what you had for yourself now: a fake relationship for attention.

But at the same time, you had fallen hard for Ashton. Behind his rough exterior was a shy musician that was passionate in what he did. He loved music, but loved his friends and family more. You admired him for that, realizing that he only had a harsh image because he was protective of who he loved. You only wished that he saved that part of himself for you, too.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” a soft voice spoke behind you.

You turned around on your bench to see Ashton standing, hands sheepishly in his pockets. His cheeks were red from the cold as his eyes were trained on the ground.

“Of course I did,” you responded somewhat brusquely. “It’s part of the contract, afterall.”

Ashton scoffed, making you raise an eyebrow irritatedly. You had every right to be a bitch to him. He was the one bad mouthing you in the first place. Your mixed emotions had sat in your stomach for the past few weeks. Your anger was winning out the heartsick feeling.

“What are you scoffing about, rockstar?” you quipped, disgust filling your tone instead of affection as it usually was in the nickname you gave him. “I signed that paper as much as you did.”

“It wasn’t like it was my fucking idea,” he shot back, frustration fueling his voice. He pulled at his hair and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “In case you forgot, I was forced into this bullshit! And to think I was actually going to apologize to you.”

“About which part?” you shouted back sarcastically. “The part where you called me obnoxious and annoying? Or how about when you couldn’t stand to spend any more time with me or else you’d quit the band? Oh I know! How about when you called me a washed up celebrity? Take your pick, rockstar! You’ve got plenty to choose from!”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” he raised his voice higher than he ever had before. “God, I’m fucking sick of you and your “holier than thou” bullshit! You’re only in this shit for the money and the fame. I’m tired of playing this game and being a fucking plot device to launch your career! Maybe if you actually had substance instead of putting up the “innocent girl from a small town” act, people would like you more! Because Jesus fuck I don’t!”

What Ashton failed to realize was that your ten minute grace period between meeting and the paparazzi coming was up. The photographers circled around you like predators stalking their prey, starving for anything to satisfy their appetites. You were too caught up in your argument, too, oblivious to the prying eyes of the public.

“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” you spat. “You want my honest opinion about you? I think you’re nothing but a stuck up member of a boyband who’s pissy because the attention’s no longer on him anymore. Face it, Ashton! You’re just like everybody else here! Self-centered, fucked up, and ignorant as all hell. Maybe that’s why the media fucking hates you! It’s not because they twist your actions, you just are a fucking terrible person and it’s about time you realized that!”

Ashton silently seethed, opening and closing his fists as he tried to find the right words to say. “You really think that?” he asked in a low tone. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to hear your response. Despite his harsh words, he truly craved your validation and he knew that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted.

“Yes,” you swallowed. “I do.” Silence filled the cold air as you stood at a standstill. The air filled your lungs like icy needles, not yet thawed for the seasonal change that was yet to come. It was like a test between the two of you. Who was going to be the first to bite the bullet and say what’s been on your minds?

You made your decision. “Let’s end this,” you said, voice wavering. “Let’s put the both of us out of our misery and end this once and for all. I think we both got enough of each other.”

Ashton was taken aback. He thought the same thing, but he didn’t think you’d be the one to say it. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to end it. If he could spend the rest of his life on a tightrope, teetering towards anger and frustration for eternity just to be with you, he’d do it. But he knew he was hurting you as much as you were hurting him. He knew what he had to do.

“Good,” he agreed, mustering enough strength to not cry right there. He really was losing the one good thing he had going for him. And it was all his fault. “I’ll have Manuela reach out to your manager. You can..lose my number, I guess.”

“If that’s what you want,” you told him smoothly. On the inside, you were crumbling apart.

Ashton forced a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

–

He didn’t expect things to get as bad as they did. Ashton knew the paparazzi was everywhere, he always did. But dammit, he got so lost in his anger that it slipped his mind. And the one time it did, everything went wrong.

But for the first time, the blame wasn’t on him. Not in the eyes of the media, at least.

Is America’s Sweetheart y/n l/n Actually a Monster?

Pop Princess y/n l/n rips Australian Musician Ashton Irwin Apart

End of an Era: Irwin-l/n Break Up is Messy and Unexpected

Even on Twitter, you couldn’t catch a break.

#y/nl/nisoverparty

#y/nl/nisasnake

#y/nisthebiggestbitch

#y/nl/nisOVER

On every magazine and gossip column was a picture of your encounter with Ashton at the park. Lucky for Ash, the media only got a glimpse of your rant at him and didn’t get any footage of him yelling back at you. To the public, he looked like the innocent party while you looked completely wicked.

Oh God, Ashton thought. I just ruined her life.

The weeks that followed were rough. Manuela called for a group meeting and told them that their ratings have gone through the roof. 5 Seconds of Summer were finally back on the good side of the press and were labeled as the “innocent boys from Australia” that got “led down the wrong path.” Manuela was happy that her plan had worked; 5SOS is back on track, but she was disappointed at what it cost.

“Is there anything we can do to help her?” Michael asked at the end of the meeting.

Manuela pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “y/n’s manager cut off all ties with us. I think we got the message that she wants nothing to do with us.”

Calum checked his phone, cringing at the amount of tagged posts he was in. All of them bashing you and everything you’ve worked so hard to create.

“We have to do something,” Calum pleaded. “She’s not just a coworker; she’s a friend. She’s always been there for us, even if Ash wasn’t here, she’d come by. We can’t leave her hanging like this.”

“Ash,” Luke turned to his friend, blue eyes pleading and desperate. “Can you talk to her? Maybe we can work something out. Anything.”

Ashton stammered before he responded. What could he do? He was the very last person you’d want to see right now. He got you into this mess and painted you out to be a monster. The blame should have fully been on him. You wouldn’t have yelled at him if he didn’t push you over the limit.

“Why should it be me?” he asked. “She hates me.”

Michael scoffed at his friend, clearly upset at his poor attempt at weaseling his way out of this. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. “She adored you. Whether you liked her or not she was your biggest supporter. When you weren’t around at the studio, she talked the world about you. You may have not liked her, but she loved you. So you have to fix this.”

“Boys, relax,” Manuela insisted. “I’m certain her publicity team has a plan set for situations like these. She’s probably going to keep quiet for a while then re-emerge into the public scene again once the public wounds have healed. So it’ll be in her best interest and yours if you keep quiet and not cause a scene. Not when the public finally has a positive outlook on you.”

“That’s so..” Luke huffed defeatedly. “Wrong.”

Manuela patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s the music industry, love.”

–

You truly fell off the face of the earth. Ashton was at a loss. After the presumed “silent break” you took, he thought you’d get back into the swing of things. Media tabloids had died down, and it seemed like the public had forgotten about your argument and moved onto the next interesting thing. But you didn’t come back. Not even to your studio, the place remained empty. You didn’t respond to his calls, all of them going straight to voicemail. Your manager only picked up her phone once, insisting he stopped calling if he knew what was best for him. Not even your friends answered his frequent dm’s.

Your instagram was dormant. The last post was of Ashton a month back, playing his guitar and smiling down at his lyric book. He didn’t even realize you took that picture until you posted it. He was a little shocked that you kept it up, considering all things, but at the same time you didn’t post anything anymore. You used to post everyday, updating everyone about your hectic life. All that was left were the photos that remained on your page. Ashton had caught himself too many times scrolling through, just to see your smiling face again. He beat himself up over the fact that his last glimpse of you in person was nothing but a broken shell of who you once were.

Ashton pushed the door open, entering the last place he thought of that you could possibly be in. The smell of the restaurant was the same as it always was, full of spices and sweets that made his mouth water. But he had to stay focused. He needed to find you and talk to you.

Behind the counter, an older couple approached him. Ashton immediately recognized them as the Stevensons, the couple you adored more than their own food. It seemed like they recognized him too once they reached the counter space.

“You must be Ashton,” the older woman said, readjusting her glasses. Her wrinkles appeared as she greeted him with a smile, a sign that she lived a life full of laughter and smiles. The kind of life you confessed you wanted desperately. “y/n has spoken so highly of you.”

Ashton ducked his head, blushing at the compliment. Even when you were gone you still managed to light up the room and make him seem like a better person than he actually was. “That’s actually why I came here,” he told them. “I was wondering if you had seen y/n come by.”

The gentleman beside Mrs. Stevenson shook his head. “Afraid not, son,” he responded. “Not for a while, actually. We were quite disheartened about that, but that girl is always so busy, isn’t she?” Ashton smiled, trying not to wince as he cringed on the inside.

“Let me make you something, honey,” Mrs. Stevenson insisted, rushing to kitchens before he could refuse.

Mr. Stevenson ushered Ashton to the booths, away from the restaurant regulars. Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, the rain soaking his brown locks. Spring was a bitch with the rain, but he knew how much you loved it. “What brings you here, son?” he asked. “You usually come with y/n. Don’t tell me she’s in any sort of trouble now, is she?”

Ashton sat down, dusting off his jeans. “Not exactly,” he answered honestly. “H-have you not heard in the gossip tabloids?”

“Oh no,” Mr. Stevenson waved his hand. “We were never one for those magazines. Sarah is always strict on rechilut.”

Ashton nodded along. “I did something wrong,” he confessed heavily. “And I hurt y/n. Not physically, but honestly it feels worse. I want to make things right, but I don’t think she even wants to talk to me.”

“That’s nonsense,” Mr. Stevenson insisted. “y/n would never cut ties with people like that. Especially you, she was very fond of you.” It seemed like everyone knew that except for Ashton himself. “y/n talked to me like I was her own grandfather. Now, all my kids are grown up and moved out of California, so they don’t come around much. I appreciated her company, and I know for a fact that you shouldn’t give up on her.”

The drummer’s shoulders slumped guiltily. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he told him. “I was awful to her. I did everything wrong. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her I loved her all along.”

“Do you really love her?” Mr. Stevenson asked him softly.

Ashton looked up into the older man’s gray eyes. He saw so much life, so much wisdom in them. If he looked deeper, he saw himself in his eyes, the him he missed all along. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really do.”

Mr. Stevenson patted his shoulder affectionately. “Then lead with that,” he advised him. “I’ve lived a long life, Ashton. And most of my life has been spent with my dear Sarah. If there’s anything I learned from that, it’s that sometimes you need to shut the hell up and let your love speak for you.”

Ashton let out a tearful chuckle at his advice. Mrs. Stevenson rushed out of the kitchen, a steaming plate in hand. The older woman set it on the table in front of him.

“I hope you don’t mind that I guessed what your homesick cure was,” she said sheepishly. “Artie said I should stop guessing but I had a gut feeling on this one. I was right for n/n, I hope I was right for you.”

Mrs. Stevenson set down the plate to reveal a healthy serving of spaghetti and a glass of water on the table. Ashton’s heart clenched at the sight. “Did I get it right, dear?”

Ashton couldn’t even respond, he just nodded wordlessly like a child on Christmas morning, eager to play with his toys. Mrs. Stevenson chuckled at his response, ruffling his hair gently like a mother would. “Eat it while it’s hot, honey,” she told him. “And I’m sorry, but it seems like someone forgot to order another package of straws. You’ll have to drink from the glass, I’m afraid.”

Artie stood up from his side of the booth, playfully rolling his eyes. “I’m on it, honey,” he responded, following closely behind his wife. Before leaving to the kitchen, he turned around and gave the boy a wink.

Left to his own devices, Ashton tucked his hand into his jacket and nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Pulling it out, he realized it was the knotted end of the paper straw wrapper from so long ago. Turns out he really did need that wish.

“Let me make things right,” he wished in his head. “I just want one last chance to do the right thing.”

Setting it on the table, all Ashton could do was hope that whatever was out in the universe heard him.

–

Soon enough, you did emerge from the shadows of your hiatus. You were lucky to have a loyal enough fanbase to keep you afloat, and your tour was still set for that summer. You were grateful for the fans that stuck around, and the new ones that came along the way. It was a rough journey, but you tried your best to power through it to the best of your ability.

Now, you were in your dressing room at the venue you were expected to perform in, an absolute fucking wreck. You were curled up on your couch, trembling and unable to even raise your head from your chest. Sobs filled your room, but you insisted to every manager and passersby that you needed to be alone and fix it yourself.

