#and no matter what you like i hope we can agree that cross tagging is annoying :3

[sleepyicon]

hi, crosstagging shippers! why add the tag to ur post if ur purely saying negative stuff about the ship? do you not realize the ship tag is for ppl that enjoy the ship and that the anti tag is for ppl who don’t? do you not realize your post is still likely to get traction without crosstagging?

just stay out of the tag if you don’t like the ship it’s literally so easy.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

B

"Hold him close to your chest, or he'll jump out of your arms. Here—like this."

Blue gently cradles the rabbit, then carefully tucks him into Ari's arms, guiding his hands to scoop under Grim's fluffy rear. She can't help but find it amusing that the boy who had taken her riding on such a large animal yesterday looks so wary holding a harmless bunny. A giggle bubbles up, and she bites her lip to keep it in.

"He's so... squirmy."

Blue keeps her hand on Grim, reassuring both the rabbit and him. "He's just ready for his breakfast. Want to help me feed him?"

"Sure."

Blue leads Ari to the hutch where the other rabbits are. She explains her morning routine, showing him how to supply the rabbits with enough grass, leaves, and berries to keep them healthy and plump. Not long ago, she was explaining this to Twix—the very person she forgot to say good morning to in a rush to find Ari outside. This time around, she wonders if Ari is genuinely interested or just being polite. She finds herself stealing glances at his face, studying his expressions perhaps longer than she should. His almond-shaped eyes and dark pink lips catch her attention.

He's cute.

It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind since these strangers appeared. Cute like the men in her magazines, though he's not quite a man. Not in the way Ghost is. But he's taller than her by a head and two years older, evident in the notch on his throat and the deeper timbre of his voice.

But it doesn't matter. They are only here for a few days.

Blue closes the hutch and rocks on the soles of her boots. "Well, that was probably boring, huh? We could, um, go hunting if you want. Or to the pond. It's fun to swim there. Or maybe—" She pauses, mentally sifting through the limited activities available, frustration creeping in as none of them seem particularly impressive.

"This wasn't boring. Now I know rabbits are just as friendly as horses." He smiles.

"They are... except when Grim gets mad. Then he can be a bit of a jerk. Like if you accidentally step on his tail."

"I'd be pretty pissed if someone stepped on my tail, too."

"You don't have a tail."

"It's just a joke."

"Oh..." she fidgets with a strand of hair. "Right."

"The pond sounds good. It is fucking hot." Ari blows out a breath and swipes at the back of his neck.

"I know. So hot. Hot as balls."

Ari raises an amused brow. "Yeah, uh, hot as balls. Are you allowed to go by yourself, or do we need to ask your dad?"

"I get to do what I want," she lies easily with a shrug. "Buuuuut, we can ask Twix to go with us."

As long as Twix is with her, she suspects she can get away with not asking Ghost, who luckily is hunting with his old captain. It's not that he seems distrusting with these people as he did those first few months with Twix. Rather—she isn't thrilled about him knowing every little thing she does. She's never had anything just to herself. 

Twix is sitting on the porch, looking rather deep in thought as she skins a squirrel. Her hair is long, curtaining her face. When Blue asks if she wants to go to the pond, she agrees easily, claiming she has been meaning to cut her hair anyway with the encroaching warmth of summer. Nereida joins, too. 

Even early, the air is sticky, and the pond is cool and inviting. Ari rips his shirt off and jumps in without even a second to waste. Blue usually swims in her underwear and shirt, but she hesitates with her thumb in the belt loops of her jeans. She didn't consider that he would see her in her underwear. 

A soft touch to her shoulder. It's Twix. "Want me to grab you shorts real quick?"

"Um... yes. Yes please."

She changes into the shorts behind a tree. There is an odd pit in her stomach when she gets in the water. She doesn't quite know what it is, but it's similar to how she feels when she's scared sometimes. Ghost always tells her fear is a useless thing. It doesn't keep you alive. So she ignores it, shoves it down deep, and swims over to Ari with a purposeful splash that even wets Twix, who sits at the edge sharpening her knife.

"Damn. That's gonna cost you."

A splash is given in return, and then they are playing. High noon bounces shimmering light off the water as she tries to keep up with him, but at one point he sneaks up on her and she ends up with a mouthful. Nereida spends her time picking at some bunches of rosemary and Twix cuts her hair. But Blue doesn't notice any of that too much. When the water stills and they pause to catch their breath, Ari climbs onto a rock and shakes out his wet hair. She is quick to find a perch beside him. Absentmindedly, she pinches the bottom of her wet shirt to keep it from sticking to her chest.

"Woah. What happened here?"

Ari leans over to tap her thigh. 

"Oh—" she looks down at the thick scar, "I got shot there."

"Shit. You've been shot before?"

She nods and he moves his hand. "That's your battle scar."

"Battle scar?"

He smiles, eyes gleaming. "It's nice to have some place to swim so close by. Back at our old camp, there was lake but it was a few miles away, so my mom rarely let me go."

"I'm sorry, you know. About your mom. Mine is dead, too."

He half-smiles. "Thanks. I don't think about it too much anymore. My uncle and I have always been close so it helped to have him there." He nudges her shoulder. "You're damn lucky to have such a cool dad, huh?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, that guy is a beast. My uncle says they called him Ghost because no one could ever see him coming before suddenly, they were dead." 

"Oh, yeah, he is super cool," she quickly agrees. "He has taught me a lot."

"Shit, really?"

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she shrugs to feign indifference. "I know how to throw knives pretty well."

"I gotta see that." His smirk etches a light dimple into his cheek. Then, his eyes flash behind her. "So what's up with his girlfriend?"

"Huh?" A divot forms between her brows before she follows his gaze, landing on Twix, whose hair is now just past her shoulders. She is wetting it, running her fingers through the newly cut strands. "Oh—Twix. That is not his girlfriend. She is my friend."

"You mean they don't sleep together?"

"Like in the same bed?"

"That's usually where people fuck, yeah."

He seems ready to laugh. She frowns, head tilting as confusion hums in her chest. "You mean like sex?"

He nods. "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I know all about it."

"You know they're probably doing it, right?"

"Ghost and Twix? No—no," she forces a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I catch him staring at her all weird. But I don't think—I mean, they hardly like each other and she is my friend, really, not his. He used to make me stay away from her, even. But I mean, they do spend a lot of time together now. It's usually to practice fighting and defense. Not to have...sex."

"Don't they share a room?"

"Just right now, because you guys are here."

Ari chuckles. "You really think they aren't fucking in there? She's really pretty. There's no way they aren't."

Blue looks back at Twix. Blue's fingers curl into the soaked fabric of her top. Her eyes flick back to him. "She would've told me if they were."

"If you say so."

T

Your thumb throbs in rhythm with the steady pump of Kyle's arms. Despite pressing it into your palm to dull the pain, the ache persists. You had nicked it while sawing off your hair, and now the taste of blood lingers in your mouth. You were still lapping at the painful pulse when the three men arrived to the pond, carrying a neon orange inflatable raft. They want to test it out on the water before embarking on the 35-kilometer journey across the channel. 

It is the third day of their presence and you can honestly say you've grown more comfortable, given that Kyle has gone hunting with you a few times now. He is easy to talk to, along with Nereida. Price—however—doesn't seem intrigued by you, or maybe you are insignificant in comparison to the rest that is on his mind. That's fair. You don't all need to be friends.

They've been spending most of their time gathering food. Ghost has been helping Price hunt deer to skin and dry into jerky they can take with them. Nereida showed you a patch of wild strawberries she found yesterday, boiling them down into jams before canning them. By having food with them, they will save time from having to hunt along the way. In perfect conditions, it would be a straight path, and they could make it to the Swiss mountains within a month or two. But it won't be a straight path, and obstacles are bound to hinder them.

Kyle audibly growls and straightens, wiping at his percolated brow. "This chamber just isn't inflating."

"It must have a hole somewhere. Check the seams," Price says.

Ghost flips the half-filled raft over with ease, running his fingers along the PVC. "Here." He taps what must be a minuscule puncture because you can't see it from where you sit. 

They patch it up with the little adhesive they have. The unease is noticeable as Kyle keeps pumping in air; they only have enough to cover a few holes, if they come across more. Finally, the six-person raft is full and they toss it onto the pond. Just the sight gets you thinking of all the variables they have to think of on the open water: the weather, currents, temperature. You had a friend in high school who swam across it once. She didn't get even halfway but having to pulled out, vomiting, and near-hypothermia. Open seawater is different than a pool. Unpredictable and quick to change.

"It seems sturdy." Nereida winds an arm around her husband's waist, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Don't worry about it."

"As long as it stays sturdy."

"It will," she assures him.

The cut has crusted over by the time evening settles and you have to will yourself not to pick at it. You find yourself alone with the horse, watching the sun set behind the trees, as everyone else eats. 

"You probably don't like being tied up here, huh? You'd rather be running around." The coarse mane engrosses your fingers. Cherry bobs her head and a wet muzzle brushes your elbow. It tickles and you smile softly. "I wonder what will happen to you once they leave," you whisper. "Horses can't fit in a raft, huh?"

"No, they can't."

A hand presses into her neck beside yours, the person's arm extending over your shoulder. You crane your neck at Kyle but his eyes are on the animal, thoughtful, brows lowered. You wet your lips and step to the side to bring more space between your bodies. 

"Not hungry either?" you ask.

Finally he looks at you, lips quirked at the side. "Nah. I had a big lunch." He stops petting her and crosses his arms, chin tilting. "Ever ridden a horse before?"

"Once or twice. As a kid."

His eyes almost lean dark green in the cast of orange light, but it must be a mere illusion. "Care to go for a ride?"

His eyebrow rises expectantly. You glance back at the cabin and then at Cherry. "Why not?"

He instructs you how to get on. You grip the knob of the saddle and flex your core, hoisting yourself with more strength than you've had to use in a few days. Kyle sits behind you and grips the reins after untying her. The last time you were on a horse was for a friend's birthday party; you trekked through a ranch on a white pony. Cherry is much taller than that one was, or maybe you're not fond of being so high up. You thread your fingers through her mane.

It is a silent ride at first as you try to ignore the sting on your butt, unused to firm leather seat. He must notice your discomfort because he tells you to relax and lean back. You do, until your spine brushes against his chest. It helps a little.

Cherry trots calmly through the trees, towards the circle of stumps that marks the east. 

"Do you think she will be able to take care of herself?" you break the quiet. 

"I'm sure she will be fine. Smart girl, huh, Cherry?"

The sun has disappeared but it isn't quite dark yet. "Are you scared?"

A breathy chuckle emits from behind you. He must realize what you are referring to—scared for the journey. "Yeah, always. I mean—I'm scared about Ari. He's the last family I got, and as old as he thinks he is, he's still young and naive. I still have to make choices for him."

"I was terrified of losing Joseph," you admit, and swallow. "He was so young and fragile. It felt like...like trying to keep an egg from cracking when your hands are made of stone. But at least I never had to take him to another country."

"That was your nephew? Joseph?"

You nod. 

"Tell me about him."

You rack your brain. "Well, he was seven. And he..." You smile to yourself. "He was the pickiest eater in the world, even when we were all starving. I could not get him to eat meat unless I practically burned it. And he liked to look at bugs. I did, too, when I was young. I used to dig up worms when it rained to show him." He hums a gentle laugh behind you. You find yourself lost in the thought of it for a second. "Sometimes I...I think about how once I die, there will be no one left to remember those little things about him. Then, he will be completely gone, you know?"

You don't know why you're telling him this. You shake your head. "Sorry."

"Don't be. We gotta talk about shit like that or else we'll go crazy."

"I'm pretty sure I'm already crazy."

"Probably." A deer passes to the left and Cherry startles, but he is quick to soothe her with a flick of the reins and a stern—easy. She settles. "Are you scared?" he asks after a moment.

"Of what?"

"Of traveling so far."

"Well, I don't know if Ghost..." you trail off, absorbing the tone of his voice. You stiffen. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I mean how we're all leaving in a month."

"Wait—stop." You grip his hand over the rein with more force than necessary, urging him to bring Cherry to a halt. You twist your spine and gape at him. "What are you talking about?"

He eyes you with a frown, and rubs his neck. "Shit. I thought he already told you."

"No, he didn't. Tell me," you demand.

He clears his throat. "He, uh, agreed to come this morning, but only if we take another month to prepare and shit. Get his daughter ready, sort things out."

You try not tremble in anger as his words sink in, clenching your hands as your breath picks up. "Take me back," you breathe out, brain racing. "I want to go back now."

The ride back is silent. You feel shaken. Your nail digs deep into the nick on your thumb unthinkingly until there is a smear of blood over your fingers. The others are getting ready for bed when the two of you return, moon bright. You bite your tongue until Ghost leaves to his room, then you follow him, closing the door as gently as you can behind you.

He is halfway through peeling off his socks and stuffing them in his boots when you approach. "What happened to being a man of your word?" 

He looks up, resting his palms on his parted knees, looking far too relaxed for your liking. 

When he doesn't respond, you add, "You were supposed to tell me. You said you fucking would."

Your voice is low but harsh.

He stands, a calm understanding washing through his eyes. "I was about to tell you."

You throw up your arms but try to stay quiet. "Bullshit. You're just saying that now. You've had all day to tell me."

"I was waiting for the right time."

"You think I can't handle it," you accuse, an ugly snarl on your face. "That I don't deserve to be apart of these conversations even after everything I have done for you, and for her. I saved her life! You get pissed at me for not telling you about stupid things, meanwhile you don't communicate something so important like we are leaving with them in a month to fucking Switzerland. Does Blue know? Or do you keep your own blood in the dark, too?"

He growls quietly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your gaze to his. His touch is firm but far from bruising. "I am not lying to you. I wanted to have a conversation right now, where it could just be us. And no—I haven't told her. How I explain this to my child is not your concern." There is a command in his voice that forces you to calm down some, but your breath is still warm through your nose. He moves his hand to gently thumb a strand of shortened hair off your forehead, staring at it for a second, before gripping your chin again. "There is nothing I think you cannot handle. Now, who told you about this?"

Blotches of red crawl over your cheeks. "It doesn't...it doesn't matter."

He is visibly unsatisfied. He taps his thumb against your chin. "Tell me."

"It was...Kyle," you concede in an exhale. "He assumed I already knew."

His eyes darken. "It wasn't his place to assume."

"He didn't mean to." You reach up to pry his hand off, and he relents, leaving your jaw feeling sore. You rub it. "Why a month?" You try to change the topic.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and looks away, jaw flexing. "She needs time. I want to prepare her for all possible outcomes. I still don't think she is ready, but that doesn't matter. There won't be another opportunity like this in the future. I have to make her ready." He sits down on the edge of the bed and sits his elbows on his thighs, collecting his thoughts before adding, "And the weather is a big factor. Just because we have means to get across the water doesn't mean it will happen safely. The current is most predictable in July and August. We will wait until then."

You mentally sort through everything he is saying, willing yourself not to linger on the fact that you are beyond scared. Scared to leave the place you have finally felt safe in. Scared to clearly be the odd one out again. A tag-along. Everyone else in this group has a loved one looking out for them. You have yourself. You don't know if you have Ghost, really—not when Blue is the one he loves. His allegiance can only go so far.

"Okay," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "A month, then. What about shelter? The nights will be our most vulnerable."

"We'll look for the safest places for the night. There'd be seven of us, so plenty of eyes to keep watch."

"And what if we run into a horde?"

"Well, we have plenty of ammo now for that." He flicks his eyes up to yours. "Thanks to you."

You nibble your cheek, palming your chest as if to calm your heart. 

"A month," he reminds you. "We will account for everything."

"Okay," you say again. There is a tinge of embarrassment over your outburst, but he doesn't seem fazed, as if you hadn't just barged in the room yelling at him. "Okay."

A click of his tongue. "Any more questions?"

"Not...not for now, I guess."

A few silent beats pass. The tension has left the room, leaving you with a wave of fatigue. Ghost must notice because he rises, gesturing to the bed. "Go on, then." 

The bed is yours again. Too exhausted to question it, you slip under the quilt, curling into a fetal position by the slanted ceiling. It's best to enjoy the warmth before you're back on the move. A week journeying through the woods was the worst you'd ever endured, barely surviving. Now, it'll be months, or however long it takes to reach the goddamn Swiss mountains.

The light flicks off. There is a groan in the mattress and heady warmth spills over you. Your eyes fly open. "What are you doing?"

"Getting some sleep."

You turn around to see him lying beside you, flat on his back, with his arms crossed behind his head. "Together?"

"Clearly neither of us fancies the floor."

You flush, feeling his firm thigh brush against yours. "Just... keep to your side."

"I'll be a gentleman, if you're worried."

"I'm not," you mumble. "How do you even sleep in that thing, by the way?"

"Like a baby."

"Don't you think it's weird that Kyle has seen you without it and I haven't?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Twix."

"And mental sanity doesn't suit you, Simon."

"Don't recall giving you permission to use that name."

"What, only your old captain gets to use it? How close were the two of you, exactly?"

Teasing him feels better than you're willing to admit.

He grunts. A pillow is thrashed against the side of your face. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," you bite into the pillow.

Your instinct is to flinch closer to the edge, though it is difficult given the small size of the bed and the unnatural size of him. Your knees float off the mattress. Still, his sprawled-out position leaves points of connection. Your back, his elbow. Your feet, his calf. Small touches that do a surprisingly good job at soothing the mess in your brain.

You awake. Warm and rested.

Safe.

Morning light streams in, turning the backs of your eyelids red. Your face nudges forward until your nose brushes against fabric—a shirt. Awareness settles in slowly. Your toes stretch and brush against another set of toes. You realize you’re curled close against someone.

He’s still on his back, his right arm draped across your waist, fingertips resting on your exposed hip. Your breath hitches, and you do your best not to flinch. Your face is nuzzled into his chest, close enough to discern ribs from muscle. His steady breathing and gentle rumbles indicate he’s still asleep. You’re ready to peel yourself away when you notice your leg is on top of his, practically trapping him.

Fuck.

You stay still, devising a plan to extricate yourself without him noticing the position you're in. Then, in one swift motion, you leap up, removing all contact, and breathe hard as if ripped from a nightmare.

His eyes open and he swears. "Jesus. What was that?"

"Just a dream," you lie. "Sorry for waking you."

You jump out of the bed and practically run out before he can say anything; before he can realize how odd it'd be for you to have a dream when you haven't had one since... since staying in his room.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and grip the counter, knuckles whitening in the attempt to erode the feel of his warmth that seems to linger. A lump is forced down your throat as you lean back against the wall and close your eyes for a moment. When they reopen, you look down and lift your shirt, only to find the indent of strong fingertips brandishing your plush hip. Jesus. Your stomach knots and unknots. 

"You didn't like that," you whisper to yourself. You brush your thumb over the marks, gently at first, then palming them hard as if to erase them. You drop your shirt and look at the mirror. "You did not like that."

Before someone can stumble upon you talking to yourself, you comb your fingers through tousled strands and slip out. It seems most others are awake. How could you and Ghost have slept so long? Usually, the two of you are up with the sun. 

"Hey. Morning," you greet when you spot Blue on the porch, belly down, as she plays checkers with Kyle's nephew. She glances over her shoulder. Something in her bright eyes seems...off, but you can't put your finger on it.

"Hi. Is Ghost up yet?"

"Hm? Oh, uh—not sure. I didn't check, really."

"Okay." She looks back at the game and says nothing else. You feel as though she saw right through you. Or maybe that boy has told her everything. Surely he knows about Ghost's plans? Kyle had to have told him. Maybe that is why Blue seems upset, but like he said, it isn't your place to say anything. 

You are itching for a hunt. 

It feels urgent, for some reason. Like you want to get out of here before Ghost can be up, too. You find Kyle and he suggests that the two of you take Cherry so you can get go further south where he claims there is a meadow to look for deer. It is difficult to ride with him behind you and a bow on your back, so he wears it for you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head.

"Awfully quiet this morning. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I talked to him," is what you give. "Last night."

"Ah. How'd that go?"

"It was fine. I mean, I am getting used to the idea."

"That's good. It'll be worth it, you know. Once we get there. Finally get to have a semblance of a normal life."

A normal life. You almost snort at the thought. 

The morning grows longer, and not even the haircut can save you from the sweat that gathers. You make it to the meadow after an hour of horseback that leaves your thighs bristling. He helps you down and ties Cherry to a tree. You wade through tall, bright grasses that sway in the humid breeze. It looks vaguely familiar, stirring something in your gut that has your boots frozen for a moment. 

Kyle looks back at you, noticing that you've stopped following. "Good?"

"I just—I think I've been here once before. When I was on my own. I came this way." Your eyes scan the surrounding trees, where the meadow feeds into the forest, and an a gnarly oak with distinctive branches catches your eye. "I definitely have been here. I slept in that tree."

You push into the meadow, shaking off the memory. Staying close to Kyle, you listen as he lightly shares memories from the military, careful not to startle any potential deer. He talks about his time in Afghanistan, mentioning that his brother was also there, but at a different base. Kyle didn't even know his brother had died until weeks later because he was out in the field.

"After Afghanistan is when I met Ghost the first time."

"Oh?"

He nods. "He was my lieutenant when I went to Russia. I was scared shitless of him at first. I mean, he had a bit of a reputation and I was only 22."

"He was good at what he did," you say.

"More than that. People said he was up to some shit outside of what he did, but that was just rumors."

You think you spot a streak of gold through the grass, but it is just a stalk of wild wheat. You look back at him. "What do you mean?"

"May have heard a thing or two about him killing a guy off-duty. Of course, unconfirmed, otherwise he wouldn't have been enlisted again."

He killed someone? Like actual murder? You're about to ask more, your mind flashing back to your face pressed against him an hour earlier. Then you spot a deer. Kyle sees it too and motions for you to stay quiet. Your boots are nearly silent as you draw an arrow, squinting to see clearer. There are three deer: an adult female and two fawns. You draw the string and aim for the adult, the easier target.

"I'll get the doe," you whisper.

"Gotcha."

The beady black eyes turn your way, and you hesitate for a moment. There's movement, a flash of grey, and the doe snaps her eyes in another direction. What is she looking at? Your brows furrow, arrow following her gaze, when the answer appears: a Grey launching toward the deer. The three deer run off, and you release the arrow, aiming for the Grey's head instead.

"Motherfucker. Ruined the kill," Kyle mutters.

You weave toward the corpse, surprised to see such a fast one alone, indicating a new infection. The stench is pungent, enveloping you in a thick cloud. You shudder. The Grey writhes, your arrow lodged in its neck instead of its brain. You draw another arrow and aim when a hand suddenly grips your shoulder.

"Twix," Kyle breathes in your ear.

"What?" 

You look away from the Grey and follow Kyle's gaze, your eyes widening in horror as you realize the terrible smell isn't from this single creature. It's hundreds. A dark, grey mist that unfurls through the trees. A growing chorus of agony as their tattered bodies collide—some limping, others hurtling forward in a grotesque dance, but all converging on the meadow.

[wandascosmic]

hii! could you write one with kinda emo aou wanda, with i hate everyone but you vibes, dating reader who’s more popular than wanda? just their cute little moments together

because of you (request)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: in which wanda was initially the prickly new member of the avengers, however you quickly became her greatest friend.

word count: 1416

tags: unedited, fluff, wanda's got a huge crush on you, a little bit of i hate everyone but you vibes but i've never really written it before so i hope i did you justice!! emo wanda being the little baby we all love (this is also like my sorta first time writing emo wanda too so my writing horizons expanded quite a bit with this request, she's genuinely just very cute though

“You have to be cheating,” Sam says angrily, slumping on the couch and crossing his arms over his chest, slamming his controller down beside him. 

“Nope,” you respond with a grin, pleased with yourself for beating Sam at yet another video game. “You just suck.” 

Sam narrows his eyes, before rising up once again in determination. “One more round, only this time you’re handicapped by giving me a five second head start.” 

“Sure,” you agree, already prepared to win for the 15th time in a row. 

However, before you and Sam can start your video game, a tired Sokovian witch makes her way into the living room. 

“Oh, hey, Wanda,” Sam says to your girlfriend who stands beside you, immediately wrapping her arms around your shoulder. 

Wanda ignores him, and instead asks you, “Where were you?” against your neck.

“I promised Sam I would play Mario Kart with him last night,” you explain. “I bet him 50 bucks I could win 10 rounds in a row, and guess what, I’m at 70 now!” 

“Not for long!” Sam interrupts. 

“Want to stay and watch?” you ask Wanda, who hesitates for a split second, not really wanting the company of anyone else except for you, but ends up agreeing with a small nod.

You shift over on the couch to make room for her, and she immediately sits down and rests her head on your shoulder while you begin another round against Sam. 

You end up winning about 150 bucks that day. 

***

Wanda had been part of the team for about 7 months now, and you had quickly become her closest friend in the first 2. 

Wanda, at her most vulnerable and lowest moments was still riding on a lot of the guilt from Ultron, add the fact that she had just lost her only family member and best friend, and the fact that she was already a bit prickly to begin with, it was safe to say that the majority of the team was too scared of what could happen to them if they even attempted to get close to her. 

Wanda was okay with that at the time, she wanted the freedom to grieve without the added pressure of someone counting on her.

However, you were an exception. 

You broke down the walls that had been built so far up after lost plagued Wanda’s life.

Every time she would protest, you stayed, no matter what.

She was a mess, and over time you became her safe haven.

You helped her grieve, helped her overcome her anger, her sadness, and you became her hope. 

Now, Wanda could never get enough of you.

You were her best friend, and she was yours. 

Wanda was eternally grateful for your existence.

“Y/N?” Wanda asked, one month into your friendship you laying on her shoulder watching the sitcom on the TV from her bed. 

“Hm?” you responded. 

“Thank you,” Wanda said, hoping you could understand every single hidden word she wanted to convey as best she could.

You smiled up at her, “Anytime.” 

***

“Wow, Wanda, what’s got you so grumpy?” Tony asks, noticing Wanda’s very apparent frown. 

“She hasn’t seen Y/N in two days,” Nat says with a grin. “Y/N’s mission from Monday got extended last night, so now she won’t be back until tomorrow morning.” 

Wanda glared at Natasha before going back to pouring her cereal. 

“Come on, Nat,” Steve says as he walks in. “I think it’s sweet.” 

“Hey, I never said it wasn’t,” Natasha says, holding up her hands in surrender. 

Wanda’s frown deepened, despite the truthfulness to everything they were saying. 

“Come on, Wanda,” Steve said as he came around the counter to pat the witch on her back. “Just one more day.” 

Wanda nodded quietly, making her way back to her bedroom to eat her cereal and wait for your return.

***

You came back at 6AM, and your face softened as you saw Wanda laying on top of your covers, very clearly having been waiting for your return by the sitcom still running on your TV in the background. 

Carefully you kneeled beside her on the bed, gently shaking her awake. 

Wanda stirred awake slowly, looking around disoriented before she saw your face, her eyes lighting up and immediately wrapping her arms around you. “You’re back,” she whispered. 

“I was only gone 3 days,” you reply in amusement.

“Don’t care,” Wanda says, hugging you tighter. 

You hug her back in return, letting go after a few minutes to go take a shower and change into your pajamas, and Wanda doing the same. 

Then, at 6:30AM, the two of you go to bed together, and spend the rest of the day wrapped in each other’s arms. 

***

“So, what is it you want my help with?” Natasha asks, secretly gleeful at seeing the shy side of Wanda for once behind all her sharp edges. 

“I want you to help me set up Y/N’s birthday party,” Wanda says shyly, looking down at her shoes. 

