#but i think his brain is foggy in the morning and you can catch him at his most affectionate when he's half asleep

[twilightakiishi]

i think takiishi would kiss you in places that he deems to be not super intimate, but it backfires because being kissed in places that no one else has ever kissed you is intimate in and of itself

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand; Part 6

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Shower smut, Slight breeding kink if you squint, Simon Riley being a literal angel, basically all smut with a little bit of plot.

A/N: Hi loves, imma be real, i wrote this entire part in a day. I spent pretty much my entire afternoon writing this after i scrapped about 4 different versions. This is the best i got at the moment. Im still working on this series and requests. Just life is kinda busy. So please bear with me and enjoy the brain rot. This is also not proofread at all so RIP to any grammar police.

Word Count: 3012... This seemed longer.. sowwie, its smol.

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 5

You sleepily make your way towards the bathroom door, hand closing over the knob as the incessant need to pee urges you forward. It was a little after 2am, you had fallen asleep rather early having spent most of the day lounging around the apartment. 

Simon was on base for the day, running training exercises with Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. During the 3 months you have been living with Simon, you have come to learn his patterns. Training days meant that 9 times out of 10 he would spend the night on base. The days before a deployment he would make sure to stock the fridge and pantry with your favorites. On Sundays he did laundry, every 3rd wednesday he would get his haircut. Saturdays after returning for deployment were reserved for going out to Soap’s bar and having a well deserved drink. You also learnt his day to day routine, every morning he was home Simon rose at exactly 5:00am, went on a 12 mile run, when he returned if you weren't already awake he would prepare you a healthy breakfast and leave it out for you before heading to work. 

On days when you were awake when he got back from his run he would shower, and you both would spend some time preparing breakfast together. Although those mornings instead of the nutritionally packed meals he usually prepared you often convinced him to make some sort of carb and sugar filled breakfast. Those mornings he would often leave the flat grumbling about how he should’ve run extra. Those mornings were your favorite. 

Since you moved in your relationship with Simon had not progressed further than friends, sure there was still the burning desire that he ignited within you from just looking at you. And you would often linger just a little bit too long in his arms when he would give you a hug. But there hadn't been any kissing, and you haven't managed to end up naked in between his sheets. But that wasn't for lack of wanting.

As you shove open the bathroom door, you fail to realize that not only was the light on but the sound of running water was coming from the shower. As you quickly beeline for the enclosed toilet space, you don't feel a set of brown eyes watching your every move from behind the foggy glass. It isn't until you wash your hands in the sink and glance up into the large mirror on the wall that you realize you aren't alone. Through the fogged glass of the mirror you can make out Simon’s large silhouette, his tanned skin reduced to nothing more than a tan blob. 

“Oh my god!” You squeak, whirling around, your chest heaving as you finally face Simon. He's mostly obscured by the fogged glass door of the walk-in shower, but his bemused smile is clear. “I didn't think you would be coming home!” You mutter out, your cheeks turning pink as he runs his hand across the glass cleaning away some of the fog. Now you can clearly see his face, although distorted by the water droplets on the glass. 

“I should’ve texted you, I'm sorry.. I just didn't want to be late for the appointment in the morning..” Simon says as he reaches up, running his hand through his wet blonde hair.

“No, no! I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention. I'm such an airhead sometimes I didn't realize that there was someone in here..” you rush out as you try to desperately keep your eyes from straying from Simon's face. You aren’t sure if it's the heat from the shower or the pregnancy hormones but it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes from trailing down his toned body. 

Simon pauses for a moment, his dark brown eyes trailing over you, from the adorable flush of your cheeks to the swell of your stomach under the sleep shirt you have on. “It’s alright. Love," Simon smiles. One of his panty dropping smiles that you swear he reserves for only you. It's the smile that sends shivers straight to your core. That leaves you a hot panting mess behind closed doors. Living with Simon and not jumping his bones at every opportunity was damn near torture during your second trimester. You were able to take care of things yourself, but now that your bump had grown substantially, you hadn’t been able to find relief.  

Without thinking, you walk towards the shower and yank open the door, the hot steam pouring out. Little splashes of water hit your skin as you step into the small space. Your sleep shirt and shorts quickly drenched, as Simon stares at you wide eyed. 

“Sweetheart…” Simon warns as your hands come to rest on his wet cheeks, your thumb catching on his bottom lip as he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide. You quickly close the space between you two, your bump pressing against the firm plains of his abs, your arms snaking around his neck as you sharply tug him down to your height. Your lips capture his in a sloppy, wet kiss. Simon groans low in his throat, his chest vibrating against your overly sensitive breasts. A new wave of need pluses through you as you try to get closer, Simon's cock jumping to life as it presses against your lower stomach. Simon's large hands land on your hips squeezing slightly as he turns you, pressing your back against the cold tile wall of the shower. 

A startled gasp rushes past your lips as your back makes contact with the cold tile. A shiver running through you as your wet shirt makes it feel colder. Simon smiles against your lips, one hand coming up to graze over your pebbled nipples through the sopping wet fabric of your shirt. A breathy moan slips from you as Simon peppers kisses down the side of your jaw to your neck. The spray from the showerhead now sprays off his shoulders as he leans lower. 

“Fuck.. Please,” you whine, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulders Simon wraps his lips around one of your nipples, over the fabric of your shirt. The friction from the wet fabric sends waves of pleasure through you straight to your core, your legs starting to shake with need and Simon has barely touched you.

“Such a needy girl…” Simon murmurs against your skin, as he flicks his tongue across your nipple. Your cheeks flush pink at his words but you’re hanging on to each one like they’re your life line. “Why didn't you just come to me if you needed some help baby?” Simon whispers softly, as his fingers trace the bottom of your bump, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pushes it up.

“I…I don't know,” You mumble your head tipping back against the cold shower wall. 

Simon hums, his lips once again brushing across one of your nipples, pulling another moan from you. “God, your tits are amazing. It’s been hell walking around trying not to stare at them. Knowing that my child is the reason, knowing that they are growing to provide milk for our baby,” Simon whispers against your skin, and you swear you could cum just from the sounds of his voice. 

“Simon… Please…” you whine, it's small and breathy, in any other circumstance you would be ashamed for sounding so weak, but right now you couldn't give two shits if the damn queen of England was standing here witnessing your plea.

“Tell me what you need baby, I don't want to hurt you..” Simon stands back to his full height, his hand coming to cup the side of your face. You force your eyes open, Simon's beautiful brown eyes staring at you. Simon is a large man, in all aspects of his life and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you unintentionally. Especially now, as you carry his child within you, he would rather be buried alive again than accidentally do something to hurt you or the baby.

“I need you to bend me over and fuck me senseless. I feel like I'm going to explode,” you whine, your needy hands coming to rake down his bare chest, sending a shiver through Simon's entire body. 

“Whatever you need, Love,” Simon grunts before he bends down and picks you up, nudging open the shower door with his shoulder as he cradles you against his wet chest. He doesn’t stop to turn off the shower or even dry himself off as he brings you into his room. He sets you down on your feet and quickly drops to his knees in front of you. His still warm hands catching the waistband of your wet sleep shorts. He pulls them down your legs, goosebumps erupting across your skin from the sudden change in temperature. 

Simon presses a series of soft kisses to the stretched skin of your stomach, his hands briefly cupping your belly/ “Hi Lovie,” he whispers softly to your bump and if you weren’t so ravishingly horny you could cry. The sight of probably one of the scariest men you know on his knees in front of you talking to his unborn child makes you want to scream in the best way. But your mind quickly goes blank as Simon's fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thigh. 

“Turn around, elbows on the bed, pet,” Simon stands again, his hands on your shoulders as he gently turns you. As if on autopilot you lean forwards, resting your elbows on the bed, giving Simon a perfect view of your ass. A deep groan hits your ears as Simon's hand comes to massage the puffy flesh of your ass. Your skin prickles with anticipation as his fingers dip lower, gathering the slick wetness from between your thighs. The breath wooshed from your lungs as he thrusts one finger into your slick cunt. 

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl aren't you?” Simon hums, lazily thrusting his finger before he adds a second. You tip your hips back, trying to make him go faster, this slow languid pace he was setting was driving you mad. You needed to be fucked, and god damn if you didn't get it right now you were going to cry. 