To tell the truth, you never truly recovered from the media frenzy that took you and Ashton by storm. You knew you had every right to turn the tides on him, revealing to the world that he wasn’t the perfect saint everyone painted him out to be. But you didn’t, and no one on your publicity team was able to figure out why.

The reason was that you were still unexplainably attached to Ashton. Somehow, even though he put you in the situation where everyone started to hate you, you couldn’t help but now be able to understand why he acted the way he did. How he was overprotective of the boys and acted out of self preservation simply because of how cruel the media could be. By no means did you excuse him for putting you in that situation, but you still grasped some understanding.

The difference between you and the drummer, however, was that he had a support system: his boys. You were practically alone to deal with the mess, cornered and vulnerable.

You were shaking frantically in your room, unable to free yourself from your thoughts. Only one look at your phone caused your entire psyche to crumble. One fucking tweet about you shook your confidence. Some anonymous user critiqued your music, only attributing your success to your past “relationship” with Ashton. Those simple words broke down the walls you were just beginning to rebuild, and now you were stuck in your dressing room, thirty minutes before you were called onstage.

Meanwhile, Ashton was navigating through the maze backstage looking for you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers were in one hand, a handwritten card in the other. He figured you’d be somewhere backstage, prepping for your show. He didn’t count on you being in your dressing room since you told him in the past that you loved to watch the crowd from behind the curtains.

But to his shock, you were still in your pajamas hyperventilating on the couch. Ashton has witnessed this before; he’s experienced this before. But seeing you go through the same struggles he and his boys went through caused his heart to ache even more.

“y/n?” he called out to you. You didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the ground as your grip around your legs tightened. Ashton set his things down on the side table, instantly kneeling in front of you.

“Ashton?” you finally spoke, voice raspy and exhausted. For a split second, you thought you were actually hallucinating, envisioning the one man you needed but feared the most. But his cologne wafted into your nostrils, alerting you it was him in the flesh. “What are you-” You heaved a deep breath, choking out a sob. You could barely take the overwhelming stress towering over you like a deadly ocean wave. It was only a matter of time until it took you under and swallowed you whole.

“Love, I’m going to need you to breathe,” he instructed, his hands finding yours. In your anxious state, you were able to distract yourself from your worries at the mere touch of his calloused fingertips. It was a silent calling to you, gently beckoning you back into reality but not quite succeeding.

Ashton took your hand and pressed it against his chest, tucking it underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. His warm skin electrified your palm, making your heart race -not from the anxiety- but from butterflies. “Pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?”

At first, you struggled to listen to his instructions. You worked on your anxiety with your therapists over more sessions than you could count. You tried box breathing, yoga, and even journaling but nothing ever calmed your nerves, especially after the media went after you.

But suddenly, you concentrated on the slow rise and fall of Ashton’s chest. The way his chest hair tickled your palms in a way that made you want to scrunch your nose at the feeling. How his heart was beating nearly out of his chest but you could tell he was trying to minimize it so he could attend to your needs first.

You felt your Ashton.

Moments that felt like hours passed until your breathing went back to normal and your tear stained cheeks dried. Ashton kept your hand against his chest, occasionally squeezing it to bring you back to reality when you teetered back into spiraling. This time, though, he rose from the ground and sat beside you. You let him move your legs over his lap as he practically held you against him. His smell was overwhelming. You could smell his cologne and shampoo, even the faint scent of weed from off his lips. He was intoxicating. He was the drug, dangling above your head, and you were weak, enthralled, captivated, addicted.

You found yourself leaning in to kiss Ashton, a real kiss this time. No corner of the lip bullshit that the press ate up every time. You didn’t expect him to kiss you back with the same fervor as you, hand wrapping around your waist and the other behind your head. It was sloppy, wet, and all shapes of perfect that you couldn’t describe. The taste of tea and weed transferred from his lips to yours as he pulled you in deeper. You gripped his shirt in your fist, hoping in your mind to mold your body against his and disappear from the world, anything as long as you were with him. His love was your poison and, at the same time, your cure.

Reality began to sink in, making you push Ashton away forcefully and standing on your feet. He flew back into the couch, eyes wide and lips swollen. His perfectly slicked back hair was a gorgeous mess, curls gracefully falling down his face. Confusion riddled his face as he watched you curl back into yourself.

“What are you–”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, unsure if you were saying that to him or yourself. “Why did I do that?”

Ashton stood up and reached for your hand, only for you to jerk back. “D-don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, scared of your own volume. Anxiety began to knock at your door once again, creeping in like a deadly virus into your system. “How could I be so stupid? Haven’t you put me through enough?”

You started to pace around your room, Ashton watching you move frantically back and forth until he got dizzy. You murmured to yourself not so quietly, scolding yourself for your stupidity and cursing him out for his enticing nature. All over again, Ashton was seeing you crumble.

“y/n, stop,” he ordered firmly, gripping your shoulders. You jerked to a stop, pausing to look Ashton in the eyes. You found yourself getting lost in the pool of hazel, wide eyed and entranced. “You’re going on stage in twenty minutes. Whatever’s going through your head right now, quit it. All of that can be put on pause until after the show, you hear me? And if that voice in your head brings it up while you’re out there, shut it down. What matters now is you, your music, and your fans. Fuck that voice telling you you’re anything short of great.”

In his empowering speech, you forced yourself to listen to his words, ignoring the person those words were coming from. Taking his advice, you cleared your mind of the past few months and only focused on this moment: your first concert of your North American tour.

Rushing to get ready, you scrambled around your room to prepare your hair and makeup. Ashton picked out your clothes for the concert, something simple that you absolutely adored but you paid little attention to the way your heart pounded at the thought. And in those twenty minutes, you were set for the show.

Your microphone in one hand and guitar in the other, you made your way straight to the stage. Ashton followed close behind you to ensure you didn’t misstep or forget anything. Mere inches away from the stage, you whipped your head around to meet his gaze just one more time.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully. “I know we haven’t talked, but thank you. Can I look for you after the show?”

Your heart shattered at the shake of his head. “I’ve got a plane to catch right after your show so I can’t come by after,” he told you remorsefully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll be right here when you come back from tour. Maybe then we can start again, correctly this time. None of the cameras, scripts, or any of that, yeah?”

The sound of your name being chanted by the crowd was nearly deafening, but his words reached your ears and you smiled softly at him. In the corner of your eye, your stage manager pointed at her watch to inform you it was time to go up. Wordlessly, you pressed your lips one last time against his.

“Don’t be a stranger, Irwin,” you told him, turning on your heel and pushing through the curtains. The crowd shrieked and screamed at the sight of you, instantly bringing a proud grin to Ashton’s face.

This was only the beginning of something new and truly beautiful, Ashton thought to himself, hands in his pockets as he made his way to the VIP section.

–

Several months have passed since your North American and European tour and it has been almost a full year since you started your publicity stunt with Ashton. Throughout the tour, you and Ashton -and the boys, of course- kept close contact with each other, never going more than a day without a phone call or video chat. Over this period, you felt like you finally got to know the real Ashton, not bits and pieces he’d accidentally let slip when he first got to know you. This time, he was real and genuine, and that only made me love him more.

You tiredly dragged your suitcase up your apartment complex’s stairs, heaving at the ridiculous weight as you made your way down to your apartment. You didn’t expect to see a certain hazel eyed drummer standing behind the door when you unlocked it.

“Surprise,” he said sheepishly, balloons and blueberry cheesecake in hand. Tears instantly filled your eyes, you dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly causing him to drop the dessert.

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting to see him so soon, if at all. Your journey with your mental health has been a long one, and there were plenty of ups and downs. A part of you -one you were a little ashamed of- didn’t expect him to keep to his word that he’d be here now. Despite the plenty of calls and talks you had to rekindle your relationship, that nagging voice in the back of your head kept on asking “what if?” What if he took back what he said about wanting to start over? What if it was all in your head, and he never wanted to see you again? But without fail, Ashton was there, willing to rebuild your relationship into a close-knit friendship. And now he’s here, asking to make it something more.

“You’re here,” you murmured into his chest, taking in his smell that you missed so dearly. “I didn’t think you’d come this soon. How did you even get in?”

Ashton pulled away, holding up your spare key. “Your friend gave it to me today,” he explained.

Grinning you brought him back down into a hug before settling in and opening the box of cheesecake. Taking out two forks, the two of you ate straight from the box and caught up on everything, though there wasn’t much considering how often you both talked while you were away.

“I’m really grateful you let me back in,” Ashton spoke up once the box had emptied.

You were half listening, polishing off the plate of its sweet crumbs. “You let yourself in, silly,” you snorted, not quite understanding what he meant. “You’re the one who got a hold of my apartment key.”

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that,” he laughed. “I mean letting me back into your life. I still don’t think I deserve it.”

“We talked about this, Ash,” you leaned back, setting your fork down. “We both said things we didn’t mean that day. We recognized it and we worked from it. We’ve moved on, and we’re friends. I think you deserve it as much as I do.”

Ashton’s cheeks were tinged red as he tried to think of the right words to say. “I know,” he started. “But sometimes, I wish we had..more.”

“More?” you raised an eyebrow. It took another second of you watching the drummer blush in embarrassment and vulnerability before it finally clicked. “Oh.”

Ashton stood up abruptly, wiping the invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “You can forget it,” he rushed in humiliation. “I-I just couldn’t stop thinking about that night of your first concert, how it felt, how you felt- and-”

“Ashton, slow down,” you giggled, standing up, taking his hand and tugging him toward you. A small smile rested on your face. “I still think about that night, too,” you confessed honestly. “And I want that, too. Whatever it is that you want.”

The drummer looked up from your intertwined hands and into your eyes. He swore he saw stars in them. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “Again?”

You pulled him down into a kiss, your lips craving his all over again. “Yes,” you answered confidently as soon as you backed away to catch your breath. “I will be your girlfriend. Again.”

The two of you shared a laugh, enjoying the silent but welcoming comfort of each other. Standing in the middle of your kitchen, lips coated in sugar and blueberries.

“What was your wish?” Ashton asked, pulling you closer to him as he broke the s. “Back at that restaurant when we first met?”

You hummed in thought, eagerly pressing your lips against his one more time to relish the moment. “My wish was that whatever we had back then,” you whispered, letting him in on your secret. “turns into something more.”

“Well your wish came true, didn’t it?” Ashton smiled, a warm feeling bursting in his chest.

You leaned your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, Ash,” you said. “Yes it did.”

please like and reblog if u enjoyed! <3

#5sos #ashton irwin x reader #5sos fic #5sos imagine #ashton irwin angst #ashton irwin #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #ashton 5sos #ashton irwin fluff #ashton irwin imagine

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ivorydragoness44 · 6 months ago

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Morgie Le Fay x Merlin’s Kid! Reader: Blush

(A/N: A collaborative piece between @where-dreamers-go and @ivorydragoness44 for an insert reader who is headmaster Merlin’s kid attending Merlin Academy. A little moment between classes where friends and everyone in between could interact. Warnings: None. Word Count: 642 words)

A dazzling blue sky day and fresh air greeted you as you stepped outdoors. Another class completed. A few minutes were allotted before the next and you took the opportunity wholeheartedly.

Your mind needed the break as much as you needed to stretch your legs.

Rounding a corner, you caught sight of pink and blue. Familiarity struck your mind.

At it again, you thought while spotting well-decorated baked goods on a tray. Where does she find the time? There was no lying to be had, they looked delicious.

Bridget, with enough kindness to spread across all the lands, was offering dessert to Uliana. It was not the first time either. You highly doubted it would be the last.

Expressions were bright, but the other young villains approached with alarming eagerness. Mischief in tow.

Ella stood firm by her friend. Defensive position, perhaps? Or unyielding loyalty?

No time to act like the present, you thought as you walked over. Silent support. No confrontations. Strength in numbers. Keeping positivity up was an easy disguise of reminders not to go against the family rules. No headmaster’s office trip equals no grounding.

Bridget glanced over to you in minor surprise. Her signature smile widened.

Keep things friendly. Neutral.

All was such for a moment.

An even more familiar presence stepped into your personal space to greet you with glowing eyes. “Are you here for the sweet treats?” Morgie asked with an open-mouthed grin. A teasing challenge.