“Oh, Wanda, we’re gonna have a blast,” Natasha replies, walking over to Wanda and wrapping an arm around her shoulder, leading her to go grab the supplies. 

***

Wanda would never admit it, except maybe to you, but she wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for your birthday.

You had been the only one to help her when she needed it, and every time she felt like she was too sharp, too mean, too prickly, you accepted her with unwavering kindness.

You were the only thing that made Wanda feel seen after Pietro’s death. 

And so, she needed you to see how grateful she was with everything inside of her. 

“Okay, so we’re gonna get balloons, streamers, the food and drinks, cutlery, decorations, then the cake tomorrow?” Wanda asks Natasha as the two grab everything for your birthday tomorrow.

“Yep, Tony’s money is finally going towards something useful,” Natasha says, making Wanda look over towards her curiously. “Your love for your girlfriend,” she explains.

Wanda slaps Nat’s arm in return, though she does end up blushing for the next 5 minutes. 

***

“Oh, god, what if she doesn’t like it?” Wanda asks, nervous since it’s only one hour before you’re supposed to arrive back at the compound.

Natasha pats Wanda on the back reassuringly. “It’s gonna be fine, Wanda. Truthfully it came from you, and she loves anything you do for her no matter what.” 

Wanda nods, nervously playing with her rings in anticipation.

“Can she hurry back already,” Sam groans. “I wanna eat the cake already. Wanda glares angrily at him. 

“Careful, Sam,” Nat warns playfully. “If you mess that cake up a single bit Wanda might magic you into a pickled herring.” 

Sam looks over to Wanda who’s eyes glow red in a threatening manner. 

Sam holds up his arms in surrender. 

Wanda ends up switching between being nervous and stopping Sam, Bucky, and Tony from accidentally doing something that might harm your party, and suddenly an hour has gone by.

“Y/N’s on her way back right now!” Tony calls out after asking FRIDAY. “She’s gonna be up here in two minutes!” 

“Okay, everyone hide!” Natasha yells out, grabbing Wanda to hide with her behind the counter as everyone sprawls out across the upstairs floor. 

“Please say she likes it, please say she likes it,” Wanda mutters under her breath in her hiding place so no one can hear her.

Though Nat’s absurdly good hearing foils her plan. “She’ll love it, Wanda.” 

Wanda hums in response, taking a reassuring breath before waiting to surprise you. 

“Thirty seconds everyone!” Tony calls out after FRIDAY notifies him on his watch.

3…2…1…

“Happy birthday, Y/N!” Everyone calls out after you finally make your way up the stairs.

You barely register the shock before you’re smiling widely. 

“This was all Wanda,” Nat tells you, causing you to look towards the witch who looks incredibly sheepish.

“Everyone helped,” Wanda mumbles.

“Really?” you shake your head before making your way over to your girlfriend and kissing her fiercely. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“I needed a way to show you how grateful I am that you saved me,” Wanda tells you.

“Well, you saved me too,” you reply. “You made everything so much better.” 

Wanda’s eyes light up at your confession, and she hugs you tightly, causing you to laugh and wrap your arms around her. 

“Now, how about we enjoy my birthday together, hm? This will be the best one yet because of you.”

[theorist-fox]

Fair trade

John Price x Reader

Cross posted from AO3.

This one shot deals with heavy topics such as emotional manipulation, emotional abuse from family, and self-objectification.

I'm begging you to read the tags before pursuing the story. Thank you so much for taking care of yourself first. 🦊

If you're looking for some aftersex comfort, recommending this by @/karlachismylife. 🧡

Summary: John helps you out of the toxic pattern your family has woven around you, and finds how utterly gorgeous you are behind it. He cuts your strings, and loves you the way you deserve.

18+

Word count: 10k CW: smut (cunnilingus, blow jobs, sex seen as a form of self-harm, sex seen as a way to feel useful), heavy angst, hurt/comfort, dubcon if you squint.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“No, we can’t come over, darling.”

To have a life planned out must be a dream. No worries nor fears, because everything is already outlined—a step-by-step guide, given to you at birth. A path, a purpose.

To give is your purpose.

It’s been ever since before you hit the eighteen mark; the birthday being only a threshold that signed your legal independence.

But you’ve always been, haven’t you? Shadowed by bigger problems ever since you were a small thing because there wasn't trouble that mattered less than you did.

The difference being that before you were shielded by your naïveté, by the bleeding heart they’ve carefully built for you, so you’d bend and break pliantly, even willingly at times, without ever realizing.

Now you're an adult, they'd implied.

Now they can use you at your full potential, and you won’t even put up a fight. You won’t set boundaries, because this is all you’ve ever learned. This is all they’ve ever taught you. Their perfect mold, kneeling in perfect obedience.

But how much can one take in a lifetime?

“Thanks for the help, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

But staring at the phone won’t make it ring.

When you’ve never had a moment for yourself but plenty of time to dedicate to others—where do you draw the line of this so-called purpose, then?

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“It’s next week, mum.”

“Oh. I must have mixed it up.”

This goal—this agonized prize, towering at the finish line you’re desperately running to, the one defined by your family the moment your first cry pierced the air—what is it, exactly?

It’s a cascade of praises. It’s a shower of love that reawakens you from your torpor like a bucket of ice-cold water. It's abrupt but somewhat needed until it slowly becomes fresh instead of freezing, and it hydrates your skin and soothes the thirst. You feel rejuvenated, coming out of your lethargy, and alive and thriving and—

It stops.

Your fifteen minutes of unbridled, limitless love just snatched away in spare seconds.

And you’re parched again. Sometimes, they leave you wanting until you’re on your knees. Sometimes, they never give it back.

And so, the questions arise—what happens when you’re not needed anymore?

What happens when the calls plummet?

When the visits diminish until there are none?

When you're a ghost haunting your own life because your purpose is slowly vanishing. When that prize stands in the distance as a rushing fountain of praises and kindness, but you've already given a hand, an arm, your legs, your voice, your heart. What then?

How do you move, exactly, if there are no limbs to which attach the strings? How will you speak, if they’re not shaping your voice?

How does your puppeteer lift you from the floor? Your ventriloquist—how will it force you to agree to every demand?

“You... met without me?”

“Sweetheart, we thought you were busy.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“You would’ve said no.”

But you wouldn’t have. You’re not even sure you can say ‘no’ to them.

Is there someone who will hoist you up, when you’re nothing more than a torso, and take you to the finish line?

“Uh, darling, mind calling later?”

“I’m not feeling fine, I was hoping—“

“I’m busy, love.”

A therapist for your mum.

A crutch for your dad.

An advocate for your brother, but you’re no one to them.

A child, once. A person, now.

A notification on their phone. A Google reminder of a birthday.

A missed call. An excuse.

A vacant shape in a family photo. A memory, then nothing.

Raised to serve. But what happens when there’s no one to serve?

“What you’re doing to me is not fair.”

“I don’t like that attitude. Don’t forget how much we did for you.”

Your hands are tight around the steering wheel. White knuckled fists and creaking leather. The car smells of stale tobacco, cigarettes you’ve smoked with your offhand limp out of the car window, then stubbed in the portable ashtray.

"We love you, of course we do. How could you ask that?"

It's raining but your window's rolled down, a ciggie snug between two fingers. Elbow propped on the car door, arm hanging out. The sleeve of your sweater is soaked, and the cigarette is sodden. You don't even notice it when you bring it to your lips and take a drag. Nothing fills your lungs.

It’s fine.

It's a habit. It's autopilot. You go. You exist.

“It really doesn’t feel like it. You haven’t called in weeks.”

“It’s just—we’re people too. We’re busy.”

“You’re not busy for my brother.”

“He’s—you’re different, darling.” You’re used. We’ve consumed you.

It’s a feeling of emptiness that spills out of every hole like heavy smoke, clouding your senses. A husk that billows dark tendrils from its eyes, moves mechanically like an alien imitating a human being.

It's fake. You're a dummy. Unhuman. A thing.

“I just need your help. I—I’m not fine. I’m not asking for much. Just an evening toge—”

"So much is happening right now. You can deal with it on your own, love.”

You close the car door once you've parked it in the garage. Up the stairs you go, dragging your feet on every step.

“Like you’ve always done.”

Would this world exist even if you weren’t in it? Would these stairs lead to your apartment, if you didn’t inhabit it?

Is your flat even yours? Sure, you’ve paid for it. The party you threw after your signature was placed on the contract is still a cherished memory.

But what were you even celebrating? Four walls. A roof over your head. A bed to kip.

It’s a lot, you’re aware. Not everyone can say they own all that. But do you? 

They’re things. Can you own things?

Surely, you are owned. By them.

But you’re not even sure you need things. You can’t need, because things don’t need. And what are you, if not a thing? Because things are used, not humans. Humans fight back, eventually. Humans hold their pride dear, it's the only character that separates them from animals, from meat. You never bit back, not once. So what does that make you, if not theirthing?

Your purpose is not a choice you made, it’s theirs. You have to give—that is why they made you.

You own, so you can give them.

You earn, so you can give back.

Because who’s given you a roof when you couldn’t afford it yourself? And the food in your belly?

Darling, it wasn’t for free. You were expensive to raise. You were costly to craft, to mold, to perfect.

But they haven’t called. No one has. No one will. 

The master left the strings—and what of you, now? Do you just lie limply on the floor, waiting for the next hand that'll hoist you up?

And if they don’t call to ask from you, how do you know you’re doing fine? How do you know if the finish line is close when they took your eyes already? How do you ask for help, if you don’t have a voice?

But that was the point. Their goal. They own you, and without them, you’re nothing but a heap of wood, infested with termites. Wooden rods on the floor, nylon strings cut short. You’ll grovel and beg, they’ll croon at you in mockery, bleeding you dry, but it will be enough for you—anything would be enough for you.

You unlock the door. John hears and his head peeks from the kitchen.

“Hi love,” he rumbles, and you feel it shaking your heart.

Does he need you?

John Price is a captain of the special forces who has gone through hell and back. He's witnessed things you've only heard from the mouths of journalists or read in black-and-white papers, and he came out of each one of them unscathed. Strong. Resilient.

He doesn’t need you. 

“Sortin’ out dinner,” he adds, and returns behind the wall that separates the living room from the cooking area. “You’re gonna love this pasta, I’m telling you.”

Of course, he doesn't need you.

The house is pristine. He takes care of it while you’re at work since he’s off deployment. He’s going to be home for a while now, a handful of months. That’s a good thing, you miss him when he leaves.

It’s you who needs him. But you can’t need, so how does this work, exactly?

How do you explain that hole in your stomach that relentlessly craves to be filled? That makes you want to curl on the floor. Turn into dust and seep through the cracks of the hardwood.

Disappear. Invisible. Paper-thin.

Because maybe you're tired of being needed. Perhaps you want to break through that mindset and start needing something.

You chastise yourself for even concocting the thought.

You stand stock still at the door. You hear nothing but the blood rushing in your ears and John moving pans around the kitchen.

You see his head at the doorway again.

“Love?”

Your eye twitches, but you don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you. Then why is he here?

There are plenty of people out there who’d love to bend for him. Mouths he can kiss. Holes he can fill.

That’s what people are, no?

No. That's what you are.

You’ll make him need you. You’ll show him that you’re fundamental, not just another hole. That you cannot be replaced, because you can't afford to lose him. You can't.

It’s selfish, it is.

You cannot be selfish, it’s not what you were taught. But you will. Just today, just now. The first apparent tear into the careful pattern threaded by your family.

But it's not really a hole, is it? If you're carving it to escape a trap, only to fall back into another one of your own making.

You hurriedly toe off your wet shoes and walk with purpose to the kitchen, dropping your bag on the floor as you do. He quirks a brow at you and your silence, but his face soon morphs into sudden confusion when you come to stand in front of him and drop to your knees.

You know how to do it—how to make people smile.

Your empathy is unmatched. You read people's tics, their quirks. Gauge them from the way they move their lips, the words they use, the way they look at you.

And John—oh, he loves how you work with your mouth.

And if he needs your mouth, then by extension, he needs you.

Your hands palm his thighs as you flutter your lashes up to him. He's forced to lean back against the kitchen counter, but he's not looking at you the way he usually does—not with his lidded blue eyes, heavy and wanton.

John looks dubious instead. Even flinches when you press your cheek to the crotch of his jeans, stroking the fabric to your skin. Denim’s rough, and it especially hurts when the plump of your cheek catches the zipper’s teeth.

Good. 

Let him take. And let it hurt.

“What’s goin’ on." He states, doesn't ask.

Please, take.

You’re already working through the button and the zipper when you answer, fingers shaking as you do. “I wanna suck your cock.”

Now, John wouldn’t normally complain, but you sound much different from the other times in which you actually do want to suck his cock.

He hums, allowing you to palm him through his briefs, gently but firmly pressing your hand where he’s still soft. You nose him through the cotton, flattening your tongue against his dick—you can feel it twitch under the muscle. Good, means his body is responding how you want him to.

His hands curl painfully tight around the lip of the counter.

It’s so silent except for your heaving breaths warming up his length and the buzzing fire on the stove.

You place tender kisses as you feel him harden under your lips.

He's looking at you to try and gauge the reason behind all this. It's clear to him that you're not being your usual self, there is something in your eyes that tickles him in the wrong place. You know he knows—you know he's gathered something's wrong. He’s ever so attentive, capturing every minimal change in the wrinkles of your face.

You're so akin to him when it comes to that.

You don't give him time to ponder for long, though. You take his cock out of his briefs and force it into your mouth.

John knocks his head back against the cupboard and fixes his eyes to the ceiling, wide open. A heavy breath leaves him languidly. His cock chubs up as it sits heavy on your tongue, and you can feel it fill up your mouth.

“Christ.”

Yes. It’s what you want, to hear him lose himself in you.

You start slowly, pumping your hand at the base along with the movements of your lips, mindful of keeping your teeth out of the way. Tilting your head sideways, you let the tip of his cock push against your cheek while your tongue lavishes the malleable skin around its length.

Your eyes swivel upward, and you're met with the view of his corded neck, tight and straining as he refuses to look at you.

No. 

He needs to know it’s you.

He needs to understand that you can give this whenever he wants, that you're not just another mouth. That no one else is as versed as you are when you eat him up. Your tongue knows how to follow the vein along the velvet of his skin, all the way to the slit on the tip. Your hand knows how to cup his balls and brush the seam in the middle—how he shudders, each time you do.

He needs to know that.

He can’t let you go. Not him too.

He has to hoist the limbless torso that you are towards the finish line, where you’ll get your caresses and your praises and your prize: the crumbs of love you’ll lap until your famished heart stops rumbling.

So, you drift your free hand upward and thread your fingers through the curls on his pelvis, gently grazing the skin with your nails. Then, you drum the pads on his soft belly, feeling them dip into the flesh and hit the harder muscles underneath. You splay your palm in the middle of his stomach, where you can feel the blood rushing madly as his heart pumps all the same.

It’s enough for you, the bodily reaction to the softness of your mouth.

But why isn’t he looking at you?

Recognize that is me. That I can make you feel good. That you need me, that you still do.

In the desperation of the moment, you opt for the best you can do: you take him deeper. The hand at the base of his cock moves to flatten on his thigh, and you carelessly widen your jaw to take more, and more, and more.

You flatten your tongue against the underside of his shaft and then twirl it around, all the while hollowing your cheeks without ever daring to take your eyes off him. That way, if he decides to look down at you, he'll find you teary-eyed and wanting—perfectly on your knees, like a devotee, no matter how artificially placed.

Your lips slide so easily up and down his cock, coating it with saliva, teardrops and precum. They swell so beautifully around it like a plump peach being ravaged; he always flatters you for it. Calls you beautiful when you suck him off so fervently, eliciting choked moans from you as you drink up the praise. 

You dive in and the head tips at the back of your throat, causing you to gag around it. The muscles of your neck clench and he curses under his breath. Your eyes water in joy and overexertion when he looks down at you at the sudden change in pace. You don’t care if it hurts, let him bruise your throat.

You can give him more. You can give him everything. 

You push even further until you're nuzzling against the coarse hair on his pelvis. You choke around his cock, a weak and wet cough that causes drool to dribble at the corners of your mouth. You pull back then, to take a wet gasp around his length, and then push forward to flush your nose to his crotch once more.

The tips of your knees hurt; the tiled floor in the kitchen is hard and merciless against the bone. It'll leave your joints aching and rough. They'll pop when you stand up, they'll hurt tomorrow when you go to work.

Good.

The knot in your stomach is ever so tight, seeking to be released and let go. It contorts in wantonness and, you’ll realize later, mortification. Just because you’re used to giving yourself so freely in exchange for crumbs, it doesn't mean it gets easier every time—to watch yourself bend on a whim, to see your pride shatter into even tinier pieces.

You feel his hand thread through your hair and tears fall down your cheek because yes, now he’s going to fuck your face like you want him to.

Use me. Treat me for what I am. Become the fucking puppet master. Take my fucking strings now that they’ve dropped them and guide me through this fucking shit I was left in.

But instead, he pulls you back, his cock escaping your mouth with the same ease you got it in.

A ragged breath, thick and wet, leaves your lips as soon as they’re free. Your coughs turn into a hack, as you stare at the glisten of your spit coating his shaft. A string of thick saliva tethers your mouth to it. Tears roll down your cheeks as you recollect your breath, nostrils flaring in the attempt to take in the air you’ve deprived yourself of.

“What’s this.”

You swallow down the liquid pooling in your throat, salty precum and viscous saliva like tar, gluing your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

“Let me.” You croak. The thought that you might sound pathetic doesn’t even cross your mind.

His brows twitch, but he keeps his voice even. “No. What’s going on? Spill it.”

Your pleading look morphs into a glare. Bloodshot eyes, tears, and snot. Spit and cum. Clumped lashes and runny mascara.

Whore. 

Your chest heaves, not from the strain, but from being caught red-handed, and you don't know how to behave.

No one ever asks why you do it, they’re simply glad you do.

You’re helping, aren’t you? It’s what you were crafted for, brick by brick, bone by bone. Made to change like a chameleon based on other’s necessities.

It’s what you are—so let me do it.

“I want to suck your cock.” You say as crudely as you can manage. “I want you to come down my throat and then I want you to bend me over the table and fuck me until you’re empty.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, still holding your head by a handful of hair. His fingers aren’t tight, but your scalp stings nonetheless.

“Can do.” He shrugs. “Need to know why, first.”

You’re a heap of wood once again, piled up at his feet. Your limbs are jointless, just lying there, waiting to be thrown in the fire to rekindle its flame, so everyone else can be warm at your expense.

A broken puppet can still be used for other purposes until it's ash.

There's nothing in you, if not how wonderfully soft your mouth would be if only he'd let you wrap it around him again.

“Because I want to.”

He curls his nose, mustache following the stretch. “Hardly.”

“I do.”

He tugs at your hair and says your name in such a commanding manner that you can’t help but deflate. The glare in his eyes snuffs the defiant flame in yours.

"Please let me," you plead, and the way you sound is nothing short of degrading.

You don't care. You don't care if you reduce yourself to a puddle of pleas. You know you're not supposed to need anything, but you need this.

Your hands are sticky with dried spit and precum when they grab his cock again. You start pumping it fiercely, trying to make his orgasm hit earlier than what you had planned. He holds your head out of reach, meaning you can't wrap your lips around it—you'll have to make do with your hands.

Slut. 

But it’s okay, you’ll be a slut, if it helps him realize that you can make him feel good with everything you have to offer. That he won’t find another as pliant and willing as you are. That if he wants to be served, you will be his thrall.

Everything you own, it’s so you can give him.

Everything you earn, it’s so you can give back.

He can mold you. He can break you and put you back together the way he likes. He can craft a new puppet out of you, you’ll hand him the strings. He’ll take you to the finish line and love you, then.

Only then.

You see his mouth curl, bile on his tongue, as he reins in his own lust. There’s something wrong about you tonight, and he’s starting to understand what it is.

And so, he leaves your hair, favoring the softness of your cheek. He thumbs the plump of your cheekbone and then rubs a line along your lower lip.

It's then that you take your chance and rush forward, planting a kiss on the tip of his cock. Tongue out to leave kitten licks at the drops of precum you are squeezing out of him with your hands, knowing he likes those tiny shocks it sends up his spine.

And just when you think he’s relented to your pleas, just when you have your lips plump and shiny, ready to wrap around the flushed head of his cock, he takes ahold of your chin and tips your head back.

“I love you,” he croaks.

Words he’s said already, but not as often as he should’ve. It’s his fault, he grievously considers, if you think you have to be on your knees to receive them.

He realizes it when you shock into a stop. When your eyes widen a tick too much.

Blind idiot he is.

"I love you," he says again, more firmly this time.

Your face screws up as if you're trying to wrap your head around this language you don't know. You haven't done much to reach that prize—if anything, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve edged him until the head of his cock has turned an angry red that must be aggravating to handle, impossible to quench without the welcoming warmth of your mouth or that of your cunt.

You blink up at him. Tears fall down your cheeks. “But you need to come.”

If you’d have shot him, he would’ve handled the ache much better than this.

"I need nothing." He supplies gently, tracing the corner of your lips with his thumb, getting rid of the mess he's inadvertently made of your mouth.

His statement hangs in the air, stale and musty and threatening, not as sweet as he thinks. It clogs your nose and tightens your chest, curdling your blood into frozen lumps. The noises around suddenly feel deafening: the bubbles popping on the surface of the boiling water, the wet sound of your skin unsticking from his cock as your hands leave it, their thud as they fall in your lap.

If you’re not needed, then what are you?

Carefully, he tucks himself back into his briefs as he kneels to your level.

He whispers your name and cups your cheek as he does. "I love you.”

You know he does, but stuck in the web woven by your family, you always thought it was a purely transactional sentiment. A fair trade.

He loves you because you kneel prettily in front of the sofa.

He loves you because you let him stuff you up and fill you to the brim with his come at the snap of his fingers.

He loves you because you're a lovely addition to his arm when you doll up for his work ceremonies or other functions.

He loves you because you cook a mean Sunday roast when he comes back from deployment.

And you love him because he's John, because what's there not to love.

With gentle blue eyes framed by bushy eyebrows, and droopy eyelids that give his often scowling look a gentler feel to it. The honey smatter of freckles on his nose, and the sharply trimmed beard on his jaw. Plump rosy lips, how soft they feel when he places them on yours, juxtaposing with the prickly ends of his mustache.

His encompassing heart and the way he's enlarged it for you to fit better, so you're all comfortable and warm in his life.

John gently presses his lips on your forehead as he speaks softly, "I love you."

Your eyes flutter closed. A heaving breath again, one that stutters as you try to inhale it. Fat tears fill the cracks in your lips and flow down your tongue.

John brushes the back of his knuckles across your cheeks. “Don’t need all this to love you.” And then he looks in your eyes, searching for any sign of skepticism, and regrettably finds a considerable amount of it. “You knowthat. Right, love?”

No, you don’t know.

But you don’t have the gall to tell him. Suddenly, it hits how pathetic you look. On your knees, begging for him to stuff your mouth with his cock so you can feel useful, so he can shower you with love once you give him a reason to keep you.

You kneel there helplessly, deflated.

Useless.

You gesture with your hands at him, feeling how limply they hang from your wrists as if you've never used them on your own in the first place.

There is very little you can do to humiliate yourself further, and yet you manage.

“But you need me.” You cry, as your face scrunches in a pain so deeply settled that John has no clue how to work around it. “I need you to need me.”

However, he tries. He tracks your tears with his thumb, stopping their fall right above your cheekbone.

"Don't need you, love." He says tenderly. "I want you.”

He shifts a little closer and cradles your face in both hands so that you cannot avoid his eyes even if you tried.

“Want you.” He breathes hoarsely, “Ain’t with you ’cause I need someone. I don’t need anyone, and I don’t want just anyone—I want you. ‘Specially when you’re not on your knees.”

Your nose is stuffy, and you can’t breathe right. Suddenly, you feel so unbelievably tired. Your face plops in his hands, and the humiliation feels ten times worse. It's hard, however, to interject with a word that would make him understand how deep this pattern runs.

He doesn’t let you, but only because he knows already.

"Like you when you get all chuffed ‘bout your plants sproutin’." He drawls. "Love it when you hop into bed and shove your cold feet against my thighs ‘cause I'm much warmer. Or when you make love to me. But not when you—when you pull this."

His voice is heavy. Your heart aches because you're so tightly wrapped in deadly silk, stuck in your family's cobweb, that you've never noticed how it must pain him as well, to see you reduce yourself to this.

"Bloody hell, love." He sighs, furrowing his brows. "I love you, yeah? I don't need—whatever this is. I don't want whatever this is.”

John's eyes close, his face screwing up in that way that tells you he's thinking. He shakes his head subtly, and you're afraid you've gone and done it now. He's going to go because he already has so much shit to deal with that your puzzled self would only be another broken case to add to his file.

But alas, dread doesn't even manage to settle on your heavy heart that he locks you in place with his blues.

One of his hands drifts to the back of your head. He leans in, enough for you to smell the tobacco on his breath.

You swallow dryly, lips parted in shaky pants. Eyes lidded and tired, nose scrunching in sniffles.

John presses a gentle kiss on your lips, no more than a peck. And then another one, and another, and another, until you can’t discern whether it’s the salt of your tears or that of his skin.

Your breathing becomes heavier and it mingles with his own when he comes to rest his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he murmurs tirelessly.

The hand on your nape guides you to him, and he kisses you again. Unlike the previous ones, this is bolder, yet tender all the same. He holds you in place while the rest of the world falls into impeccable silence.

The gentle smacking of lips is all you can hear, and even if only for a moment, it manages to silence the voice in your head—a mimicry of your family’s cries, their lying coos, their grating, consuming, plastic love. 

You feel yourself uncoil under John’s touch and the deft work of his tongue on yours. Hands in your lap, you abandon yourself to him, but it's a different type of surrender; your eyes close and all your feelings, all your energy, flow into that kiss.

“I-I love you,” you venture, breathy voice brushing his lips.

John inhales sharply, and he realizes this might be the first time you said it because you wanted to and not because you had to.

His hand drifts from your cheek to your shoulder, down to your stomach and he guides you to lie with your back against the kitchen floor. His palms flatten next to your head.

Normally, John would have you on a fort of pillows and blankets and would never compromise about it—constantly making sure you’re as comfortable as they come as he ravages you. Beforehand, you'd get ready in the bathroom, having prepped yourself to a T. Shaved and moisturized and seasoned like a prized pig for him to consume, wearing the prettiest, skimpiest lace to frame the petals of your perfectly waxed pussy.

Because it’s a fair trade; he treats you like a princess, so you can be his pretty whore.

Yet tonight you think he won’t do any of that. There is a gentleness in his kisses that, while not uncommon, certainly feels unique. Your hands hover between your chest and his, unsure of where to place them. You hope he’ll guide you through this too, manhandle you into position like he always does.

But again, he doesn’t.

He barely feels like John at all. His behavior is so different that if you closed your eyes, anyone could be in his place right now. But that is only your perception, isn't it? Because John has always been tender with you, you were just too busy thinking about how to repay his kindness instead of living in the moment.

His lips leave yours only to busy themselves with the skin on your cheek, then down your chin and to your neck. You gasp at the goosebumps, and he stops.

His face comes into view and it is so flushed you think he must be collecting all his blood right in the apples of his cheeks.

“Okay, love?”

You blink. Your mouth tastes more like his cigars than tears and precum. It makes you feel less dirty, even if what you did (and have been doing your whole life) hasn’t changed.