“Si…” you whine, pushing your hips back into his hand as he curls his fingers within you. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant, not made of fucking glass. I swear if you don't fu-” Your voice cuts off as Simon slams into you in one quick thrust. Your world spins for a moment and if you hadn't been holding onto the bed for support you would’ve fallen over. A startled gasp passes your lips and Simon all but freezes. “No please don't stop, it just feels different but not in a bad way…” You quickly mumble reaching back haphazardly with one hand to try and grab Simon's hip to force him to move.  

“You sure?” Simon mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your hips, as he slowly pulls out before sinking back in. 

“Oh god, yes, please,” you moan, your face now pressed into the mattress. That was all it took for Simon to continue, his hips thrust into you at a rapid pace, obscene moans leaving your lips as he slams home each time. Sex felt different this time, there was no slight burn from how big Simon was but you felt full, so deliciously full. You had been worried about having sex at any point during your pregnancy, having read that some women have no sex drive during pregnancy, especially the 3rd trimester. But thank the lord above it was not the case for you. Your thoughts turn to nothing as Simon lets out a harsh moan, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Simon grunts as he adjusts his grip on your hip bones,his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Feels so good Simon.. I'm gonna cum..” You whimper as the familiar coil in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release as he pounds into you. Your skin slapping against each other so loud you're sure the neighbors know what's going on.

“Cum for me baby,” Simon leans forward, one hand wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you up slightly, your elbows no longer resting on the bed as he pulls you up against his chest. His hips still pistoning into you as he uses the new position to fuck into your harder. You reach up and grab the back of his neck with your hand, anchoring yourself to him, your other hand coming to find the hand still on your waistline. You guide his hand up to your throat where he gives it a gentle squeeze. 

That small squeeze was all you needed to go tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Stars dance in front of your vision as the world goes quiet for a moment. Simon finds his own release moments after yours, his entire body tensing behind you. As you turn to putty in his arms, “Woah, I’ve got you,” Simon whispers into your sweaty hairline as his arms carefully wrap around you and he manages to slip out of you and hold you up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, fully sated as you lean against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, one arm firmly around you, right under your breasts the other resting lightly on your bump. His fingers softly rubbing along your soft skin. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Simon grunts, maneuvering you to the edge of the bed where he helps lower you into it. 

“I just basically jumped you in the shower… “ you mutter, your eyes heavy as exhaustion hits you like a freight train hitting a brick wall. 

Simon pauses as he gathers your wet pj’s from the floor and shoves them into his laundry basket. “You think I would be upset by you jumping me in the shower?” He asks, a small smile on his face. 

You lift your head, watching as he shoves the clothes into the basket and grabs a black long sleeve shirt from the closet. He walks over, standing in front of you still in all his naked glory, the shirt in his hands. “Well.. I mean.. we haven’t exactly expressed wanting more than friendship..” 

“Love, I’ve been taking it slow because I thought you only wanted to be friends… not because I wanted to. God, watching you walk around the apartment, your stomach growing with my child drives me insane, I’ve wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you sensless every morning since the first day you got here.” Simon pulls the shirt over your head, and you put your arms through, the shirt still fits loosely even over your baby bump. 

“Oh…” you freeze for a moment, you and Simon had gotten closer over the time you’ve lived with him. You had learnt about his past, about his mother and brother. About his nephew. You held him when he cried one night, his words a broken mess of how he was afraid he would turn out to be his dad. How he wished he could talk to his brother one last time, so he could ask him how he got past the fear of turning into his dad. How he handled the fear of being a dad when he had Joseph.

But the entire time you had lived together Simon had always treated you with respect, he never touched your stomach without asking. He always made sure to keep a respectable distance from you when you were on the couch. He never entered your room without permission and never asked about your life before coming to London. 

But it wasn’t to say you didn’t share things with Simon, he knew your favorite color, your worst fear (unrelated to your family’s passing) , your greatest wish, he knew what you used to dream about being as a little kid. He knew that your favorite food could make you smile on your worst days, and that you liked to watch old sitcoms when it rained. If someone was to look into your conversations they would probably think you were already together. That you probably didn’t flaunt the physical aspects of your relationship. Simon had quickly broken down the walls you had put up around yourself, and had comfortably made his own spot in your heart.

Simon sits next to you, now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, his large hand covering yours. You slowly look up at him, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. The small scar in his eyebrow evident this close, you reach out running a finger across it. The skin is slightly raised and water drips from his hair onto your finger.

“Then you should stop fighting the urge…” you finally whisper, your hand cupping the rough skin of Simon’s face. 

“Would you be okay with that? With me touching you whenever I wanted… holding you.. kissing you?” Simon whispers, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your hand.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your forehead coming to rest against his, your eyes closed. For a moment you just sit there. Your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

Could you be okay with that?

Could you let someone in that way?

Let someone get close enough that they could see all the broken and jagged edges of you?

Could you open yourself up to losing someone again?

The thought of Simon being gone suddenly, ripped away from you by some unknown, the same person who ripped your siblings and mother away from you makes you want to vomit.

But a small part of you chimes in, the part that knows Simon isn’t defenseless like your family was. Simon was a trained military man, a man who single handedly killed an entire crew for crossing him. He could handle himself. He had proved that time and time again in the field. He also had the rest of 141, the team who would go to the ends of the earth to find him. 

You open your eyes, and look at Simon, the answer on the tip of your tongue as you stare at his beautiful face. His light blonde stubble, the small scars, the crook in his nose, the slightly uneven line of his lower lip. “Yes… I-I want that.. I want all of it.”

Next Part: 7

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18

[fuctacles]

LATE BLOOMERS

for @steddieholidaydrabbles Spring pop-up | T | 1k | no cw | t4t w transfem Stevie and transmasc Eddie, pre relationship, mutual pining | read on Ao3 | part 2

Eddie hates spring. 

It’s getting warmer and swarms of people are going outside to piss on his good mood. Kids are screaming, parents are showing publicly how terrible they are, the sun is glaring into his eyes, and birds are chirping. Literal hell. His last slivers of peace are the nights and early mornings when everyone is still sleeping.

Except her.

She’s new here, moved in around Thanksgiving last year, and has been running daily ever since. Eddie had noticed her passing his house now and then, her chestnut ponytail swinging with the movement. 

Every morning, in a very un-Munson fashion, he sits on his porch, the cold planks digging into his ass, with a thick sweater, and a coffee warming his body. All so that he can nod at one of the many joggers blemishing the neighborhood.

He always liked drinking his morning coffee in the crisp, chilly air, still foggy and void of people, still in their beds or getting ready for work. She is a great motivator to do it every morning, to wake up to his alarm and start his day early. 

She’s like clockwork, always on time and never out of breath. Barely missed a step the first time he nodded at her in a casual “good morning, neighbor” greeting, and now every time she passes his house she looks to the side, catches his eye, and smiles, raising her hand in a small wave. 

Eddie’s heart swells in his chest and he’s on the verge of weeping into his coffee every time.

It’s all the interaction they’ve had so far, and he’s not even sure what the woman’s last name is, though the rumors he’s heard say it’s Harrington. He likes to imagine she chose this route to see him just like he chooses to wake up early every morning to drink his coffee on the porch, even though no jogging type would go for a metalhead freak like him. He might just be conveniently on the way to her favorite bakery or something. 

He hates spring a little less when it’s warm enough for local joggers to dress down. It gets him swooning over some ankle like an ancient bachelor. A couple of days later the temperatures rise to sports bra levels which he learns the hard way while choking on his coffee.

It’s tight, obviously, but no amount of support can prevent the obvious bounce accompanying the movement of running. He tries his best not to be a creep and greets her with the same smile.

He thinks he’s prepared for the sports bra the next day, but he’s heavily mistaken when the transgender flag rounds the corner. He gets the coffee on his t-shirt this time as he recognizes the top she’s wearing from the same site he used to get binders from. 

She's a little hesitant with her greeting this time, and Eddie can’t stand it. So he opens his stupid mouth and yells:

“Me too!”

She looks at him quizically so he adds, albeit a tad more timid:

“I’m trans.”

And to his absolute horror, she starts walking up to him. 

He’s thinking the worst things: maybe the colors are just a coincidence, maybe she got it because she liked it and has no idea what it means, or maybe he’s about to get shunned by the local community that he already doesn’t feel welcome in.

But then there’s a megawatt smile directed at him and every bad thought evaporates from his brain.

“Really?” she asks, and he can only dumbly nod. 

“Thank god! I worried it would be like, a problem.”

Her hand is out and she’s right in front of him.

“I’m Stephanie,” she says. Her hand is warm against the morning chill. Enveloping and strong.

“Eddie.”

She smiles, warm and teasing, wreaking havoc across Eddie’s internal organs. 