You could feel the others’ gazes on you then.

“They’re always welcome to have one.” Bridget stated kindly, trying to keep the peace.

But you couldn’t resist an opportunity to play. If only just a little.

Turning directly to Morgie, you let your eyes shine with your own magic and inquired in a near whisper, “Is that why you’re right here?”

You both stood there a long moment. Two magic users staring intently. Locked in the start of a challenge.

Bridget giggled, “He’s blushing.”

Everyone’s focus landed on the boy in front of you.

You blinked.

Indeed, Morgie’s cheeks were flushed, and the glowing of his eyes faded with the self realization.

That’s new.

He tore his gaze from yours and pulled at his scarf, as if it was suddenly too tight.

Laughter erupted behind him as the villains took a look at their companion. They were no less bewildered than he was.

“Just warming up?” Hook smirked and threw his arm around Morgie.

The blush crept to Morgie’s neck and ears.

Again, you were struck with another layer of surprise.

What’s happening?

A dramatic groan escaped Uliana as she rolled her eyes.

In a manner of a few seconds, decorated desserts were snatched and the villains left as fast as they appeared.

Calm surrounded the three of you in the abrupt quiet.

“That was unexpected,” Ella voiced with a hint of disbelief.

“Agreed.” You watched as Morgie was lead away and out of sight.

“Especially you.” Bridget pivoted on the spot.

You threw your hands up defensively. “I wasn’t trying to start trouble. I promise.”

“Morgie was.” Ella crossed her arms.

Her friend smirked and added, “Not that kind of trouble.” Bridget glanced at you again.

“What are you getting at?” You asked, brows furrowing in the slightest.

“Maybe magic is in the air and Morgie…felt something.” A knowing smile followed her words, encouraging and sweet.

“Heh, uh, I don’t think — no. Not that.”

She nodded, pink curls bouncing.

“Then he must have bumped his head and forgot I’m the headmaster’s kid.”

“He’s bad news.” Ella stated simply.

“Morgie’s…” You couldn’t form the sentence. No words pulling negatively toward the boy could be uttered. Your shoulders dropped.

Oh, no. You thought as your stomach fluttered.

“I need to get to class.” Hastily, you raced out of the courtyard with a rush of conflicting emotions and thoughts.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading! Be sure to check out @where-dreamers-go

Also, if you'd like to read more Disney's Descendants, view my blog's pinned post: My Masterlist of Masterlists

Disney's Descendants Fanfiction Masterlist is coming soon!

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hunnysnoops · 10 months ago

Text

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Three: Contagious

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I picture you in a bad dream, coughing up your guts. It’s funnier in theory but I’ve pictured it too much. You’re saying what you had to say and staring at my mouth.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: What could make an unbearable field trip with an unbearable man any worse? Don’t worry, you’ll find out.

Warnings: crude language+humour / vomit / unconsciousness

MASTERLIST

You found it increasingly difficult to fight the urge to smash the bus window and drag yourself through broken glass just to hit the pavement with a sickening crack of bones. Easy to say you weren't thrilled about the field trip waiting for you.

The fish filet sandwich you had choked back at the rest stop was already disagreeing with you and you were sure it wouldn't be the only thing troubling you on this day. The driver hits a speed bump, hitting you extra hard in your seat at the back, you feel bile rising up your throat and slap a hand over your mouth. "You okay?" Wendy asks, her voice soft.

You nod, giving a thumbs up with your free hand. When the feeling dissipates, you dig into your backpack for your water and start to chug it until the lingering taste of bile alleviates entirely. "Next time please tell me not to eat gas station fish."

"I told you not to this time," Wendy tells you. The forty-minute bus ride was just about over, you would've been savouring the one-on-one time you got sitting next to Wendy if food poisoning wasn't setting in and sending ripples through your stomach.

"I can't be the only one who ate the fish filet," Arms crossed over your stomach to try and smother out the growing pain you swivel your head to look around the bus where everyone else seemed to be chatting happily or ignoring the world with their headphones in. The walls of the bus are panelled with aged, weathered metal, showcasing patches of chipped paint and faded colours that hint at its former glory. Scuffs and scratches tell stories of bustling school days and the trips long passed upon within these walls, an occasional doodle of graffiti where the faculty had turned a blind eye.

Wendy takes a glance around well, "No, I'm pretty sure you were," The back of the teal seat in front of you was littered with smiley burns from cigarette lighters that degenerate kids had soiled the leather with. "I think it's like the number one rule of gas stations not to eat fish there."

You groan and tilt your head up to look at the rusted ceiling, with each passing second regrets gather in your mind like a high school reunion. This biology trip had slipped from your head completely, it was meant for the class to gather independent research on the local ecosystem by sending teenagers into the woods and expecting them all to turn up at the time they were supposed to when they were done. You were anticipating a few pairs of kids to roll back up to the meeting point at least half an hour past the allotted time.

In your mind, there wasn't anything good about this trip. The information sheets Mr. Waterman had given you explained that you were meant to be using the buddy system with your lab partner, who happened to be Kyle, someone you were definitely not buddies with. You didn't even get to leave any other classes early, you left ten minutes after your last class began which was biology and you were going to be gone for two hours plus the ride there and back. All you needed to gather information on the local ecosystem was ten minutes and a cell phone instead you were missing soccer practice to poke around in the woods.

Kyle wasn't thrilled about this either. He was one of the handful of students who shoved his headphones in and turned the volume up so loud that he couldn't hear anything or anyone besides The Cure. He had unfortunately been stuck next to Cartman who was currently spouting slightly prejudiced remarks towards David that went unheard by Mr. Waterman at the front of the bus.

The bus came to an abrupt stop in a parking lot surrounded by forest. Before the doors even opened you had grabbed your backpack and run to the front, banging on the door to be let out. When you finally set foot into fresh air you were almost brought to your knees almost choking on the clean air. That was what was nice about South Park, the air wasn't dirty and stagnant like the city, it was ever-moving and ever-changing.

One more minute in that bus and you would've thrown up, the combination of, axe spray, perfume, body odour, and teenage angst almost fogged up the windows. The class piled out of the bus, adjusting their eyes to the bright sun that would fade in a few hours. You made note of the outhouse tucked into the corner of the lot, being sure that you would need it later to spill your guts before you get back on the bus.

Mr Waterman wastes no time in hopping off the bus and prepping himself to preach the criteria once again. With the signature clap of his hands, he begins "Okay, I know it's a very exciting day but let's try to hold it in for a moment," There was not one person in that crowd who was excited "I expect you to stay in your assigned groups and to return by four, that is in," He looks down at his watch "An hour and a half, so gather as much information as possible, make sure that you record it, I want to see field observations, species identification, sampling, each group gets one quadrat to use so be careful with it."

Your assigned group begins to awkwardly flock together, no one looks particularly happy. The group was made up of you, Kyle, Cartman, David, Cylde, and Tweek, any bright side may have been overshadowed by the fact that you could tolerate one and a half people in this group. David was usually chill while Clyde was 50/50, depending on the day he might make you want to charge for his throat with unbridled rage and open palms to wrap your fingers around his neck until his eyes roll back in his head.

"Okay, looks like everyone's getting their things in order," Mr Waterman said "Now, please don't stray too far off the trails, it should always be in sight. Remember, you will be back to working one-on-one with your lab partner tomorrow." He looks around for a signifier that his class is listening, the majority seemed spaced out or were divulged entirely in conversation. "Any questions?" Nobody said a word. "If any group cares to join me, I will be walking to the river!"

"So-uh, should we go to the river?" Cylde broke the sickening silence between the six of you.

"No," You snatched the quadrat out of his hands and began heading for one of the trails. The group trailed behind you, Cartman uttering complaints as expected.

"Junkie's leading us to her heroin den." He says, obnoxiously loud to Cylde. You almost wanted to swing around and hit him over the head with the grid in your hand.

"Do you even know what we're supposed to be doing?" It was like David read your mind and asked Cartman for you.

"Look at animals and shit, I'm not stupid."

"Had me fooled," You mutter under your breath and delve even further into the thicket. The ancient trunks were adorned with a tapestry of mosses, lichens, and ferns. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy of leaves above your head, illuminating patches of moss and casting dappled shadows to dance across the muddy forest floor.

"Where are we going?" Tweek speaks up, his right eye twitches and his fingers tap against one another. He's shaking as he walks. You wondered how he was able to function day to day with nothing more than caffeine in his veins.

"Into the woods, bro," Cylde walks up next to him, shoving his hands into his pockets. You had been praying that Cylde wouldn't be in your group but whatever gods rest above seem to hate you. He and Bebe had made it official which you had to hear through Nichole since you and Bebe still weren't on speaking terms after the night of the clamp.

This was the point where you tuned yourself out of the conversation to actually get some work done, it seemed like Kyle had been doing the same. With keen eyes and attentive ears, you observed the bustling activity of birds flitting among the branches, the scurrying of small mammals in the underbrush, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets in the distance.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, ignoring the low battery warning that seemed all too common in recent days and began to flood your camera roll with pictures of birds and little bugs you would find underneath rocks.

Only part of the group was doing something, that part being you, Kyle, Tweek, and David, while the other two buffered around you. Cartman wanted no part in any of the work while Cylde just seemed unsure of what to do so he would just touch things and make a vague comment about it. He crouched down, running his hand over a rock and then looking at his palm "Yeah, that-uh, seems pretty old, maybe like twelve years old."

"We aren't carbon dating rocks," David said as he added to the list of litter in his notebook to mark human impact in the forest.

"Oh, cool," Cylde nodded.

From what you could see, you had the only group on your current trail and the deeper into the forest you moved, the darker it got, trees growing denser and thicker overhead to block out sunlight. The shade was a nice relief, it made you feel a little less nauseous though sickness was still tearing at your insides. You were doing everything in your power to stay on track, figuring it better to focus heavily on the work aspect as opposed to paying attention to your gnarly stomach.

By the time you were out there for an hour, it felt like a decade in your mind, you couldn't stay trained on the research, instead, you passed the metal quadrant off to David and drank the rest of your water while clutching your stomach.

"So how does the square work?" Cylde peered thoughtfully over where David and Tweek were kneeling on the ground. The boys looked back up at him, David had tossed the gridded frame over a random patch of grass to take a survey of the plants.

"We learned about this last class," David answered, unamused.

"Interesting," Cylde rubs his jaw with his hand, furrowing his eyebrows like he's deep in thought.

"I feel like we should all pitch in equally if we're going to be working off the same data," Kyle glares at Cartman who leaned against a tree, playing Subway Surfers on his phone.

"I agree, diabetes boy, so get to work," He answers pausing his game for a moment to look up.

"You're one junior bacon cheeseburger away from diabetes yourself and all you've been doing is scrolling on your phone while everyone else does the work fatass," Kyle retorts, you had suspected he would come to a breaking point at some time today with Cartman.

"Uh, what about Junkie?" He draws the attention to you where you stand, taking slow and laboured breaths in and out, in an attempt to keep the fish filet sandwich inside of you. "I'm pretty sure she's overdosing."

"Can you stop calling her that?" Kyle asks, much to your surprise though you had your priority set on other things.

"Oh?" Cartman's eyebrows raise, that's how you can tell that you piqued his interest. Cartman turns his phone off and tucks it back into his pocket, crossing his arms and staring at Kyle "You're defending her now? Are you guys going to go home together to pop opiates and drown yourselves in a bathtub?"

"No," Kyles's nose wrinkles in distaste "It's just annoying."

"Oh, Jesus man! don't fight!" Tweek looks ready to rip his hair out, and David casts him a side-eye. It was moments like this where you think it would've been more rightful if Tweek was the one who had the nicknames on Junkie and Crash which you considered a cross you had to bear.

"We need to head back soon so can we *hic* please just finish this?" You chime in, voice breaking with hiccups as you speak. The sound of their simmering argument was grating in your head like someone had stuck a fork into a blender.

"Crash, get your nose out of the snow and get back to work unless your brain is too fried from the black tar."

You had taken a complete 180 from trying to leave with as little conflict as possible to be more riled up than Kyle. "Shut the fuck up, Cartman."