You swallow thickly as he gazes into your eyes.

“Y-yeah, just—” A crease forms between your brows, “I should—I left you like that, and—”

He hushes you.

"No need to bother 'bout me." He reassures you.

He presses a kiss between your brows, smoothing the lines your concern has formed. You close your eyes, focusing on how warm he is in contrast to the tiles pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathes. As if you have an answer for that.

His kisses trail down your face and your neck, turning more open and wet. The rising gooseflesh, however, does nothing to stop your mind from running miles ahead.

What do you want? 

You must've been posed that question before because it's such a basic one. You try to think of contests in which one might ask that, such as your birthdays, or celebrations, or a teacher wondering what is it that you desire in the future: a career, a husband or a wife, a family.

But to desire is to choose, and you don’t think you’ve ever been given that possibility.

Hence why you're rattled, aghast. On your back on the floor, with John sucking love bites on your neck.

You give the answer you know will make him content.

“Fuck me.”

You’ll moan like a porn star. You’ll dig your pretty nails into his back so he can show off the marks you left on him with pride. You'll pretend an orgasm if yours is taking too long, so that his ego will be kept fed and full, and he’ll still find you appealing. So that he can go tell his friends and comrades how good you are, in and out of bed. What a gem. Wife material.

He’ll doll you up and tie the strings around your wrists. Make you dance and you will—coy smile, pretty eyes and all. A new puppet out of you, just for his sake.

John stills, and he shifts uncomfortably above you. His mouth is suddenly next to your ear, and he leaves a kiss at your jaw hinge.

“You don’t want me to fuck you.” He murmurs, and you swear there is a hint of guilt in the way he says it.

You feel dizzy at the thought of being caught. It’s scary to have your thoughts so out in the open after having spent an entire lifetime locking them up.

John nips at the shell of your ear. You venture with your hands and place them on his chest, still unsure of whether you want him closer or far, far away.

"Can I make you feel good?" He asks hoarsely. Your body responds naturally and it makes heat pool in your lower stomach.

You suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed at the idea his words have instilled in you.

You reply the only way you know. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Yes.” He says forcefully, almost as if he wanted the answer to stick to your brain for the days to come. The switch is so abrupt your heart skips a beat. “Yes, I have to ask. Of course, I have to ask.”

He props himself up, hips snug between your thighs. He could roll them against yours and seek the friction his chubbed up cock must physically need after you teased it.

But he doesn’t, and it makes you feel both inadequate and nervous.

“So, answer me, love.” He rumbles, as his pupils dance between your eyes. “Can I make you feel good?”

You’re not sure why, but it makes your eyes water and your heart hurt. Your brows draw together in a frown that rips at John’s chest.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, voice strangled in your throat. “Yes, please.”

John leans in to kiss your eyelids as you snap them closed.

And then he kisses your cheek, your nose, and your lips. His hand trails over your sweater. A gentle tug at the hem makes tears fall down your temple and into your hair.

You give an imperceptible nod at his silent request and he thanks you by pressing his lips to your jaw. He lifts it above your breasts, sitting atop the plain, skin-colored bra you're wearing. You haven't shaved, there's regrowing hair under your armpits and you're flushed to the bone. 

You're not the doll you allow him to see. You haven't prepped yourself for consumption this time, and it almost makes you squirm, as you force your biceps flush to your ribcage.

He can't see that you're not the perfect little puppet you've always shown him. If you aren't perfect, willing, and breakable, then he can find a thousand more like you—better than you.

But he presses a kiss to your sternum, ignoring sweat, squirming, and whatnot.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs, tongue out to trace the line of the bone. “Pretty fucking girl.”

You sob. It doesn't deter him, as he lines the plain fabric of your cup until his fingers meet the clasp conveniently placed to the front. With a quick snap, he undoes it, and your tits spill out to the sides.

He hooks your attention back with a look, and you understand he’s asking, once again.

He’s seen you naked a thousand times but you realize he’s never seen you this raw. Your cheeks are flushed and his eyes have never looked so gentle yet hungry.

You nod again and he dives in, wasting no time.

His hands grab the fat of your tits. Push them together. Thumbs teasing nipples as they pebble under his pads. Lips kissing anywhere they can land, latching on flesh until it darkens. His teeth graze the peaks of your breasts, and your back arches off the floor.

Each grunt that escapes him has your spine vibrate. You can't fathom the thought that he likes this, not when you’re tasting like a long day at work and wet rain, instead of buttercream and mango.

You try to snake your leg between his own, to give back what he’s giving you. Carefully, you stroke the curve of your foot against his hard length, but he pulls back with his hips and gently guides your thigh to rest once more around his waist.

“Don’t need tha’, sunshine.” He grunts, a murmur lost as his lips mouth at your nipples. "This 's more 'n 'nough."

His hands hold you by the waist now, fingers gripping the flesh with tenacity. His beard scrapes at the soft skin of your tits as he travels downward with his mouth, following the path lined by your sternum to the gap between your ribs.

He licks stripes as if your skin were covered with cream. His teeth sink softly where your flesh is plumper, causing you to writhe against him, and he chuckles under his breath as he remembers you’re ticklish.

Such tiny things he knows about you, you almost forgot it’s been years he’s known you.

His bites turn kisses, and they're chastely pressed on the line of your stomach, over your belly button, and to the seam of your jeans.

John looks up at you when his lips reach the zipper, and by doing so you notice his brows arching up, causing lines to wrinkle his forehead. Pretty blue eyes take you in and the mess that you've made of yourself. Runny makeup, bitten lips.

You know he can see how undecided you still are. Brows pinched in both pleasure and discomfort because this is so new to you.

But you nod a little sharply for him to go on, as your mouth curls down in the hopefully non-futile attempt at muffling your sobs.

John unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips to your ankles in such an agonizingly slow manner you can’t help but think he’s doing it to give you time to rebut, in case you change your mind.

You don't.

He takes them off together with your socks and brings your foot next to his face. Places a kiss on the side of it, sending tingles up your legs that tip to the apex of your thighs. He leaves small pecks down your ankle and your calf, closing his eyes and sometimes brushing his beard against your skin.

You look away, cheek flat to the tiles, now wet with your tears and the rain soaking your hair.

It doesn't deter John in the slightest, not even when he slowly comes down to a crawl, chest to the floor and nose on your mound. He tugs with his teeth at the cotton of your panties, nothing more than plain white cheeky underwear. So different from the way you always present yourself to him, with your expensive lace and your silks and your soft skin—painfully waxed so it could mimic the feel of your babydolls.

Gingerly, you reach down with your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, smoothing them back from his forehead. You cup the side of his face and brush your thumb to his flushed cheekbone. He leans into your palm and kisses it, uncaring of the stickiness left by your previous activity.

You feel something inside of you crash and break, then, like a glass vase falling from a height. You’re not sure whether it’s a good thing or not, because it makes more tears collect at the corners of your eyes and those are never predictors of a good ending.

He digs the tip of his nose against your slit, following the wet stripe that inevitably formed the moment you dropped to your knees for him.

“Can I?” He asks, sending little spikes of electricity up to your chest when his lips brush against the sensitive skin covered by flimsy cotton.

You feel your chest get so tight someone might as well be curling rope around it.

You feel so pathetic for crying just because you’re being asked about what makes you comfortable and what doesn’t. You’re such an advocate for your friends to go out there and demand for their needs to be met, that you can’t help but wallow in your hypocrisy when someone asks for yours.

He waits patiently for your consent, even if he's a breath away from your private parts, with his hands caressing the back of your thighs. Even if he's done this to you a thousand times already, with your squirming body giving him a show worthy of the cameras, had they been there.

He makes everything around you look so soft, even the tiles of the floor that are uncomfortably sticking to your skin feel like plush cushions.

You wonder briefly if this is how it should’ve always felt, had you allowed yourself to recognize your needs instead of seeing your body as a means to make others happy.

It comes out of your lips as a breath that’s followed by a wet sniffle, your head nodding softly, contrastingly to how tight you’re biting your own teeth.

“Yes.”

No amount of pressure on your jaw could stop the sob that escapes you afterward.

John closes his eyes and a warm shuddering sigh brushes your skin. You’re starting to realize that maybe you’re not the only one who’s being affected by this sudden change in your and his intimacy.

His fingers hook at your panties and he slides them to your ankles, letting them hang down one foot. You swing it carefully and kick them off as he returns his attention to the apex of your thighs, hooking your knees on his shoulders.

He starts tenderly, pressing kisses on the soft flesh of your vulva, paying attention even to the smallest bits you weren’t even aware could feel good. He latches on your outer lips, feeling how puffy they get at the slight suction.

Your thighs are corded and stiff under his grip, arms hooked around each plush leg, and palms flat on your skin.

John’s eyes are closed, although you wish he’d look at you as he travels with his lips along your slit. A kiss on your hole without probing too much, then one along the middle of your slit, which was getting impressively wetter as time passed, and the one on your hooded clit.

It sent jolts up your spine, causing your hips to buck against his mouth. His fingers tighten around your thighs in response, as if he’s trying to rein it in for you.

You appreciate it more than he thinks. You don’t think you’ve ever been placed on top of the queue so blatantly in your entire life.

The tip of his tongue darts out, but it’s obscured from your eyes by the regrowing hair on your mound and from his thick mustache. So, it takes you by surprise when he all but licks a thin stripe over the protruding part of your clit.

You hiss, and your head goes dizzy. You feel tiny pinpricks tingling in your brain, making you lightheaded and more than a little breathless.

During the whole relationship, you’ve been so focused on appearing like a full meal to his eyes, that you forgot how good it felt to be that meal on his tongue.

He laps at you again, eyes now wide open to gauge more of whatever you were giving him. You feel them as bright spotlights aimed at your face, but you can’t find it in yourself to display the act you’ve always given him.

You're already too different from the woman he's so used to seeing. You wonder if he likes you anyway; or if he likes you less, or more. When your eyes lock with his own, a dark flash tells you to go back to your ways. To flutter your lashes and pout your lips in small pleas, whimpering moans that always make his eyes roll to the back of his head.

And just as you’re about to give in to those old habits, John flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks all the thoughts out of your head. You tilt it back in a groan that has never, not once, left your lips in his presence.

He seems more than excited to hear it and starts eating you out like you’re his first meal in a century. This time, there is no plasticity in the ways you move. You’re not squirming away and acting coy about it, meeting his eyes to make sure he realizes that you're his pretty doll.

This time there’s you and the pleasure he gives you. There’s a hand in his hair that shyly tries to keep him still, as he puckers his lips around your nub and sucks it in his mouth. There’s the subtle canting of your hips to press your cunt closer to him, and the way he makes sure you don’t pull away from his tongue with his thick arms coiled around your thighs.

It’s so strange to allow yourself to feel so much. All this time you’ve been oblivious to all this as it happened in your same body because you were too busy focusing on how you appeared to his eyes. Even as he tongued your hole, your head told you it still had to be about pleasing him—because nothing in this world could ever be exclusively about you.

It hits you sharply that your beliefs about yourself, instilled by the callous teachings of your family, had bled through every aspect of your life. You already knew that, of course, but you never realized they had seeped into your intimacy as well.

Yet now you have proof of it, because you're sure John has not changed his tactics, it's you who's finally allowing your body to feel all this.

He twirls his tongue around your clit and you’re seeing stars. It’s such a strong sensation that you think you might have lost a marble or two in the process. Each grunt he emits from his lips vibrates through you and elicits similar sounds from your own mouth.

You’re not even looking at him, and you don’t care. It’s too good. He feels fucking heavenly and you’ll probably end up apologizing later for not having included him more, for not having paid enough attention to him as you should’ve.

But now—fucking hell, now—there's only how his tongue toys with each and every nerve ending of your sodden cunt.

You let him manhandle you, then, like he did so many times in the past. But now he positions you in an unflattering angle you would've never allowed before. He sits up on his knees, carrying your pelvis with him, close to his face.

To help yourself up, you place your hands on your haunches, propping your elbows on the floor. The tiles press harshly against the bone, much like they did on your knees when you’d knocked them down to suck him off not even twenty minutes prior, but now that pain feels so fickle compared to the pleasure he’s giving you.

He locks his arms around your lower belly, soft thighs pressed to his ears, and he dives in again.

Like this, you’re sure he can see every stupid, unflattering thing about you. But there’s the catch—it’s stupid. You’re sure you’re going to rethink all this eventually, but now everything that isn’t John and his lips on you is so unbelievably, fucking stupid.

“Taste like honey, y’ do.” You think you hear him say, as he nuzzles your cunt for all it’s worth.

He delves his tongue into your hole, plunging as deep as he can until he’s nosing your clit too. Facial hair scrapes the inside of your thigh raw, but that only enhances the opposite bliss happening thanks to his mouth.

You whimper, but not for show; it feels criminally good, and John knows it's real because your thighs shake so fiercely his vision goes wobbly too.

He chuckles, but it’s not derisive. His eyes are incensed, the light blue barely a rim around enlarged pupils. He looks in utter awe as he takes you in; face flushed, hair still wet from the rain and now from the sweat too. With an expression he's never once seen before, not on you. The sheer discomfort of the position but also the complete bliss that makes you forget you could have this on a more comfortable bed.

“Look at you—fucking beautiful." He murmurs with his lips to your cunt. "Criminal to hide this from me, love."

Your lips part into an oval, and your eyelids tremble, fighting the need to close your eyes and just feel. But he looks so unbelievably stunning you refuse, categorically, to take your eyes off of him.

And he apparently thinks the same, because his gaze never falters, not even when you tighten the grip your thighs have around his head. Nor does his tongue, as he plunges it again in your cunt, nose nudging your clit just right. 

He might be fucking you with his mouth, but he sure is doing it with his eyes too.

And you’ve never felt so seen in your entire life. You’ve never felt so beautiful, so worthy, as right now. You wonder if he’s always been looking at you this way, but you were too lost in your own ways to notice.

You feel tears trickle down your temples again, mingling with your hair.

Jaw clenched tight, you breathe it out with all the strength you’ve got left in you.

“I love you.”

And John breaks into something different. You must have given him some final blow because his eyes shut closed and his brows knit together. An expression you've never seen, equally as pained as delighted.

He doesn’t answer, using his tongue for other purposes, keeping the stimulation both inside and out of you. Strong arms hold you still to his face, squeezing painfully tight around your hips. Thick palms flat against your lower belly, with his thumb tugging at your mons to unhood your puffy clit.

He goes on until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, arms giving out from under you. But he catches you anyway, hooking your legs better above his shoulders. The fact that your thighs are pressing against his ears gives you some sort of relief, knowing his hearing might have been muffled by your flesh.

So, you let go.

You moan loudly, fuck the neighbors, and whatever the world has to say. Fuck your head for sabotaging you, and taking you away from him.

You feel it build up slowly but suddenly; one moment it’s just fully encompassing pleasure, the next there’s a vine that stems from your ravaged cunt and curls around your belly, up to your neck.

Your throat blocks off, breathing shallow and sharp.

And then everything snaps.

John fights against the bucking of your hips just so he can keep his mouth on you and fuck you through it.

Your groan is so guttural you don't even think that was your voice. You don't even think, period. Your mind blacks out. A scorching heat develops from your sternum and coils around your chest like ivy in bloom.

You’ve had orgasms before thanks to his mouth, or his fingers, or his cock.

This, however, it’s so different you might consider yourself reborn.

It’s liberating. It’s new. It’s free and only, completely yours. 

You don't even notice, as his tongue slows down, that your eyes are staring at nothing on the ceiling. That they fill with tears. And that you're crying.

You notice nothing, but just how good your body trembles, from the tips of your toes to the conscience in your head.

You don’t notice the sobs that leave your lips, as John gingerly places your body back down. Nor the way your chest heaves as if you’ve just learned how to use your lungs, while he hooks his arms behind your shoulders, and lifts you up to sit butt naked on the floor.

He holds you to his chest and you painfully sob against it. Not a thought about whether this is the right time to cry crosses your mind.

He cradles your cheek to his heart, while wet lips press against the crown of your head.

“Let go,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “’M here, love. Let go.”

You cry so hard you think you might crack like porcelain on that floor. Your heaving sobs echo against the walls of the kitchen like the cries of a newborn child.

And John has no intention of letting you go through it alone. He is there with his hands, with his lips, with the strong, steady heartbeat against your ear until your wailing abates. Only then does he cup your cheek to lift your face.

You weep under your breath when you notice the bloodshot whites of his eyes and the clumped lashes. The dampness on his cheeks and the redness of the skin.

He smooths your hair back. Kisses your forehead with such intensity that he just might suck away the self-hatred your family has seeded in your brain with his lips.

He looks at you, then. Lips pursed in a tight line.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, love.”

It’s inevitable the way your lips stretch in a smile that quivers and shakes in a breathless, wet chuckle.

You dig the heels of your hands in your eyes, sniffling painfully hard to get some air in your lungs. Your mouth is pasty and God, you must smell like proper shite.

But John leans down anyway and kisses your lips, uncaring of the salt of your tears, the snot, and the taste of you still lingering on his tongue.

And you kiss him back, this time threading your fingers through his hair, arms looped around his neck in an embrace you never want to break.

Noses flush against each other’s cheeks, lips parting only for you to take breaths because your nostrils are currently too stuffy for you to use them properly.

You sniffle and kiss and tug at his hair and hold him until you're both sated, but never enough. It won’t ever be enough.

A few beats of silence reign the kitchen as you sit on the floor, tangled in each other’s arms. The water in the pot must’ve boiled away, forgotten on the fire that still buzzes silently. John’s chest is your tiny alcove as you rest your head against it, and he holds you until your heart’s content.

Everything you’ve ever learned shakes before your eyes. Every thread that knitted the pattern carefully woven around you is slowly unraveling. The fabric wears down the more he shows you love without asking for anything in return.

He's making you regrow your limbs, returning the eyes they stole, allowing you to see that at the finish line, there's nothing but lies.

Nothing but missed calls, skipped appointments, and neglect. Honeyed words, saccharine pet names to render you soft as dough, willing to offer yourself to their exploitation. Sucking on every last drop of your sap, until only a hollow marionette is left.

John hasn't refilled you with energy; he made you realize you were never empty to begin with. Helped you see that they never smothered your fire to ashes, but only dimmed it to a flame, one you can rekindle easily.

One he cannot wait, for the life of him, to see ablaze again.

He’ll fight with you, give you the wood you need to keep yourself warm and your heart safe. Cut your strings once and for all, until you can get back on your feet again.

He thrives at the idea of seeing you glow like you did moments before, in your most raw and real form; a woman he's yet to meet.

However, being human, he does feel a temporary disappointment at the thought that you had put up such a blatant front for so long. Anger that he’d never noticed, thinking you were just this pliant little thing.

But he should've never thought of you as a thing. Never should've seen you as this obliging, pretty doll hanging from his lips. He should've dug deeper, like he always does even on the field, instead of falling for lies.

He’s often asked himself how you’ve never seemed to need anything, often pegging the behavior to self-sufficiency. You always took care of everything by yourself and promptly refused any aid when he tried to give it to you.

His mind reels with memories of the times he’s offered a helping hand, and you’ve politely declined it. It shatters him to think that you did it because you were afraid you had to give something back and maybe were too tired to offer anything.

It’s then that his mind deep dives into a place that sickens him.

How many times did you have sex with him and see it as a bargaining chip? Or as a way to repay him for something he’s done for you just because he loves you?

He shuts his eyes briefly, forcing the bile down his throat and deciding to dwell on the subject later. This moment comes first. You come first. So, he takes you in, blinking his eyes open once more.

He blindly reaches back to turn off the stove, before returning his arms around you. He brushes his lips to your temple, and your muscles soften under the way his breath tickles your skin.

You tilt your head back to lock your eyes with his own, gauging the earnestness swimming in his blues.

“I love you,” he breathes for the umpteenth time, that day.

No ventriloquist forces you to say it back. No strings move your arms to loop around his neck, as you lift yourself on your knees to be level with his eyes.

It's you, who rests your forehead on his own, brushing your nose to his in a butterfly kiss.

You feel like flesh and bone, more than polished wood tied to nylon strings. No voice box if not your vocal cords vibrating when you decide it, asking and giving all the same.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

There is no hunger for love, no finish line to reach. It’s not a race, not today.

And with John, you don’t think it’ll ever be again.

[kaleldobrev]

Yes Ma’am

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Plus!Size Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben, Hughie Campbell, William Butcher & Annie January

Summary: Macho Man Ben never thought he’d ever take orders from a woman; but now he does so with a smile (aka Ben is whipped and he doesn’t care)

Original Request: @spncupcake | I need a Soldier Boy &/or Dean fic where reader is plus sized + gives his attitude right back to him. He only ever listens to her & agrees with her every time. Basically just a whipped little puppy. Everyone teases him, but he doesn’t care because his girl/reader is all he needs 😭 I guess kinda like he’s an asshole to everyone but her kinda vibes 🥵

Not so subtly asking if @kaleldobrev could do this ? 🥺

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Ben, Cursing (13x), Derogatory Language (by Ben), Slightly Offensive Language (by Ben), Whipped!Soldier Boy, Domestic!Ben

Authors Note: Hopefully I got everyone tagged that wanted to be. If I missed you, I'm sorry! I'm working on re-doing the way my tag list is | I hope this came out okay! ♡ | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

A Few Years Ago…

“We need someone to watch Mister Radioactive over here,” Butcher said to you and Hughie. And almost as if it was second nature, Hughie whipped out his hands into a rock, paper, scissors stance; eyes on you, because he knew for a fact that it was either going to be you or him to watch Ben.

You turned your head slightly, watching Ben drinking out of a Seven merch cup, as he watched an old movie of his on the television; scoffing every few seconds every time a member of Payback appeared on screen.

“Can’t believe these are the bozos that gave me up to the Commies. They can’t even make their fucking cues,” he scoffed, mumbling to himself.

Turning back, you looked at Hughie and placed your hand on top of his, pushing it away. “I can do it. No need for rock, paper, scissors,” you said.

Both Butcher and Hughie looked at you with slight confusion. “Really?” The two men said at the same time, exchanging glances before ultimately landing on you.

“Are you at least going to take some Temp V just in case?” Hughie asked; but Butcher didn’t seem amused by his suggestion, as he gave him a very dirty, displeased look as if to say, ‘That is the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said.’ “He could kill you.”

“I doubt that he would. I mean, look at him. He’s literally just watching one of his old cheesy movies. ‘Sides, I’m the only person he remotely listens to anyway,” your tone slightly smug in nature. But your comment caused Butcher to scoff. “What?”

“Sweetheart, he doesn’t listen to anyone,” he stated, not even trying to be covert.

You raised a brow. “Oh really?” You crossed your arms and smirked. “Hey Ben? Can you turn down the volume a bit? It’s a little loud,” you said, without even looking at him.

In a matter of seconds, Butcher and Hughie watched Ben pick up the remote that was next to him on the armrest as he slowly started turning down the volume. “Better?” He asked, unfazed.

“Yes, thank you,” you smiled.

Butcher scoffed. “I’m sure he’d turn it down if me or Hughie asked him to.”

“Then why don’t you give it a try to try and prove me wrong.” Your voice was smug, and your smirk remained, as you knew for an absolute fact that Ben wouldn’t listen to either one of them.

Butcher smacked Hughie, and pointed to Ben. “Um…hey, can you…can you turn that down?” Hughie asked nervously.

“Fuck off,” was all Ben said to Hughie’s request. His comment caused Butcher to roll his eyes.

“Fine. But don’t come crying to one of us when he ain’t listenin’ to ya,” Butcher smirked.

Present Day…

“Ben?” You asked, trying your best to reach the plate from the top shelf, but it was just out of your reach.

“Yeah?” Ben asked, faintly in the distance.

“Need your help! Can’t reach!” You yelled back.

Within a few seconds you heard Ben come walking into the kitchen from behind you; a faint scoff could be heard from his lips. “You’re so fucking short,” he commented. You turned around, and glared at him; and he knew exactly what that look from you meant. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, not meaning his apology whatsoever. “Now scoot,” his tone a little demanding.

You moved over, and watched him effortlessly reach the plate from the top shelf, handing it to you with the biggest smirk on his face. As you went to reach for the plate, he snatched it quickly away. “What do you say?” He smirked; his comment causing your eyes to roll.

“Thank you,” you said, your tone matching his sorry. Again, you reached for the plate, and yet, he still kept it from your reach. “Oh, how could I ever forget!?” Your voice now sarcastic, with a mix of annoyance. You went onto your tippy toes to the best of your ability, and he leaned down a bit to reach your lips, where you were able to give him a quick peck.

“That’s better,” he winked, handing you the plate.

“Remember, Annie and Hughie are coming over later,” you reminded. You didn’t have to look in Ben’s direction to know how much he hated the idea of the two of them coming over. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun for you, torture for me,” he said, walking back into the living room and plopping onto the couch.

“They aren’t that bad Ben,” you said as you went to lean in the doorway that was between the kitchen and the living room. “‘Sides, I thought the three of you were finally finding some common ground?”

Ben scoffed. “Common ground my ass,” he mumbled. “I hate them, and they hate me.”

“They don’t hate you Ben, you just think that they do,” you tried to reassure. And your reassurance was genuine as you knew that neither Annie or Hughie hated Ben. Yes, maybe they disliked him a bit cause he was still a Grade A asshole to anyone but you, but they do what friends do and have supported yours and Ben’s relationship because they know how happy not only you are, but Ben is even if he didn’t show it in front of them.

Ben didn’t even answer you, he just simply scoffed again. “Can you still do the ribs for tonight please? I mean I can do the grill, but I much prefer when you make them,” you said sweetly.

Ben rolled his eyes, sighing. “Yes, I can still do the fucking ribs.”

A Few Hours Later…

“Are you sure that it’s too late to cancel?” Hughie asked, as him and Annie shut their car doors at the exact same time.

“Yes, we promised Y/N weeks ago that we’d come over,” Annie said. “Besides, I even made my Nana’s pecan pie for the occasion because Y/N mentioned that Ben likes it.”

“If you’re hoping for brownie points with Solider Boy, I’m not sure pie is going to do it. Maybe we should have brought some expired Aspirin or coke from CIA lockup,” Hughie said half joking.

“Very funny,” Annie said very unamused by her fiancés comment. “I’m sure tonight won’t be that bad.”

“At least one of us is positive,” Hughie replied.

There was a knock at the door, and your face lit up with excitement. “Ben? Can you grab the door please? I’m taking the pie out of the oven!” You called out as you started opening up the oven door.

“Sure thing!” Ben called out in a weirdly good mood sounding voice that threw you off. Yes you’ve heard him in a good mood before (he’s basically always in a good mood whenever you were around), but you were surprised just now because Annie and Hughie weren’t particularly his favorite people (or so he says). But you shrugged it off, happy that maybe he changed his mind about them.

As soon as Ben opened the door, his once calm and cheerful mood diminished once he saw Annie and Hughie at the door. “Lite Brite. Pussy. Welcome,” Ben said, in the most monotone voice he could muster up.

“I brought my Nana’s pecan pie,” Annie smiled, showing Ben the foil wrapped container. “Heard it was your favorite.”

“Y/N already made one,” Ben scoffed. Annie lowered the container in a kind of defeated way before she looked over at Hughie.

“Thanks for having us.” Hughie tried his best to sound genuine, but he knew that Ben would be able to hear right through it.

“If it were up to me, neither one of you would be here.” Ben’s tone continued to be monotone.