“Is there a chance I’d get a glass of water?”

Eddie straightens up immediately.

“Yes! Of course! Come in, come in!” He opens the door and motions her inside, hoping the filtering jug is full. 

It is, so he pours a glass for the gorgeous creature in his kitchen.

“Thank you,” she says politely and it’s so simple, but Eddie’s melting inside as he watches her swallow the water and lick her bottom lip.

“Hey, listen…”

“Mhm?” he makes a questioning sound, eyes drawn to the way she crosses her arms, making the muscles flex and frame her cleavage.

“Would it be weird if I asked to borrow a sweater? I heavily overestimated the weather today.”

Eddie was nodding before she was even finished, head bopping so hard he was getting dizzy. 

“No! Just give me a moment!” he said before running up the stairs to his bedroom to grab the first clean hoodie he could find. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She smiles and he has the pleasure of watching her put on his clothing. “It’s stupid, but I’ve been dressing up, or dressing down rather, to…” She bites her lip as she zips up the hoodie. There’s a flaking-away Metallica logo across the chest. “There’s this metalhead on my route I wanted to impress, I guess.”

Eddie swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I’m pretty sure you’d impress him in a skiing suit.”

She chuckles. 

“You think so? Maybe I should just suck it up and ask him out then,” she wonders out loud, turning to leave, and Eddie’s stomach sinks. But then she’s turning back and laughing again.

“Eddie! Do you want to go out with me?”

The relief he feels melts his bones. 

“Of course I do! Why do you think I’ve been freezing my ass on the porch every morning?” He goes for the snark because he doesn’t know how to deal with having this beautiful woman’s full attention.

“Breakfast tomorrow? The usual time?” she asks. Because of course, she’d take him on an early morning date.

“Should I buy a tracksuit?” he jokes, but to his horror, her eyes sparkle.

“That would be perfect.”

Stevie event interest check

[backwardshatchris]

“All my love and patience, unappreciated.’

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐲/𝐧

Warnings!:

angst, crying, panic attack!!, cussing, use of y/n, toxic!chris

Summary:

Something doesn’t feel right in your relationship, and it wasn’t because of you.

Writers note:

hi guys thank you so much for all the likes on my last post! Dm me when you have more ideas for stories! 💋 // guys my first language isn’t English so I’m terribly sorry if there are any mistakes! I try my best to make everything as best as possible

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

its probably the middle of the night, atleast you think so. You have been up forever, everything keeps you awake around you. The slight touch of Chris’ arm against your body, the clicking clock and sometimes a notification from our phones. You don’t wanna wake up Chris, you know he’s gonna be pissed when you wake up or even leave the bed.

You caught up in your thoughts in your head, Chris has been treating you different, your brain has been foggy, you don’t understand why he’s acting like this. He isn’t cheating, you know he isn’t. It’s not like him, but you’ve never felt this alone in a relationship. Something isn’t right...

But you can’t help but love him either way.

When you wake up the next morning, you turn around to find Chris not laying next to you in bed, maybe he’s downstairs making you breakfast? You step out of the bed that used to be warm and comforting, all it does now is making you feel like you wanna throw up.

You pick out a random comfortable outfit you quickly picked out from Chris’ closet, it’s the light blue fresh love hoodie with some plaid pyjama pants. Walk up the stairs since your at Chris’ and find just Matt cooking some pancakes.

‘Hi, uhh do you know where Chris is?’ You know you never would ask something to Matt in the morning since he’s always grumpy, but all you cared about right now is where Chris is.

Matt slowly turns his head, with the most uninterested look on his face shaking his head no, and turns his head back to his eggs. ‘Good morning to you to I guess.’

You were on your way upstairs to try to ask Nick when something randomly spills out of Matt’s mouth. ‘Didn’t he leave you a message or something?’ you turned your head to look at Matt but he was just asking you this without making any eye contact. ‘No why?’ Matt scoffs ‘What a dumbass, he doesn’t deserve a girl like you.’ You are not sure what to say or do so you just wanted to walk up the stairs when Matt started talking again. ‘Nick is off, the warehouse I think.’ ‘Okay.’ You felt pretty dumb walking up the stairs so you just walked down to Chris’ room again. But again there is something coming out of Matt’s grumpy mouth this morning, ‘you can just stay here, I rather have you here then sitting here alone.’ A little smile appears on his face, what you didn’t expect. — not so grumpy after all I guess. But you walk up the stairs to sit on the table where Matt is having his breakfast.

‘Don’t you want anything to eat?’ His head slightly tilted to the side while he asks you this question. ‘No thank you.’ You shake your head, you have been too caught up in your thoughts where Chris could be. It felt weird, normally you would spend the day with Chris but he just isn’t here.

Matt looks down at his board, still with a little bit of scrambled egg and one slice of bacon that was a bit burned on the side. ‘You can have my breakfast if you want.’ Matt offered, you were completely zoned out, nothing seemed real. And you are still trying to figure out where Chris could be. ‘You care about that idiot way to much don’t ya?’ Matt tries to catch your attention, that is a success if you say something about Chris atleast. ‘Yeah..’ you kind of look down, you have no idea what to do. ‘Are you sure you don’t know where he is?’ You kind of felt bad asking since he already answered this question. ‘I really don’t y/n I’m sorry.’ Matt said while picking on his nails, ‘but maybe I can text him?’ ‘Yes please.’

Chris🍊

bro where are you? y/n is worried, she’s acting different.

seen

‘Bro what the fuck.’ Matt is looking at his phone with furrowed eyebrows. ‘What’s wrong?’ Your mind immediately goes 20 different ways, did something happen to him? What if he’s with another girl? Is he okay?

‘I have no idea what’s up with him, but just saw the message.’ Matt’s looks is the exact same, and so is mine, confused. ‘Huh, w-what do you m-mean?’ Your voice is breaking, your so stressed out and most of all overwhelmed. You are giving everything to know where he is, and he just saw the message? Your eyes are burning and there are slowly tears appearing in your eyes.

Matt looks up from his phone, but his expression has changed, his eyebrows are now rising. He didn’t expect you to cry, or for you to even respond. ‘Oh y/n come here,’— Matt stands up from the dining table and slowly walks up to you with open arms and hugs you politely. —‘I’m sure he’ll comes home soon, your gonna be okay.’

‘What the fuck happened here.’ Nick appeared out of no where, what made you jump a bit, you look up to look who’s voice it is, but it’s Nicks.

Nick sees your makeup has been ruined, and your red and teary eyes. His mood and face changes, and walks up to you to also give you a hug and slightly strokes your hair, while Matt lets go of you.

‘Do you know where Chris is.’ Was the first thing that left your mouth, your voice is still wobbly, and a little raspy from crying. ‘Oh girl I have no idea I’m sorry.’ He looks up to Matt with a confused look, what also made you look up with a confused expression on your face. ‘What is it?’ You are confused, everything has been so overwhelming this morning, and nothing helped you further yet. ‘Nothing.’ It stay’s a little quiet for a while when Matt breaks the silence. ‘Can I explain to Nick what happened.’ Matt looks down at your red eyes, with tears still constantly appearing. You nod your head, ‘I’ll go to Chris’ room okay?’ Your voice hasn’t gotten any better. But you stand up so you can give Nick and Matt some space, and most of all you don’t wanna keep hearing what is happening.

You walk down the stairs on your way to Chris’ room, to fully collapse on his bed, and smelling his scent. The comforting scent what you’ve been missing, all you pray for right know is to lay down with him and cuddle, but everything but that has been happening. You’ve been this overwhelmed and stressed out you fall asleep.

Meanwhile Matt has explained everything to Nick, ‘I know right.’ Matt responds to Nick absolutely flabbergasted face, ‘I’m sorry but what the fuck is wrong with him?’ Nick is almost angry, all he does is feel bad for y/n and wanna yell at Chris. ‘I’m gonna text him too, what a fucking dumbass.’

Chris🍊

Get your ass home right now, what your doing right now isn’t okay. All she has been doing today is worrying about your dumbass, come home.

photo send*

Are you fucking kidding me? I’m sure your girlfriend is literally sleeping in your bed, waiting for you to come home. You didn’t leave her one message, I won’t say it again. Come home.

‘I’ll let this message rest, let’s see if he comes home.’ Nick says with a confident voice, ‘I hope so.’ Matt doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t think he’ll come home, or listen.