His eyes carry the oh-so-familiar hint of challenge that you were so used to seeing "What are you gonna do? Have a seizure on me?"

"No, I'll kick your fucking ass." You take a step towards him pushing back your sickness the best you could. Cartman wasn't the tallest nor was he very agile, you were sure that you could take him even if it might prove to be a bit strenuous.

"Woah," He inches back as you move forward "Back up a little there," Cartman laughs nervously, landing around at someone to intervene. Had it been someone else Kyle probably wouldn't gotten between you two, but having it be you and Cartman, the other four watched with imploring eyes.

Things might have played out differently if it weren't for the growling in your stomach, the dry heat, the lack of nicotine you were fiending over, and the past four years you had silently endured Cartman making fun of you for an exaggeration of your smoking issue. "Be quiet or I'm going to knock you upside your fucking head."

You stood a foot away from him, moments passed where he played out every scenario in his head until he finally settled on a response. "Okay, man, we're cool," He raised his hands up in surrender. Just seconds after you had turned your back you heard Cartman speak up "Don't want you to hulk out on me when you're on the Roids."

Out of raw instinct, you turn on your heels and bring your right fist to connect with Cartman's cheekbone. Everyone stares at you in utter shock. Cartman himself looked as if he could never have seen this coming like it was preposterous that he had pushed you to the point where you swung at him.

Tweeks eyes grow so wide you think they might pop out of his head "Ah! I can't take this!"

"What the fuck?" Cartman reaches his hand to touch the area where your knuckles had cracked against his face. "She actually fucking hit me," He looks around at the boys with wide shocked eyes until they land on you "You fucking bitch!"

"And I'll do it again you tiny dick licker." Your gaze is unwavering on Cartman though your wild thoughts are jumping around your head like they're freshly off Adderall.

"That's assault, I can sue you for that."

"Go ahead," you point to Kyle "His dad's a lawyer."

"Shit," Cartman mutters "A Jew lawyer."

"What does my dad have to do with this?"

"Everything," he says, a thought hits him "Kyle, I would kindly like you to ask your dad to represent me."

"No."

"Kyle, be cool," Cartman says.

"Shut up porky, don't tell him to be cool, he isn't a part of this."

"Hey! You’re a crackhead bitch with a drug addiction!" He speaks with so much haste that spit comes flying from his mouth like an alpaca.

"You're yelling? I can yell too!" The pair of you are being so loud that a handful of birds fly away from a tree overhead "You look like you snuck onto earth!" You weren't being attentive to the boy's reactions around you, your mind was stuck between bashing Cartman's teeth into a tree or running back to the parking lot and getting some Zyn off Marshall.

"Okay, that's it," Cartman says, he raises his fists and narrows his eyes "We're having it out right now."

"You just had it out," David is packing everything up, he looks beyond done with this as much as he liked watching Cartman get decked.

"Nuh-uh, she caught me off guard," Cartman shakes his head "Junkie is gonna rue this day, her white blood cells are gonna have to put in more work than on shoot-up Saturdays!"

"You're a lard ass piece of shit and that's why your dad died!"

Cylde sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and the group fell completely silent. The only sound was animals rustling around and the slight breeze cutting its way through the trees to shake their leaves. Even Kyle looked shocked, his eyebrows raised and green eyes wide.

"Okay, too far." Cartman drops his hands to his side.

"Yeah, man, you can't say that," Cylde says from behind Kyle.

You toss your hands up in exasperation, nothing left to say after you had bitched Cartman out and in doing so made it look like you're drifting off the rails. Sticking your middle finger out at Cartman, you turned around and began walking back down the trail, ignoring the flush of embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

You wanted desperately to act like that little spat hadn't made you feel like a spectacle that would catch through students' breaths the next day like folklore. Surely the event would be spun, twisted, and contorted into an exaggeration of the single punch that was thrown.

The boys walked behind you, keeping their distance. Though none of them were directly speaking to you, you were able to make a comment here and there. They weren't speaking about you but you could feel eyes digging down into you like they were prying your flesh open and examining your carcass for any more anomalies that they could tell their friends about later that night.

Over and over again, you looked down at your phone, staring at the time like doing so would make it move faster until your phone froze and died completely. Even when the screen was stuck pitch black, you pretended to scroll on it like you were busy.

Back in middle school, there were those kids whose faces would turn red with anger. They'd flip over desks and scream at the underpaid teachers until their throats itched like sandpaper rubbing on concrete; you remembered how everyone else regarded them after this. They kept their distance and didn't dare utter a word for fear they would be snapped like the teacher's red correction pen. You thought maybe this is how they felt, ashamed of their actions and holding back tears while they bite a quivering lip, facing the tears of humiliation from their brief moments of violence.

It didn't feel too bad but it didn't feel too good either.

Sure you tended to be more on the hot-heated side of things but you couldn't remember the last time you actually hit someone. It didn't matter that it was Cartman, it still made you want to jump into the shower and scrub your skin until it became irritated.

A growl rips through your stomach, loud enough for you to hear but not so much that the boys notice. It felt like your body was breaking up with you. Ripples of pain slice through your stomach and nausea crawls its way up to your throat.

You glance back to the boys behind you who chat amongst themselves, seemingly they've lost interest in you. You had no desire to heave your entire body weight out in front of them so you take a B-line and slip off the trail.

"Hey," Cylde calls after you, watching as you venture into the woods. "Guys she's leaving." He tells the others. You wanted to run back and punch him in the gut before jetting off to empty your guts onto the forest floor.

After the attention is drawn back to you, you pick up your pace "Fuck off, I'm sick," you call back to the group, now jogging to avoid what you had imagined to be more embarrassment than what you had already set for yourself. Surely you would never mentally recover after punching Cartman and then throwing up in front of five guys on a biology field trip. If you were going to spew, it would not be in front of him.

"Where are you going?" Kyle turns his body to watch you as you slink off deep into the forest, one hand covering your mouth while another clutches the fabric over your stomach. "Someone should go with her," he glances around the group for a voludnteer though everyone just looks at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

You don't respond, you just race further in the thicket until you're out of sight entirely but your feet don't stop, they keep carrying you.

He looks back to the trail and then to where you were before your figure disappeared behind trees, his mind races with thoughts of Mr. Waterman talking about the buddy system. "Fuck," He mutters to himself before abandoning the well-worn trail and chasing after you.

"Jew, why are you going after her? she's probably going to her meth stash!" Cartman called after Kyle to no response. "Oh my god, she's going to kill him for drug money."

"Go *hic* away!" You yell between gags. Out of anyone in that group, you weren't sure if Kyle was the best or worst to see you like this. As he gains on you, you speed up, trying to get him off your trail.

"Can you stop?" He calls after you as you maneuver your way between thick tree stumps, gliding smoothly over the imperfection embedded in the dirt. Kyle didn't want to fathom what would happen if something happened to you in the forest and his mother found out he was supposed to stick to your side. "C'mon, don't be stupid."

Kyle seemed relentless in catching up to you. Everywhere he turned his head, it looked the exact same like someone had copied and pasted an abundance of trees all around him. He wasn't the biggest wilderness guy, he had been in scouts as a boy but the most he usually delved into nature was the occasional weekend camping trip with his family which was a novelty itself.

The queasiness continued to chew at your insides, growing more intense by the minute. Unable to hold back any longer, you doubled over, you fell to your knees, one hand supporting you on a tree so you don't fall over, retching violently as your body expelled its contents. "Uh, do you want me to hold your hair?

"Ew, fuck off!" Kyle watched helplessly, fighting the urge to vomit himself as his face contorted. You notice his presence behind you, glancing back to be sure, you yell out between gags "Turn around!" Before more warm and chunky spittle spills out of your mouth.

"Okay," He raises his hands in defence before swiftly turning around, internally cringing at the sound of your heaving. Just when he thinks it's over you start back up again. He hadn't entirely believed you when you said you were sick, he rationalized that you just wanted to get away from the group.

He did his best to ignore the sound, instead, he focused on the moss clinging onto bark or the tweet of birds hanging onto branches and singing songs to one another. The way you could hardly see the sky with how dense the trees were, just beams of sunlight slipping through. Kyle swivelled his head and that was the moment he had no idea where you were, surely not too far from the trail.

"I'm done," You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Kyle turns around and sees you on your knees, eyes drowsy and face devoid of its usual colour. You swish saliva around in your mouth before spitting on the ground and wobbling up to your feet like a colt. Digging around in your bag you pull out a warm half-drunk Powerade, you were out of the water and would rather throw up again than ask Kyle for some of his. Now your mouth tasted like acid reflux and green apple electrolytes.

"You're going the wrong way," He says bluntly.

"Uh, no," You point past him "We ran from there to here so we just go back, dumbass." Figuring Kyle had followed you for some chivalrous reason that his mother instilled in his brain, you didn't feel like pressing it. Still, you tried to keep communication with him to a minimum.

"You threw up on the far side of the tree, we need to go that way," He points behind you.

You had figured he was right, you were too busy trying to get away from him that you weren't being too attentive to where your tired feet were rushing you too "Sure."

"Sure?" He furrows his eyebrows "What do you mean sure?"

"I mean sure."

"Yeah, but you said it like you were doubting me."

"I'm not," You shrug, beginning to walk in the direction he gestured towards.

"You just did it again," He says "I'm right," Kyle insinuates "I know where we're supposed to be going."

"Okay, cool, fine, sure, yeah, you're right," You turn around and toss your hands up "Were you also rendered paralyzed or can you walk instead of staring at me like you're brain dead?"

He sticks up his bony middle finger but follows you nonetheless. The two of you keep your distance, being sure to stay a metre apart minimum while you hunt for a way out of the thicket. Your eyes drift to Kyle who is trying to get service on his phone, he intended to text Cylde that you two might take a while though he was met with four flat bars and a red 'not delivered' beneath each message he sent.

You didn't bother, your phone was long dead and cold in your backpack, what you were more worried about was finding something to keep you calm before this inevitably escalated. After your gym teacher caught a glimpse of your Marbolos and gotten you an in school suspension, you decided it was best to leave cigarettes in your car and the bottom of your closet. With each passing second. you were wishing that you kept an emergency cigarette or two tucked safely into a ziplock baggie at the bottom of your backpack.

Gnarled branches reached skyward in a tangled embrace, blocking out the fading light of day as the sunlight was being swallowed up by grey clouds leaving everything to look dull. The undergrowth grew denser, forming a tangled maze of ferns, brambles, and fallen branches that blocked your path at every turn.

It had taken you seven minutes to come up with a consensus "We're lost,"

"No, we're not." He says, trudging forward "If we keep walking we'll find a trail or something, they're everywhere."

"It took two minutes till I got to the tree and I puked, we've been walking for ages."

"It hasn't even been ten minutes."

"Okay? You smell like pistachios and we're going the wrong way," You tell him, stopping abruptly under the shade of a tree. You say, taking another dreadful sip of the Powerade, trying not to wince at the penicillin taste that the stagnant drink left in your mouth.

"I don't smell like pistachios," He says blankly.

"How would you know?" You rest one hand on your hip, the other hanging at your side and clutching what was almost an empty bottle of electrolytes.

Kyle's expression morphs into a portrait of confusion, etched with furrowed brows and a perplexed frown, lips slightly ajar. His green eyes, usually clear and focused, now stared at you in disbelief, searching for some type of reasoning behind your question. "What do you mean 'How would I know'?" He asks "You think I've never eaten a fucking pistachio?"

You answer him with a shrug, face unreadable "I always thought they were too exotic for you."

"They're nuts." Kyle says "They don't have a smell."

"You know this because you've eaten nuts?"

"Yes." His voice is tinged with confusion.

"Then why would they make pistachio notes to put in perfume?"

"Because people are fucking idiots who just want to sell stuff."

"Do you eat a lot of nuts?"

"I guess?"

"I bet you do," you snigger.

Realization strikes Kyle and he runs a hand through his curly red locs to soothe his fast-growing frustration, "Wow, super mature joking about nuts."

"Don't talk about being mature when you just spent a minute of your life arguing with me about nuts." You point out "Do you maybe want to be mature and admit that we're lost?"

"We're not, we just need to go this way," Kyle turns and begins in a new direction completely. You glance around at the the long trunks, each looking the same as the next before you follow Kyle in tow.