“I’m gonna go see if Y/N needs any help,” Annie offered. But before she could even enter the doorway, Ben stopped her, and took the pie from her hands, giving her a small nod. Was that…approval? Annie thought. No, I must be delusional, she thought again.

As Annie managed to get past Ben after her pie was taken from her, it was Hughie’s turn to try and get inside, but Ben blocked the way. “Sorry, I don’t have a pie to offer you,” Hughie chuckled.

Ben fake laughed, and placed his hand on Hughie’s shoulder. “No problem, pal,” emphasizing the word as he gave his shoulder a slight squeeze.

“Ow,” Hughie mumbled.

“Fucking pussy,” Ben mumbled, before letting Hughie come into the house.

“So, what did he call you two this time?” You asked, grabbing two white claws from the fridge for you and Annie.

“Lite Brite and Pussy,” she slightly chuckled. “Not really creative.”

“Ben’s not really the creative type,” you laughed back.

“So, tell me, have you and Hughie set a wedding date yet?” You asked, and Annie smiled.

“So, we haven’t set a wedding date yet,” Hughie said, his voice nervous as he watched Ben start flipping through channels trying to find something to watch.

“And why the fuck are you telling me?” Ben asked, finally deciding on a hockey game to watch.

“I uh, I figured Y/N mentioned it to you,” his voice still nervous.

“She did,” was all Ben said, taking a sip of beer.

“Jesus Christ, it’s like talking to a brick wall,” Hughie mumbled to himself. “I’m gonna go see Y/N and Annie.”

“Alright lady boy,” Ben mumbled not so subtly.

“I’m O for two,” Hughie said as he walked into the kitchen where you and Annie were.

“What was the other one?” You asked.

“Lady Boy,” Hughie said, his voice weirdly calm.

“Well, that’s a new one,” you remarked, taking a sip of your white claw. “Ben?”

“What?” Ben asked, clearly annoyed.

“Did you call Hughie, Lady Boy?” You asked.

“Yeah, what about it? Is he crying about it already?” Ben asked, still unfazed; but you could hear a slight smirk on his lips.

“No, was just wondering,” you said.

That’s when Ben sighed. Because the only reason he knew you were asking, was because he somehow did or said something he wasn’t supposed to. But it wasn’t his fault that his girlfriend’s friend always took things the wrong way and didn’t have a sense of humor. “Sorry Puss—Hughie,” Ben said, saying Hughie’s name through gritted teeth.

After Ben apologized (fakely), you turned your attention back to Hughie. “I think that’s the best one you’re gonna get.”

“Pain in my fucking ass,” Ben mumbled.

“What did you say?” You asked, although you heard him loud and clear, as his mumbling and whispering really weren’t low.

“I said, you’re a pain in my fucking ass,” Ben said at normal volume.

You cleared your throat before you spoke. “Come again?” Your tone in full sass mode.

“Fucking Christ,” he mumbled. “I said I love you.”

“I love you too!” You smirked, finishing your white claw.

“Butcher was right. Soldier Boy really is whipped,” Hughie said with slight amusement in his voice.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Ben asked, his tone aggressive as he looked over at Hughie. Hughie’s demeanor now changed, and it resembled that of a scared puppy.

“N-nothing. I said nothing,” he answered quickly and nervously.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Ben smirked, giving him a quick nod before looking back at the hockey game. “Four and zero, fucking unbelievable.”

“You didn’t say anything wrong. I really do have him wrapped around my finger,” you whispered to Hughie, even though you knew Ben was still able to hear you.

Tagging: @spncupcake | @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx | @pleasantlycrazyworld | @pichipachini | @deanwinchestersgirl8734 | @deanbrainrotwritings | @rachiem4-blog | @syrma-sensei | @justletmereadfanfic | @deans-daydream | @midorimachisenpaii | @anamiad00msday | @beansproutmafia | @uncle-eggy | @zombie-freak | @queenie32 | @grx-deanslovr | @livingordeadwhoknows | @ficmesideways | @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden | @the-achievementhunter | @k-slla | @mrlonelycat | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @ladysparkles78 | @jackles010378 | @zepskies | @roseblue373 | @mrsjenniferwinchester | @globetrotter28 | @missscarlettangel | @foxyjwls007 | @nancymcl | @jacklesbrainworms |

If I missed you, my apologies! I was either not able to tag you because the tumblr username is no longer the one you use when you submitted a tag form, or you do not have your mentions on. Please make sure you’re able to be tagged so you don’t miss anything you’d like to be tagged on! 💙 I also in the process of re-doing my tag list, so stay tuned for that!

[altxrrmelancholy]

Cherry Lemons.

Tags: biker!Seonghwa, hints of a toxic relationship, a bit suggestive, Seonghwa does something leaning towards assault, arguing, Seonghwa lashes out, angst, hurt zero comfort.

Word count: idk honestly

•••

Seonghwa hoped that you would continue to hold on to him as he drove back to the frat house. As much as he was upset, he couldn't afford to keep arguing with you on a bike. He had to calm down enough to make sure you got to your destination safely. That he wouldn't get mad and ram the motorcycle into a telephone post just because. He could still feel your arms around his waist if he focused enough so that's a good sign, he hoped. It being dark already did not help the fact that he was riding angry.

As he neared the frat, he could feel your arms slipping from his waist. He stopped his bike as he reached and no sooner had he than you leapt out of the bike.

"Y/n. Y/n!" You were walking away from the house towards your dorm building. You couldn't take his antics anymore. His on and off behavior had been killing you.

"Y/n can we please talk. I promise I'll listen to you." You scoffed when you heard him.

"You'll listen to me now? When I want to leave is when you want to listen to me?!" You turned towards him to see him holding his helmet on his left hip, a somewhat desperate look on his face. All you had ever wanted was Seonghwa to listen to you.

He sighed deeply. "Can you come to the house Y/n, please."

It reaches a point that even you don't know whether he means what he says. No matter how much he tells you he does. You walk slowly towards him and glare at him before turning a corner to the pathway of the house. If you weren't so focused on the movement of the man behind you then you wouldn't have heard him scoff. This angers you big time.

"Come again?" You stop, your voice low. "You wanna scoff at me again, Seonghwa?" You say, your voice gradually getting louder.

"I didn't mean that." He says, his voice totally blank.

"You didn't mean that? Like you didn't mean to leave me stranded at the park tonight? Like you didn't mean to call me a bitch in front of all those people? What didn't you mean, huh?!"

"Can you calm down?! I just think you're constantly overreacting. No wonder we can never talk properly." You were stunned. Was this what he had always wanted to get off his chest about you? Are these words, these thoughts what he was feeling about you?

"I'm overreacting." You laugh a little, more filled with anger than anything else. "I'm trying to tell him how I feel and he thinks I'm being overreacting. Oh heavens."

"Can you stop? You're being ridiculous about this. Let's just go into the house so that we can talk about it properly."

"Ridiculous, huh? Earlier you found me ridiculous because you didn't think going on dates was a good idea. When I asked you to introduce me to your friends, you didnt think that was a good idea either. And then you finally allow me to meet your friends and you're passive about it-"

"I didn't allow you to meet my friends-"

"I'm not done talking Seonghwa, oh my god!" He physically resigns and crosses his hands, his helmet dropping on the grass, glaring at you. At this point, his whole frat has probably heard the commotion outside. Again, for the millionth. Time.

You slowly approach him, lifting up your finger to point towards him. "I'm constantly trying to tell you how I feel, Seonghwa. The way we agreed when we started dating. But I don't think it's working out the we hoped it would."

"Yeah no shit." He spits, his voice full of hatred. He never used to talk to you like that back when the two of you were merely sleeping together. In fact, you don't think you have a single bad memory of Seonghwa from before you started dating. You wonder if he turned this way because of you or if it was always like this, and you just didn't know.

"Seonghwa please. Listen."

"Ha. Okay, you know what? You want me to listen? What is with you constantly telling me to listen to you as if you're literally not right here. You keep telling me to listen when the truth is you're insecure." He stays glaring at you.

"Seonghwa, please."

"None of this arguing would have ever happened if you hadn't forced me into dating in the first place." He mutters.

You freeze. You had a feeling he would say that, and you low-key agreed. You didn't think it would hurt as much as it did actually hearing it though. You always wanted him to try for you, but you guessed he wouldn't. Especially if you kept arguing the way you always did.

Not knowing what else to say you make your way past him and head to the gate, still tense.

Don't cry.

"Where are you going." You hear his footsteps behind you as you approach the gate quicker.

"Y/n, stop. I said stop. Where are you going."

Don't cry don't cry.

To leave. You needed to leave. Before you started crying in front of a frat house, because of some motorcycle-wielding frat boy.

"Y/n, stop!" Is the last thing you hear before you're tackled to the ground. Shock runs through your system before you realize that Seonghwa had just tackled you to the ground. What the fuck.

You turn to your back aggressively, still in Seonghwa's hold. You look up at him with anger and shock. "Are you crazy?! Did you just tackle me?!"

"I'm not letting you leave before we talk about this- Can you stay still?" You push against him.

"I'm not talking about anything with you, let me go. Seonghwa I said let me go! I'm done with this!"

"Please don't break this off. Just come with me and we can talk about this, okay? Y/n- can you just stop struggling?!"

"You just said that I forced you into dating me, Seonghwa!" The yelling intensifies. "Where exactly is this supposed to go from there?" You say, voice breaking a bit as you stare up at the eyes you loved staring up at on most nights. "Please, just please let me g- mmmfh..." He suddenly slams his lips onto yours. If he isn't going to get you to walk to the house with words then he'll have to do it another way. The way he knows best.

Your eyes are shut tight as tears finally resign and find their way down your face, your hands on Seonghwa's shoulders as you try to fight him off you. You don't even know if you're doing much, though. For you're always absolutely weak in Seonghwa's arms, especially if he's kissing you. One of his hands makes its way down your body under your shirt, ghosting on the skin that is your stomach. You feel him grind his hips onto yours and you're moaning against your will. Your moans come out chocked as you're still crying.

But you still feel so good. And so broken at the same time.

"I didn't mean any of that Y/n please... Please stay..." You feel him kiss down your neck and suck the skin into his teeth, making a hickey. You're sobbing at this point, half-trying to get him to stop.

"S-Seonghwa stop, please..." Your sobs get even louder as he keeps grinding into you. You think you feel him shaking, but you have no idea if he's crying too.

"S- ah! Seong-"

"Hey!"

You distinctly hear a couple of footsteps run down a set of stairs and onto the grass.

"Seonghwa! The fuck, man? What's going on with you two?"

You feel Seonghwa get lifted off of you and you immediately roll to your side, still crying.

"Y/n? Hey, y/n. Can you hear me?" You look up and see Hongjoong, the frat leader standing above you looking concerned. He crouches beside you.

"Hey, hey. Breath Y/n. You're okay." You feel him rub your shoulder a bit. You hear a commotion behind and feel your embarrassment from being caught in such a position skyrocket. "Breath, okay? You're okay, I promise." You slightly calm down from that. You distinctly hear Seonghwa scream at someone to let him go. You're guessing someone is holding him back.

"Are you okay to get up?" You look up at him shyly. You weren't even given the opportunity to get to know his friends properly and now you never will. You nod and he lifts you up gently to your feet. You hadn't even realized that your shirt was slightly torn until you felt him put a jacket around you. You look up towards Seonghwa and see him struggling in Mingi's arms. At this point, you can also see all the frat members of atz look over at you from the windows, and you've never felt more embarrassed. You cower even more behind Hongjoong.

"Mingi. Take him inside and get him to calm down. Let's go, Y/n. I'll take you home." You hear the leader say as he ushers you away.

"Like hell you are! That's my girlfriend she's not going anywhere with you! Mingi let me go-"

"Oh cut the crap Seonghwa and grow the fuck up! Didn't you realize what this looked like from inside?"

Seonghwa stilled at the stern voice and looked from Hongjoong to you. Really looked at you. You were a mess. Hair messy and with grass on some parts of your body. Your eyes were red from crying. He could faintly see the hickey he put on you and how coloured it was. You felt Hongjoong lead you away from the lawn toward his car. "Come on Y/n."

You shuddered a bit and got into his car. You could still feel the wetness between your legs from Seonghwa's touch earlier. You didn't think you could get even more embarrassed at this point.

Seonghwa tried walking up to you but he was being dragged toward the house by a trying Mingi.

"Y/n babe I'm sorry. I-I'll call you, okay? I'm really fucking sorry Y/n, please..."

Is the last thing you heard before your focus shifts to Hongjoong starting his car, and leaving the premises.

•••

Feedback? I would love love love to hear it. Let me know if I should do another part. Thank you for now!

[justporo]

Headcanons about Astarion pulling his partner out of a bad mood

I'm not feeling super great today so this is another very self indulgent headcanon post which is possibly a little unhinged but I hope you'll still enjoy it.

Astarion himself is no stranger to feeling whimsical or even throwing full blown temper tantrums; that's also why he knows how much of a drag it can be

So granted he isn't in a massively bad mood himself, he'll keep nudging you until you are out of your current bad mood

If you're both annoyed at each other though (like after an unnecessary fight) it might be that you're both sitting around brooding - that is until you can't take it anymore; Astarion might act like he's still pissed, but when you come closer (still with a pout even) and wrap your arms around him, he can't resist (even though he will make a show out of it): "Do you mind? I'm still brooding!", Astarion says but lifts up his arms crossed over his chest so you can hug him better. "Still love you though, you rat arse", you reply furrowing your brows dramatically, you don't even feel that angry anymore. "Love you too, you idiot", Astarion answers and presses a kiss to your cheek - with a teasing eyeroll and grimace. Not shortly after the mood's a lot better, the fight forgotten.

This man shows as much mercy with you when you're feeling down and grumpy as on the battlefield: none!

"I like you in bed, my love. No - in fact: I love you in bed. But not like this - get up, my sweet, you can dissolve into a puddle of misery later when I'm done with you."

He will absolutely fuss if you don't go along with what he's doing to lighten your mood; and he will keep doing it until you're either punching him or are rolling on the floor laughing

This might involve the following: "Do you know what you look like right now, my heart?", Astarion asks and then makes the most excessive grimace. You're still scowling at him. "Love" he sighs then "furrowing your brows at me will just give you wrinkles. We don't want that, do we?" And he pinches your cheek with his long fingers until you're getting up to beat his ass. "See, wasn't it easy getting out of bed after all?" "You'd also be astonished how easy it is to be put IN A COMA!" (But you have to agree with him)

He will also shower you with praise, no matter what about, until you believe him (at least for the moment)

Or he'll be so disarmingly cute until you can't help but fall into his open arms for a comforting hug

If really nothing helps, Astarion just stays with you

Maybe just talking to you so you have something to focus on, massaging your shoulders, your neck, your hands

Or just cuddling with you, holding you, until his presence alone eases the knot of negative feelings in your chest (and then maybe nibbling a bit on your ear when he feels that you're doing better)

He's also masterful in just helping you let out any anger you might feel ("That BITCH!" "Yes love, how could she!? Honestly you should've just stabbed her right then and there." "RIGHT!?")

Other ways of coping might involve a bottle of wine and him handing you some stuff you can smash angrily ("You really showed that mug, love, impressive... Remind me to net get on your bad side, darling.")

In short: Astarion is as good with putting you in a bad mood sometimes as getting you out of it

I just need Astarion to tell me "Keep going, you beautiful thing" every day for the rest of my life, is that too much to ask?? We love a supportive king.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @azukiel

[thebiggerbear]

So Close

Summary: You meet Colter and Russell at the morgue to help them gain access. Had you known how this was really going to go, you might have pushed Colter's call to voicemail.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader; Russell Shaw x FBI!Female!Reader

A/N: I have zero idea what this is. My muse demanded I type this out after watching the morgue sneak peek scene and at this point, I'm giving her whatever she wants. I have never seen this show, know nothing about the characters and any relationships they may have or their background stories, only vaguely know what the premise is, and I'm waiting to see the episode like everyone else. And yet, the muse still put me to work. She can be so brutal sometimes.

I wouldn't call this speculation for 1x12 because I have no idea what's happened before it yet. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Full text in italics is dialogue from the morgue scene.

Warnings: mention of dead body; angst

Word Count: 2096

Sequel | Series (please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the series or any future Russell or Tracker works)

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

You can also read on AO3

You met Colter and Russell Shaw at the morgue, telling them that you were only doing this one small favor and that was it and only for Colter. Colter, as always, understood. Russell, not so much.

The older man turned to look at his younger brother. “I thought you said she’d be a big help to us on this one.”

Before Colter could answer, you narrowed your eyes in Russell’s direction. “I’m putting my job at risk helping you,” you snapped.

And still just as infuriating as ever, he gave you a smile, that teasing gleam in his eye. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N. You are looking…” He worked his fingers into the all-too familiar gesture of approval, giving you a glance over. 

“Go to hell, Shaw.” You spun on your heel and started marching towards the building. “Let’s go,” you barked. “We’re on a timeclock.” 

You never looked back to see if they were following you but you heard Colter mutter not too far behind you, “You mind not pissing her off until after we get to see the body?” 

“Yeah,” Russell quietly agreed, sounding far more serious than he had a moment ago. As a matter of fact, he sounded a little down, which made you wonder what was really going on. You already knew of the strain between the brothers so them working together was odd in itself but Colter hadn’t given you details when he called you and you hadn’t asked for them. You hoped this case they were working had nothing to do with anyone who Russell might… You forced away the thought and renewed your focus on the task at hand. You weren’t here for anything pertaining to that. You needed to keep your mind clear, and your eyes and ears open. 

Once you were all inside, you noticed an older woman sitting at the reception desk. You were about to walk in and pull your badge, ready to lie your ass off and give your official spiel when Russell held a hand up. “I got this,” he assured you both, before waltzing right in. You and Colter exchanged a look before following him.

The woman glanced up briefly and saw you all approaching before going back to her computer. “What can I help you with?”

“Hi, um…” Russell glanced down at her nametag as Colter moved to stand next to his brother, sporting a small smile. “Yolanda. Well, that is—that’s a beautiful name.” You slowly shook your head and crossed your arms. He was seriously going to try to charm his way in? Well, this ought to be fun to watch.

You weren’t surprised when she barely spared him a glance before going back to typing.

And of course, that didn’t deter him one bit. “Sadly, we, uh, we heard about Len Claimans. Recently deceased and, uh, we just need to see the body.”

That caught the woman’s attention as you expected it would. She immediately turned to face him and slipped her eye glasses onto her head. “What for?”

“How do you like working here?” You nearly smirked at the increased pitch in Russell’s voice, betraying his attempt at bullshitting and also a small case of nerves. It was almost as if he’d never lied before. Funny that. 

From Colter’s expression as he watched this trainwreck up close, he had to be thinking along the same lines as you, but more so wondering why this was even being attempted with you standing right there.

“Huh?” Russell continued. “I get a good vibe from you, you know. Kind eyes — helpful eyes, I like that.” You bit your lip to keep from saying something you shouldn’t. Russell had never been what you would call a good flirt, but he certainly was dialing up the charm to try to compensate. 

Too bad the charm didn’t seem to be working. Yolanda’s eyes immediately transferred to Colter. “What’s he talking about?”

Colter shook his head and turned to look at her. “The body might be connected to the disappearance of another man,” he explained. You noticed Russell glancing back at you out of the corner of his eye and you arched an inquisitive brow in his direction which made him immediately focus on Yolanda again, nodding along as his brother talked.

“Oh.” Yolanda looked regretful for a moment before going back to her computer. “I’m sorry, but unless you’re family, I can’t let you back there.”

Knowing this was the point Colter needed your intercession, you began to step forward but immediately froze when Russell snapped his fingers and spoke up. “I didn’t mention.” He gestured between him and Colter, giving Yolanda a smug grin, almost as if he had finally found the ruse that would work. “Cousins.” 

If you could have facepalmed right there without anyone seeing you, you would have. Wow. How was he so bad at this? And why didn’t he just let you do the talking? Or his brother for that matter?

Yolanda huffed out a breath of impatience. She was clearly done with this conversation and quite frankly, so were you.

Russell suddenly leaned forward. “We just-we just need a minute. Or two, you know? I promise we won’t disrupt a thing and then afterwards, maybe, uh, go grab a drink or, uh, somethin’ somethin’.” This time, you did briefly cover your face with your hand. This was just beyond embarrassing. Why did you agree to help these two again?

You could not believe what you were hearing and neither could Colter. You watched as he stared at his older brother before he decided to give it one last ditch effort and played along, turning a strained smile onto the woman.

And as expected, Yolanda finally reached her limit. “No. Sorry.” She got up from her chair and walked away.

Russell let out a disappointed breath. “That was so close.”

“No,” Colter rightfully disagreed.

You’d now reached your limit as well. Stepping forward, you loudly cleared your throat and came to a stop next to Russell. Yolanda turned to look at you, wondering what was coming next from the circus act that had apparently decided to roll into her office this afternoon. You gave her your best professional smile. “Hi there. I’m Special Agent Y/L/N with the FBI.” You slipped out your badge and held it up for her to see before putting it back into your pocket. “My associates here are correct. We’re currently investigating a missing persons case that may be connected to Mr. Claimans’ death. I’m going to need to take a look at the body as well as the autopsy report.”

Yolanda, clearly not believing anything you were selling today, stared over at you, unimpressed. “Do you have a warrant?”

“I can have one sent over to you in the next hour,” you lied. “But right now, we’re on a bit of a timeclock as I’m sure you can imagine.”

She glanced between you three, thinking it over. Russell and Colter looked back and forth between you two.

“Let me see that badge again.”

You grabbed it and handed it to her as she walked over. She studied it and then gave it back to you after a moment. “Ten minutes,” she decided. Both of you ignored Russell’s little smack to the counter and triumphant grin mixed with a quiet “I knew I liked you” in Yolanda’s direction. 

She looked bored. “That’s all I can give you.”

You gave her a nod of gratitude. “That’ll be plenty. Thank you.” 

She nodded and passed next to you to lead the way. You glanced in Colter’s direction and he nodded his thanks. Russell turned to you, his grin all but gone now, the serious tone from before back. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Sure.” He gave you the beginnings of a grateful smile, his gaze never leaving yours. You could feel yourself being sucked in, almost as if there was a strong magnetic force trying to pull you back in. There was so much going on behind those eyes that looked almost as if they were pleading with you for something — something that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to give. You were still putting yourself back together, trying to repair the damage that his chaotic whirlwind had caused.

Colter quietly cleared his throat and it shattered the moment, and for that you were grateful. Especially when you noticed Russell had been discreetly moving closer to you. You moved away a bit, making Russell’s jaw tighten and his eyes harden, and started after Yolanda. “We should go,” you told Colter, happy to look upon him once again while you regained your bearings. “We’ve only got ten minutes and I really don’t need an ass chewing from my supervisor because your brother has no game.” 

Colter smirked and followed after you. Russell’s jaw dropped and he appeared alongside you once more, keeping pace with you. “I have game!”

“No, you don’t,” you snorted, keeping your eyes straight ahead, unwilling to look at him.

“Yes, I do. It worked on you once upon a time, didn’t it?”

You leveled a menacing glare on him before turning to look at Colter on your other side. “Why did you ask me to help you again?”

Colter pressed his lips together and decided to keep quiet, focusing on waiting for Yolanda to open the door to the morgue. “I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Russell leaned closer and murmured to you, “I do, too. And Y/N, after we get out of here, why don’t we go grab that drink I talked about? Just you and me? We can talk and catch up.” You turned your wide eyes onto him. Was he serious? He shot you a charming grin but you could also see the tiny gleam of hope in his gaze.

You ignored the familiar scent of his cologne as it wafted over you and you tamped down the painful memories it induced.

Colter looked like he would rather be anywhere else right then. You wished you were anywhere else right then. You turned your eyes forward, refusing to look at him anymore, not wanting to see any part of his reaction to what you were about to say. “You’re both on a timeclock, remember?” You asked quietly. “After we get what we need, you should go to the spot that's next on your list or immediately chase down any leads. As for me, I have to get back to work.”  You then surged ahead, standing right behind Yolanda and stepping into the room when she opened the door.

After a moment, you heard the brothers enter behind you and Colter muttered to Russell, “You good?”

“Yeah.” You nearly closed your eyes hearing that tone that you were starting to hate once more. “So close.” This time, when he echoed the words from before, there was no false bravado attached to them, no playfulness or humor, only what you detected as regret. 

This time, Colter didn’t say anything in response. Both brothers joined you and you all watched as Yolanda selected a drawer and slid it out. Feeling Russell next to you, you swore to yourself that this would be the last time you would take a call from Colter for a long time. While you liked the younger Shaw, it was the older Shaw you didn’t want to chance running into ever again. 

You stared ahead as Yolanda unzipped the body bag, tensing as you felt the sleeve of Russell’s jacket unintentionally brush against you. So close? Too close.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Russell watching you intently, his expression serious and that regretful look in his eyes once more. You forced your gaze back to the woman reminding you of your ten minute window, refusing to allow any sympathy for the older man on your left. You hadn’t been the one to ruin things between you; you’d only been left to pick up the pieces. You were done feeling sorry for Russell Shaw. 

You took the report Yolanda offered to you before she left and began flipping through it, skimming the text, as Colter took a closer look at the body. From your peripherals, Russell stared at you a moment longer and then moved to stand next to his brother, their backs to you. Sadly, a familiar sight of the man you’d once loved. You blinked away rapidly forming tears and went back to reading.

As much as you hated to admit it, Russell had been right. So close indeed.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[shamachan]

hii! love your writing! Can i request a step 2 Qiu/Tam x Popular MC? about them feeling jealous of other students constantly grabbing the MC’s attention away

step 2 jealous Qiu & Tamarack with a popular!gn!MC

Qiu

We all know that Qiu is and was kinda popular amongst Golden Grove people, so they understand how hard it can be to pay attention for all people around you, just for because of your popularity. You're not guilty for being so cool, yeah.

So, they were okay with you being around less and less, they were okay with some people distracting you from talking to them when they were out and about with you... At least that what they firstly thought.

They didn't mind you being popular at all, but what about you and them? Your time together?

They were staring at you through their window in their bedroom, you were talking with a group of people around you. You were so happy without them around... They had to agree, you were radiant and sparkling with beauty, but they want your company too, y'know?

Autumn didn't quite get when they started to feel overwhelmed with it. Or they were... jealous? They wanted to come over where you were with others and just take you to their bedroom or their hideout and make sure you stay here for a while. Nowhere else and with noone else besides you two. Just being with them for more then half of an hour works.

But of course they wouldn't do that. Nuh-uh. You have your own freedom and they can't just cross its boundaries. So what about a small, a bit of a sulky talk with Qiu when you finally come to visit them? Maybe, if you wouldn't come for quite a time they'll make a favor and come to you instead in a not-threatening-way-possible. They just have to hope it'll solve the issue.

Tamarack

Mainly at the start of your popularity, Tamarack was not against some people coming to you when you where hanging out with her, to say hi to you. It's what a relationship with other people means. That you acknowledge a person whenever you can.

But it was starting to get ridiculous at some point. She didn't know how you dealt with all these people around.

Tama surely didn't mind those who were around you, but they weren't quite sincere all along!

They didn't recognize her as "Tamarack Baumann", but rather as "MC's friend" and it wasn't nice at all.

So, only after a few failed attempts to interrupt them when she was clearly spending time you, Tamarack started to feel even more insecure about herself and started being more quiet. When she was spending time only with you, she was feeling way better, but those... people, kept messing around.