*few hours later*

You wake up with an insane headache and the yelling and screaming voice of Nick, but luckily you are still in Chris’ bed. For a little while you forgot what was going on, Chris has been acting weird. ‘Uuughh’ you groan, you pick up your phone from Chris’ nightstand. And walking up the stairs while dragging your feet with you. You finally made it up the stairs when you surprisingly find Chris, Matt and Nick arguing.

‘Are you fucking serious y/n has been stressed all day, and you just randomly ghosted everyone?’ Nick always talks with his hands, that was clear bc his hands have been swinging all over the place. Matt in the other hand was standing next to Nick nodding with agreement, he wasn’t that good with words but he definitely agreed with what Nick said.

Chris was standing in the loudest silence ever, not a word has been leaving his mouth. Not a single look or word, at this point your kinda scared of him. He looks at his brothers with a dead look in his eyes, normally he has some kind of expression in his eyes.

Matt kind of looked around, he found you just standing there, listening. His face changed into a worried look, ‘Nick um..’ Matt turns around and taps on Nick’s shoulder. Nick doesn’t notice anything he has been rambling about the mess he made, Matt taps a little harder, what made him finally look at him. ‘What is it.’ Nick seems a little irritated, all Matt does is point his finger at me.

Not only Nick has finally noticed I was standing there, but also Chris did. You felt your cheeks burn up in a slight red color, and again, felt your eyes burning and the burning replacing with tears. Now you were just standing there with tears slowly falling down from your eyes. You couldn’t even look at Chris, he has you hurt so bad — not only today but also many other times. Every time something happened between the two of you he just said that was a part of a relationship or it was something that couples did.

You find the courage to walk up to Chris, ‘where the fuck have you been all day huh?’ You sniffed, Chris was standing there in complete silence. All he got of his mouth was ‘why are you wearing my clothes, you have your own.’ you couldn’t believe it, you actually couldn’t believe it. You feel a mix of rage and sadness flow over your body, you’ve never felt this before. There have been so much going through your body today, everything has been way to overwhelming. Your heart is racing, you couldn’t breath.

Nick and Matt notice the change in your body language, ‘hey y/n you okay?’ Nick slightly touched your shoulder what made you jump, you had no idea what is happening to you. ‘I- I don’t know what’s h-happening to me.’ You stammered. Everything went blurry and voices were getting slowly more silent. You immediately run to the bathroom, sitting on the cold checkered floor.

Before you knew it, Matt was sitting next to you. ‘Hey listen to me,’— Matt slightly touched your shoulder. He knew what was happening. Matt was doing every single thing he could, helping you breathe, keeping his hands on your shoulder. But the thing that has been stressing you out the most was hearing Nick and Chris yell and argue.

‘What the fuck is up with h’— Chris was being straight up rude, he couldn’t give single shit. ‘Just shut the fuck up, aren’t you the one that is supposed to help her? what the fuck!’ Nick yelled, his eyebrows were furrowed and his face was filled with frustration. Maybe even rage.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you finally seemed to be calming down a bit, your heartbeat is slowing down, your vision is getting less blurry. ‘That was so scary, thank you for helping me.’ You were destroyed, your mascara is drawn all over your face and your hair hasn’t been this messed up, like ever. ‘I know, I used to have them a lot. And ofcourse no problem.’ (I’m not saying that he actually had them before irl!!) he gives you a little smile. ‘I’ll leave you alone for a bit, I think you’d be happy to calm down by yourself a bit before talking to Chris yeah?’ You give Matt a little nod before he leaves the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

You looked like a mess, but you couldn’t care. All you cared about is preparing for standing face to face with Chris, arguing with him. It was never something you’d thought about, bc you didn’t assume it would’ve ever happen. And here you are.

You breath in and out like Matt showed you to do before a stressful situation, and it helped a lot. You took one last deep breath and opened up the door. You could already hear them all yelling and arguing with each other.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you opened Matt’s bathroom door and slowly walking with your head down to them while taking some final deep breaths.

‘Oh wow looks who’s arrived.’ Chris scoffs and rolls his eyes, ‘where have you been, you haven’t left me any text, call of even a simple fucking note?’ ‘I’m here right now’ He speaks in a sarcastic voice, it’s pissing you off. A lot.

‘Fine I’ve been at this beautiful party with beautiful women.’ The silence had filled the room. ‘what.’ You were speechless, this isn’t happening. It couldn’t be. ‘You heard me.’ He even has a grin on his face. ‘Is this how little you think of me?’ Your voice rises, in a yelling way. You couldn’t believe your fucking ears. Chris mocks your high pitched voice. ‘Yes I did.’

Matt and Nick have backed away, they had no idea what they were still doing here. Standing there in also shock. They felt so bad for you, but they weren’t gonna pick into a personal argument so they left to Nicks room.

‘Look’— Chris was touching your shoulder, the slight touch send shivers down to your spine. You felt sick. ‘Don’t you fucking dare to touch me.’ ‘Why don’t you go ahead and touch some other girls huh?’ Chris chuckled, ‘hm thank you I will.’ Did he just laugh, did he actually just fucking laugh?.

‘Fine you want to be fucking bitter and shit? Fine.’ Chris’ voice was growing, a lot. He was even stepping closer. But before you could take a step away from him he grabbed your wrist.

You couldn’t move, he holds you so tight. It’s almost impossible. He moves his head to your ear and whisper’s; I never fucking loved you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

thank you for reading!

thank you so incredibly much for making it to the end! You wouldn’t mind dropping a like or comment would youuuu?💞 thank you so much 🤍

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[yandere-wishes]

✾Sweet Like Morning-Glory ✾

💚Summary: There's a melody humming within your bones. A tune Baizhu strums with his needles and drugs. The ballade sings of a love more deadly than any toxin. 

💚Author's note: Requested by my darling @fangirl-katwithclaws hope you enjoy it, Love!!~ 💜

💚Warnings: drugging, intoxicants, narcotics, reader is dazed.  

You wake up wrong. Half dead and half alive with none of the glory. 

You feel broken, cleaved as if someone dissembled you and then tried to re-assemble you in a hurry. Erroneously forging pieces that do not fit. There's a thumping in your head and in your right arm. A reminder of a memory long since forgotten. 

There's a squeaking noise, the door sliding heavily against the wooden floorboards. It's too loud. Actually, now that you think about it, everything feels too loud. The birds, the crickets, the mysterious tune that haunts the Liyue streets. Everything feels like lost notes ambushing your lagging encephalon.

You turn your head to the source of the noise, watch as the door opens ever so agonizingly slow. There's green and gold and a flash of white that enters the room. Him. The only thing that stands out in a sea of blurry colors too vivid to process. Him. The one who's always at the forefront of your brain no matter how sluggish you feel. 

Baizhu sits on the edge of your shared bed, his easy smile ever present on his pale face. He leaves the tray of food on your lap and raises both hands to cup your cheeks, pressing a soft kiss on your cracked lips. 

There's something wrong with the way Baizhu tastes. His kisses are bitter. All molten violetgrass and qingxin flowers. It's like the toxins from his soul are seeping into you, it takes unprecedented self-control you didn't know you possessed to remain still within his grasp. He mutters something against your lips, something lighthearted and sweet. Like the first fresh breeze of spring. Only it's fall now or is it winter? Everything is getting so hard to recall. 

To all of Liyue, you are known as Baizhu's sick bride. The one with limbs stiffer than her stepdaughter's and a foggy memory to boot. In actuality, you do not know how you gained such a title. Your memories tend to be nothing more than faint echos and ebony slates of confusion. You can't even properly recall how you met Baizhu, let alone how you married him. All you remember is a phrase, the first I love you Baizhu said. Albit with diffrent words and a much diffrent phrasing. 

"My what lovely veins you have."

If thoughts would be permitted to linger in your mind for longer than mere seconds, then maybe, just maybe that phrase would have seemed off to you. Something all so wrong about finding beauty under one's skin. But your thoughts are never consistent enough to draw such intricate conclusions. Instead, you nuzzle into Baizhu's touch, trying to ground yourself. Baizhu plucks something small of the breakfast tray and pops it into his mouth. He waits a heartbeat before kissing you again. Slipping something round into your mouth. 

You can almost feel your pulse fade. 

It's warm in Bubu pharmacy, too warm. You feel like your skin is melting off your bones. "it's too warm" you mumble, eyes unfocused staring at the front entrance of the pharmacy. Your mind is spinning, out of control like a crashing bird. 

You lean back against your husband, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Baizhu's hand finds its way to your head, entwining his fingers into your hair. You permit a heavy whine to escape your throat, a dry muffled noise that briefly catches the attention of some of the patrons. "Baizhu, please" you mutter, desperate to leave the lively room. 