The further you walked the heavier the sense of uncertainty began to hang over you. Your irrational thoughts began to creep up, maybe there was a knife-wielding maniac who would kill the pair of you for intruding in his forest.

You forge ahead, footsteps echoing softly against the forest floor as you navigate the labyrinth of twisting trails and hidden clearings. Kyle's eyes were narrowed, you could almost see the the gears turning in his head as he tried to retrace your steps or at least find a clearing out of the forest.

While he was hyper-focused on the task at hand, your mind was making up the worst possible scenarios, it forced you to bring a hand to your mouth and chew at your nails. When Kyle caught wind of this, he did a double-take, wrinkling his nose in distaste "When did you start biting your nails?"

"I'm not biting my nails, I'm sucking nicotine traces out of my fingertips," you answer before going back in, tenfold, almost mauling your hands, seeking the sweet release of dopamine that you had grown accustomed to.

"That's disgusting," Kyle turns his attention back ahead of him like he needs to stay alert "You do have an addiction, that's why Cartman gives you shit."

"You call it an addiction, I call it tradition, I rather smoke a cig than puff on a fucking light sabre handle," You thought of Marshall the night of the junior bonfire, how he had but three vapes in his mouth at one. Everyone was hyping him up but you couldn't shake the idea that he looked like he was blowing the sonic screwdriver.

"Still an addiction," He answers. The two of you fall silent until you go back to gnawing at your nails, "Okay, stop."

"Sorry, I'm fucking nervous that we're stranded out in the woods horror movie style and there's probably perverts roaming in here and waiting for me," You say, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"We're not Hanzel and Gretel, pretty sure we don't have to worry about getting kidnapped on a biology trip."

"Yeah well, you wouldn't have to worry about getting kidnapped, look at the state of you." Your eyes rake up and down his body, a slight scowl on your face as you do so, feigning disgust at his appearance.

A flush creeps its way up Kyle's face he quickly averts his gaze so you can't see the red of his cheeks "Not sure if you realize but you're not hot shit yourself."

"Yeah, okay," You mutter, dodging the fact that every talking stage you've had for the past year has failed immensely. To your credit it wasn't because you were a repulsive person, it was because nothing felt right with any of them and you knew it was best to quit while you were ahead. It was like eating something sweet when you've been craving something spicy.

The forest seemed to conspire against you, its dense foliage and winding paths leading you deeper into the heart of the forest or just chasing you unknowingly in circles.

In the eery stillness of the woods, you suddenly became hyper-aware of all of Kyle's actions, his breathing, footsteps, and sighs, like you could sense the frustration growing in him the further you walked and got nowhere.

"Okay, we're lost." He finally admits, his voice exasperated.

You disregard what he said "Why did you run after me?" You look at him, asking the question that had been nagging at you like a child prodding for candy "Like, that's super weird."

"Not really, it's the buddy system." He shrugs you off, going back to the initial topic "We need to focus on getting out of here."

"Buddy system?" You raise an eyebrow "That's the gayest shit I've ever witnessed."

"You were at the women's national rugby championship."

Knowing that he had got you in a corner you opt to change the topic once again "How are we supposed to focus on getting out of here?" You ask "It's not like a high-security vault, it's a forest, all we can do is walk unless you can call for the cavalry."

"I don't have service," He answers.

"Don't you have an SOS network for emergencies?"

"This is not an emergency," He tucks his phone back into his pocket, it was running low on battery as Kenny had borrowed his portable charger and never returned it "I'm not calling 911 unless one of us is dying or we're still out here by night."

"Then I guess we're walking or alternatively we can scream until someone finds us."

"Don't do that-

"Help!" You cup your hands around your mouth, shouting to no one in particular "Kyle's going insane, he's trying to kill me!"

"Oh my god," He pinches his nose bridge "Shut the hell up."

"If you have such an issue with me why don't you flap your big ass dumbo ears and fly away?"

"Fuck you," He retorts. There was the signature bite of his cheek, the telltale sign that you were beginning to creep under his skin.

"Fuck you," You counter, mimicking him before trudging ahead.

"You have some goddamn issues," He mutters under his breath, not caring whether you could hear him or not.

"Yeah, I do have a lot of issues like why are there always crumbs in my bed when I never eat in it?" Absentmindedly, you had raised your voice without even realizing you were doing so. It was a natural progression between you and Kyle, it was the next piece of the formula that always ended in a massive shit show.

Kyle tries to ignore this completely, shutting his mouth and clenching his fist so tightly that he is near breaking the soft skin of his palm. "Why does every conversation end with you screaming?"

"Because you're a fucking asshole." You shoot back, taking hasty steps to side away from him to further yourself even more. As childish as it was, you couldn't be mature around Kyle or in general. You surely annoyed yourself as much as you annoyed others.

"No, not just me, you scream at everyone," He says "Why did you have to lose it at Cartman?"

"No shot you're defending Cartman, did hear the shit he was saying?"

"Yeah, he's a dick but did you need to hit him?"

"He needs to learn somehow," You shrug. "I don't know why you're acting so high and mighty, you hit him."

"Yeah, in ninth grade."

"You're a dick."

"And you're an idiot who ate fish from a gas station and gave herself food poisoning, I heard you bitching to Wendy about it the entire bus ride," Kyle's brow furrowing deeply as a simmering frustration bubbled to the surface. His normally composed demeanour cracked, revealing the raw edges of his discontent that pulsed beneath the surface like molten lava.

"Okay well it looked good and I was hungry don't act like you didn't eat the stray burrito from 7/11 on that road trip in ninth grade, you threw up out the window of my dad's car and it was all down the side and really fucking gross and we had to pull over and clean the car with wet wipes and your clothes were in you parents car with our brothers so you had to wear my Greta Thunberg tee shirt until we got to Montana."

"That wasn't from the burrito, it was because we ran out of Gravol and you know I get car sick."

"Yeah and you know that I get hungry, who cares?" Your voice goes up an octave "Why are you acting like you had a gun to your head and you were forced to track me down?"

His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles working overtime to suppress the torrent of words poised on the tip of his tongue. Everything he wanted to say he swallowed back, never to leave his mouth. Kyle gritted his teeth in a silent display of defiance, you took this as a sign that the argument was coming to a close. "You're so annoying and you wonder why you're lonely."

"I'm not lonely," Your posture was rigid and tense, your voice lingering with desperation. You rather just tie the noose for yourself than admit that you care what he thinks about you.

"Okay." He says, short.

"I'm not," You insinuate trying to plead your hopeless case "There's a difference between being alone and being lonely, I'm happy being alone."

"You're definitely not happy."

"How?" You ask "How would you know that? We talk once a blue moon."

"You never go out, you smoke all the time, you ignore your friends, you hardly talk to your family, you hate every show you watch, you don't even like eating anymore because smoking is ruining your tastebuds-

"At least I have more friends than fingers on one fucking hand."

"At least my friends like me." His lips twitched with agitation.

"My friends like me," You counter his statement. Maybe you should have moved to Los Angeles, the city of liars and frauds, surely you would get along great with coked-up directors who thrive in delusion and believe everything they say is more profound than anything Socrates has ever written.

"From what Bebe was saying, it doesn't sound like it."

"Yeah? Well, Bebe's a fucking cunt," You missed her more than anything but she seemed absolutely fine without you. You kept coming across videos that you wanted to send her or funny things you wanted to tell her until reality popped back up and reminded you that she didn't like you anymore.

"You can't just call people who don't like you cunts,"

"Just did, cunt." You snark "Why do you have a fucking file on me?"

"Weston tells me, I guess you're the family bummer now," He shrugs.

"How?" You have an ajar smile on your face, and wide eyes, trying not to show that something inside of you had, bent, cracked, and then broken entirely "I'm only seventeen." You found it hard to believe that you were the blue in your family tree while you had at least three alcoholic uncles, one of them living off welfare.

"When's the last time you've sat down to eat dinner with the family?"

"What?"

"Your brother told me you always skip dinner with them to eat by yourself," Kyle says. You weren't aware that Weston had been reporting your shortcomings to the ginger

"That's not really your business."

"Kinda is." He moves a tree branch out of the way of his lanky frame "Your parents are worried, they think you're on drugs."

Apparently, he knew more about your family than you did, not that this had particularly surprised you, it just made you feel guilty like an outsider looking in. Though guilt was no purifier, it didn't make your lack of self any less unsettling.

"Okay, I get it, I know I'm shitty but you're no prize either," You say, abruptly. "Let's discuss the global political and economic situation." You mock him, speaking in a deeper voice to mimic the ginger "And the fucking cyber security issues, you're a buzzkill man, no matter where you are or who you're with."

"Those are actually important things," The vein in his forehead was prominent, almost cartoonishly protruding "You have eighty viruses on your laptop from pirating Sims 4 mods. Data brokers are stealing your information, you know that, right?"

"I don't give a shit if they steal my data, there's nothing worthwhile there, it's just pictures of pigeons," You cross your arms as you walk "See, just now, how you shat on me for playing the Sims?"

A deep sigh escaped his lips, a sigh tinged with exasperation as he struggled to compose himself in the face of mounting aggravation. "I'm not shitting on you for playing the Sims, I'm pointing out how you're committing a crime, downloading something without paying for it is a crime, you're a criminal."

"Boo, you're a buzzkill."

"Better than being in denial," He answers. "There's no way that you're a seventeen-year-old chain smoker and you're genuinely happy," Kyle had brought the conversation full circle, pulling back to you.

"Have you walked around this fucking town? There's no one here who's happy either." Whatever you were feeling, it felt shitty like every inch of your bones were covered with dirt and mildew that could never be cleaned.

Your statement had truth beneath it, everyone in South Park carried themselves with a bit of sadness as if they had grown past the stages of ignorance. Though you were unhappy, you were far from the only one and nothing if not desolate.

"Thanks for being a douche, this has been a lot of fun but could you kindly get off my dick now?" You say, jaw tensing as you ignore the aching behind your eyelids.

"I'm not on your-" Kyle's speaking abruptly ceased, his face contorting in discomfort as he clutched his stomach and stopped in his tracks. You stopped as well, watching his face that moments ago was full of irritation morphing into something like fear.

"Uh, you okay?" Your voice was dripping with concern, observing him as he took laboured breaths, a sense of unease washed over you. Your heart raced with alarm as you recognized the telltale signs of a hypoglycemic episode, mind racing through the steps you had been taught to help Kyle in situations like these.

Kyle's response was barely a whisper, his words slurred and disjointed as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. His complexion was pale, a stark contrast to the tan he had been developing with summer oncoming, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He leaned against a tree trying to secure his footing before he dazily dropped to the ground, his back depending on the tree to keep him sitting up.

Instinctively, you looked around for someone to help, of course, you were left in an unnerving silence. "It's okay, we're cool, you're fine," You mutter, more comfort to yourself as you shed your backpack and move to kneel next to Kyle.

Moving with haste you yank his bag off, harsher than preferred. "Don't die, asshole," You urged softly, your voice shaking in the slightest. You reached into his bag, retrieved a small pouch containing glucose tablets, and quickly administered them to Kyle, urging him to chew slowly and swallow.

As the glucose tablets took effect, you could've sworn Kyle's colour began to return, the pallor fading from his cheeks as his blood sugar levels stabilized. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as the immediate threat passed.

Just as you began to breathe a sigh of relief, Kyle's eyes fluttered closed, his body going limp in your arms as he slumped against you. Panic surged through your veins like a tidal wave as you realized that he had lost consciousness. The brief moment of ease was axed in the head and replaced with an even more dire situation.

You snatch his canvas backpack once again, rummaging around for it, after four seconds of not finding what you need you dump the contents onto the ground. Your fingers fumbled with nervous energy as you retrieved an emergency glucagon injection, praying that it would be enough to bring Kyle back from the brink.

In your seventeen years of enmity, you had seen Kyle go through a good bit of complications due to his diabetes though there had always been one of your parents around to help and on a once-off occasion during a middle school assembly, Stan was on the case. You had never had his life in your hands, you made the decision between his life and comatose.

Your mom and dad had sat you down on several occasions to teach you explicitly what to do, you hadn't quite realized the significance until his unconscious body was flaccid over your lap. The hatred you had for him was momentarily pushed aside until he was okay enough to yell at you again.