She preferred spending time with you calmly and cozy, without so many different people she wasn't so interested in. But these ones were too clingy and too rude sometimes! She felt like they put her down more and more in your eyes. She was a bit scared about you forgetting about her presence, but she still trusted you.

Tamarack thought through about this and decided to take matters into one's own hands. She'll come to you herself, tagging you along with her somewhere nearby the forest, and ask about spending more time with her and a bit less with others. She just prays it'll be okay with you... Give her a lot of big hearty hugs later!!!

A/N: lmaoo this pumpkins r so silly i love it

soo if this piece of something has mistakes please lemme know!!! im writing this at 2 am hehe...

trying to write as canon as possible and i hope i do that... the advises are highly welcomed btwww

OH AND HAII TYSMM I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVE MY WRITING!! have a nice day anon!!!

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-ten

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: I don't think you guys understand how broken this gif made me Fuck, creating it killed me! Also, during the hotel scene, listen to snuff by slipknot. It's on the playlist! Some eggs from other songs on the playlist throughout the chapter as well! Enjoy my loves!

Tags: @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here

NICK R.

My heart raced as Jolly and I met each other in the dimly lit hotel hallway, sleep still heavy in our eyes and bones. When he called me a few minutes ago, I rushed out of bed where I was crashing in Matt’s room and knew that it could have been about one thing.

Noah.

“What happened?” I asked.

Jolly ran a hand over his exhausted face. “I don’t know. I haven’t walked inside yet and I’m afraid of what I’m going to see.”

“Y/N. He kicked me out earlier tonight because she was coming by,” I said, remembering suddenly.

“Shit,” Jolly cursed before nodding behind me towards Folio. “No matter what we walk into, we don’t judge him. Whatever happened fucked him up enough that he needs to write a song at three in the morning.”

Folio agreed. “How bad is he?”

I shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

Jolly turned towards the door and knocked gently.

“Yeah.”

The voice that called back was not Noah; this voice sounded broken, and distant, with the single word that was uttered.

“It’s me,” Jolly spoke through the door.

Realizing that Noah was most likely not in a state to answer the door, I handed Jolly my room key and we all sucked in a breath when the light on the lock turned green; us walking into the room one at a time. There was music playing, soft beats echoing off the wall, and I hoped no one would complain to the front desk about the noise.

My bed was still as I left it but Noah’s bed was disheveled with a pair of underwear that clearly weren’t his and a small piece of what I expected was a condom wrapper. Noah’s original clothes from earlier that evening were on the floor at the edge of the bed.

Shit.

Noah was on the floor leaning against the wall with a bottle of Hennessy in hand, more than half gone, and his hair was in a disarray of braids.

“Noah,” Jolly said quietly while bending down in front of him.

He waved a hand in front of his face as his head bobbed slowly. “I’m good, man. I just wanted to get this beat down. It’s in my head.”

“She wouldn’t stay, would she?” I questioned while motioning towards the bed.

“Didn’t need to. Jus’ friends. ‘S’all it’s come to. She didn’t need to and I don’t really fucking care. I don’t. No sweat off ma back,” he finished the rest of the bottle before letting it slip from his fingers. “I’m fine. F.I.N.E.”

The three of us shared a painful wince as he spelled out the word two more times.

As if whoever was watching over us from above, just then that specific song by Too Close To Touch came blasting through the small portable speaker Noah always brought with.

“See?” Noah pointed to the air around him. “Even fucking Keaton is telling you guys I’m fine.”

But then, he slammed his head against the wall behind him as his bottom lip trembled, his chest caving in at hearing his best friend's voice play throughout the room. Noah was only rubbing more salt in his wounds and fuck, they burned.

“Why the fuck aren’t you here, man?” he choked out. “You knew her better than us. What did I do? Why’d she leave?”

Keaton’s name felt like ice in our hearts and I knew it was a stabbing pain through Noah’s chest.

“Whatever,” Noah grumbled, wiping angrily at his face. “Her decision; bad decision. Fuck her. I need to write.”

“Noah, come on, don’t say shit you’re gonna regret,” Folio spoke. “You can’t write when you’re drunk. You know that.”

“M’not. She jus’ my good friend. I fucking knew I wasn’t enough for her.”

He was far gone, not even realizing that Folio and I stood behind Jolly, our own somber expressions weighing heavily on our faces.

Finally, his eyes opened and when he saw all three of us, Noah groaned.

“Oh, great ya called them?” He pointed towards us. “I don wanna hear I told you so, erm stubborn. Yadayadsa.”

His words slurred together, stumbling over his tongue.

Folio peered around the room, counting the empty bottles. “I’m counting two.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Apparently he’s been sitting here awhile.”

“You know I can’t stay; you deserve better than me,” Noah chuckled, imitating Y/N’s voice.

Jolly peered over his shoulder at us and his lips were pulled in a tight line, all of us thinking the same thing.

“Noah” I sighed with my hands on my hips.

His head snapped up, eyes red with tears so close to falling but they wouldn’t. Noah was always in control of his emotions; he refused to cry in front of us.

“She told me what I felt, she told me what I wanted and what I didn’t. Didn’t give me a fucking say about anything before she walked the fuck out. Left. Gone,” he rambled on.

“She’s going through-,” Folio started.

“Fuck that,” Noah seethed with clenched fists in his lap. “I don’-don’t care right now, in this moment. She fucking stole my heart and took it with ‘er. Jus’ friends.”

The last two words sounded bitter on his tongue, like acid.

While we let him wallow in the pain, I motioned for Jolly and Folio to walk to the other side of the room, out of earshot from Noah.

“Should we ask Malcom or Chase what the fuck happened?” Jolly asked.

“Do you think she told them?” Folio wondered.

I shrugged while crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t doubt that. She likes him, we know she does. It’s clear.”

“Then why did she leave?” Jolly questioned, his own pain for Noah making his jaw clench. “What the fuck happened to make her leave?”

I gazed over to Noah, my heart falling into my stomach at the broken sight of my brother. “He jumped. He jumped but Y/N wasn’t there yet.”

The three of us made a quick plan of action before Jolly and Folio went to help Noah up off the floor, his limp body dragging on the floor.

“Noah let’s get into bed,” Folio suggested.

“No. I need to finish this beat, and these fuckin’ lyrics in my head,” he pushed himself away from them, standing on two shaky feet but standing. He smacked his forehead over and over.

Jolly nodded. “We will, but first you need to get some sleep.”

He glared at the bed in front of him, a mess of the decision they made together.

“…the pillow.. she was on that one,” Noah pointed. “It smells like that fucking perfume, I don-wanna inhale that shit right now.”

There was so much venom in his voice when he spoke about Y/N and there was a part of me that hoped this wouldn’t last long. He had every right to be upset with her; he gave her his heart, and she walked away.

“Alright, then let’s get you some sleep in mine,” I said.

He licked his lips, an unreadable look flashing in bloodshot eyes. “I still fucking taste her. It’s a poison that I should have fucking avoided.”

“Can’t help you with that, brother,” Folio tried to joke.

No one laughed

“No. I need to finish this-,” Noah stumbled over to his suitcase to snatch a piece of paper and pen, something he always kept on him.

I stepped in front of him to hold him steady, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It was as if it was trying to break free to chase after Y/N; just for her to stomp on it again.

No, I shook my head, you can’t let your own anger deter you from trying to fix Noah. You can be angry about the situation but not her. It’s no one's fault.

“You don’t like to write when you’re not home,” I tried to take the pen and paper away from him.

“I don’ care nicKLas.” He pushed past me to fall onto his bed, ass first on the pillow. “I have to, right now.”

Sensing the sudden thick tension, not knowing what the next thing would be that would set him off, Jolly gave a slow nod toward Noah.

“Alright. Let it go, man. Let us hear it.”

Even though they weren’t written down, Noah still burned his gaze into the empty page in front of him. Through the slurred words, the ache that poured out of him brought chills to my bones.

“How quick it gets lonely here at the top. Her skin feels unholy but I’m still drawn. The morals I’m holding, you know they’re gone.”

Fuck, that was good.

Noah’s eyes snapped over to us. “Why aren’t you helping me get down this beat?”

I held my arms out to the empty room. “We don’t have our stuff here Noah, this isn’t usually how we do this.”

“Fuck,” he ran a shaky hand over his chin. “Ok well then here! Voice clip it.”

While he tossed his phone to Jolly, who barely caught it in time, I gave Folio a look of luck before slipping out of the room, almost running into Matt who stood at the open doorway.

“Who the fuck is blasting Snuff by Slipknot at four in the morning?” He asked with fury.

No doubt someone called the front desk and complained who in turn complained to Matt.

“Woah, what the fuck is going on right now?” Matt took a tentative step into the room, eyeing the situation.

“Didn’t you hear, fucker?” Noah whipped his head towards us so fast, that the braids smacked around his face. “She ran away, she’s the fuckin same.”

He hiccuped a sob. “Angels lie to keep control.”

“Fuck's sake,” Jolly pinched his nose with a sigh.

I gave Matt’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just keep an eye on Noah, he’s not in a good place right now.”

“Fuck, don’t tell me-,” he stuffed his hands into the pocket of his sweater.

“Just- let me handle it man,” I slipped past him out of the room and quick steps took me to the elevator.

I bounced on the soles of my feet as I repeatedly pushed the down floor button and cursed when the doors finally opened. Blackness took over as I let the images of Noah sitting there broken carry me to the room, hand pounding on the door.

Time be damned. I couldn't care less if she was asleep right now. How could she be asleep while my best friend, my brother, was fucking dying on the inside?

Not again. I refused to let him sink for another.

“Nick?” Chase squinted with the sudden light blasting in from the hallway. “Everything alright?”

“Where is she?”

He continued to stare at me with narrowed eyes. “Who? Y/N?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Is she here?”

I tried to peer past him but only saw someone with auburn curls walk behind Chase, leaving a gentle hand on his back. “What’s going on?”

“Nick’s looking for Y/N,” Chase informed Malcolm.

He stared at me confused. “Last I heard she was going to hang out with Noah. Did something happen?”

“What the fuck do you think?” I snapped but then let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole but she left. Noah’s a fucking wreck. It seemed like they had a great time- so what’s the deal? I thought she cared for him. Why, why would she hurt my friend?”

I was the middle child, great at negotiating, great at being the middle man. The one who would try to settle things. I was on Noah’s side with this one, she’s my friend, but he’s my brother. Even I didn’t see this coming. I tried to remain neutral when I asked them and tried not to look annoyed.

“Dude- she does, she cares for him a lot,” Malcolm spoke while tying up his curls. “Noah makes her so happy. We haven’t seen her glow like that in years, I just- I don’t know. We don’t know why she would leave. Unless…”

Chase quickly pushed Malcolm back into the room slightly. “Dude, no. That’s not our business to tell. She has to be the one to decide.”

“What?!” I asked.

They knew something, and I needed to know; right now.

“That’s her business, not ours,” Chase said, rubbing his head.

“What?,” I scoffed. “Is she fucking dying or something? Is she okay?”

“No, no, she’s fine. All I’ll say is she does things in her life that can require extra attention. But like I said, that’s not for us to discuss, even with you man, sorry,” he pauses and says again. “Is he- is Noah alright?”

“Honestly? No. He isn’t, he’s drunk and writing right now. He’s gonna feel like hell when we have to leave for the airport in a few hours.”

Malcolm sighed. “I’m sorry dude. When Y/N comes back, we’re going to have to have a long talk. We know she cares for your friend, Nick. Her heart is in the right place- we just don’t know where the hell her mind is. We’ll figure it out.”

I nod and smile slightly, in agreement. My eyes want to convey a lot more. Y/N’s a good person, but she broke my friend's heart tonight. This is why I was so hesitant about this relationship with him and Y/N. I warned Noah not to jump yet, but he did.

All I could do right now until she came back was nod a quick thanks to them and hope that Y/N would confide in them. I wanted to fix my friend's broken soul so often, and so often I tried and succeeded. I wasn’t sure I could with this one- I needed to let them go through this on their own. But I’ll be damned if I let my friend suffer.

“Alright well, let me know what you find out, please.”

“Absolutely, anytime man. We’ll talk,” Chase reassured with a nod, Malcolm bumping fists with mine.

When I made it back to Noah’s room, I noticed the guys huddled around Noah’s slumped body in the bed, clutching the pillow Y/N laid on close to his chest, snoring loudly, and another empty bottle of Hennessy next to him.

“Shit,” I breathed. “Another one?”

Matt sighed defeated. “We tried, man. But his strength when he’s drunk and angry is something not to mess with. You know that.”

I nodded because I knew that. All too well.

“He only fell asleep about five minutes ago. I don’t know how we’re going to get him up in two hours so we can make our flights,” Folio wondered.

“We’ll figure it out,” I assured them. “Did he finish writing?”

“Yeah,” Matt slowly went towards the end of the bed, gently pulling the book from under Noah’s arm; pen falling from his hands.

“What does it say?” My brows raised as I took the paper in my hands; my brothers' broken words staring back at me.

Bitter ends to the nights. I’m along for the ride. Out of breath, out of time. Everything has a price. You can be all I got, what’s the difference? Hennessy and a lot of bad decisions. All I know, all I know is bad, bad decisions.

“Gotta admit, it’s fucking good,” Jolly said while he read the lyrics over my shoulder.

I bit my lip. “Yeah.”

Folio yawned loudly while stretching, exhausted body falling onto my bed. “Get ready boys because once we’re home, we won’t have a moment of peace. We’re writing a new record.”

NICK R.

You could cut the tension with a knife in this boarding gate right now.

The sun barely broke through the thick glass of the windows as Bad Omens and Hollow Souls sat on other ends of the gate, waiting for our flights to be called. With tired but intent eyes, I watched Noah as he kept his eyes cast down to his hands, fingers intertwining with each other as he picked away the black nail polish. It was as though it was his subconscious way of chipping pieces of Y/N away, the way he washed his hands in the restroom earlier, scrubbing her off him.

His nails were surely, going to bleed if he kept picking at them, I wanted to intervene, say stop that. I needed him to process his feelings. I so badly wanted to scream in this airport, wake the fuck up, to them both. But I kept my reservations.

And just like him, Y/N looked rough. It was clear neither of them, or well any of us got any sleep last night.

Where the fuck did they go so wrong together?

Noah had been a fan of hers ever since that night on my pull-out couch but the first time they met each other almost 2 months ago, their eyes were bright with a vibrant gaze. Almost like searchlights attempting to find something. The lights found it, but they were almost too intense, almost like bystanders. Through all the confusion, I knew deep within me it wouldn’t be long until the searchlights were searching again, just a matter of when.

Us?

We weren’t allowed to see what was being found. We should have looked away, and avoided the crash. But to see them now, those same eyes swollen, discolored and raw red, the blood vessels wanting to leave their faces made it harder to look away.

Noah ran a hand through his hair, now out of the braids and cascading around his shoulder, and let his eyes graze over towards Y/N, who was resting her head against Chase's shoulder. It was brief, the look of agony in them, but he looked away before she could catch him.

The airline called out for Vegas first; Chase and Y/N’s flight. Then our flight back home to LA was called out seconds later.

Those two sets of eyes, continue to gaze and plead and beg until their shoulders are tapped, Jolly to Noah and Chase to Y/N. As he stood, Noah adjusted the bag on his shoulder and waved his fingers in a peace sign toward the three members of Hollow Souls. This wasn’t how we wanted our new friendships and tour to end.

He wants to be in her life. He still does, otherwise, he wouldn’t have done that. I thought to myself as I noticed Y/N gave her one peace sign to all of us.

She’s sorry, she wants him in her life and regrets it.

I could fucking see it. This was going to be a long ride with these two.

As we all stood with our carry-on bags, ready to walk towards our gate, I gave Chase a knowing nod who immediately pulled out his phone, avoiding the eyes of Y/N, to send me a message.

I’ll tell you everything

Noah slept the entire flight, not speaking a word or even opening his eyes. Now, as we pulled up to the house he said with Jolly, Orie, Michael, and Jesse, Noah still had yet to say one word. Folio offered to stay with but we knew he had someone to meet back home in Virginia so we told him we had it from here.

“You sure?” Folio asked before we boarded the plane.

I nodded. “Yeah, go back to Virgina. Tell her we said hey.”

I, on the other hand, was a different story.

“I’m not going home right now,” I told Noah as I set my bags down in their living room. They had little extra space, but I didn’t care. I’d sleep on the couch as long as I was near my brother. “I won’t leave you in this state, Noah.”

“Nick, I’m a grown man. I’ll be alright,” he sighed while popping open the bottle of aspirin, and swallowing two pills dry.

For the hangover.

“I know you are,” I nodded. “Just let me be there for you, okay?”

NOAH

If it wasn’t terrible enough that not only did my fucking love life shut down, but the world had to as well?

Two months. It’s been almost two months since the tour ended and this pandemic took over the world, forcing us to stay stuck inside. While the rest of the guys went stir-crazy after the first few weeks, I spent the solace writing, drinking, and trying to forget about her.

The latter lasted only a few minutes once we returned home; her scent being stained into my skin, her touch engraved deep into my bones it made it hard to get out of bed. I see her in all my mirrors. Her reflection was haunting me relentlessly like a ghost.

Hennessy and Jack have become my friends in the last few weeks at home. I knew the guys were worried; I didn’t need them to worry. I was fine.

Y/N and I are friends.

Right, then how come you haven’t texted her in weeks?

Because she’s been busy with the move, I retorted back to my own thoughts.

Malcolm texted our Hollow Omens group chat to let us know that Y/N was settling in nicely in their new apartment in Los Angeles. We can come by anytime for a housewarming party but immediately I ignored that. Wouldn’t it be fucking awkward?

Trey wasn’t home when she and Chase showed up to pack her things so they could leave without incident.

Even with her cat Salem.

Chase sent a few pictures of the cat in the group chat, long black fur lying on his chest. I never responded, simply liking the messages before setting my phone on silent the rest of the night. I noticed that Y/N rarely ever responded in the chat as well, only when Chase or Malcolm would ask her something but she would only reply with emojis or a short ‘ok.’

The pandemic was only getting started and I could feel the suffocation kick in. I felt alone; utterly alone. I put all my heart into this one woman, a woman I yearned for, for a long time.

The loud ringing of the doorbell pulled me from my melancholy thoughts and I sighed, almost forgetting I ordered food an hour ago. I was in such a trance I hadn’t realized the noise of the loud bell eased me out of my rocking back and forth on the couch.

I didn’t even notice I did that.

I took a massive swig of my jack and clenched my teeth as it burned all the way down my throat, heart racing a mile a minute.

Calm down, calm down.

Time slowed, or passed by in a blaze? I wasn’t sure the longer I sat in the somewhat dark living room, open but untouched food container on the table in front of me as the chicken scratch of my handwriting teased back at me.

Why’s this always gotta happen to me? I should have known. I never fail to never learn from mistakes, still throwing stones. Blood signed, we made it a pact. Yours dried out; you took it back.

The alcohol was like battery acid as I took another large swing of Jack but it wasn’t kicking in strong enough. I kept swinging until the burn covered up my pain.

Harper’s soft whines from her perch next to me on the couch pulled at my heartstrings so knowing Orie wasn’t here, I fed her a few pieces of my cold dinner.

The front door opened, voices carrying from the entryway into the living room and my heart hammered with the panic of them seeing me like this. I hid the bottle under the pillow and tossed the small bag into the garbage from my food.

“Shit, Noah. Why are you sitting in the dark?” Jolly asked while turning on the lamp next to the sofa I was sitting on.

“Hi,” My voice was soft because now with the bright lights, the room was spinning.

“You working on another song?” He eyed the bottle that stuck out from behind the pillow, irritation in his eyes.

They matched my own.

I chewed roughly on my bottom lip. “Yes, man, what do you think?”

“Don’t be hostile, go eat and let me look over it,” Jolly motioned to my food while he reached for the pad of paper.

“You can’t just tell me what to do,” I snapped while reaching for it before he could.

“Noah, you gotta eat so you don’t get hungover. Let me look at the song,” he took the pad of paper and walked over to the other side of the room. Once he fell into the chair in the corner of the room, Jolly nodded up at me. “Fucking eat, Noah”

I sighed and grabbed my food to chew slowly, “Okay Dad”

Jesse stalked into the living room a few moments later while stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Nick said there might be news of the ban lifting completely by the end of the month. Which means we can get a change of scenery. Might be good for us.”

Holy Hades, this is one of those times I wished I lived alone.

Shortly after getting back home, the pandemic started and Nick ended up getting stuck with us in LA. He didn’t mind, more time for us to hang and chill, but now that procedures were lifting slowly at a time, he took the first opportunity to fly back to Virginia to get things settled there.

“Hey,” Jesse sat on the arm of Jolly’s chair. “Is this another song?”

Even though my head was throbbing with the ongoing hangover, I leaned back into the couch while nodding and Harper now rested her whole body in my lap. “It’s the third one.”

“Oh? Nice! Let me see” He began flipping through the pages.

Normally, I’d jump and take the book from his hands, but right now this room was in spirals. I was sick to my knees. All I wanted to do was call her, and have her tell me it’ll be fine. But I wasn’t ready to talk to her yet, and she wasn’t ready to talk to me either.

Clearly.

Malcolm texted me the other day, outside of the Hollow Omens group chat to tell me that Y/N wasn’t doing okay and she missed me. She wanted to talk to me and wanted us over one night when the bans were lifted. But if that was the truth, then how come the last text I had on my phone from her was right before she came to my hotel room that night?

Her unholy skin tasted like the forbidden fruit, all the morals we held that night gone. No gods, no religion. Just our bad decisions. Memories of the way she looked while on top of me burned into my brain and I couldn’t forget the way she felt coming undone.

It paralyzed me so much so that I left Malcolm on read for two days.

Thanks man, glad it worked out. Be in touch.

Snapping out of my drunken thoughts, I noticed Jesse was still reading the pages, not giving a damn I’m leaving my heart out on the table in front of him, bleeding all over while he was reading it.

“Bad Decisions. Nice,” Jesse nodded before flipping back to the new song I was working on. “Nowhere to go? Angsty. I like it.”

I shrugged and stopped mid-chew. “Yeah, I know. It’s what I do, Jesse.”

Arrogant? No, it was smart; I had to channel this shit somewhere. I knew this, no matter what, I’ll always write a fucking song. I wanted to panic, and I did, but the liquor was doing its job.

Jolly went to grab the guitar while Jesse moved to the couch, Harper now lying in his lap.

Traitor.

As I reached for the bottle of Jack this time, Jolly hastily ripped it from my hands and to exhausted to fight, I let him.

“No. Let’s add a chorus to Nowhere To Go, yeah?”

“Sure, yeah, I got something in mind.” I took the notebook back to jot some more words down.

After a few moments, I read the entire thing a few times, making sure it was perfect before I gave it to him.

“Start with this?” He asked.

I nodded then soon, my thoughts became words into the air.

“Hear me out, I’m sorry, but I’m a little less than sold. I’ve been around, heard all the stories you said you never told. You’re used to speaking in tongues to feel like you’re in control. Now you’ve got nowhere to run, now you’ve got nowhere to go. Tell me what’s mine and tell me what’s yours. Why I never got a say, never got a choice? Tell me what’s mine and tell me what’s yours. Why I never got a say, never got a choice?”

“Fuck, that sounds amazing, Noah. Let’s finish this.” Jolly mused,

That night, we finished Bad Decisions and Nowhere to Go.

Folio

Noah began smoking weed again, on top of all the alcohol he’d been consuming the last few weeks, he was on a downward spiral. It was only in small doses but that’s how the drinking started; he took up this faux savior persona.

“I can save myself,” he’d say after one of us would bring up how worried we were about him.

It was a load of shit. Any of us could tell you that.

This was the first time I’d seen him since the tour ended, all those months ago, but time away did nothing to help his mental state. Noah was breaking, piece by piece, and now that the ban lifted, we could visit again. Hence Nick and I were hanging out in their living room, a soft beat of music playing on the speakers.

Noah came bounding down the stairs, smelling of whiskey and weed, eyes glassy, rosy, and filled with rage. His hands were full of ink as he’d been writing nonstop, with everlasting consistency.

As he cascaded, his stomps were harsh, and if he realized it, Noah didn’t give a shit. When he reached into the kitchen and slammed the cupboard door wide open, he grabbed a bag of pita chips with tight force, breaking a few chips no doubt.

“Why are these almost gone? I just fucking bought them?” He snapped with a smart-ass attitude.

All of us eyed each other wearily, unsure how or even if we should respond but it was Orie who muttered under his breath. “We had some with the hummus we bought earlier. Chill the fuck out, Noah. It’s not that deep.”

Noah tossed the bag onto the counter. “It is that deep when it's something of mine. Fucking ass if you want it. Why is it so hard for people to communicate?”

Michael, who usually was the quiet, almost forgotten one, finally snapped. “We’re being patient with you. But we’re not your fucking punching bag.”

Jolly’s head snapped over to Michael from his spot on the floor in front of the couch with wide eyes full of heat, I was sure vanilla ice cream would melt. Jolly was the one who let all of us know to take it easy on Noah; it was a hard time in his life, and the last thing he needed was one of us fighting with him.

Noah hadn’t spoken to Y/N in weeks and we could physically see the imaginary soul ties that bound them together withering away, even though they were within miles of each other now that she lived here. Miles apart but still couldn’t gain the fucking courage to grow up and speak to each other.

Michael sighed his apology while running a hand over his face. “We’re here for you, man. We’re being patient. But you can’t keep going on like this.”

“You’re drowning right now and the painful to watch, you haven’t been this bad in years. Let us help you,” Nick spoke with a shaky breath.

Out of all of us, it hurt him the most to see Noah like this because he’d seen it before; only this time it was worse.

“You can’t help me, nothing to help me with. I’m fine,” Noah shrugged before reaching for another beer.

“You’re in denial and it’s ridiculous,” I said, tired of seeing and hearing the same bullshit. “Noah, I think you should see someone.”

“A shrink? Seriously?” He snorted.

“I think it can help you, besides the way music does,” I offered.

“I don’t need you to help me, I just want the racing to stop. The racing in my mind going miles a minute,” He slammed a finger to the side of his head repeatedly. “We have so much shit to do, and I can’t see anything but what happened right now. It’s a fuckin loop in my brain. Everything just keeps glitching.”

Noah then paced the length of the kitchen, red sweater pulled tightly against his chest and hood over his eyes.

“I’m- I’m sorry man, I’m sorry I just- fuck” he spat, a tear fell out of his eye but was quick to wipe it away.

Vulnerability be damned

“We’re your friends, we love you. We were stuck in this fucking house together for months. We can’t go anywhere and you don’t want us to worry? Well, too fucking bad because we do,” Orie explained with a tense-looking Harper in his lap.

She didn’t like the sudden noise but didn’t want to leave her dad.

Noah’s glossy eyes took in all our faces one by one, lingering a few seconds longer than the last.

“I just need time, I don’t know how to handle this, it’s- it’s weird for me. I’m uncomfortable. I don’t think I’ve fallen this hard, this fast,” he admitted while swallowing the lump in his throat.

That much was true. He’s had exes, one-night stands; hell, he’s been in love before- but I’ve never seen it develop this way. We’ve never seen him fall from such a high altitude this quickly. His guards are usually pointed like sharp knives, but it was so easy for him to dull them down for her.

I only hoped Y/N knew that. This was a big deal. I watched my friend crumble and crack like glass.

Time would only tell when they would repair the damage done here. I only hoped it would soon because we hated to see him bruise so easily. He’s right on the edge I fear, one more thing, one more thing and he’ll fall completely into a darkness we wouldn’t be able to pull him from.