Sometimes you vaguely recall a time when the presence of others hadn't been so suffocating. When you'd laughed with the people of the harbor and basked in their sweet company. Only when you had met Baizhu had socializing become so taxing. An exhausting affair your sweet lover helped you avoid. At times, in rare bouts of clarity, it almost felt as if Baizhu had planned this. As if he held the blame for your metamorphosis into a hermit. 

And if you were ever conscious enough to care it may have been a problem... 

Qiqi runs in, leaving her basket of fresh herbs on a chair. She runs over to you, lifting her arms. You wrap your arms around her waist and try to pull her up. She's getting heavier you note, albeit you're sure you are, in fact, the one getting weaker. 

"Qiqi, darling. Maybe it's best you take Mommy to her room. I'll join you shortly once Gui arrives." 

Qiqi nods and reaches to hold your hand. Walking idly by you, hand in hand, as you escape the suffocating room. 

You wonder if Qiqi appreciates your lethargy. Lolls in knowing there is another like her. Someone stiff and sick and with a mind too slow to process nothing more than idle commands. 

There's mold festering inside her. A rigor mortis she can not beat. Her body betrays her at every step. Yet ultimately she is the true traitor, the one who didn't honor her body's dying wish. You wonder if Qiqi even fully comprehends what being a zombie entails. You wonder if you wholly understand it yourself. 

Maybe you had died a long time ago too, maybe Baizhu had found a way to resurrect you. That would account for the constant stiffness and memory lapses. It made more sense than this malady he kept going on about. A haunting hollowness dances across the darker corners of your heart. It twirls and pirouettes to the tune of anticipation. Maybe this darkness has always been a wrathful death. Cheated from claiming you for the grave. 

Your room is quiet, a contrast to the morning. The shadows slither across the walls as you wait patiently for Baizhu. You'd sent Qiqi off to her room. Hoping she'd busy herself with doctor dolls she so fancied. Your eyes trained on the door. Mind empty except for rouge thoughts of him. The way his warm hands feel so good against your burning skin. How gentle he is with you as if you'd been made from glass. You love him. You're sure you do. 

Baizhu slips in quietly. Closing the door and shutting out the world. 

He sits next to you on the bed. Hands ghosting over your body. 

It feels like your skin doesn't fit correctly over your bones. 

"You're so beautiful like this". There's a needle between his fingers, held with all the percussion in the world. Beads of vivid green drip from the tip, a sacrifice to perfection. 

If Baizhu could he'd pluck the flesh off your limps just to catch a glimpse of your porcalin white bones. he'd open their shells and kiss the marrow resting within. You remember him detailing that in a loose breath once. How gorgeous you'd be unskinned. How he'd love to kiss every part of you hidden behind your delicate skin. It's something from the past, or something from the future, too hard to fully remember. He does tend to fanaticize out loud all too often.  

Baizhu pulls you closer, taking kisses from your shoulder to the depression of your elbow. There he sucks, prepping the vein. Another dose gentily spills into you and he kisses your lips passionately. 

Your eyes remain open. Taking him in, in his entirety. 

You blame the archons, the green they used for his hair is much too vibrant. The acid-like tone has surely bled into his soul. Filling it with venoms. Venoms he can't help, in turn, leaking into his lover.

You're mind grows dimmer as Baizhue's kisses grow hotter. His voice a fading star as he breathes out your name. 

"My sweet, sweet darling, out like a wilted rose I see."

[delicateflowerss]

Don't Worry, Darling: Two

After marrying the love of your life, Rafe Cameron, you thought you couldn't be happier. But when a murder shakes the island, you learn you don't know your husband as well as you thought. When does Paradise become Hell?

Warnings: 18+, eventual NON-CON, dark!Rafe, oral (female receiving), mentions of murder, mention of birth control, kook!reader, non-canon ages

Word Count: 3k

Series Masterlist

When you dazedly open your eyes, you expect to see your husband lying right next to you. A lazy morning kiss being your next assumption.

But you find his side of the bed empty, just a trace of his warmth lingers. You sit up, your brain still foggy with sleep, and the worry he didn’t make it home last night is fleeting.

But he never gets up before you do.

You’re still tying your robe around yourself when you find him in the kitchen. He doesn’t notice you walking in, perched at the island in the center of the room, scrolling through his phone. The smell of coffee wafts through the air and you realize he’s already made a batch. Another thing he never does.

“Good morning,” you greet, finally alerting him to your presence.

Slowly, he looks up, giving you an aloof good morning, then goes right back to his phone.

You can’t help the slight grimace on your face as you pour a cup of coffee.

“You’re up early,” you remark, trying to get him to say anything else to you.

“Yeah.” His eyes are still on his screen.

“What time did you get home last night?” You ask, sipping the sweltering drink.

He finally sets his phone down, giving you his full attention.

“Not too late. Maybe Midnight. You were already asleep,” he shrugs, speaking nonchalantly.

You nod, a moment of silence settling between the two of you.

It’s interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

You make eye contact with him, and for a split second, you can see the unadulterated fear in his blue eyes.

Before you can even set your mug down, Rafe is out of his stool, rushing to the front door.

By the time you catch up to him, you’re shocked to find the sheriff on your doorstep.

“We’ll only take a few minutes of your time,” you hear Shoupe say, and Rafe has no choice but to let him inside.

He’s not alone, a female officer trailing behind him.

Your brow furrows, yet you swallow down your nervousness, giving a polite smile to your guests.

“Please sit down,” you lead them to the living room, gesturing to the sofa. “Can I get you anything?”

Shoupe shakes his head, “no, but thank you. We’ll be quick.”

You sit across from the officers, next to an unusually quiet Rafe.

“What is this about?” You ask them, concern lacing your tone.

Shoupe clears his throat, giving a slight glance to the woman next to him. She has a notepad out, ready to write down anything of interest.

“Well,” he begins. “Chase Anderson didn’t come home last night, and his wife is pretty torn up about it. Called it in first thing this morning.”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, a gasp still in your throat. “Do you think something happened to him?”

“We’re not sure. That’s why we’re here. His wife said he was working late last night. We think you might’ve been one of the last people to see him, Mr. Cameron,” he explains, staring at Rafe.

You shift, glancing at your husband who hasn’t said a word or moved a muscle since he sat down.

“Can you tell us anything about your interaction with him last night? Anything unusual?”

Rafe juts his lips out, tapping his fingers on his knee, like he’s working hard to think about it.

“I barely saw him last night,” he finally answers. “We were both in the office but, he left before me.”

Shoupe nods, listening intently as the officer next to him furiously scribbles down Rafe’s words.

“Did he say anything to you? Was he acting differently?” Shoupe asks, one question after the other.

“I don’t think so.” His face twists up like he’s still trying to remember. “He might’ve said bye as he was leaving. But like I said, I barely saw him.”

The two officers share a look before Shoupe sighs, abruptly standing up. You and Rafe are quick to join him.

You lead them back to the front door, Rafe swinging it open for them.

“Thank you very much for your time,” the sheriff says, eyes flitting between the two of you.

“I hope everything’s alright,” Rafe passively tells him.

“Yeah, hopefully you got what you needed,” you add, sounding more genuine than your husband.

Shoupe leans in a little closer, voice lowering. “Between you and me, I think he skipped town. Probably having an affair.”

You raise your eyebrows, sharing a look with Rafe before you bid them goodbye.

Once the door is closed, you don’t hide the worry on your face. You notice how Rafe’s shoulders look less tense, like he finally let out the breath he was holding.

“That was weird. Do you think he’s okay?” You ask.

“You heard him, he probably skipped town.”

“But an affair?” You sound unconvinced. “We’ve been to Chase and Lauren’s tons of times. They’re not unhappy.”

He sighs, almost like he’s annoyed. “You don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors.”

“Yeah, but.” He walks away in the middle of your sentence, so you follow him to the kitchen, continuing, “it’s just hard to think that’s what could be happening.”

Rafe doesn’t respond. Instead, he finally takes a sip of his coffee, still full to the brim.

“Are you sure nothing happened last night? I just can’t help but think…” You find it hard to finish your sentence.

“Babe, I barely saw him,” he reiterates before setting down his cup, grabbing his wallet and keys instead. His phone is already stuffed away in his front pocket. “I gotta get to work.”

You’re not paying attention to him, still thinking about the strange circumstances.

He gazes at you, sighing. “Y/N, it’s okay.” You finally meet his eyes, finding a gentleness there. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

He gives you a quick kiss before walking past you.