With trembling hands, you lifted his shirt to expose the raw flesh of his abs. Taking a steadying breath you administered the injection, plunging the needle into Kyle's stomach. You watched with bated breath as the medication took effect, you knew it wouldn't be instant though part of you expected him to shoot back up the second the needle stuck into his skin.

No idea what you are supposed to do next you reach deep into the pocket of his jeans and pull out his phone. The screen was black and unmoving, just as yours was. You toss the phone to your side, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to press back the overwhelming feeling that fought to spill.

Taking a deep breath and wiping away any remnants of stress that were thrashing to consume you entirely, you move two fingers beneath his jawline to check for a pulse. You had been thinking back to your first aid class from tenth grade PE, what your grouchy teacher had tried to ingrain in your head.

His chest held an unsteady rise and fall and for split seconds between rational thoughts snuck in the idea that this might be it for him. Gingerly, you turn him onto his side, propping his right knee forward so he won't roll onto his stomach.

With care, you had resituated him into the recovery position that Mrs. Jackson had drilled into memory the year prior. You pushed yourself off the ground, pacing back and forth, hands tucked into your armpits, hugging yourself.

You flinched at the slightest sound, eyes quickly shifting to the source just for it to be a bird or the rustle of branches. "Kyle, if you die, that's going to fuck up both of our families for a really long time and I'll probably have to go to therapy which is so boring," You speak to his unconscious body like he's going to respond.

"You're seriously such a fucking loser if you die right now, so not cool," Part of you wanted to sprint away for help but you knew you likely wouldn't find a way out before Kyle regained consciousness and you didn't want to risk losing him entirely.

Your voice was shaking, your lip trembling and each breath coming out wobbly like you were about to faint yourself. That uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach for the second time that day "Dude, you might be ruining my life right now."

Of course, he was unresponsive and the only thing offering you any form of solace was the sound of his breathing, ever so faintly heard through the whispering between trees. With each passing second that he didn't wake up you grew more nervous, leaning on a tree, eyes narrowing in on his limp body for any movement.

If he did survive, he desperately needed to update his glucose monitor. You didn't like him, but that didn't mean you wanted him to die, you just never wanted to hear from him again. You bit your lip until you tasted blood, a desperate attempt to stifle the scream building in your throat, trapped behind a dam of unspoken words and unshed tears. You refused to cry over Kyle, especially when he was alive and breathing. "I think I hate you," You mutter so quietly that it almost gets blown away by the wind.

Kyle stirred, gagging with his mouth closed, eyelids still heavy. "Oh my fucking god," You drop your hands to your side in relief and bound towards him, crouching down to his level. His eyelids fluttered open, still, Kyle's body convulsed with gags as his hands clamoured for the trunk of the tree and your bicep harshly to pull him back up.

Eventually, with choked and shallow breath Kyle lurched forward and wretched, partially onto the ground, partially onto you. Bits of the greenish bile splash onto your clothing. Quickly you scrambled away, fighting the urge to upheave again as you look at the contents spilled onto your clothes.

Instead of coughing up your guts, you scrunch up your nose and hand him the black water bottle that had been dumped onto the ground with the rest of his belongings. At least the two of you were even now.

Repose washed over you when his sharp shallow breaths turned deep and steady. He rinsed his mouth out with water, eyes studying you where you were backing to sifting through his pile of belongings, while his chest rose and fell with every breath of air. His hands were trembling to the point that water almost splashed from the mouth of his bottle with how much he was rocking it.

There hadn't been much vomit on you though you still avoided breathing in through your nose to avoid the putrid smell. Wordlessly you move to grab his hand which he quickly retracts "What are you doing?"

"What do you think? You fucking idiot," You say, lancet pen in hand with a fresh needle inserted to prick his finger "You just threw up on me so don't be a bitch and give me your hand."

With a slight flush to his face, he held his hand out which you took. His fingers were cold to the touch, you took his ring finger and rubbed it between your thumb and index to warm it up and get some blood flow going. The both of you didn't look at one another, just where the skin of your hands connected as you massaged his finger with a hyper-focus.

When the skin of his ring finger was no longer cold against yours you quickly swabbed it down with a rubbing alcohol towelette that had been tucked into the emergency kit Sheila had sewn for Kyle, the fabric had strawberries with smiley faces on it.

Your eyes shifted for a brief moment to the silver medical emergency bracelet on his wrist that you gripped to steady his hand before you stuck the needle of the lancet into his finger. He flinched just the slightest. Kyle was used to using the glucometer on himself, he stopped having his mother do it completely when he reached sixth grade, there were a few times when Kenny and Stan did it out of pure curiosity but at this moment he had been shaking too much and didn't have much to stable himself on aside from trees and the grubby forest floor.

After applying gentle pressure you removed the lancer, inserted a new test strip into the glucometer and held it to the dribble of blood pooled on the pad of his finger like cherry juice. Watching the crimson soak into the test strip, you place it in his hand and rise to your feet.

Instead of watching his blood sugar level on the glucometer, Kyle was watching you riffle through your backpack and pull out what looked to be a change of clothes. He couldn't think of a time where you had ever been that gentle with him, even if you called him a bitch.

You glance back at him, gaze hardening when you see him staring directly at you. "Turn around, gay-ass, I need to change into my gym strip."

Without saying anything, Kyle awkwardly shifts the body to face the other direction. He keeps his gaze focused downwards on the glucometer watching it settle at the number 81. He was in the clear for now.

"Hey, so-uh, are you okay enough to earth it?" You ask as you peel your layers of clothing off, compulsively gagging at the sour smell, you can't help it.

"Earth it?" He furrows his eyebrows, still staring at his blood sugar level like he is analyzing it "What the hell does that mean?"

"I dunno," you say, continuing to strip down until you're left in nothing but undergarments, trying not to shudder with each gust of wind. "Just earth it, like Coyote Peterson, y'know? Be a man and rub some dirt in it."

"Are trying to ask me if I can walk?" Absent-mindedly his free hand reached for the sore spot in his abdomen where he assumed you had put the empty injection needle that now landed discarded next to its container.

"Yeah."

"Then just ask that."

"Woah what's with all this attitude after I saved your life," You shimmy into a pair of biker shorts that were intended for the soccer practice you had to miss that day.

Begrudgingly Kyle said, "Thank you." Though it was so quiet he wasn't even sure you would hear it. His head was pounding, it felt like someone was inside of his skull and beating it with a sledgehammer. “And, yeah, I can walk, just give me a minute.”

You were a little taken aback that he actually thanked you. You were just being a dick when you brought up rescuing him from comatose, in your head this was just something that the two of you would never bring up again. Without knowing what to say, you pretend that you didn't hear him and instead reach for a clean shirt.

"What are you doing?!" A voice cut through the growing silence. Immediately both you and Kyle look to see Mr. Waterman standing with Wendy. Mr. Waterman had turned around and covered his eyes the moment he saw you shirtless while Wendy's gaze shot between you and Kyle wildly. "Put some clothes on right now!"

At the very least it was nice to know someone had been looking for you.

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #stan marsh #eric cartman #kenny mccormick #bebe stevens #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle broflovski angst #kyle brovlofski #sp kyle #south park kyle #kyle broflovski fluff #clyde donovan #tweek tweak #wendy testaburger

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ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

Note

if the 1k game is still open, I’d like to throw in my two cents!

Ghost (or Ghoap) with Forest and Only (allotted amount of time) to escape before (bad thing happens)

I’m sure there’s plenty of ways to go with that!~ please take your time and remember to drink water today!!!!!

~🦋

1k game here - no more please!

i will drink water just for you babe. also i did ghoap x reader & forest & trying to escape, but ended up not including an allotted amount of time, hope that's alright!

1.5k of ghost watching soap and reader run from him during a zombie apolocypse. except the apolocypse is really more of a background thing and i just throw in mentions of zombies. no smut! (cw for a very brief mention of cannibalism, a sprained then broken ankle, kidnapping, and very light puppyplay at the end)

"You fucking idiot, Johnny," you hiss. "You're gonna get us killed!"

"Me?" He snarls, whirling around to glare at you, hackles raised. "You're fuckin' shoutin' like you want the bastard to find us!"

"Shhh! Could you be any louder?!"

"You goddamned feartie, I hope he kills you first!"

"What the fuck did you just call me?!"

Ghost just barely manages to bite back a laugh at your offended tone, the way you're nearly spitting at Johnny, even at nearly a foot shorter than him. It's like watching a kitten try and fight a dog - cute, but you know the dog could crush the kitten if things went a little too far.

But Simon doesn't mind watching you hiss and spit at Johnny, certainly doesn't see a need to step in any time soon.

He hadn't expected to find much more than a few corpses when the motion sensor around his property triggered an alarm in his base. He figured it was probably a few zombies, easy enough to deal with.

But then he spotted the two of you - a big Scotsman and his far smaller girl, bickering playfully and totally unaware of him in the shadows.

Originally he'd planned to kill the two of you. He's got enough food stored to make it through the winter, so he wouldn't have to bother with freezing your bodies for later. It would be almost comically easy to kill you, take a couple shots from far enough away that you'd never see them coming, drag your bodies off his property, and forget all about you.

But then Johnny - who's name he only knows because you use it frequently - had spotted him. And wasn't that interesting? It's been a long time since someone managed to spot Ghost while he was trailing them.

He'd noticed Johnny's injury soon after that. The two of you had taken off running - he's not sure why, but apparently you haven't had the best experience with strangers - and Johnny had limped beside you, his right ankle clearly giving him trouble.

That was near sunrise. Now, there's an hour or two before the sunsets.

Simon would like to have the two of you in his base before night falls. No point in risking losing one of you to a zombie, not when you're already vulnerable.

He's been herding the two of you in the right direction since about noon. The two of you had picked the right direction to run, almost making it fully out of Ghost's territory before he started redirecting you. It was easy to land a few shots in the dirt in front of you, send the pair of you scrambling in another direction.

You're closer to his base than either of you realize. Ghost's muscles twitch at the realization, the thought of having the two of you locked up fueling his adrenaline.

He already knows you'll both put up a good fight. He can't wait to see which one of you gives in first. He thinks it might be Johnny, can already picture the man being good after seeing how Ghost might treat you.

He tunes back into your argument as the land becomes more familiar, unable to resist smirking as he sees the path that Johnny's about to walk.

"I told you we should've been more on the lookout for other people."

"Don't even start! Ye know as well as me that the bastard came out of nowhere, don't act like we woulda seen him anyway."

"Well, now we'll never know."

"Exactly! So why're you still naggin' me about it?"

"Oh, really, I'm nagging? Really, Johnny?"

"Yes! What, you think saying it twice makes it less true?"

"Oh, fuck you, honestly, I don't even know why I bother helping you."

Johnny laughs, loud and very obviously fake. "You're helpin' me? Oh, now you've really lost it, lass. I've been dragging dead weight since this whole thing started! You know, I'm getting awful tired of-"

Johnny's just a few steps away, make that final little stretch as he talks, and Ghost holds his breath, waits....

Bam. Before he can finish his complaint, he's yanked into the air. His bad ankle is wrapped up tight in rope, a trap tugging that leg into the air and leaving his torso resting on the ground.

He grunts loudly, though not as loudly as Ghost had expected with his injury.

"Holy shit!" You nearly shout, rushing to Johnny's side and abandoning your argument. "Fuck, are you alright?"

The Scot makes a half-wheezed sound of affirmation, eyes squeezed shut.

"Fuck, alright, don't move. I'll get you out, alright?"

Before you can figure out how to make that happen, Simon steps out of the treeline. You catch sight of him immediately, eyes going wide as you clearly fight the urge to run and abandon your partner. You just barely manage to stop yourself, shifting into what looks like it's meant to be a defensive possession.

Ghost tilts his head, smirks behind the mask. "Where do you think you're goin'?"

Johnny's face is twisted in pain, leaving you to respond. "We don't mean any harm, alright? Just... just let me get him down, and we'll go."

Simon slings his rifle off his back, holds it casually in his arms. The way your hands twitch, the panic streaking across Johnny's expression... fuck, it gets him hard.