“All I do is drink to numb the pain because all the good days we had together got taken away when my head turned on. I keep asking myself ‘why am I not good enough for her?’ How the fuck can I be good enough for her when I don’t even know what good enough is?”

None of us had an answer for him; the only one that did, he was purposely ignoring.

With a lone tear falling from his eyes, Noah wiped it away with the back of his hand, sniffles echoing in the kitchen.

“It’s so hard to watch myself win when a loser's all I've been.”

NOAH

I lay in my bed, neon glows emanating from behind my bed soaking the walls, as I stared up at the ceiling. My mind was racing so face in pace with my heart and I tried so hard to just breathe; fucking breathe to ease it. This pain was like a burning coal I was walking but within a second, all the pain was gone. I couldn’t take it anymore, the drinking, smoking, and not eating affected my health. I was skin on bones at this point.

Keaton's voice rang in my ears. “You’re a shell, Noah. Holding in these shattered nerves. A skeleton that's lost its skin and desperately wants back in.”

Tattooed hands covered my face as I blew a shaky breath into them.

“I need a sign from you, man. Give me something to know I haven’t messed it up yet,” I cried.

A second later, my phone buzzed from the spot on my bed, and through cloudy tears, I sucked in a breath when I saw Chase’s name appear with a new text.

Chase: Hey man, I haven’t heard from you the last few days, I wanted to check in with you. I know this may seem out of nowhere, but we’re worried about you and just hope you’re doing alright.

I stared up at the ceiling again, my heart relaxing its frenzied beat for a moment. “Thank you.”

Hey, all good. Sorry for the late reply. Appreciate it, doing just fine.

Chase: that’s great, but I’ve been hearing other things, so I don’t buy that. Look, again, this isn’t my place but I know Y/N hurt you that night. I can’t sit here and apologize on her behalf, but, I can at least tell you this: she isn’t doing well either; and as someone with two fucking eyes; I can see how much you mean to each other. Some birdies have been telling me you’re drinking yourself into a coma and acting a fool. I apologize for the harshness, but let me ask you this, do you think Y/N wants another Trey? You’re fucking better than that, aren’t you? Do you want to end up as another deadbeat musician with nothing to show for it but a bottle? No, I don’t know you that well but I can see you’re not that guy.

Do yourself a favor and do fucking better. Because she deserves better and so do you. So y’all can sort this soap opera shit out. Talk to you soon, I fucking hope. ✌️

With my phone clattering to the floor, the message left on read, I continued to lie in my bed; the pillow suffocating my mouth and nose.

“I’m not Trey. I’m fucking better than him,” I sat up quickly in bed, my hangover still raging inside my head.

Music is all I have, it’s all lived for-that was until I met her.

With the small get-together happening downstairs still, I ran to the bathroom across the hall to throw up any contents of lingering alcohol and pita chips. I washed my face and brushed my hair out, for the first time in weeks looking somewhat presentable.

“Get it together, you fucking dick.” I pointed a firm finger at my reflection in the mirror, thankful I didn’t see the ghost of Y/N staring back at me. “Do it for the band, do it for your music. Do it for her.”

To some, my shaky words might not have a strong belief but they did to me. It left me with the belief that miracles, no matter how inexplicable or unbelievable, are real and can occur without regard to the natural order of things. Keaton’s sign proved that.

“Just come back to me,” I whispered with trembling lips.

[yexthiccxa]

Secrets of the Second Shift - (Part 3)

summary: you find out that choso is your mystery man from last weekend (part 2). finding out this news has you turning to an unexpected friend for advice. if this if this is going to work between you two, you need to set some rules. but everyone knows that rules are meant to be broken.

wordcount: 4.9k words

full fic c/w: choso smut, choso/fem!reader, choso/oc, modern!au, some plot, plot what plot, porn with plot, gentleman!choso, soft!choso, praise kink, blindfold sex, oral, fingering, vaginal sex, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms

a/n: this chapter is mostly meant to build plot, but it has has a lil banter and fairly mild spice and then some! enjoy! let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this!

Tumblr Master List | Read this chapter on AO3!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

Choso’s words hang in the air as you try to collect your thoughts. Hello my little vixen, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.

You try to respond but the words struggle to leave your mouth. All you can focus on are his dark brown eyes gazing into your soul as if trying to unlock the cage guarding your heart. One moment longer, and you’re terrified he might find the key.

The elevator dings, signaling the lobby.

Before you can even react, Choso releases his hold with casual ease and steps beyond the doors. It’s as if the past few seconds hadn’t completely shifted your entire world.

You follow his lead, lagging shortly behind. “I have so many questions,” you say, trying to keep your voice low in hopes no one would hear you. “But I think it’s probably best if we didn’t talk about it here.”

The lift in his brow is followed by a confident smirk. “Hmm, I guess dinner is on after all?” 

His charm has you wrapped around his finger and you both know it. “I guess you’re right,” you mutter. 

“So quick to agree this time. What happened to not mixing business and pleasure?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t resist the small smile that tugs at your lips. “I think we crossed that line a long time ago.”

“Crossed? More like blew right through it…” he jokes, hoping you’d catch his drift. “which felt exceptionally good, I might add. I’ll have to return the favor one of these days.”

You lightly nudge him away, jaw dropping in disbelief. Generally speaking, you’d like to think you’re fairly quick witted, but something tells you that you’ve met your match.

Choso lets out a chuckle— it’s sincere, but just like him it remains effortlessly poised. You’re starting to envy his ability to navigate the tension without breaking a sweat.

“So where do you want to meet for dinner tonight?” you ask.

“I’ll pick you up,” His voice is smooth, almost like he's already settled the matter in his mind.

You arch your brow with a hint of suspicion, “That didn’t really answer my question.”

He stops to brace your shoulders. “Do you trust me?” The look in his eyes makes it hard to say no.

He could either be a serial killer or a completely normal guy who just wants to take you to dinner. Given your existing history, you decide to take your chances. “Fine. But if this backfires, I’m getting appetizers, an entrée, and dessert.”

His confident grin returns. “Oh, I count on it. Let’s say 7?” 

You look down at your phone to check the clock. Hmm, that should be enough time. You nod in agreement and decide to exchange numbers before going your separate ways.

When you get to your car, you feel your phone buzz. Your heart skips a beat when you see the notification across the screen.

Choso: Get home safe, I’ll see you later.

The butterflies in your stomach start to build, but you try not to relish in the moment for two long. While you appreciate the kind farewell, you have other plans—and none of them involve going home.

You’ve found yourself tangled in a mess of your own making, and the only person who can help you now is the one who led you here in the first place. You make a call and wait as it rings on the other end.

When he picks up, you exhale a deep sigh. “Satoru, I need your help. I have…a situation. I’ll be there in 10.”

✦✧✸✧✦

Instead of going home, you find yourself heading to Blinded Bliss to see Satoru. While he’s technically your manager, the two of you have always operated more like friends. And you need advice—desperately.

You push open the door to Satoru’s office without knocking, immediately regretting it.

“Oh my god, seriously?” you groan, covering your face.

You find him tangled up with one of the club’s bouncers in a position that makes you wish you had bleach for your eyes. Lucky for you, you’re friendly with this one too. 

“Hey Suguru didn’t expect to see you here,” you say, your gaze still shifted away.

Suguru chuckles, pulling back slightly. “Someone doesn’t know how to knock.”

You slowly peek between your fingers to see if the coast is clear. “Sorry to interrupt, but did Satoru not tell you I was coming?”

Suguru lifts himself off before making his way to the door. “He had you on speaker, we just lost track of time,” he turns back to Satoru, giving him one final kiss before heading out. “I think this is my sign to leave.”

As Suguru steps out of the office, Satoru casually zips up his slacks like nothing had happened. “This better be good—you don’t even work Mondays. What are you doing here?” 

“Remember, my client from last weekend?” you say, stepping inside despite the awkwardness. “He’s a manager from the company we acquired… which means we now work together. Unfortunately that also means he’ll most likely be the one taking my promotion.” You shut your eyes tight to help relieve the stress.

Satoru leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes as if this was everyday news. “C’mon! I asked for something good!”

The vibrato in his voice brings your focus back.

He continues, “Surprising, sure—but everyone has their guilty pleasures and secrets to hide, even the corporate drones.” Satoru sighs in disappointment. “While I can’t give you work advice, I don’t think you have to worry about him spilling your secret to get ahead. If that’s all, I’m gonna call Suguru back—”

Before he can finish his thought, you add, “And I have a date with him …tonight.”

Satoru whistles low. “Wow.” 

“Yeah, wow,” you agree.

The silence sits between you both while Satoru tries to think, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his chin.

After what feels like a lifetime, he finally speaks, “And this is something you want to do?” His voice is slightly tinged with concern.

You bring your hand to your temple before nodding—trying to sound certain. “Honestly, yeah.” You let out a deep sigh and seat yourself onto the chair in front of his desk.

He cocks an eyebrow, studying you carefully. "This is new for you. I’ve seen you do repeats, take regulars, but only ever inside these walls. Dating in the outside world is a bit… intimate for you, no?”

“I mean, yeah. But…I don’t know what it is. Something keeps pulling me into him, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Satoru lets out a low, thoughtful hum before speaking. His voice is softer now, “Hmm. “What it is”, is attraction. And that "something” is emotion. No one says you have to stop it.”

You hesitate, a sudden flicker of doubt crossing your face. “But then it gets messy... and complicated.”

His gaze sharpens, and he walks toward you, stopping just in front of where you stand. He softly tilts your head up towards him. "If you know what you want, then set some boundaries. I know you—despite the damsel in distress act you put on in those rooms, we both know you’re a strong woman who gets what she wants."

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but you look away, ashamed to say what will come out next. “I mean, sure, but what am I going to do about this place? Do I just stop working? Unlike my other job, I actually like it here.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. He braces your shoulders to comfort you—a move Choso did not long ago. His eyes are determined when he looks at you and says, “Slow down. First and foremost, if you want to keep taking clients, don’t let anyone stop you from doing so. It’s your body, and you can choose what you want to do with it. You can take clients for ten thousand dollars, ten dollars, or zero dollars.”

You exhale and speak, but Satoru doesn't give you a chance to respond, his voice still measured. “But if you don’t want to take clients, it makes no difference to me. Hell, you could just use the room for you and twirly tops for all I care. You and I both know that we don’t do it for the money at this point—although it is a great perk.”

“You have a point there.” Before you can fully process Satoru’s words, you find your brows furrowing when you remember an unexpected phrase. “Wait, did you just call Choso twirly tops ?”

Satoru chuckles, “Yeah, you know, because of the...” He trails off, his hand making an exaggerated motion to outline the ties in Choso’s hair.

You can’t help but laugh. A smile spreads across your face, and you find yourself feeling lighter, even if just for a moment. "I can always count on you—thanks, Satoru."

Satoru waves you off, grinning. "You're welcome! You know I’m always here for you wherever you need it.” He starts to head to his chair before pausing. “…But we both know this would have easily been a phone call. So why did you really come here?"

You glance at the floor for a moment, shifting uncomfortably before lifting your gaze to meet his. “I was wondering if… I could get some clothes from The Vault?”

A mischievous look sweeps across his face. "Absolutely, you don’t even have to ask." He pauses, opening a drawer to hand you a set of keys. "But let me just say—if this guy has you eyeing The Vault…” His grin morphs into something almost wicked as he steps closer and lowers his voice, “…You. Are. Fucked.”

You laugh, but a nagging feeling in the back of your mind tells you that Satoru might be right.

As you two make your way over to The Vault, your mind begins to wonder if this is the right move. You take a deep breath and instinctively tap the space between your thumb and pointer finger to soothe your anxious thoughts. Remember, you try to tell yourself, no matter what path you’ve chosen, the stars will always align for you.

Before you know it, you’ve reached another set of platinum double doors.

Satoru dubs The Vault as his secret “supply room” (cough, sex shop) tucked away in Blinded Bliss. It’s a treasure trove filled with outfits, costumes, lingerie, toys and any sex related thing your heart desires. Typically this room is only reserved for long standing regulars to shop at before their appointments, but Satoru will always make an exception for you. 

When you step inside, Satoru follows, already rifling through the racks.

“Do you have anything here that says ‘I’m interested but not desperate?” You ask.

Satoru pulls a black leather form fitting dress from the rack. Absolutely not. It’s beautiful and very sexy, but a little too sexy for a casual Monday dinner.

“Immediate pass, Satoru! It’s just one meal, not a masterclass in submission !” 

“Oh sorry, let me just go over here to the Sexy Sunday Service aisle,” he teases, rolling his eyes.

You laugh, but he actually directs you to a set of more modest outfits. “Oh you’re serious.”

Both of you are sifting through the items before Satoru pulls out another one. “How about this one?” he asks, showcasing a corduroy mini dress that’s easy enough to dress down, yet fitted enough to perfectly accentuate your curves.

“You know, this is actually perfect. Thanks!”

He brings you in for a hug, and the security of his embrace relaxes you. “No problem, baby girl. Kill it tonight, I expect a full debrief on Friday.”

You slightly pull away, “Right, Friday…” your tone is filled with uncertainty.

Satoru gives you a reassuring look before bringing you back in. “If you come in …of course, no pressure.”

After locking up The Vault, Satoru walks you to your car. You fight the initial urge to check your phone to see if you’ve gotten any additional messages from Choso. When you plug your phone into the car wire, you’re disappointed to see that none are there.

You make it back home with an hour to spare and use the remaining time to freshen up and get ready. At 6:45pm, you see your phone illuminate on the bathroom counter with two new messages. Your body can’t help but be giddy at the sight.

Choso: leaving now

Choso: be there in 15

You’re all done up with 5 minutes left, and catch a final glimpse of your reflection in the hallway mirror. Your outfit hugs you in all the right places and your makeup is effortlessly on point—but still, it feels like too much .

“It’s just dinner,” you mutter to yourself, pacing back toward your room. “Why am I trying so hard?”

The urge to change into something simpler tugs at you, but before you can make a move, the sound of your ringtone fills the hallway. You glance at the screen: Choso.

You answer on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Just wanted to let you know I’m downstairs,” he says smoothly, his voice laced with that casual confidence you’re starting to recognize. “No rush though, I’m a little early. Sorry.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you give yourself a quick once-over in the mirror. Go hard or go home I guess. “Be right down,” you reply, grabbing your bag before heading out.

When you step outside, you see Choso leaning against the side of his car. When you make your way over to him, you say, “Didn’t expect you to be here so soon. Looks like someone couldn’t wait to see me.”

Your mere presence triggers a primal instinct that he can’t control. Without warning, Choso grabs you by the waist, his hand slowly trailing downward. When his fingers graze the skin near the hem of your dress, you feel a tightness building in your core.

He pulls you into him until you’re pressed against his firm chest and your leg meets the bulge growing in his pants. “Oops…guess I’m not the only one who can’t wait.”

“Very funny,” you reply. Before you pull away, your gaze locks into him. You want to stay in this moment just a little bit longer. When your eyes trail down to his lips, you find your thoughts running off to the dirtiest part of your mind. You don’t stop it though. Instead you let it consume you until you’re inches away from tasting him.

You stop your momentum just short of a kiss to see if Choso will take the bait. To your surprise he challenges every muscle in his body to show restraint. Such a gentleman.

You smile, rewarding him the only way you know how.

It feels like eternity until your lips finally meet, but when they do they crash together like endless tides being pulled by a full moon.

“Seems you couldn’t wait either,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with amusement as he pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

You shift your gaze away, slightly embarrassed by the wave of passion that took over you.

He places his hand against your cheek to guide your focus back to him. “Shall we go to dinner?”

You smile and nod before he opens up the passenger door and gestures to get inside. “Your chariot awaits.”

You slide into the seat, the faint scent of leather and his cologne mixing in the air. As he gets in and starts the engine, he casts a quick glance your way. “You look great, by the way,” he mentions.

“Thanks,” you reply, smoothing the fabric of your outfit. “I was a little worried I might be overdressed.”

He smirks, his eyes briefly darting toward you. “Oh trust me you are overdressed,” he starts, placing his hand firmly across your thigh. You feel the goosebumps sweep across your skin. “I’d rather see you in nothing at all.”

Your mouth falls open slightly as you turn to him, “You are quite the comedian aren’t you?”

“I prefer to call it charming,” he quips, shooting you a grin. “You don’t like it?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh. “On the contrary, I think I like it …maybe a little too much.”

“Hate to say I told you so,” he replies smoothly, remembering his words from Friday night.

The 15 minute drive goes fairly quick, but confusion begins to set in when you see Choso slow down into a residential area. Your stomach twists when he parks in front of an apartment building, killing the engine.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Dinner,” he says simply, nodding toward the building.

He invited you to his apartment for dinner? As the thought crosses your mind, all you can hear is Satoru’s voice ringing through your head: if you know what you want, then set some boundaries.

You take a deep breath and turn to face Choso, your brows furrowed in thought. “Listen, Choso, I hope you don’t get the wrong idea when I say this, but if we’re trying to keep things from getting messy, we need boundaries,” you begin, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling beneath. “As much as I would love to repeat Friday, I think apartments should be off-limits. It’s too—”

Before you can finish, Choso grabs your hand to keep you from spiraling. His grip is gentle but firm, grounding you instantly. “While I am flattered that you also have an interest in continuing where we left off, I am offended that you think I just brought you here to fuck you.” The humor in his voice pulls you back to center.

Heat rises to your face as you look away, flustered.

Choso keeps his focus set on you before continuing. “Listen to me when I say that I will respect your boundaries. But since I’m new here, I haven’t tried many restaurants yet. I didn’t want to fuck up my first shot by bringing you to a shitty place so I brought you somewhere I knew would be good.”

His sincerity catches you off guard, and your heart skips a beat. You blink, momentarily stunned, before managing to reply, “That’s… so sweet of you. I appreciate that.”

Choso’s smirk grows into a genuine smile as he releases your hand. “Now if your mind is at ease,” he says, gesturing towards the door, “we’re one lobby, and 25 floors away from a delicious meal and a conversation full of answers. Will you please accept this offer of entering my apartment, just this once?”

You hesitate for a moment, but the earnestness in his voice makes it hard to say no.

“Fine,” you concede, shaking your head lightly, “just this once.”

✦✧✸✧✦

When you get off the elevator on the 25th floor, the smell of something rich and savory fills the hallway. The scent grows stronger as you get closer to his apartment. After he opens the door and gestures to you inside, you notice two plates set with silverware on the dining table across the room.

“It smells amazing, you cook?” you ask, as you’re taking off your boots by the door.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Choso quips back, heading toward the kitchen. “Did you think I brought you here just to order take out?”

You follow his lead. “No… but I mean, you kind of strike me as the bland chicken and broccoli type.”

“Well, we both should know by now that looks can be deceiving,” he says, turning on the oven to heat up the food. He pulls out a bottle of wine from a shelf. “Care for a drink while we wait?”

After you give him a nod, he tells you to make yourself comfortable. You settle into a cozy spot on the couch and he joins you shortly after, handing you a glass of red.

Without hesitation, he jumps straight into it. “We both have questions, but please—ladies first.”

You take a sip before setting your glass down on the side table. “Ok, for starters… What brings a guy like you to a place like Blindness Bliss? You seem like you’re perfectly capable of getting anyone you’d like without having to pay for it.”

Choso pauses to collect his thoughts. “My friend Kento actually referred me there. He mentioned that he visits from time to time when he’s in town. Kento knew I had just come off of a tough week before moving here and he suggested I try it out to blow off some steam. I initially resisted, but he kept insisting and finally told me that he paid for the night. At that point I had to go.”

Kento? Never heard of him. I’ll have to ask Satoru about him one day, you think to yourself.

Choso shifts closer to you, his arm draping over your shoulder in a casual, confident movement. He puts his glass down and leans in just a little—his voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate tone. “...but seeing how things have turned out, I have no regrets.”

He slowly moves to kiss you between your neck and shoulder. “And I’d do it again.”

His kisses drift closer to your lips before you’re face to face. “...and again.”

“...and again.”

You feel the heat immediately rise to your cheeks. You can’t decide if it’s the alcohol or the feeling of his lips against your skin. Before he can reach your mouth, your finger presses against his lips to give him pause. “I believe it’s your turn to ask a question.”

Choso pulls back smiling, accepting your challenge. “Well, I could ask the same for you. Why the second shift? We both have the same position at work, which means I can assume that you don’t do it for the cash.”

You give yourself the space to think. “Well, you are right about that. It may have started out that way, but I guess I just kept doing it because I liked the way it made me feel. I spend so much time trying to prove myself at Zenin Tech, especially reporting to Naoya. It’s like I always need to keep hustling otherwise I’ll never make progress or get anywhere.” You sink into your seat and release a deep sigh. “It’s exhausting.”

Choso listens with undivided attention, absorbing every word without interruption or question.

You slowly pick yourself back up, directing your attention back to him. “But when I’m at Blinded Bliss, it’s the complete opposite. Over there I don’t need to claw my way to the top or earn respect, I already have it. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I don’t know how he does it, but Satoru makes it easy for us. He truly only lets in the best of the best. So consider yourself lucky.”

Choso perks back up. “Satoru?” he asks before the realization sets in. “Ahh, yes. The guy who—”

“Oh no, wait… please don’t worry about him,” you interject quickly, holding your hands up in defense. “That thing that we did, it’s all just for show. There’s nothing between us. It’s just part of the gig, I swear.”

Choso stops your movements, his palm gently pressing against your cheek.“Hey, it’s okay—no need to get your defenses up. It's your body— what you do with it and who you choose to do it with is all up to you.”

Your jaw hangs open—savoring every last word that just left his mouth.

The moment your eyes meet, everything else in the room fades away. You feel the tension grow heavy between you while the electricity from his touch draws you both closer. 

You’re close—maybe a little too close, maybe not close enough.

Once again you’re face to face but this time all you can think about is how he makes your heart race without even trying.

Before Choso leans in, he gives you one last look—it’s a look of passion and desire. It’s a look that aims to claim you the first chance he gets. He stares intently into your eyes before he whispers, “But just so you’re aware, if there’s ever another opportunity for me to be one of those people, just know I will always say yes.”

The moment stands still.

Every inch between you feels like an eternity, and you want to do everything in your power to change that.

Within moments, it finally hits. Your hands slip to the back of his neck as you crash your lips into his, planting open mouthed kisses and claiming every part of his tongue. He follows your lead, his movements are urgent and unrelenting—as if he’s been keeping himself restrained for far too long.

Without a second thought, your hands find their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt to deepen the kiss. He uses the momentum to climb on top of you until his frame pins you against the cushions, back arching to feel the warmth of his body consume you.

As he moves his mouth down the side of your neck, you take the moment to continue your thoughts—still giving in to the heat of the moment. “This brings us... to a great point." Your breath becomes slightly labored. "I meant what I said earlier... about boundaries.” Every kiss he plants on you makes it harder to speak.

Choso breaks in between kisses to say, “Yes, boundaries. I’m listening.” He slips one strap off your shoulder and pulls the neckline down just far enough to expose your breast.

“We keep our work lives and personal lives separate.” A breathy moan escapes you when his lips reach your nipple.

“Agreed,” his replies are brief but affirmative. All he can focus on is tasting every last bit of you.

The way his hands graze down your side are too distracting. To get out your remaining thoughts, you push yourselves back up completely, narrowing your eyes slightly to make your point clear. “I take back what I said earlier today about us being enemies, but that doesn’t mean I am going to back down and let Naoya hand you this promotion on a silver platter. So everything in that office is strictly professional —got it?”

He pauses for a moment, as if he’s etching every word you said into his brain. He replies with a nod to confirm. “Professional. Loud and clear. Anything else?”

“I’ve already let this slide once, but after tonight—no apartments. It’s too intimate, and we need to keep this clean.” Or as clean as it can be.

Now you’ve piqued his interest. Choso tilts his head in confusion, but doesn’t let that stop his hand from trailing towards your waist. “Hmm you have a fair point… but if apartments are off limits and the office is strictly professional, any suggestions for a neutral zone?”

Before you answer, you let his touch guide you—bringing you on top of him until you’re straddling his waist. You pull yourself towards him before you whisper, “Let’s just say I know of a place with platinum doors, that’s private enough for us to feel alone, and equipped with everything we’ll need to have a good time.”

You grind yourself into him but this time you set the pace. It’s slow—excruciatingly slow for Choso, but deliciously playful for you. “I’m currently taking offers for regulars…well, just one.”

His hands find your ass and grips you tightly, allowing his bulge to press against your clit. “Keep talking.”

You let out a quiet moan when he slips his hand underneath your dress. “...and if I like them enough it’ll be free of charge.”

For a moment, you pause—remembering his offer from earlier. “but if I recall, you did mention something about returning a favor.”

Choso returns your comment with a wicked smile before hooking his fingers into your panties, “I did say that, didn’t I?”

He finds his way to your center, teasing you with the wetness that pooled below. His fingers graze against your folds, wiping up the mess you made between your legs and you can’t help your breath as it begins to falter.

“F-fuck, Cho—” you manage to get out.

Choso wraps his arms firmly around you and sets you back down on the couch. He sets himself up to pull down your panties, alternating kisses between your inner thighs.

You feel a rush of desire dripping from your folds. "The last time you had your mouth around me, you made me feel so good.” he whispers. “Can’t wait until I get my mouth on your wet little pussy and make you feel the same.”

His breath, his touch—it drives you wild. Why does being here feel so wrong, but being with him feels so right?

As he slowly moves closer and closer to your core every nerve in your body lights up—

…Until you hear a jarring noise pierce through the room.

Beep. beep. beep. The sound of the oven timer blares from the kitchen, snapping you back to reality.

Choso pauses—looking back up at you until he processes what’s happening. When it finally clicks, he gives you a quick kiss to your clit before securing your panties back in place.

No, please—stay, your dirty mind begs.

Choso smoothly picks himself up, leaving you dumbfounded when he acts like the last few minutes never happened.

He extends his hand to help you up, but you can still see a glint of fire in his eyes. His tone is playful when he cocks his brow and says, “Well, I guess we need dinner before we get to dessert.”

--

taglist: @jud3thedude @makingtimemine @chosslut @liiiacke @trishiepo0 @celestialforce

[im-poltergeist]

Towers and Thorns (Fanfic vers)

tags: bodyguard!Ghost x royal!reader, older Ghost, first fic, might be crappy idk, multiple parts, might be nsfw down the line, english is not my first language so feel free to correct me. 🌻

Part 1 🌻 Part 2 🌻 Part 3

"Do you have to keep bending the rules", he asks from the doorway to your room. You scoff at the question.

"This is hardly bending the rules. The skirt is just above knee length", you answer, glaring at the balaclava clad man stood before you.

"Not sure I agree with that, your highness", his cold eyes scanning your figure. You groan and shove him out the door. Whats the matter with him anyway.

You walk over to your closet and stare at the skirts. Apparently the light blue one you had on was "inappropriate". You pick out a white, patterned one instead and hope that it is acceptable. You roll your eyes. The bodyguard you had before him, before Ghost, wouldn't have batted an eye at that skirt. But at the same time he was off fucking a maid in some linnen closet while Marshall ambushed you in that corridor and kissed you. The memory makes you shudder.

Marshall seems to think that he is entitled to you. Just because your parents didn't say an outright no when his parents talked about marriage, he's disgusting.