“You don’t want breakfast?” You call out to him, suddenly remembering.

But he’s already gone.

You watch him drive away, through the window above the sink. A bit late for the first kiss of the day, you realize.

It’s been days and still no word about Chase. No one has seen any sign of him, and the police seem to be in a deadlock.

Rafe hasn’t mentioned him since the police came by. You have to be the one to ask him if he’s heard anything new. His answer is always no, quick to move to the next subject.

You wonder if he’s more upset about it than he looks. It’s easier for Rafe to brush things under the rug, instead of actually talking about it.

All you can do is hope they find him sooner than later. Maybe an affair would be best-case scenario at this point.

You stare at the words in front of you. Your client needs these edits done by the end of the week, but it’s been hard for you to sit down and pull all your focus on work.

The sound of the side gate closing disrupts your thoughts. You peek outside the window of your office, noticing a certain blond tending to the pool.

Maybe it’s time for a break anyway.

“Hi, JJ,” you say, your hand shielding your eyes from the blistering sun.

He jumps, turning around to face you with a hand on his chest, relief washing over him when he sees you.

“You scared the crap out of me,” he practically shouts.

You try to refrain from smiling, but you do a poor job.

“How are you doing today?”

“Fine. Just finishing up here,” he replies.

“Why don’t you come inside? I can get you something to drink,” you suggest.

“Uh.” He looks ready to dismiss your offer, but he thinks about it for a moment. “I’m good, but thanks.”

“Oh, come on. When was your last break? I’m sure you’ve been going from one house to another all day.”

It’s a kind offer, but there’s also a hint of worry in your voice, helping to coax him.

He mulls it over. “Rafe’s not home?”

You shake your head, a friendly smile tracing your lips.

He sighs, his smile matching yours, and you’ve convinced him once again.

“So, what do you do all day?” He asks, looking around your kitchen.

He takes in the expensive appliances and the marble countertop of the kitchen island. He realizes he doesn’t exactly fit in, sticking out like a sore thumb with his well-worn work clothes.

“I do have a job,” you chuckle, handing him a glass of lemonade.

He raises his eyebrows, silently telling you to go on, while gulping down the ice-cold drink.

“I’m a book editor. And when I’m not doing that, I usually have something to do around here.” Your eyes scan the squeaky-clean kitchen.

He sets his glass down before asking, “why?”

“Why what?”

“Why have a job? Doesn’t Rafe have more than enough money for the both of you?” He doesn’t hide the disgust in his voice, his face almost in a sneer.

“It’s not about the money,” you explain. “I want to have something for myself. Something I can be proud of.”

“That must be nice. Working, not because you have to.”

You look down, unsure of how to respond. He notices, deciding to change the subject.

“You don’t really seem like Rafe’s type,” JJ comments.

You move your gaze back to him, a question on your lips.

“What does that mean?”

“I mean,” he stops himself before he says something he’ll regret, thinking it through. “I mean, you just don’t seem like some helpless, little Kook who wants to be Rafe Cameron’s perfect housewife.”

All you can do is laugh and he internally breathes a sigh of relief that he didn’t offend you.

“I think you have this idea of Rafe, and that’s fine, but it’s not who he actually is.”

“Please enlighten me, who is Rafe? Cause I guess I’ve never really had a chance to sit down and get to know the guy.” He smirks, the sarcasm doing little to cover up the bitterness in his tone.

You part your lips, ready to say something, but you stop.

“He’s um…” You end up saying, but you trail off, losing your train of thought. “He’s just not as bad as you think. He really has changed.”

The silence between the two of you is deafening. All JJ can do is give a tight-lipped smile, almost like he pities you.

“I should get going. Got other houses to get to.”

You nod, watching him get up.

“Thanks for the lemonade.” He points to his empty glass.

You smile, following him to the front door.

“See you next week,” you call out, your smile disappearing once you’re out of his view.

“So, I told him, there’s no way you’re going to be ready for court on Monday. But my opinion doesn’t really matter,” Topper finishes, taking a sip from his beer.

“Still. It must be so interesting working for a lawyer. I mean, the things you must hear,” Audrey says with a smile.

“Nothing I can tell you.” He laughs, everyone else joining in.

Audrey jokingly pouts before bursting into a laugh.

You sip your wine, still smiling. You and Rafe decided to meet some friends for dinner at the Club. You appreciate how well your friends and Rafe’s friends get along, something that transpired long before your marriage. You all try to get together as much as you can, and who knows? Maybe they’re closer than you realize, you wonder, glancing between Topper and Audrey.

“So, Rafe,” Caroline shifts the conversation. “I heard about Chase. Do you think everything’s okay?”

Suddenly, the weight of Rafe’s arm around your shoulders feels extremely heavy.

“I’m sure he just had to get away for a while,” he answers. He bites his bottom lip before continuing, “maybe the pressure got to him.”

“The pressure?” Caroline asks.

“Yeah, with work and everything. You know, he was working tons before he disappeared. Maybe that’s got something to do with it,” he speculates.

You look to Rafe, realizing he hasn’t said any of that to the police. Your eyes narrow, and you hope no one notices.

“It’s crazy. You think you know someone,” Cassie adds, drinking her cocktail.

“Let’s hope he’s alright,” Kelce remarks, earning nods.

Any semblance of hope about the situation is short lived, because not long after he says that a hush falls over the Island Club.

The bartender scrambles for the remote, turning up the TV mounted to the wall.

“Oh, shit,” Topper mutters, staring at the TV.

Rafe’s arm falls from you as he shifts in his seat, eyes glued to the screen.

“The Kildare County Police Department has found evidence ruling Chase Anderson’s disappearance, a homicide,” the news anchor reports.

There’s a collective gasp, and you move your hand to your mouth, covering yours.

“The County Sheriff will be giving a press conference shortly. If anyone has any information…”

You drown her out, realizing that someone you know has been murdered.

It’s almost quiet enough to hear the waves crashing onto the sand, but the beauty of it falls on deaf ears.

Dinner wrapped up quickly after that, no one knowing what to say, faces crumpled from the idea of death.

The drive home is quiet. Rafe keeps his eyes on the road, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel.

You don’t exactly notice, too preoccupied with the fact a murder happened on the island you have always felt safe on.

Neither of you have said a word to each other by the time you get home, turning on lights and setting your things down in the kitchen.

“I just can’t believe it.” You’re the first one to break the silence.

You’re not sure if he’s listening. He seems out of it, probably processing the news also.

“We didn’t see him that long ago. Now he’s… gone.” Your voice falls to a whisper, the meaning of the word hitting you.

Your husband doesn’t say anything, leaning against the kitchen island while you spit out your stream of consciousness.

“I can’t imagine what Lauren must be feeling right now.”

His eyes move to the floor, like he can’t look at you.

“I mean, murdered, Rafe.” You stare at him, and finally you get the comfort of his gaze, but it doesn’t help. Your voice is still unsteady, cracking a little. “I just can’t help but think. What if… What if it was you?”

You practically fall apart, the tears welling up in your eyes, now wanting to escape. He doesn’t waste a moment in walking over to you and wrapping his big arms around you.

“No, no” he mumbles.

Your eyelids flutter as you rest your head against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, and you start to feel better.

He holds you there and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring into your hair, “we’re okay. You don’t have to worry, baby.”

You move a little to look up at him, finding the soothing face of the man you love, strands of dirty blond hair curtaining concerned blue eyes.

“It’s just…” You pause, thinking. “This all made me think and, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You bring your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. As you lean in for a kiss, he meets you halfway, capturing your lips passionately.

“You won’t ever have to worry about that,” he sighs as you two break away from each other.

You barely give him a second to breathe, kissing him deeply again, your arms encircling his neck.

He licks inside your mouth before turning you around, pushing you into the kitchen island, his body pressed against yours.

You two continue like that until he helps you sit atop it, hooking your legs around his hips. He moves his lips to your neck, softly biting and sucking. His breath feels scorching hot on your skin.

A slight moan falls from you as you start to move your hips against him, needing friction on your clothed core.

“You’re so needy for me, aren’t you?” He breathes out. “Wait until I touch you, like a good girl.”

You whine as his fingers graze your bare thighs, inching closer to where you ache for him.

“Rafe, please.”

A smirk graces his features as he hears you begging.

He gently rubs you through your underwear before pulling them down, leaving you exposed under your sundress.

You gasp when he bends down, latching his lips onto your swollen bud.

You throw your head back as he licks around your hole, then back to your clit, sucking lightly.