"Why would I let you do that?"

There's a little furrow between your brows, and Johnny starts to really squirm in is bindings.

"We won't tell anyone about you," you try, inching around Johnny's prone form. "Promise. You let us go, you'll never have to see us again."

That, Simon thinks, is the problem.

He hauls his gun up, takes quick aim, and shoots the rope tying Johnny up before either of you can properly panic. You both still scream when the branch falls, clattering to the ground on top of Johnny.

You're quick to help him up, your argument apparently entirely forgotten as you let him lean most of his body weight on your shoulders.

Ghost slings the gun back over his shoulder, pulling a length of rope out of his pocket. "Both of you, on your knees. Hands behind your heads, eyes closed."

"Oy." Johnny tries to move in front of you, but his now mangled ankle has to be kept completely off the ground for him to even stay standing. "You can't... we'll go, like she said. Promise, mate."

"Knees."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed neither of you put up even a bit of fight. But he doesn't complain as he watches you fall to the ground first, letting Johnny use you to help himself.

"Good," Simon hums when you both settle, forms stiff but in the correct position. "Either one of you even twitches, I'll break your legs and leave you for the zombies."

You both shudder at that, and Ghost feels his cock throb in his jeans. He adjusts himself, then steps forward with the rope.

He's quick, not giving either of you time to properly react. You both get a matching loop of rough rope tied around your necks, just tight enough that the skin is already rubbed a bit raw, just from the initial tie.

"Don't move," Simon growls when Johnny jerks away, gripping the man's wrists and tugging them in front of him. "You want to die out here? Watch your little girlfriend get eaten alive?"

He flushes, teeth gritted in what's probably a mix of rage and pain. Sweat drips down his face, streaking through the filth. "She's not my girl."

"Johnny," you hiss, shifting restlessly on your knees. "Seriously?"

"What? Yer not."

"Is that really what you want to be focusing on right now?"

"Oh, would ye rather talk about the goddamn collar and leashes the bastard's given us?"

Ghost gives said leash a rough tug for that, finishing off the loops around Johnny's wrist and moving in front of you. "The bastard's right here."

You sit still, eyes still closed and limbs loose as you let him move your arms around. Johnny's the one who starts squirming, scowl deepening. "Really? Couldnae tell."

"Lotta sass from a man wearing a leash." Ghost yanks it again, nearly sending Johnny sprawling to the ground. He just manages to catch himself on his bound hands, and Simon finishes off yours.

He steps back, holding the length of rope stretching from your necks in one hand. He tugs solidly, smirks when you both stand as quickly as you can. "Up, now. Time to go home."

He doesn't spare either of you a glance, turning around and starting the rest of the journey home. He shows a bit of kindness, keep his pace slow since he can hear the way Johnny's breathing grows more ragged, hear his limp against the dead leaves.

Neither of you tug or try to run away, and Ghost can't help but smile at the obedience. He mentally crosses leash training off his to-do list. He had been looking forward to that one, but he's sure there'll be plenty of other interesting experiences with the two of you.

He's never trained two pets at once. He can't wait to see how it goes.

#i've written this same thing in slightly different ways a million times. and i will write it again #1k celebration #ghoap x reader #bo writes #serial killer ghoap x reader #btw - he takes you home then chains you both up outside and says something like “this is where dogs stay” :/#dont worry youre perfectly safe (he has a high fence keeping zombie out) but he likes to hear how scared you get when you're out there all #you're both quite well behaved when he lets you in for dinner the next night <3 #he only has to scold you once when you both complain about being made to eat while kneeling on the floor next to him #🦋 anon #zombie apocalypse ghoap x reader

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youjustwaitsunshine · 10 months ago

Text

Seb helmets: the long awaited sequel

Mugello 2020:

Not on Seb's website, but still on ferraris instagram, Seb had this helmet to celebrate Ferraris 1000th gp. (in the same week, he announced his move to aston martin)

Turkish GP 2021

a beautiful sea creature design to remind us to save our oceans. i personally really love the turtles

Singapore GP 2022

gorgeous neon rainbow on super light absorbent black design. now it can be said with finality (as of yet): jens munser and sebastian vettel never missed when it was about helmets in singapore. i have a keychain of this helmet so I'm especially fond of it.

British GP 2022

ngl i cried a bit just from pulling those pictures up again. he is so loved. i love how even though we know barely anything about sebs family, this helmet shows so much personality from his kids and hanna. this is the most gorgeous helmet of them all. however, shoutout to the subtle nigel mansell design hed have driven with if his family hadn't made a secret birthday helmet for him.

Abu Dhabi 2022

I'm so so proud to be a fan of a driver who loves his fans. The few times I've met Seb, he's always taken his time - often more than allotted - to greet as many people as he could, pose for pictures sign things etc. He feels very genuine in showing his appreciation for his fans and so I think this helmet is a beautiful monument to the love people have for him. He is deeply beloved and in turn, he loves his fans and has shown this from his retirement message that was so much more personal than a press release, over the time between the announcement to his last race and beyond. This helmet is a testament to the way we love Seb and the way he loves us back.

USGP 2022

Peace and Love baby! this gorgeous woodstock inspired piece is incredibly gaudy and glittery and very unapologetically so. i love it deeply but opinions were very split on it

Japan 2022

a very cleverly done thank you to helmet provider arai. who doesn't love opening packages? especially one as beautiful as this one! it's a bit sad to not have the little ninja mascot on the helmet for sebs last f1 race in japan, however, with his 2022 helmet designs being so beautiful and elevated, he outgrew it a bit. important side note about japan 2022 here is sebs battle to the line with fernando alonso.

Hungary 2021

Let us remember this GP for the joy it brought and not the desperation that followed. Seb came, saw and served cunt in his rainbow sneakers, rainbow shirt, rainbow mask and rainbow helmet. He drove to the podium and nothing bad or terrible happened after.

Brazil 2022

the intertwined bars of the german and then, further up, the climate change flag (and the brazilian one on top) are reminiscent of the 2018 german gp helmet!

Austria 2022

The iconic bee helmet! I actually have a few pics of this one from the Austrian GP that i took myself. Even though that GP specifically sucked so hard it made Seb sway towards retiring, the helmet is beautiful and iconic.

Honourable Mentions:

- Miami 2022: the snorkel helmet! first GP underwater, also premiering sebs GIGANTICALLY OVERSIZED climate change t shirt also found in his shoo

- Canada 2022: Canadas Climate Crimes/ stop mining tar sands. this one made a politician on twitter sooooo angry. it lost her rant a bit of credibility that she directly profited from the tar sand mining.

- LGBTQ+ CLEAN OUR OCEANS (Abu Dhabi 2021): the world's to do list. i mostly have to laugh at the unlucky placement of the lgbtq+ and the clean our oceans phrase. why are the cishets exempt from cleaning our oceans? questionable.

- Race4Women: Saudi Arabia 2021. a return of the beautiful day-glow paint.

almost all of sebs helmets are either on the sebsite or deep in jens munsers archives (difficult but not impossible to find)

Seb helmet masterpost

#sebastian vettel #ive seen a few of these helmets irl at the essen motorshow and i honestly just stood there in awe #helmets like this are such an underrated art form

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radioactivepeasant · 6 months ago

Text

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Trespasser, In Which Jak Gets Another Bad Idea

When he'd hastily redressed and stumbled out of the garrison locker room before anything else could happen, Jak quickly found himself confronted by that Strom guy again.

"An hour? Really?" Strom pursed his lips disapprovingly. "You think we have some magic supply of water to spare?"

"Lay off, we weren't washing for an hour -- much as I'd love to," Daxter argued, "The big guy fell asleep!"

"In the shower? Isn't that dangerous?"

Jak shrugged. "How would I know?"

Strom decided after a moment that this fell under the category of "none of my business". He sighed and waved for Jak to follow him.

"The king says we're to put you up in the barracks for now." He eyed Jak's face, somewhat startled by how much younger he looked under the dirt. "How old are you?"

Jak shrugged. "Midway through seventeen-ish. I think. My "guardian" wasn't exactly a reliable source."

More things to file under "none of my business"

"Oh...kay..." Strom did his best to move past one or two odd questions surfacing in his mind. "Well that narrows down which dorm you're in, at least."

"How so?"

They stepped back out into the late afternoon heat, onto the main road through the Gate District. The burning sun barely touched Jak, deflected by his wet clothes as if he were wearing his own air conditioning. He decided to pretend it had been intentional. Just in case someone asked why his clothes were all wet.

They were led towards the end of a row of houses built into the city wall, leading to an impressibly high flight of stairs into some kind of coliseum. Strom did his best to explain as he led them up the stairs, but he wasn't usually the guy they called for rookie orientation for a reason.

"It's um. So- okay look. The Arena sublevels are divided into three floors: the hospital, the armory, and the barracks. Barracks are split between militia, citizen candidates, and teenage Squads."

He didn't explain Squads.

"You're going to end up in that last one -- probably Dorm 4, that's where they put orphans or unregistered foundlings."

"Orphans?!" Daxter chirped indignantly. Then he paused. "I mean. I guess it's accurate, but you didn't have to say it!"

They didn't end up in Dorm 4.

The Resident Advisor took one look at the slightly dusty, slightly soggy, boy and ottsel and assigned them to an empty bunk in the second hall, Dorm 2. Jak was handed a canteen and a folded set of sheets before being unceremoniously ushered down the hall and into a sparse dorm room holding two bunk beds. For the moment, it was empty.

"Lights are out at 9 bells, no exceptions unless you got a case of the screaming meemies," the RA said gruffly. He pointed at a bottom bunk without sheets -- Jak's, apparently.

"You're responsible for keeping that bunk at least clean enough to pass weekly room checks. Check the schedule on the wall if you want to know when mess hall is open. If you miss that, you can hit the markets, but you're on your own for paying for it."

Jak eyed the bunk uncomfortably. He was responsible for maintaining this bed? He probably wasn't even going to be here that long! He cringed when the RA pushed a twelve by six metal box across the floor with a terrible scratching sound.

"That's your footlocker. If you want a lock, get it yourself. You kids keep losin' em and now we're out." The RA snorted. "But most of the squad in your room is on home rotation this week, so you only have to worry about maybe Sam stealing your stuff. He won't, by the way. Too busy training."

He turned to go, then turned back quickly. "Oh. Gotta confiscate your gun mods, so don't lose your marbles when you get your gun back plain."

"The rot you do!" Jak protested, "I earned those!"

"Don't care." The RA shrugged. "None of your dormmates have and I don't want 'em getting ideas about "borrowing" em."

With a stern warning not to start any fights, and to not miss allotted mealtimes if he didn't want to go hungry, the RA keft Jak alone with Daxter. They stood in the center of the room, blinking incredulously.

"Well..." Jak said after several seconds, "It's not a cell."

"Or an alley," Daxter agreed.

He hopped down and examined the mattress. Nothing fancy, but it was miles better than they were used to.

"Here, gimme the fitted sheet."

"What's a fitted sheet?"

"The one with the stretchy corners." Daxter pointed. "That's the one that goes on the bottom. Wraps around so it don't get pulled off if you roll around a lot."

"...oh. Weird."

Jak handed the thing to Daxter and watched in fascination as his friend set about attaching one corner at a time. It looked difficult.

Before he could offer help, his talk-box activated. That was a bit of a surprise. They'd been traveling for two days already and nobody had made a peep. Daxter had thought they'd have noticed the first time he turned off the location tracker!

"Jak! Jak, where are you?!"

Samos. Jak's stomach churned.

"Don't know," he answered flippantly. "I think we just got put in an orphanage."

"Don't be ridiculous! Get out of whatever nonsense you two knuckleheads have walked into and get back to Main Town! Something is going on, and I need time to investigate without those blasted Deathbots shooting at me!"

"Life's hard."

"What did you just say?"

Jak scoffed, feeling a little of the bubbling anger of dark eco in his core.

"You can't handle a little gunfire? You didn't have an issue making a couple kids walk into it daily. You'll figure it out."

"How can you say something so horrible to me?! I raised you to be a hero, Jak! You sound like that mercenary!"

Jak snorted."Well good. Sig's the only adult in that city I still trust."

Samos sputtered for several seconds in helpless, bewildered anger. Then he gathered himself.