You tried to tell your father that you didn't want the kiss and that Marshall kissed you without your consent but he wouldn't have it. "Think about how this could reflect on your mother reputation. Sneaking off, kissing boys." That's what he had to say about the matter. Speaking about you as if you were a young, rebellious teenager. You are, in fact, an adult. You had been for a good while now. You had gone through your teen years without any major scandals. The same couldn't be said for your cousins.

You open the door and are faced with arms crossed over a broad chest clad by a black t-shirt, tight enough to reveal strong shoulders and muscular arms, and cold eyes staring down at you from the gap in his balaclava.

"Better", you ask, eyes narrowing.

"Much", he replies and steps aside.

Ghost opens the door to the dining hall for you and you nod a thank you to him. Your father is sat near the end of the table,, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. He looks up as you enter.

"Good morning Dad. Good morning Gaz", you say to the dark-skinned man stood behind him.

"Important day today", your father replies, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Im aware", you sit down at the chair opposite his. You scoop a spoonful of scrambled eggs and another of bacon down on to your plate.

"Make sure to behave. We don't need the President or the American press to get the wrong impression", he reminds you for what feels like the hundredth time this week.

"I know", you acknowledge, eyes fixed on your plate. Fork moving the eggs around aimlessly.

"Good. We can't afford a scandal", your father adds and rises from his chair. Hand nudging your shoulder as he walks past you and out of the door. Gaz a few steps behind him. The door shuts with a dull thud. You drop your fork on to your plate with a clink and put your head in your hands. Why does he always always talk about you like you're an accident waiting to happen. You feel Ghosts eyes burning in to your back.

"You don't have to just stand there, you know. You can sit down", you turn your head to look at him. His brown eyes meeting yours before walking slowly over towards the chair next to yours. Pulling it out and turning it so that he faces you. He sits down. Arms crossed over his chest and one of his leggs resting on his knee. You pour some water in to your glass and do the same to his. Ghosts eyes still boring in to yours. You sigh.

"Whats the matter", you ask him. Something clearly occupying his mind.

"Do you have a drinking problem or something, your highness", he questions you.

"What? No", you shriek. How could he think such a thing.

"A guy just kissed me at the last event and my dad thinks Im going to go into a late teenage rebellion. Besides, you would have notised if I had a drinking problem by now", you continue shaking your head.

"Guess you're right", he replies. His voice having and unreadable tone. Your eyes move towards the grandfather clock at the other end of the room. It reads half past ten. Shit. You stand up and the chair almost tips behind you. Ghost rises, eyes darting around the room to find the source of your sudden move.

"Im gonna be late", You clarify and hurry out the door. Ghost a few steps behind you.

You make it to the front door with less than a minute to spare. Your parents are stood talking and turn around when you approach with quick steps. You come to a halt behind them. Smiling at your mother. She smiles back and turns towards the men beside the door. Gaz and Price are on either side of the door. Ready to follow their queens order. Your mother nods to them and the doors open. You face the light erupting from the gap and put on a smile that you hope looks natural. The forgotten breakfast on your plate makes itself reminded as your stomach churns. You feel Ghosts eyes burn into the back of your head and you step outside into the light.

[afewproblems]

50. "I need you to forgive me."

You know why...

But please!!!

I know this took forever so I hope you will forgive me! (Also when I originally received this ask I had just posted part one and mentioned in the tags that prompt 50 could be a good 'fix-it' prompt for a follow up, and well, here we are! Also when I received it, I laughed for a solid minute, like evil laughed so thank you @happymediummm )

Part Three of Prompt 53. 'I'm flirting with you!'

Part One, Part Two

It's on Friday that the cavalry arrives.

Dustin bangs on Eddie's bedroom door, with a mace by the sounds of it.

He's about to snark that Dustin doesn't play a class that uses martial weapons when he hears the kid yell--

"Eddie! You have five seconds before I come in there and get you myself, I got your uncle's permission and everything!"

Eddie groans and detaches himself from the bed  flipping the pillow he had been wallowing in away from himself.

He stomps towards the door and flings it open, leveling an unimpressed glare at Dustin who barrels past him into the bedroom.

Dustin crosses to the desk, his head on a swivel as he looks around the small space, Eddie scoffs as he steps towards Dustin, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing Henderson?" Eddie spits out as Dustin shrugs his hand off, he seems to spy what he's looking for as he crows a single, 'Aha,' and makes his way to the dresser.

"Seriously, Dustin, what are you doing here?"

"Saving you from yourself dude," Dustin scoffs as he takes a tape out of his pants pocket, the familiar writing on the label makes Eddie's stomach fall into his feet.

It's Steve's tape.

"No, nope, absolutely not," Eddie snaps. 

He reaches for the cassette in Dustin's hand, only for the little shit to spin away from him and toss the tape from his right to his left hand in a move that seems so much like the teen's babysitter that Eddie wants to scream.

Dustin manages to pop the tape into the player and hit play before Eddie can get close again.

A few notes of a bass guitar reach Eddie's ear and his hands drop from Dustin's shoulders as he perks up…he knows this song.

"What the fuck Henderson?" He breathes out with wide eyes that flick back and forth between him and the cassette player.

'Oh yeah!

Some people say my love cannot be true

Please believe me, my love, and i'll show you

I will give you those things you thought unreal

The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal--'

"You are being an idiot," Dustin says matter of factly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he frowns at Eddie, "I don't exactly know what you said, but I think I got the gist out of Steve earlier today when Robin wasn't acting like a guard dog". 

His dark blue eyes scan Eddie as he shakes his head, "you thought it was a joke, do you know Steve?"

Eddie rolls his eyes before crossing to the cassette player and slapping the stop button. All at once the sounds of Black Sabbath halt, leaving the room in tense silence. 

"Look," Eddie snarls, "I've known people like Steve over the years, it's all the same bullshit--"

"Stop it!" Dustin snaps, he steps closer to Eddie and jabs a finger into his chest, "you don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Dustin's cheeks are flushed with anger as he shakes his head again, "he's nothing like that Eddie, you're being an asshole!"

"What is all the yellin' about?" Wayne's voice trickles through the door, a hint of concern running through it as he leans against the frame, eyeing both Eddie and Dustin warily. 

"When I gave you permission to barge in here I don't remember agreeing to participate in a screamin' match son,” Wayne says, biting back a smile at the indignant expression on Dustin's face.

"Sorry Mr. Munson, but Eddie's being an idiot!" Dustin crosses his arms once more as he looks from Eddie to Wayne challengingly.

"That so?" Wayne laughs, "care to argue the charge," he directs at Eddie who rolls his eyes.

"It's nothing Wayne, Dustin is leaving now--" 

"Steve made that tape for you," Dustin yells, pointing at the cassette player, "and you threw it in his face!" 

"That true Ed?"

"It was a stupid joke," Eddie growls as Dustin throws his hands up in the air, "it doesn't mean anything". 

Wayne looks at Eddie for a long moment, his face unreadable.

"Steve Harrington?" He asks softly. 

Dustin nods nervously at Wayne before shooting another glare at Eddie.

"The one that came by your hospital room every day till you woke up Ed? The one they couldn't get to leave on the day you opened your eyes, that Steve Harrington?" 

"So?" Eddie huffs, wrapping his own arms around his chest tightly, incredibly aware of the two pairs of eyes trained on him.

 "Wayne, you told me I had to be careful of who I opened myself up to, I'm just following your advice!" 

Wayne sighs, lifting his hand to pinch into his eyes.

"You'd be lucky to have a friend like Steve," Dustin grumbles as he moves to the bed to sit down. He pulls up his legs up to his chest and glares at the back of Eddie's head.

"Kid, I think Ed and I need to have a conversation, alone," Wayne says quietly to Dustin.

Eddie watches in fascination as Dustin opens his mouth to argue, but after whatever silent conversation takes place between the teen and his uncle, Dustin merely huffs and slips off the bed. 

"Listen to the damn tape and get your head out of your ass," Dustin bites out as he passes Eddie, he levels one last impressive glare at the metal-head before leaving the room.

Wayne sighs as he makes his way over to the bed to sit, taking over Dustin's vacated spot.

"So, Harrington, huh?"

Eddie scowls and says nothing, leaning against the dresser. He winces as the sudden weight of his shoulder jostles everything, causing his loose D&D dice to fall off the edge and plink and plunk across the floor of his room.

The D4 will be a bitch to accidentally find with his feet later on, but Eddie ignores the mess and continues brooding against the dresser.

Wayne scratches his face, tapping an unsteady rhythm against his jean clad knee with his other hand, "okay," Wayne says gruffly from the bed as he shifts to stand. 

"I don't know what ya did or said, but it was enough to make that kid beg his way in here," Wayne huffs, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the open door. 

Eddie shrugs, refusing to lift his gaze from the floor. He hears Wayne sigh and the shift of fabric as he steps closer. 

"You were so small," Wayne mutters suddenly. 

Eddie looks up in confusion, but Wayne isn't looking at him, his eyes are trained just over Eddie's shoulder.

"When you came home that day, all black and blue," he shrugs and scratches his face again, "I didn't know how to help ya, and you wouldn't explain". 

Eddie swallows roughly, horrified at the sudden brightness of his uncle's eyes. A man he has only seen cry twice since he's known him, the first time was at Eddie's mothers funeral, the other was the day Eddie woke up at the hospital all those months ago. 

"I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to you Ed," Wayne breathes out wetly now as he roughly scrubs at his face, "and you being in the hospital, you were suddenly that small kid again, standing on my porch all black and blue". 

Eddie feels his own eyes sting as his uncle turns slightly to wipe his face again, "What are you saying?"

"You weren't alone this time, Ed," Wayne says softly as he steps towards his nephew and grasps him gently by the shoulders, "you have so many more people looking out for you, hell --one of em' carried you home". 

"I think a person like that deserves at least a chance to know you, and to see what I see".

It's Eddie's turn to swipe at his misty eyes, "What's that?" He asks with an unconvincing cough to hide the wobble in his voice.

Wayne smiles, giving Eddie's shoulders a soft squeeze, "a damn good kid with a big heart, who I hope knows how to apologize when it's needed".

"But what if you're wrong?"

"Then I'm wrong, and we'll get through it," Wayne tugs Eddie towards him without warning into a tight hug and reaches behind Eddie to press play on the cassette player; the sound of guitar and drums begin again as Ozzy's voice fills the room. 

'Your love for me has just got to be real

Before you know the way I'm going to feel--'

"But for the record kid, I don't think I am".

***

Eddie listens to the tape. 

He listens to it again and again, both sides. Steve filled both sides with music for him…

He lays on his bed while it plays, staring a hole into the ceiling as the last few piano notes ring out before the tape stops, filling the room with silence.

The songs don't all go with one another and out of a dozen there's about eight he knows. The other four seem to be a mixture of songs he's heard Steve play in the beemer with the kids, or while dancing in his kitchen with Robin.

it's not an expert mix by any means, but Steve did manage to collect a decent amount of metal songs just for Eddie and even a one he's never heard before --since when did Scorpions write love songs? 

After hours alone in his room, sitting on his bed, listening to Steve's tape over and over again, there is one thing he can't deny.

Steve Harrington has feelings for him…had feelings for him, and Eddie ruined it. 

He wants to take the version of himself that pushed Steve away and shake him. 

Eddie winces as he pictures the devastated expression on Steve's face when he left. His normally bright hazel eyes and wide goofy grin were left pinched with hurt.

Eddie had done that, taken six months of tentative friendship, of lingering glances and soft teasing smiles -how had he missed those, and tossed this delicate thing away from himself like it was nothing. 

He looks over at the glowing green hands of the clock by his bed. It’s nearly midnight; Dustin left a few hours ago now and Wayne is now at work. 

Eddie breathes out a sigh through his nose as a sudden wave of determination flows through him.

He looks towards the far wall by the door, his Sweetheart hanging up on her hooks. 

Dustin had apparently insisted on grabbing it, doubling back on a severely sprained ankle while Nancy tore a verbal strip off his back for wasting time as an unconscious Eddie slowly continued to bleed out in Steve's arms.

Eddie shivers, it had been so strange to consider everything that happened, or what he was told happened during the gap in his memory. 

Steve had been the one to carry him out while Robin and Nancy helped compress the worst of his wounds with torn fabric and left over gauze from the patch job they had done for Steve.

He vaguely remembers a string of words, a whispered sentence that made no sense as Eddie drifted in and out of consciousness but now…

'You can't do this, come on Munson, open those stupid beautiful eyes of yours, who's going to yell at us about the corruption of youth in America huh? We need you man, I-I….'

Eddie had really been so fucking clueless. 

He gets up from the bed and crosses to the wall, taking the guitar off the hooks. 

At least now, he has a plan.

***

It was a shit plan.

Cutting down the road the kids had taken to calling Mirkwood and through the woods by Loch Nora seemed pretty sound in theory, giving Eddie the element of surprise and hiding him from any watchful neighborhood eyes. 

What he had not taken into account, however, was the pitch darkness, the unfamiliar maze of trees he now found himself in, and how fucking heavy his portable amp was going to be.

Perfect.

Eddie stumbles over a fallen log, nearly careening into the mulch and rotting leaves of the forest floor. The half moon above him, not nearly enough to light his path through the thicket.

At least this version of the woods feels alive, Eddie thinks to himself; the smell of damp dirt and the sound of frogs and crickets singing in the darkness is infinitely more appealing than the strange forest they had found themselves in a mere six months prior. And with the gates finally sealed, the most dangerous thing he could come across would probably be a rattler or a coyote. 

Eddie peers around at the thought, he's not quite sure he's entirely comfortable even running into those animals anytime soon…especially the snake.

Finally, after another ten minutes of walking, warm yellow light begins to sift through the trees ahead of him as he brushes away low branches from his field of vision. 

Eddie hikes up the guitar strap higher up his shoulder and steps fully into the light that illuminates the Harrington backyard lawn and pool.

Eddie scans the back of the house, flipping the mental map of the Harrington home around to visualize which window was most likely to be for Steve's bedroom.

He steps further into the yard, setting down the heavy amp onto the concrete patio before leaning down to grab a handful of wood chips from the shrubs next to the house.

Here goes nothing.

Eddie tosses one of the pieces of wood at the window above him. 

It barely connects with the windowsill before dropping back down onto the patio with a muted clack. 

Oh this is humiliating.

He tries again and again to hit Steve's window with the wood chips in his hand, each one completely misses the target. One bounces into the eavestrough, another careens off the siding and back into the pool behind Eddie. 

"Fuck this," Eddie growls, throwing the rest of the wood chips back into the shrubs as he snatches the cord for his amp and shoves the plug into the nearest outdoor outlet. 

He turns the volume down slightly, the plan won't work if the cops get called on him immediately. 

Eddie takes the guitar off his back and plucks a few notes, adjusting one of the tuning keys until the sound is just right.

"Here goes nothing, come on Stevie," Eddie whispers as he begins to play. 

"I hear the ticking' of the clock, I'm lying here the room's pitch dark," he sings softly, strumming out the cords, it's slightly harsher than the piano but sue him, Eddie only managed to play it once through by ear at home before he left the house.

This was Steve's last track on the tape, and Eddie's sure he put it there for a reason.

He listened to the song again and again, slowly picking up the cords as he did so. 

He could do this, he picked up Master of Puppets in just a few weeks, Eddie could handle Heart.

Eddie keeps going, his voice carries over the yard, growing in volume; so much so that he misses the patio door slowly slide open and the sound of a pair of feet padding onto the patio. 

"What are you doing here?" Steve's voice calls out to Eddie from the door, he jumps, nearly dropping the guitar. His hand jolts on the strings as Eddie attempts to keep his hold on the instrument, letting the guitar scream for him.

Steve stares at him as Eddie unplugs the amp cord and swings the guitar around his back once more with shaking hands, his thoughts spinning, trying to figure out how to start.

"I listened to the tape," Eddie says softly, Steve cocks his head slightly to better hear him, his face shuttering as the words register.  

Eddie's heart races as he watches Steve begin to turn towards the patio door once more, he needs to act fast.

"And I need you to forgive me," he blurts out, louder than he intends, but Steve does pause with his hands on the door handle.

"Why's that?" He says sharply, dropping his hand away from the door, turning to fully face Eddie once more.

Eddie chews his lip nervously as Steve's gaze hardens the longer they stand in silence, his arms come up to wrap around his chest tightly.

"I thought you were playing a prank," Eddie sighs, saying it aloud makes him want to deflate, to walk right into the pool and sink to the bottom. 

If the look Steve gives him is any indication, Steve would be more than happy to watch him go.

"That's a lot of effort to put into a fucking prank Munson," Steve bites out, there is no heat to the words though. He just sounds tired, resigned.

Shit.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Eddie mumbles, he reaches up to scrub his hand over his face, missing the way Steve's face softens ever so slightly and his arms drop from the way they seem to be holding him together. 

"But I'm not going to make excuses," Eddie takes a step closer to Steve, his heart threatening to break through his ribcage the closer he gets, "I'm sorry for how I reacted and for thinking you could do something like that".

"I know you aren't like that, you're honest, and kind," Eddie reaches out and takes the tape from his back pocket and gestures towards Steve with it, "and so fucking thoughtful it makes me ache to think I ruined everything". 

He puts the tape back in his pocket, Steve’s eyes watch him curiously now as he does, it fills him with wary hope, enough to keep talking. 

"So, I need you to forgive me Steve, because I hope you'll let me make it up to you sweetheart".

Steve's face tips down suddenly towards his socked feet and the cold concrete patio, making it impossible for Eddie to make out his expression. He holds his breath as the silence stretches between them.

"Robin was right, you can be such an asshole," Steve says quietly, Eddie's chest tightens painfully at the words.

Eddie nods once,doing everything in his power to keep his face neutral but the downward curl of his lip is unstoppable as he reaches down to pick up the amp.

"But," Steve says, taking a step away from the door behind him, "as someone who was an asshole for a long time," Steve says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand into his chest, "I think it would be pretty hypocritical to not let you make it up to me".

He's grinning now. It’s small, barely stretching across Steve's freckled face, but it's warm and just for Eddie. 

"What did you have in mind, Sweetheart?" 

Steve is quiet for a moment, his eyes dart over Eddie's face before he finally whispers, "can you finish the song Eds?" 

"I think that can be arranged, " Eddie hums with a bright grin of his own. 

He swings the guitar off his back again, quickly plugging it into the amp. 

Eddie looks up to find Steve smiling softly at him as he takes a seat on one of the pool loungers. He pulls his legs up to rest his arms on his knees, basking in his own private concert. 

As the first pink and orange rays of sunrise begin to bloom on the horizon behind him, slowly painting Steve's face gold, Eddie can't help the relief that flows through him. 

He looks down at the shy grin Steve gives him, his hazel eyes bright in the new day's light, and thinks, 'holy shit, I almost missed this'.

"You don't know how long I have wanted, to touch your lips and hold you tight," he picks up where he left off, his voice mixing with the slow rhythm of the guitar, “you don't know how long I have waited, and I was going to tell you tonight--”

Eddie watches, surprised as Steve swiftly gets up from the lounger and walks towards him, his expression determined.

"I think that's my line," Steve whispers as he leans in to cup Eddie's face in his hands and kisses him.

Eddie short-circuits.

The kiss is chaste, short, not much more than the brief press of warm chapped lips against Eddie's own, but the way Steve lets his hands move from Eddie's face to his hair and neck, holding him in place. The way Steve steps into Eddie's space so all he can taste, smell, and feel is Steve.

It’s exhilarating.  

Steve pulls back slightly before placing a second kiss on Eddie's lips, his eyes half lidded and a deep red flush staines his cheeks and ears a bright red. Steve looks much more debauched than necessary and Eddie suddenly wishes they weren't outside, that he could take Steve into the house and show him exactly how sorry he is. 

"I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait, did you learn all of them or just that one?" Steve asks, his voice slightly breathy, he still hasn't let go of Eddie or stepped away.

"Just that one," Eddie repeats dumbly, feeling the urge to walk into the pool again as Steve laughs.

Oh Eddie loves that laugh.

“You sure,” Steve asks again, his eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles widely, “I thought maybe you could show me some of the other songs you know, inside?”

Either he’s dreaming or Steve is a mind reader because holy shit.

Eddie nods, unable to even form the words as Steve reaches for the amp and gently takes it out of his hands. Steve transfers the amp to his right hand and takes Eddie’s now empty hand with his left as he leads him towards the patio door.

Eddie watches, transfixed, as Steve looks back to shoot him another warm smile as they step over the threshold of the back door, and the words his uncle said earlier in the evening come back to him as Steve leads him towards the living room. 

‘I think a person like that deserves at least a chance to know you, and to see what I see’.

Eddie halts his movement, grabbing Steve’s hand firmly in his own, pulling him backwards until Steve turns, his eyebrows furrowed in wary confusion.

“Thank you, for giving me another chance,” Eddie says softly. He lets the hand holding Steve's own move to trail up and down his arm, eliciting a shiver from Steve. 

“I mean, you gave me one, you came back right?” Steve says softly. 

Eddie's heart twists at the words, he feels his face fall slightly at the thought that Steve could ever think he was somehow at fault for this, “I was an idiot, that wasn’t your fault at all sweetheart”.

Steve looks at him again, his eyes scanning Eddie’s own for what feels like ages, his expression unreadable. 

“Co’mere,” he murmurs eventually, letting go of Eddie to sit on the couch. He pats the cushion beside him, with the same soft smile from earlier, “play some music for me”.

There’s more to unpack here, more to talk about, other apologies to whisper in this beautiful man's ear. 

But for now, he swings his guitar in front of him and slowly walks over to Steve.

Steve asked for music, and who is Eddie not to oblige?

@ihavekidneys @superchellerific @zerokrox-blog @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @samcoxramblings @warlordess @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @lostonceandneverfound @shunna @fairytalesreality @estrellami-1 @rlpersephone3259 @zaphodkilledthespeedforce @newtstabber @grtwdsmwhr @uwujinniee @anica-d @imzadidragonfly @orangeandthefairroadkill @starman-jpg @nabatute @goodolefashionedloverboi @wheatnoodle @novacorpsrecruit @lolawonsstuff @redlegumes @paintsplatteredandimperfect @scheodingers-muppet @thephantomhood @0o-queendean-o0 @blackholegladiator @nerdfighteratheart @hallucinatedjosten

(I hope I haven't forgotten anyone, thank you very much for following along with this little story everyone!)

[samcrosfaith]

A LITTLE LOST 𝟬𝟮| 𝙪𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙨

Happy Lowman x fem!oc

You can find the introduction chapter and chapter one here, just click on it. You can also find them, and all the future chapters, in my masterlist {pinned post!}

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in future chapters!

a/n; I promise Happy will finally appear in the next chapter. I just had to get this story started in a somewhat logical way. I hope you enjoy! 🤎

word count; 2900

IT WAS TWO DAYS LATER, two days after Juice and Jax made a horrifying discovery, when four speechless men stood across the street from the burger restaurant, shock and fascination etched into their faces.

"Shit man, that's creepyᅳ and it takes a lot to freak me out", Tig spoke first, his hands prepped on his hips, eyes covered by dark sunglasses. "Death seems prettier than everᅳI'd definitely tap that."

"What the hell, man?" Jax' face twisted in disgust, he snapped his head to the side to glare at Tig. "It's still Hap's Old Lady, have some respect."

"Did he ever have respect?" Juice asked from the left, a sigh leaving his lips. But for a brief moment the slightest grin crossed his features. "I don't think he knows the word respect when there's someone with two legs and a hole he could use."

"Hey, we don't talk about women like that." Tig smacked the back of Juice' head, shaking his head as if he hadn't started it. "Have some respect."

"Boys, enough", Chibs' thick Scottish accent interrupted the little teasing game, earning a grateful look from Jax as his serious gaze landed on the three men. "What d' we do now? Go inside and talk t' her? Juicy? Did ye' check her records?"

"I did", the Puerto Rican nodded, not exactly enthusiastically as he tilted his head to the side. "No one by the name of Josephine Lowman works hereᅳ but a Josephine O'Connell."

"That's her maiden name", Jax thought aloud, rubbing a hand down his face as he let out a deep sigh. "What the hell is this? She was declared dead. Hell, Happy saw her, checked for himself because he didn't believe the doctors."

"Since she's officially declared dead, tha' explains why she uses her maiden name", Chibs also thought out loud, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared thoughtfully through the large window into the burger restaurant, still fascinated by watching someone who was actually dead. "We need t' find out how that's possible, what really happened t' Josy."

"How? We can't just ask her", Juice stated matter-of-factly, uncertainty flashing in his brown eyes. All he wanted was to talk to Josy, to hug his very much alive best friend, to tell her how glad he was that she was still here. "Besides, I can't believe she would ever do this to Happy; letting him suffer and allᅳ that's not like her at all."

"Well, she didn't recognize me, which means she must've suffered some kind of memory loss", which was the only logical explanation in Jax' eyes.

"Or she just faked her death", Tig said dryly as he took off his sunglasses, shrugging his shoulders. "We're going in there now and talk to her."

"Tig!" Jax called after the man, but the man with the black curls was too determined and already halfway across the street, which gave the others no choice and practically forced them to follow him, which all three did with a shake of their heads.

The bell above the door rang as the four bikers entered the restaurant and attracted different glances. Glances that they had long been used to. They looked around carefully until Josy finally appeared, with a sweet smile on her lips that everyone could still remember.

"I know why Hap fell in love with her", said Chibs, without sounding creepy in any way. It was no secret how beautiful Josy was.

"Yeah, she really was a jackpot", Juice agreed wistfully, clearing his throat as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Or still is..apparently."

It was so strange to see the young woman alive, and yet it was a huge relief, a shock in a good way.

As the four men stood in the middle of the restaurant, still considering how exactly they should address Josy, she was already heading towards the small group, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Can I help you?", she asked, polite as always. "If you're looking for a table, I can offer you one over there", she added, spinning around to point to the free table.

"You can help us, darlin'", Jax began, trying his best to hide his fascination as he spoke to the redhead. "Can you give us five minutes of your time? We have a few questions."

"Uh..Iᅳ I'm working right now." The redhead clutched the menu card to her chest, swallowing nervously. Why did four bikers want to talk to her? "Maybe our manager can help?"

"No, we need t' talk to ye', lass." Chibs stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Josy's shoulder, but removed it quickly when the young woman tensed up. "Sorry, sweetheart", he apologized sincerely. "We just have t' figure somethin' out, ye' know? It won't take more than five minutes."

"We really don't want to cause any trouble, we just want to talk." Juice sent a warm smile in Josy's direction, also stepping a little closer. "Would you give us a moment?"

Somehow the redhead managed to relax at the younger man's smile but she didn't know why. But what she did know was that she should be much more intimidated, much more worried, about the fact that four men from a biker club wanted to talk to her.

Were they old clients from her dad? Maybe they had hired him as lawyer and her father managed to piss them off somehowᅳ which wouldn't be the first time Arthur had angered someone to the point they were seeking for some kind of revenge.

But if there was one thing Josy wasn't, it was judgmental. Her sweet nature, her kindness, would probably, hopefully, always stay a part of her.

"Okay", she said finally, exhaling loudly. Apparently it really did seem important and her curiosity was piqued. "Five minutes, that's all I can do."

"Thanks, lass", Chibs nodded sincerely, as did the other three men. "Maybe we should sit down for tha', I think tha' would be better for all of us."

As if everything wasn't confusing enough already, an uneasy feeling was now brewing in the pit of her stomachᅳ a strange feeling that she couldn't quite shake off.

Josy, her beautiful freckle-covered face framed by her ginger strands, nodded slightly before leading the small group to the free table in a quiet corner and waited until everyone had slid into the booth to take a seat.