“Rafe,” you cry out, the pleasure growing quickly in the pit of your stomach.

He moves his hand up your body while his mouth is on your cunt. His other hand is on your hip, keeping you pinned, no way for you to involuntarily close your legs.

The hand roaming your body, squeezes your breast, massaging you through your dress.

It all becomes too much, and something snaps inside you as you come on his tongue.

When you start to come down, he steps back, taking in your panting figure. He licks his lips, slick with your arousal before kissing you again, tasting your own pleasure.

He’s quick to begin undoing his pants. You shift, logic coming back to your clouded mind.

“You think I’m done with you?”

“Wait, Rafe,” you stop him, and he stills his hand. “We need to be careful right now. My doctor won’t let me start my new birth control until I’m completely off my old one,” you say, still out of breath.

“You don’t need that stuff,” he dismisses, going in to kiss you again.

“Rafe,” you repeat, putting a hand on his chest, giving him a sharp look.

After a moment, he backs down, eyes softening.

“I’ll be extra careful, alright,” he concedes, finally kissing you.

You melt into him, trusting him. He pulls your hips off the marble, flipping you around, bending you over.

He places a kiss on the back of your neck as he lines himself up to you, easily pushing inside.

You hear him groan as your lips part, feeling the familiar stretch.

He waits until he’s all the way inside you before starting a rough pace, his hips slapping against you.

You close your eyes, falling into the waves of pleasure, forgetting the worries of the day. Your only focus is your husband.

Tags:

@fangirlwithlou @thebuttofcaptainamerica @kkmstblog @whorefordrew @gillybear17 @alinaharlow

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist for this series!

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 1- "You can make me a drink."

description: Spending the summer touring Europe with her brother and the band he works for sounds like the perfect way to get herself out there, at least, that's what Daisy's intent is. But, with the cocky lead singer of the band, clashing personalities, and an entire summer for tensions to grow, things may not go as they are planned.

a/n: not the story i promised, but one i love. posted on ao3, too. enjoy lovelies <3

“Okay, so, ii is kind of…quiet, I guess? He’s fucking smart as shit. Knows all these random facts, but he just doesn’t talk too much until he gets to know you. Ya know?”

I stared out of the airplane window, Sam’s words distant to my tired brain. My processing skills were not sharp this early in the morning, especially considering the time change we had gone through. I was too focused on the view, anyways. The sky looked ethereal this time of morning, all foggy mountain peaks bleeding into crimson orange, bordered by black, starry clouds. I traced their puffy edges with my bleary eyes in an attempt to not fall back asleep. We were landing, after all, and we’d have to push through busy crowds for the next half an hour. Falling back asleep would take any energy I had left and stomp it out.

“And, then, iii…I am a little concerned about how he’ll act with you because he’s-he’s flirtatious-”

“Ladies and gentleman, we are now landing at Heathrow International Airport in London, England,” the pilot interrupted Sam’s sentence, staticky voice crackling over our heads.

I felt Sam shift in his seat. His elbow knocked against mine on the tiny armrest we had been fighting over the entire flight. I snidely shoved my elbow against his in an attempt to steal the space back. He hissed as it pained his funny bone. I looked over in time to catch the glare he sent me, his fingers rubbing at his bruising bone.

Though he looked annoyed, he kept his murmurs to himself, unwilling to be too aggressive with me this early in the morning- and this early in the trip. We had an entire summer that we still had to spend together. Starting fights now would make it a miserable, long couple of months.

“That was rude,” I heard him say. I ignored him and turned back towards the plane’s window. The ground was growing closer as we shakily descended from the air.

“‘Course, then…there’s Vessel.” Sam continued on his explanation of the band members and a few of the crew workers I would have the opportunity to meet this summer. He had been doing so I woke up fifteen minutes ago.

Not that I planned to hang around Sam and his friends too much. I was taking this time between college graduation and going back for my master’s in the fall to see what little of the world I could manage. I didn’t plan on being stuck indoors at the hotel or backstage at the venues too often. I had plans for each and every tour stop- friends I would be meeting up with, concerts I was going to attend. I had my own long list of tourist attractions I had to see, bucket items I needed to cross off. Sam’s friends sounded lovely, but I didn’t expect to be too attached to them.

“He’s quite, um…How do I describe him? He’s not scary, per say…just…intense. He’s quiet and brooding and I don’t really think you’ll like him too much, ya know? Anyways.”

Sam unbuckled his seatbelt. I finally peeled my eyes from the window, the edges of my lids burning with exhaustion. I undid my own belt, reached down to gather my book bag, and looped my neck pillow under my arm.

Sam looked down at me with a tired smile, “You’ll be meeting them all very soon, so…you can just find out for yourself.”

I offered up a grin, even if my face fought back at the energy this action required. “Thanks for having me, Sam-Ham.” I moved to rest my head against his shoulder, sweetly. I probably could have slept right there if we weren’t having to pile out of the plane.

He went to rest his own head against mine, but as soon as the nickname quietly passed my lips, he flinched, back straightening up. “Please don’t call me that in front of them. Please, Daisy. Please. I don’t have any other rules you have to follow. I’m giving you complete freedom on this tour. Just- please. Don’t say that.”

My grin twisted into a devious smirk. Sam’s brown eyes were pleading, a frown sitting deep in his wrinkled cheeks. “Aw, what do you mean, Sam-Ham? Are you embarrassed?”

He flinched again at the nickname. I’d given it to him when I was four and he was just eight. He loved ham and cheese sandwiches at the time and refused to eat basically anything else. Ever since that month-long fight of mom trying to force him to consume any semblance of a vegetable or fruit, I’d coined him as such with zero ounces of shame. On social media posts, his birthday cards, at his own high school graduation party. No shame.

“Daisy-” he went to plead again, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Everyone’s getting off. Let’s go.” I pushed past Sam, ignoring him. I marched out of our aisle, then off the plane, Sam hot on my heels. His frustration with the nickname had melted into protectiveness as he tried to keep up with me. He’d always been overbearing, and I think he’d only be more annoying about it during this trip.

The air in London was chilly, though it was felt only briefly as we walked down through the terminal. I was grateful to have a hoodie wrapped around my waist, and managed to slip it on as we walked. I knew it would warm up as the day passed on, though. It was May, after all, and London had that weird spring weather, with chilly mornings and sweltering afternoons. At least, this information was according to Sam and a few Google searches on my end.

Sam caught up to my side as we headed for baggage claim. He had his phone out, ready to shoot someone a text, “Okay…”

I spotted our bags spinning past where we stood. As he continued, I reached out and grabbed them. They landed on the floor beside us as Sam said, “Ronnie- Ronnie’s the band’s tour manager, also one of my best friends, ever. You might like her-”

“I like everyone, Sam, unless they’re an asshole. I don’t know why you assume I’m such a hater-”

“Cause you are!” He said, matter-of-factly. I always hated when he’d make negative observations about me. I knew I was his little sister, his annoying little sister who threw dirt at him when we were little, who he had to drag along on first dates in high school. But, I was more than that spoiled brat, especially now. I hoped this summer would help him see that, hoped he would gain some respect for me based on the difference in the real me and who he knew.

I wanted to shove his suitcase at him, just to spite him for making such a comment. But, I simply smiled up at him and rolled the luggage towards his outstretched hand. Before he could really say anything, I shot towards the exit.

“Anyways!” He rushed up to my side, breathless from how quickly I walked.

He shoved his mop of dirty blond hair into his phone as he continued texting someone. “Ronnie’s sent over an Uber,” he spoke, absentmindedly.

The automatic doors slid open. We stepped out into the chilly morning air of London. Had Sam’s head not been shoved into his phone, he would have been able to see the glorious sight lain out before us. He unfortunately didn’t, but I sure did.

I came to a halting stop, a humored grin upon my face. Sam bumped into my shoulder, but still wouldn’t look up from his phone. “Uber is a gray sedan-”

I giggled, stepping towards the group of men standing before us, party hats upon their heads, noisemakers between their lips, and a god awfully hand drawn sign held out before them.

Sam, dark brows furrowed, questioned my laughter, “What-?”

He finally pulled his nose from his phone. As he did, I took a party hat from one of the band member’s outstretched hands. We all blew into our noisemakers. Chaos erupted.

“Welcome back from rehab, Sam!” The shortest of the group held the sign up proudly, a bright grin on his face.

“What the fuck-?”