"Get over yourself, Jak! Lives are at stake! I don't care what you're playing at, you turn around and get back here before something worse happens!"

Jak rolled his eyes. The sage sounded like Ashelin. He tossed Daxter the top sheet and studied the foot locker, wondering if he should use it.

"Nah, can't."

"What do you mean "can't?"

Jak shrugged as if Samos could see him. As if Daxter hadn't placed a piece of tape over the lens when he got tired of the spying.

"Oracle says I'm not done out here. Wherever "here" is. Lay off, wouldja? The Precursors sent me out here!"

He listened to Samos's stunned silence a moment before dryly asking, "Did you think they only spoke to Onin, or-?"

"But-" the old sage stammered, "But why would the Precursors send you from us when our need was greatest?"

"Probably because yours isn't the only city in the world? There are other people out there, Haven can get over itself," Jak flung the sage's words right back at him.

"What makes you think there's anything beyond the walls other than ruined wastes?"

"Those eco shipments for Praxis were coming from somewhere," Jak reasoned. Then his voice darkened to match his mood.

"There's no law that says I can't investigate. Sandover may have turned into Haven, but that doesn't mean I'm chained to it. You people already tried that, remember?"

"Jak!"

"I think the Precursors want me to find out who else survived," Jak said, though he wasn't sure that was it at all.

"I'll let you know if I find any sages."

"But Jak-!"

"Have to go, Samos. That hall monitor guy didn't say comm calls weren't allowed in the dorms but I need this thing, so I'm not taking chances."

He ended the call before Samos could make more than an outraged cough. When he looked down, Daxter was watching him with a funny expression.

"What?" he asked, a bit defensively.

"Nothin," Daxter said, unconvincingly. Then he gave a bittersweet grin. "Just never heard you stand up to Loghead like that before."

Jak looked away. "Should've been fighting him from day one. Like you. You knew he was bad news from the start, didn't you?"

Daxter rubbed his arm ruefully. "I um. I don't got a lot of memories of my folks. I was pretty little when the shark got em. But I remember my old man saying "Never trust a man who won't apologize to a kid", and then Samos came through dragging you. An'...an' you cried that whole first day, kept pointing to the sky and making a circle with your arms. And Samos ignored you."

Jak swallowed hard. "I don't remember that," he said softly. "Or much of Sandover at all now."

He sat down on the floor next to Daxter. The thanks he'd given Samos just weeks ago sat sour in his stomach. The real person he should've thanked had been right there beside him and he'd overlooked him just like Samos always did.

"Daxter?" he said gravely, "Thank you. For everything. All of it. I wouldn't be here without you."

Daxter leaned against his shoulder. "Well duh," he joked, trying to lighten a somber moment, "Heroes don't leave their sidekicks with weirdos! It goes against the bro code!"

Then he sobered.

"For the record, I don't blame ya for not knowing he had his hooks in ya. He um. I mean, you were real little, y'know? I think you maybe stuck with him at first because he was the only familiar face, and he used that against ya."

Jak laughed bitterly. "I wonder if I'd have had the guts to say all that if he was actually here?"

Daxter recognized the beginning of a spiral and elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Well he ain't! And we're not gonna will that into existence with what-ifs!"

He scurried up onto the bunk and spread out in the middle of the mattress.

"Ahhhh! Hey, are you gonna know which morph gun is ours when we get the key to that gun locker?"

Jak pushed him to one side and, after a moment's debate, unlaced his boots.

"The stock on mine looks striped because of all the tally marks on it. The others are completely blank."

"Oh! Didn't see that!"

Reluctantly, Jak took off his goggles and gauntlets and dropped them into the foot locker. At least if it didn't have a lock, he could get them back out at a moment's notice. His knife and amulet he kept on him.

The Call hadn't subsided. He still felt it, and he still didn't know what it meant. So for now, that seemed to mean staying in this hostel/barrack/orphanage combination with more Wastelanders than he'd ever known existed. At least they were Wastelanders and not soldiers. He would've slept on the streets before letting them put him in a dorm with soldiers.

The wall schedule said that the cafeteria didn't open until 6 bells after noon. That left roughly an hour before they could find out if they were allowed to take anything from it.

For a time, Jak occupied himself by polishing his channeling ring with his damp scarf. Daxter tried and failed to braid Jak's hair, but the condition it was in was just too poor.

"Pal," Daxter said reluctantly, "I don't think these mats are comin' out."

Jak sighed in resignation. He'd wanted to avoid this -- the only haircut he could remember had been a traumatic buzzcut because a KG accidentally spread bugs through the cell block -- and got himself a spot in the cell two doors down from Jak when the bugs spread to Errol. (Who was absolutely hideous with a buzz cut, and was in utter anguish about his "beautiful hair". Couldn't have happened to a nicer person. It had been the absolute highlight of Jak's entire year.)

Jak took his knife, sheath and all, from the back of his belt and held it out to Daxter.

"Do what you gotta do," he groaned, "Just don't cut it all off."

The roommate who wasn't on "home rotation", whatever that was, came back midway through the haircut. In his state of exhaustion, he didn't actually see Daxter.

"Your...hair is falling off," he mumbled in confusion.

"It's on purpose," Jak said.

"Oh."

Sam leaned against the door to pry off his boots, then blinked.

"Wait, what?"

"He's getting a haircut, doofus!" Daxter sniped.

"Ohhhhkay, the kangarat is talking." Sam dropped his boot and stared with very wide eyes. "Cooooolll coolcoolcool everything's cool."

"Ottsel, not rat," Jak corrected. "Daxter is sensitive about that."

"...uh-huh..."

Sam swung a gear bag up over the top of the top bunk bed post. With little effort, he swung himself up the ladder after it. Apparently he shared the bunk Jak had been assigned.

"Are you new? I don't remember you," he yawned.

"First day here," Jak admitted, "still dunno what's going on."

Silence for a few seconds. Then, "So...does that mean you came from Outside?"

"I guess? Don't know how I got here from Haven, but I'm not complaining."

"Oh."

Sudden Sam was leaning over the rail of the bunk, spiky blonde hair falling in his face.

"No kidding? Me too! I mean, I ran away from Kras, but. Stowed away on a cargo ship and got caught at the docks."

Kras. The name was familiar. Something to do with racing, but Jak hadn't been paying attention.

"So you planning on the Arena too?" asked Sam.

"I still don't know what the Arena is," Jak said pointedly. "Is it for races?"

"See, that's what I thought at first!" Sam exclaimed, "But apparently the only races they do in there are Leapers. It's kinda a community place? Big meetings, festivals, executions, games, theater, combat trials-"

"Festivals?" Jak was mildly intrigued.

"Executions?!" Daxter was not.

"Yeah man. Though to be fair, there's so many ways to die normally outside the walls that it takes a lot to get the death sentence around here. You have to do something really bad for Lord Damas to kill you himself. Like "engaged in the slave trade" or "abused a kid" or "betrayed the city to enemies" kind of bad. Stuff that dishonors a warrior's name for life. Otherwise he gives you a chance for pardon in combat trials."

Jak squinted up at their temporary roommate. "How...does that work, exactly?"

Sam rolled back onto his mattress with a noncommittal sound.

"Depends on whatcha did I think. Smaller offenses you gotta fight a metalhead. Bigger offenses get you more than one metalhead. If it's bad but not death sentence bad, you fight other Wastelanders who already know how you fight."

"Remind me not to get on these guys' bad sides," Daxter stage-whispered.

"So then why would I enter the Arena if I didn't do anything wrong?" Jak pushed.

"Oh yeah, that's the other thing. Civvy candidates who want to be permanent residents gotta prove they can survive the three main dangers of the Wasteland: enemy shooters, treacherous terrain, and lava. So the king makes us do combat trials simulating those conditions until he's satisfied that we won't like. Immediately die if he lets us outside."

Jak considered this for a moment.

"Fair enough," he decided.

"No??? It's not??" Daxter finished slicing off the last mat and gave Jak an appalled look. "Precisely none of that is normal!"

Jak swept the clumps of hair onto the floor and leaned back to let Daxter continue braiding what was left.

"So...you prove you can handle yourself, and they let you stay?"

Sam reappeared over the rail. "Well, you also gotta prove you're willing to work. They don't like lazy people out here, everybody does at least one thing that keeps Spargus operational, even if it's just sweeping the sand out of the stables -- which is about all they let me do on account of last time-"

"What happened last time?" Daxter asked as he finished tying off three fishbone-braids.

They could almost hear the wince.

"I...kind of...failed so hard at wall patching that I dropped an entire bucket of wet clay on a district representative. He got a concussion. It was bad."

There was a chagrined silence, but then Sam rallied. "So yeah, I'm not allowed near construction equipment anymore and I can't switch chores yet. All kids get maximum one job a day, but you get to pick what you do once you either turn nineteen, or get through the third trial."

Wheels were beginning to turn in Jak’s mind. He'd never given much thought to the future, but what if he just. Didn't go back to Haven? What if the crisis ended and he didn't go back? Might be nice to have a place like this on standby.

"So that what the grouch-in-chief said you're training for?" Daxter asked.

"Yep! Already got my first amulet and gun mod!" Sam said cheerfully. "First full trial hurts like a son-of-a-cob, but at least Scatter rounds are non-lethal."

"No they're not?" Jak sputtered.

"Yes they are?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "Scatterguns are what they give kids and civvy candidates because it's not live ammo?"

"No," Jak argued, "You can definitely kill with Scatter rounds. It just takes like six shots."

Sam stared at him with wide eyes.

"What the rot, dude," he whispered.

"What?!"

"You're telling me you've killed people with a practice gun?!"

"Well- well Haven doesn't know they're practice guns!" Jak defended.

"Okay..." Sam grimaced. "Well. Don't do that in your first trial. Only way anyone is supposed to be able to die is if they try to prioritize hunting an opponent over avoiding lava."

"None of this is making me want to try this Arena thing!" Daxter complained.

"What's the second trial?" Jak ignored Daxter's complaints.

Sam looked a little unsure suddenly. "Yellow eco trial. That's um. That's going to be my first combat to the death. And not many candidates signed up for this month's trial so it's just me and three others against a Marauder crew they captured."

"Marauders?"

"Colonists from the mainland," Sam explained. "They're wannabe Wastelanders and I'm pretty sure they're all insane because they run around out there with no shirts, ever. They also run most of the slave trade between Haven and their colony."

Jak's eyes darkened.

"They're slavers?"

"Yep." Sam shuddered. "I've seen some of the survivors brought back when the Wastelanders raid their camps or when Marauder defectors start a riot. They've been through it. And like half the Arena Guard are survivors of the Marauders, so the ring isn't where you wanna end up if you're a blood merchant."

"It's not the guards they should worry about," Jak muttered darkly. Before Sam could ask what he meant, he looked up. "So if you get through three trials, then what?"

"Full rights as a citizen, same as if you were born here."

There was a glint in Jak’s eyes that only Daxter could see, and it Concerned him.

"Ja-aak, nooo-" Daxter groaned, but he knew it was useless.

"I'll go in with you, when they do the trial," Jak offered. "World could always use one less slaver."

"For real?" Sam raised his brows. "You've only been here a day, dude. You need to do some training before you're ready for that."

"Haven's an active warzone," Jak retorted, "and I got forced onto the frontlines for a year. I'll be fine."

"I mean. If you're sure," Sam relented, "I wouldn't mind the company."

"I would," Daxter grumbled under his breath. "I have some objections!"

So, it turned out, did Damas.

#Trespasser Jak au #Trespasser au #fic prompts #writing prompts #free day Friday #long post #jak and daxter #dadmas #king damas #Jak and Daxter and the adventures of dorm life #samos hagai #every time i worry that I'm character bashing Samos i re-watch the games and nope he's in-character #yeah Jak is NOT supposed to be anywhere near that Arena because he hasn't even been cleared by a medic yet #Damas had a very amusing reaction when he saw that gremlin in the ring #he is heard to constantly mutter over the next few months 'I'm either gonna kill him or take him as an apprentice'#he keeps warning Jak that if he pulls too many death-defying stunts in public he's going to end up with a legal guardian as a consequence #jak thought he was bluffing. he was not bluffing.

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