Pulling a chair from another table, she placed it in front of the table and slowly plopped down onto it, asking her colleague, who had just scurried past with a slightly confused look, to take over her tasks for a moment.

"Are you okay?", asked the brunette, her voice lowered as she placed a protective hand on Josy's shoulder.

"She's fine, doll", Tig winked with his typical smirk while his eyes checked out the beautiful woman. "I'd feel even better if you sat down too."

"Tig", Jax warned, glaring at the man once again. "Not now."

"Creep", the brunette scoffed; in contrast to Josy, she had a quick tongue.

Clearly amused, Tig raised his hands in the air. "I'm sorry, doll, sometimes I can't keep my mouth shut when I see a pretty face."

"Oh my God, here we go", Juice muttered under his breath, only able to shake his head at Tig's boldness.

"That's enough", Chibs grumbled, a certain vibration in his voice as he saw how uncomfortable and uncertain Josy's expression suddenly seemed. "I'm sorry, lass. My friend here can't control himself sometimes."

"It's okay", the redhead murmured before giving her colleague and friend a reassuring look. "I'm okay, thanks Summer."

"Good." The brunette shot the men a warning look, each and every one of themᅳ although she sheepishly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear at the Puerto Rican, who gave her an apologetic smile before her features turned hard again and she was pointing a scolding finger at them. "Keep your hands to yourself, all of you!"

Josy watched her friend with a small smile, grateful for her boldness, before she looked back at the men. "What could four bikers want from me? How about one of you finally gives me an explanation?"

"Nothing would please me more, darlin'," Jax winked as he shot her his signature smile, his broad shoulders sinking against the orange cushion of the seat. "Your name is Josephine, right?"

"You know my name?" Swallowing the forming lump in her throat, Josy shifted nervously in her seat. "How? I don't know any of you."

"Yes, yes ye' do, lass", Chibs explained with a sigh, his tone calm and reserved. Freaking her out even more wasn't what he wanted. "We know how absurd that sounds, and we'll understand if ye' throw us out in a minute, but give us a chance t' explain everythin', aye?"

"This is getting really weird, I hope you know that", the young woman uttered as she crossed her arms. "What do you want from me?"

"You died a little over one and a half year ago. At least that's what we thought." Tig dropped the bomb before they could make the woman any more nervous, empathy in his tone as he spoke. "And you were married to one of our brothersᅳ that's why we're here."

"I know this sounds crazy", Jax said immediately, his hands resting on the surface of the white table as a frown took over his face. "But it's the truth. At least if you're Josephine O'Connell, born in Roseville on October 10th, 1984. Is that right?"

Josy's lips opened and closed so many times that she would probably get a jaw cramp later, but not once did she utter a word. Instead, an almost hysterical-sounding chuckle slipped past her lips, a sea of emotion pooling in her eyes.

"And you are the mother of a one-year-old girl", Juice explained calmly, sympathy in both his voice and his eyes as he could see the deep shock cross Josy's face. "Well, she's one and a half now, looks just like you. Same red hair and all", he added with a beaming smile. "Her name's Esmee."

"Stop..please..", Josy whispered, sheer horror in her eyes as she listened to the words they were saying. "This has to be a bad joke. A sick, fucked up joke."

Suddenly her chest felt tight, as if someone was squeezing it. Her heart was beating so hard against her ribcage that she could feel it in her throat while the blood rushed through her veins faster than ever before, sending a feeling of dizziness to her head.

"We wish it was just a bad joke, believe me." Jax leaned over the table a little as he was the one sitting closest to Josy. The redhead looked as if she was about to pass out, so Jax put a strong hand against her arm just in case. "Are you okay? Is there anything we can do?"

Her head snapped up, astonished and partly speechless, she stared at the blonde man. "You wanna know if I'm okay?"

The hysterical laughter that sounded from the back of her throat sent a chill down the guys' spines. "You didn't seriously just ask me that, did you?"

"Josy", Juice began, trying to grab Josy's hand from the other side of the table as the redhead's breath faltered and she slowly began to hyperventilate. But the girl pulled her hand back in fright, a film of tears now covering her eyes, shattering Juice' heart. "You have to believe us, please. We may do a lot of questionable things, but joking about things like thatᅳ that's not our style."

"Then why the hell am I here if I should be dead, huh?!", she choked out, her splayed fingers pressed against her chest as she tried to take deep breaths. "I would know if I was married and had a child! What kind of mother would forget about her own child?"

"Normally people don't, that's right", Jax noted with a sigh, feeling bad for the woman who seemed absolutely frightened and desperate. "You had an accident when you were pregnantᅳ you died, the baby, Esmee, was saved."

"Someone must've played us really good, after all you're sitting in front of us, no idea who we are", Tig continued as he leaned forward a little, his arms crossed on the table as his piercing blue eyes searched for Josy's. "And your husband is losing it the more time passes without you by his side."

"I can'tᅳ I can't believe this." The first tears rolled down her pale cheeks, which she quickly wiped away with her palms before shaking her head frantically and shooting up from her seat. Smoothing her apron, she exhaled shakily. "I had an accident, yes. And yes, I've been suffering from anterograde amnesia since it happened", she explained, the words practically bubbling out of her. "But this..", another hysterical laugh fell over her lips. "This is absolutely crazy."

"Who told ye' all of tha', lass? Who was there after you woke up?", Chibs asked urgently as he also stood up without getting too close to the redhead. She was already upset and frightened enough, almost seeming like a little deer without a mother. "Can ye' at least remember what happened after the accident?"

"My family, who else?" All of this was too much for her, her brain no longer able to process all the information that she didn't even know if it was true. "I'm sorry, Iᅳ I can't do this."

"Josy, please!" Jax was the first to grab Josy's arm, causing the young woman to defend herself and yank her arm out of his grasp before stumbling two steps backwards, which caught the attention of the other employees and guests.

"Don't touch me", the redhead snarled, which wasn't normally her style. But at the moment she was so overwhelmed that all she wanted to do was to run away. "Leave me alone, all of you. I don't know what kind of sick game this is, but play it with someone else!"

"You heard her", the brunette from before intervened after she had immediately rushed over to her clearly upset friend, her gaze stern and warning. "You better leave now before I get the managerᅳ or before I call the police."

"Alright." Jax threw his hands in the air with a sigh while Chibs scribbled something down on a napkin. "Come on guys, let's go."

There was no point in staying here. In hindsight, someone would actually call the cops and they didn't need that at the moment. After fourteen months inside, a police station was the last place they wanted to see right now. Maybe they would try again in a few days, outside the restaurant.

"It was nice to see you again though", Jax added sincerely, wistfulness in his blue eyes before he shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded the guys over.

"If ye' change yer' mind", Chibs shoved the napkin into the small pocket on Josy's apron, an almost fatherly smile grazing his lips. "That's the address of our clubhouseᅳ ye' can visit us there anytime."

Josy's body stiffened, the muscles under her skin slowly began to burn from all the tension. Still, she didn't miss how calm she became when the man with the scars on his face shot her that smile. It felt familiar, but she couldn't remember ever having seen the man before.

"We'd love to hear from you." Juice was also back on his feet by now, suppressing the urge to hug his best friend with all his might. Still, he gently bumped her shoulder with his as he walked past her, smiling at her. "It's a relief to know that you're alive."

Tig was the last to walk past the women, giving Josy a warm smile before winking at the brunette, Summer. "You can join her if your friend decides to come by."

"Jesus, you're not giving up, huh?" Slightly annoyed, the brunette rolled her eyes, comfortingly rubbing her friend's arm as she watched the four men reluctantly leave the restaurant. "What a bunch of freaks."

The guests forgot about the incident quicker than expected and went back to their food while business continued as normal. Summer, on the other hand, led Josy into one of the back rooms so her friend could have a quiet moment.

"Do you need something?", asked Summer, concern evident in her tone as Josy slowly sank into a chair. "Want me to call Debbie?"

"No, please don't", Josy answered quickly, not in the mood to have to explain all of this to her sister right now. "I'm okay, Summer. You can go back to work."

The brunette raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, thank you", Josy assured with a weak smile and a nod, watching her colleague leave the room with a shrug and a sigh.

Only then did Josy reach for the napkin in her apron and stare thoughtfully at the address. Maybe she should look into it. If there was any chance that there was any truth behind what the men had said, then she wanted to know. Above all, she wanted to know why her father and sister, who supposedly only wanted the best for her, had lied to her.

Maybe, just maybe, she would take a little trip to Charming this weekend.

[neil-neil-orange-peel]

Complete Bastards Week!

Thank you to whoever was the last to vote yesterday - you fixed the ties! I can now reveal our seven NSFW and SFW prompts:

NSFW ~

Loss of virginity

Obsession/Voyeurism

Cross dressing

Wet dreams

Edging/Orgasm denial

Exhibitionism/Public sex

Touch starved

SFW ~

Childhood/Nostalgia

Falling piano/Cartoon violence

Drunk

Gender roles

Daddy/Mummy issues

First date

30 years later

Bonus prompts (for switching with one if it really doesn't appeal to you) ~

NSFW - Hurt/Comfort

SFW - Transformation

I can also reveal that the most popular prompts of each list were cross dressing, with 15 votes (to the shock of no one 😂), and drunk, with 12 votes.

So, what do we do next? Well, we need to agree on a week that will actually be Complete Bastards Week, like, officially. It shouldn't be too far away, but not too close either - we need to give people a hot second to actually create for this! Let me know if you guys want it to be before or after Christmas. I know the next few months are typically a busy time, so maybe this could be something to brighten up gloomy January? Let me know what you're thinking!

Some simple guidelines:

*Each day will be represented by a single prompt (one from each list in this case), but it doesn't really matter if you don't end up posting what you make to its allotted day. Posting at all is what counts!

*You don't have to commit to doing all seven if you're too busy or not all of them appeal to you.

*You can fill out all NSFW prompts, all SFW prompts, or a mix of both!

*Try to tag anything you post #complete bastards week so I can reblog it to a blog for curating this event (@completebastardsweek). Tagging the blog when you post would be a good idea too - especially if you make something NSFW, as Tumblr keeps hiding NSFW stuff from the tags. Of course, I'll mostly check the tags the week of the actual event, but I'll be keeping a cursory eye on things before and after, in case we have any early birds/latecomers.

*It goes without saying, but feel free to post whatever you make elsewhere too!

*You can make work for any of the shows/films featuring our favourite bastards. Feel free to stage crossovers too, if that's your thing! All ships (including X Reader and OCs) are welcome, as are no ships at all. Go mad!

I'll make another post with a fancypants graphic assigning the prompts to the days of the week once we've settled on a week. Thank you once again to everyone who voted! I hope some of the prompts you picked won and ideas are coming to you. 😊

[blissfulip]

Holiday Market

on AO3

Viktor x gn!reader

Rating: G

Tags: Friends to lovers?, 5+1 things (actually 4+1) awkward flirting, just tooth rotting fluff.

Cw: some cursing

Words: 3.7k

Happy Holidays from me to you  🎄

“We can agree to disagree there, Sky is such a pretty and sweet girl, and Viktor is very fond of her, so I’m sure if he wasn’t that oblivious he would’ve certainly noticed she was asking him out.” 

“Come on, he’s the smartest person both of us know, do you really think he didn’t notice? Why else would she offer to walk him to the dorm?” Jayce spoke passionately. 

This lighthearted argument you were having had been the topic of conversation for more than a month now. Every time Sky tried to do something to either flirt with Viktor or outright ask him out, he would either not notice or shut her down politely. To Jayce, it seemed like Viktor was simply not interested, to you, however, it looked like he was unknowingly shutting down her advances because he didn’t realize the romantic undertone in any of them. 

“He even said at some point he was grateful for Sky’s help, and he emphasized help.”

“See, I just think Sky is not his type.”

“Oh yeah? And what is his type?” You said this, crossing your arms and staring at him with a raised eyebrow and a half-ironic smile.  

“How would I know? It’s just a theory.” He said, shrugging, “You should try flirting with him and see how he reacts.”

“Why would I?”

“It’s definitely better than simply pining over him while you pretend to be okay with Sky flirting with him.”

“I’m not pretending, I think they look cute together.” Your voice came out much less firm than you anticipated, and it didn’t help that you unknowingly started to make small circles on the table with your free hand. 

“I think you would look even cuter with him.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m your friend, plus, how would my flirting with him conclude anything about our argument?”

"Well, if he also doesn’t notice you flirting, then you’d be right, and If he does notice, then It would mean I am right.” 

“Right, let’s assume he does in fact notice, what if he’s not into it?”

“You tell him it was a joke between us, but that’s unlikely.”

He knew something you didn’t, but you didn’t ask him what it was, it was dangerous for you to get hopeful. You didn’t bother to deny what he said earlier about you pining over him, because although talking about it openly was never really a necessity, the way you looked at Viktor when he wasn’t paying attention and the way you laughed a little louder at his jokes had never gone unnoticed by Jayce. He knew you well enough to not put you on the spot by asking about it, but he knew, and you knew that he knew.

In actuality, you had a sneaking suspicion that this little game of his was just Jayce’s not-so-secret plan to finally get you to make a move on his partner. He would never admit to it, and you would rather pretend to be unaware, after all, you’d be waiting for an excuse to do this. 

“If he doesn't notice by the third time I try, then I win.”

“Fifth.” 

“Fine.” You huffed. 

“And you have to be aggressive about it, subtlety will not do.”

“Don’t you worry, as soon as he gets here, you’ll see a master at work.” You said with a playful smirk. Although you had said that with an obviously joking tone, you were, as a matter of fact, perfectly confident in your ‘skills’. Flirting was fun to you, it made you feel pretty and playful, and as long as you kept it respectful, you could always tell that the other person, albeit bashful and sometimes surprised, usually felt as good as you did. 

I.

When Viktor got back into the room, your heart started to race, not so much in a way that worried you, but more like it does when you play sports, eat something tasty, or stand on the edge of a tall building. The intoxicating feeling of adrenaline filling your chest to the brim. When he noticed you there, leaning on the side of Jayce’s desk, he gave you a warm smile, and you walked over to greet him. 

“I thought you had given up on visiting the lab.” He said with a chuckle as you approached.

“Never, I would miss you too much.” You told him with a sickly sweet smile as you gave him a small hug, game on.

“Eh, well, I’m glad you came by, I’m sure Jayce is happy to have an excuse to stall.” There he was, it hadn’t been more than a minute, and he was already deflecting the attention from him. You looked at Jayce and pretended to laugh along, and he gave you a look that screamed ‘too subtle!’. It was fine, you could do better, so you turned back to face Viktor and looked at him intently. Head tilted to the side and a satisfied smirk that you wanted to make sure lingered for a second too long. 

The moment he noticed and his eyes landed on yours, you brought your hand up to brush some of his hair away from his face. The small strands in the front that sometimes cascaded over his forehead usually gave him a messy look that you personally adored, this time, however, they would serve a higher purpose. 

“Have I ever told you I love your hair? Its…so soft.” You cringed as soon as it left your mouth. ‘I like your hair’? What are you thinking? But you had to commit to it now, so you didn’t break eye contact.  

“Oh, hold on.” He said this as he sat down on his chair and started to write something on a small notepad. You glanced over at Jayce and noticed he was as confused as you were. No more than three seconds later, Viktor tore the piece of paper off the notepad and handed it to you.  

“What’s this?” 

“The conditioner brand I use—I almost couldn’t remember the name, but it came back to me.” He said this with such a sincere smile that you had to concede and admit you had been defeated, at least at that time. . 

“Thanks Vik.”  You said, unable to hold back a laugh. Jayce laughed as well, for nearly a minute after mouthing ‘a master, huh?’ at you after Viktor had turned his chair away.

II.

I’ll show him, alright. You thought to yourself as you left their lab to go back to work, you were already planning on what to do the next time you saw them, and you caught yourself smiling like an idiot as you worked, remembering his sweet little face as he handed you that piece of paper. How could you not fall head over heels for that? You didn’t know if it was his refusal to accept compliments or just his genuine interest in helping you get silky-smooth hair, but it didn’t matter, everything he did was absurdly endearing. 

Next time, though, as you pondered, I'll have to try a different angle. 

The opportunity presented itself a lot earlier than you expected when you went to the Academy kitchen about a week later and were pleasantly surprised to find both of your dearest friends there, Jayce sitting on one of the stools near the window and Viktor leaning against one of the counters. 

“Look at what the cat dragged in,” You said with a playful tone. “You two never come here, is the coffee machine in the lab broken?”

“Not quite, no. Jayce thought it would be a sensible idea to take a break over here.” He said, gesturing at Jayce with the face of someone who had already regretted his decision. Jayce simply looked at you and raised his eyebrows slightly. He knew you liked to come here to get coffee. 

“Well, he’s right, a change of scenery never hurt anybody,” you said, walking over to lean on the counter right next to him. “How’s work? Any significant progress lately?”

In any other circumstance, you would’ve listened to what he had to say attentively, but this time you were on a mission. He went on about the hex gates they were developing blueprints for, and you looked up at him through your lashes, making sure to take a quick but noticeable glance at his lips when he was looking back at you. For a second, it seemed like it worked, he stopped in his tracks and looked at you with slightly furrowed brows. Not angry, but as if he was trying to examine you and figure out what you had in mind.

“I apologize, eh...was I going too fast?” he chuckled.

Great, he just thinks I’m stupid.

“No, sorry, I just got distracted.” As you said this, you got an idea. You brought your hands up to the collar of his shirt, skimming over the lapel of his vest on your way there in the most casual manner you could muster. 

“Don’t worry about it,” He said lightheartedly. He didn’t seem to mind you touching him like this, so you didn’t take your hands back. 

“Work has been pretty tedious the past few weeks, you know?” You said while adjusting the collar, lightly brushing your fingers along the seams, and making sure the tip of your thumbs ‘accidentally’ and ever so delicately grazed over his neck. “Not all of us are geniuses working in the genius department making genius discoveries every day,” You teased him as your hands traveled up. 

“You give us too much credit,” He said with a shy laugh. “But you’re right in that regard; we have discoveries to make; come, Jayce, the genius department awaits us,” He joked as he picked up his cane and walked out of the kitchen with a relaxed smile. 

Jayce turned to look at you so fast that you were worried he would sprain a muscle. 

“You can’t tell me that was too subtle” You said with a bitter sigh. 

“You know, Mel is not really the flirty type, but if she ever did that to me, I would turn into a puddle.” He said half amused and half puzzled. “He’s a mystery, I'll tell you that.” 

“Well, how much more aggressive can I go without being weird?” Both of you thought about it in silence for a couple of minutes before Jayce spoke up. 

“I might have an idea, come by the lab tomorrow for lunch and follow my lead.”

“Normally that would scare me, but sure.”

III.

You suspected any food you ingested at that moment would swiftly be rejected by your stomach, this whole situation, which was initially supposed to be a laid-back fun thing, had turned you into an anxiety-induced mess. Technically, the way things were going was good for you, it proved what you said about Viktor being oblivious, and you loved being right, so why didn’t it feel good? 

Whatever it was, you knew one thing for sure: you were skipping lunch that day. You decided to go out a bit earlier than your usual lunchtime and stop by your favorite bakery. They had a chocolate and cinnamon roll cake that they only made around the holidays. You and the guys usually love them, so it should at least cheer you up. When you got to their lab, they both took your presence as a cue to stop working, almost as if they were expecting you.

“Great! We can get a second opinion.” You were visibly confused, which prompted Jayce to widen his eyes and raise his eyebrows, probably to remind you to ‘follow his lead’ before he continued speaking. “I was telling Viktor that Sky has been trying to flirt with him, and he doesn’t believe me. You see it too, right?”

Oh, I see what he’s doing.

“For sure, I can’t believe you haven’t noticed, Vik.”

“I have noticed the things Jayce mentioned, I just don’t believe they constitute flirting, and I also don’t see why she would be flirting with me.” 

You took this personally.

“Why wouldn’t she? You’re handsome, and sometimes you’re even tolerable, I don't see why not.” You were sure a compliment combined with some teasing should do it, you were wrong, as Viktor remained unmoved.

"Eh, sure, but I still believe she’s simply being nice, and if she were indeed flirting with me, I don't think she would do it in front of other people,” he said nonchalantly. 

“I don’t see why not, it’s not like her feelings for you are a secret to anyone, and maybe she’s being incredibly obvious with what she does in the hope someone will notice and tell you about it,” you said in a playful tone but sincerely.

“You do those things as well, you’ve always been naturally touchy and affectionate, so I don’t think those things are inherently romantic,” he shrugs.  

“Touché…”

It all made sense to you now, how all of your attempts at being intimate or complimenting him had gone unnoticed; they were lost in a sea of millions of other instances in which you had acted the same way. All of those came back, you remembered at least two other times when you had called him handsome and multiple times in which you were overtly touchy and showered him with compliments. 

You figured that Jayce’s intention with this whole conversation was for you to at least figure out what Viktor considered to be flirting, and at best, it would be an opportunity for you to openly compliment him. But you looked at Jayce and saw the realization dawn on him.

“Let me go grab some plates for the cake, help me get some cups too,” He told you, nudging you to come out of the room with him. 

“Well, I guess that’s it, he’ll never figure it out, so I win,” You said with a sly smile intended to hide the strange bitter feeling in your mouth as soon as you closed the door behind you. 

“Nope, this just helps us recalibrate. Now we know being touchy and just generally nice and affectionate will not work, so you need to try something else.”

“What else is there?”

“We have to come up with things for you to say and do that you would normally not say or do for someone other than a romantic partner.”

“Wouldn’t that basically be a confession?”

“At this point, I think you could very well confess, and he wouldn’t register it as such.” He chuckled. 

“Well, let me think.” And you walked in silence towards the kitchen for a couple of minutes before Jayce spoke again. 

“I think you need to go for some more obvious compliments. When people say he is smart and handsome, he just takes it as them stating a fact.”

“He’s a confident one, that’s for sure.” You said this as you smirked in contentment. 

“So, you’ll get him alone somehow to avoid that whole ‘she wouldn’t flirt in front of others’ thing, and you’ll compliment something about him that only a romantic interest would like. I’m 84% sure this one’s going to work out.”

“The odds are with me, I see”

IV. 

“I’m going to the holiday market, want to tag along?” You asked them on a Saturday afternoon.

“You should go, Vik, it would do you some good to breathe some fresh air.” 

“I don’t see how walking around the snow would fix this prototype.” He said with a disgruntled chuckle.

“It won’t, but it will give me some alone time to figure it out without you pestering me.”

“Ok, I get it. I’m going.” 

It had been close to a month since the last time you tried anything. Jayce and you agreed that you wouldn’t make any moves unless you were alone with him, so this was about to be your chance to do something. 

You had thought about it extensively since, playing and replaying your interactions in your head like a chess game. Perhaps the plan you had arrived at wouldn't work, perhaps you had been overthinking it, and once you tried it, the results would be catastrophic. But one thing was for sure, you were letting this consume you. The whole point of this experiment was to prove that Viktor was oblivious, and strictly speaking, the way things had been going proved you right, but it had morphed into more than that. 

You wanted him to notice, you wanted him to notice you.

“Are you planning to buy something?” He said snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Nothing in particular; I just really like coming here; it’s full of happy people in clothes that make them look like marshmallows, and the smell of the place is lovely.” 

“I admire the way you look at things, sometimes I feel like my vision of the world is so stale, yet you’re always finding beauty everywhere.”

"Well, let’s look together.” You told him, dragging him slowly out of the influx of people, to stand against a wall where you had a good vision of everything.  

“I think I get it, the people really seem to be happy.”

“At least they’re pretending to be,” you said with a cynical smile that got a low chuckle out of him. 

“And it does smell very nice around here.” 

“It does, but you smell better.” You said shrugging.

“I, eh, can give you the name of the lotion I use, I just don’t remem—”

By Janna, he is going to drive me insane. 

"Viktor, I don’t care for the damn lotion; I like the smell of it on you; I like your smell.” You said almost in an exasperated tone. 

“Oh.” He said, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upward. “Thank you?”

You walked together, sharing a comfortable silence for a couple more minutes, but you had to look back when you noticed Viktor wasn’t keeping up anymore. You were able to spot him leaning against a wall next to one of the stalls selling wood carvings, so you walked back to meet him. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, my leg just gets a bit sore after walking for a while when it’s too cold out.” 

“Oh duh,” You said, giving yourself a slap on the forehead. “I totally forgot about that, Vik, sorry. Let’s head back”

“We don’t have to, I just need to stretch it out a bit.”

“Don’t be silly, besides, I think we’ve seen enough happy people for today.” You told him with a playful frown. 

“Sure, eh, want me to take you home?”

"Yeah, you can take me home.” You told him with a cheeky smirk, and he simply laughed off the very obvious innuendo in that sentence. 

V. 

Jayce was not happy to hear you wanted to give up, but you were over it. After overthinking for 4 nights straight, you decided Viktor had definitely realized you were flirting with him, and feigning insanity was the most polite way he could find of rejecting your advances. Pushing it at this point felt like overkill, and you certainly did not want to make him uncomfortable. 

“Listen, trust me, I have an excellent feeling for this one. Not to mention, the deal was five times.”

“Jayce, there is no way on earth he hasn’t noticed, I’m sure he’s just ignoring it on purpose at this point. I’ll give you the win, just drop it, okay?” 

“It doesn’t count as a win if he hasn’t openly acknowledged it. I get not telling you, but he hasn’t even told me anything.”

“You know what? Fine. I’ll make it as obvious as I possibly can, I’ll embarrass myself if that’s what it takes, and then when he asks me to stop acting weird, we can drop this thing, happy?” 

“Go to the kitchen, I’ll send him over.”

And off you went, resigned to making a fool of yourself and dragging your feet with aggravated sadness. You weren’t sure when or how Jayce intended to send Viktor over to the kitchen, so you picked up a kettle and decided to brew some tea while you waited. The crackling sound of the stove and eventual whistling made the wait seem longer, but at long last you saw him come in. 

“Hey Vik” you said in a tone that conveyed more frustration than you intended it to. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm just tired.” You said with a forced chuckle. “You?”

“Eh, I’m positive Jayce is hiding something from me at the lab. He was very adamant on getting me out of there today, but I’ll figure it out eventually.” You scoffed in response. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” he questioned. 

Okay, let’s get this over with. 

“You tell me, pretty boy, I’m just glad you ended up here.” 

“Yes, it’s always fun to chat with you.” He said with an endearing smile. Endearing is not what you were hoping for. 

“So fun, but we could always do more than chatting.” 

Silence. Maddening silence for what felt like years. And then he walked over to where you were, painfully slow and keeping intense eye contact. When he got to you, he stood less than a hand’s distance away, stared down at you with a smug look, and spoke.

“Stop that,” he said in almost a whisper. “I know you think it’s so funny to mess with me like that, and I know Jayce thinks it’s hilarious as well, but you’re not going to think it’s so funny anymore when I flirt back, and it stops being a joke.”

Oh. 

“So… you knew the whole time?”

“It was funny the first time, but if you keep escalating, I might have to match your energy, and you won’t like it.” He said, a grin creeping up. 

“See, you think you’ve got it all figured out, but you’re wrong.”

“You intend to tell me you were not flirting with me? I’m not an idiot,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I was definitely flirting, but everything I said to you was true, and I wouldn’t mind you escalating.” You shrugged, trying to pretend this whole tirade was not affecting you. 

“I see.” He kept examining your expression, as if he were trying to find a weak spot in your posture to attack. “How does dinner tomorrow sound?”

It caught you by surprise, but it wasn’t an unwelcome one.