The tallest man- who had sandy blond hair and stormy gray eyes- a literal personification of the beaches in England- nearly tackled Sam, crushing his frame between the hand drawn sign and his hugging arms. I pulled the noisemaker from my mouth as a laugh erupted from me. The others rushed forward to greet their friend. Sam’s face was flushed red from the words on the sign, but he looked so incredibly happy, embracing each of them. They were all dressed in dark black clothing, save for a few spots of royal blue, maroon, or forest green. It was in stark contrast to my pink hoodie and gray sweatpants. Sam was right when he said these people weren’t my usual crowd, but wrong when he just assumed I wouldn’t like them. Yet another example of his misconstrued perception about who I really was. Just because I was girly, a Taylor Swift lover, with my favorite colors being purple and pink, didn’t mean I automatically could not stand people in the metal crowd. They were just different from me- that was all.

I did keep my distance, though, just as they greeted each other. I waited for Sam to introduce me, which he did shortly after. Their chaos faded as he moved his way back through the group, back to me. He faced them from here, an arm around my shoulders. “This is my baby sister-”

I elbowed his side, frowning at his choice of words. He squirmed away from me, a slight hiss pulled through his lips because of the pain. I stepped forward, offering my hand to the closest person- a short, blond-headed man with these brilliant blue eyes. “Daisy.”

He shook my hand politely, “Pleasure to meet you, Daisy. I’m-” He cut his own words off, glancing over my shoulder to Sam. ‘‘Wait…Are we introducing ourselves as, like, numbers or real people?”

I cracked a smile at the confusion. The tall man beside him, clutching the sign he’d made Sam,, shrugged, “We’re already unmasked. Might as well.”

“I can sign something,” I let go of his hand with a casual wave in my arms. “I don’t mind.”

“We can take care of that later,” another short one, darker haired with slight ringlets to his hair and green in his eyes, stepped forward. He took my hand, “Adam.”

“Cyrus. Cy, for short,” settled the original one.

I nodded at each of their introductions. The tallest one was named Max. He must have been three, considering he kissed the back of my hand and smirked up at me. Also considering Sam stepped between us and punched Max in the shoulder. He was right about the flirtations, though I didn’t mind it too much. I knew it was harmless.

Finally, I turned to the last band mate. I held out my hand. He glanced between it and my face, lips thin, face void of any expression. My brows furrowed slightly. I felt insecure under his harsh gaze, but I kept my kind composure, “Daisy. Nice to meet you…”

“Oliver.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t move to take my hand, didn’t offer up any kind greetings. My once joyous smile morphed into a frown. Sam had warned me he was brooding, quiet. But, not rude. He was just plain rude.

I didn’t have time to ruminate on this meet-ugly, though, because Sam was then herding us all into a taxi. They had meetings to get to, I guess. I was given the front seat, which only made me feel a little left out. I knew that would probably happen, considering Sam had been working for them for four years now and I was a newbie. So, I didn’t take it to heart. Sitting in the front of a taxi was mostly just awkward.

What I did take to heart, however, was Oliver’s rude introduction. Perhaps it was because I was so tired, but…it bothered me. I didn’t want to spend the summer with an asshole like him. As we got onto the busy road, thirty minutes counting down on the GPS for our arrival at the first venue, I eyed him in the mirror, a slight glare in my tired eyes

He sat behind the driver’s seat, large legs pushing up against the door and spilling into Cyrus’ space. I didn’t get a good look at him earlier, too focused on the bad energy he bled. From what I gathered through the rearview mirror’s reflection, he had sharp features- a long nose, pursed, pink lips, high cheekbones, and a neck that more than definitely spilled into a toned chest. His eyes were dark, brown, maybe, but I remembered that, outside, when the sun hit them, they were lighter. His hair was a medium shade of brown, shaggy before his eyes, but clean cut on the sides.

He was kind of attractive. But, that didn’t matter, considering he’d made such a terrible first impression. I knew he was Vessel because, even though he’d muttered just one word to me, his dark voice matched the one from the songs that Sam had forced me to listen to before we left. He was probably full of himself, the fame inflating his head, his ego, which was why he gave such a shit introduction. He honestly probably just thought he was too good for little girls like me, though he was only seven years older than me.

Like I said, I didn’t have anything against people who listened to metal. But, part of the reason I could never really get into the shit that Sam liked, was because most of the band’s seemed to be like this Vessel, this Oliver guy. Stuck-up, self-involved, all struggling artists who thought the world was out to get them, though, in reality, they were elitist, straight, white, cis men who had more privilege in their pinky fingers than I had in my entire body.

Either I had been staring for too long, or he felt my gaze, because his dark eyes met mine in the mirror. I flinched, quickly snapping my chin towards the window. I pressed my knees against the door, arms crossed over my chest ashamedly, trying to melt away. I caught sight of the exposed skin on my arm, where my hoodie sleeve had been tugged up a bit from my restlessness, and saw goosebumps littering my body. Why was my body reacting to his stare this way?

I sulked in my frustration the entire ride there, ignoring the sense that I could still feel his eyes burning into me. Eventually, I guess, I passed out, even though the morning fog cleared the view outside my window, displaying the beautiful, stretching buildings of the city. If I were awake, I could appreciate the glorious architecture, the landscapes of this foreign land.

Someone woke me up, their warm hand pressed upon my shoulder. “We’re here.”

I knew it wasn’t Sam, only because, as I sat up in my seat, I saw him standing at the back of the taxi, pulling our luggage from the trunk. Besides, he didn’t have an accent like this person did. I turned to see who had so gently awoken me, but the backseat remained empty.

I gathered my things, swinging my backpack straps over my shoulders as I stepped onto the cobblestone of the hotel parking lot. It was sprinkling, so I tugged my hood up and over my head. Sam then rounded the car, dragging my suitcase behind him noisily.

“Here,” he rolled it to a stop before me. His eyes examined my face for a moment, seeing the furrowed brows and scowl I wore, “You doing okay?”

I shivered, hugging my arms around my body. I felt kind of sick, probably from the jet lag. I tried to look not so bitchy, but I couldn’t do that when my head was pounding and vile threatened my throat. “Yeah,” I nodded, half-heartedly, “just need to lay down, I think.”

“S’okay,” Sam patted my head, “we’ll check into the hotel quickly and get you into bed, okay?”

I nodded again. Sam took my suitcase back into his hold and gestured for me to follow him. The band was just a few feet behind us as we headed into the hotel. I wanted to stop, take a look around, snap a billion photos of this newfound dreamland. But, my head was pounding more as we moved about. My stomach ached from hunger and exhaustion. I needed a long nap, even if it would fuck up my sleep schedule more than it already was going to be.

We reached the front desk. Sam began speaking to the attendant there, our reservation details pulled up on his phone screen, in the email management had sent him. Because I was tagging along and didn’t exactly work for the band, Sam and I would be forced to share lodging in each and every city. Luckily, I’d managed to snag my own bunk on the tour bus. But, when we’d jump between countries, I had to buy my plane tickets. I didn’t mind, considering this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and that really wasn’t asking much from me.

I leaned against the counter, arms still wrapped around my body as I hunched forward. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to ease the headache. Sam, the attendant, the band- their voices were all distant, like I was on another plane of existence.

But, another voice- one delicate, with an unfamiliar accent- became relevant to my hearing as he approached me. “Jet lag getting to you, love?”

I opened one eye and, upon seeing Max, straightened up a bit, “Oh, fuck,” I chuckled quietly. “It is.”

“Doesn’t get any better, just to warn you,” he shoved his large hands into the pockets of his black jeans. Stray pieces of his blond hair fell from the bun at the back of his hair.

I nodded up at him, neck straining, considering he towered over me, “Amazing news, thank you.”

“You need to invest in some energy drinks, loads of excedrin, and get good at cat napping,” he offered up the little advice he’d gathered from his years of experience touring.

Sam turned back to us, holding out a key card for me to take. I thanked him, plucking the key from his fingers, before looking back at Max, “Thank you, too. I’ll go try out this cat nap you speak of.”

Max grinned at me with a slight scrunch in his nose. I tried and failed to return the expression. Then, I continued on following Sam towards the elevators. I glanced behind us as we stepped inside and saw that the band was b-lining for the front doors. Just as the gray metal doors of the room boxed us in, I saw one of them peer over his shoulder, looking back at us. Sam didn’t notice, too busy pressing our floor number into the key pad. But, I did.

Oliver and I met eyes. He quickly looked away. The doors shut.

-

I tried to take a cat nap. I well and truly tried. I even turned a timer on for twenty minutes, promising myself that I would get up as soon as the alarm went off. I kind of knew that was going to happen when, as soon as my head hit the stack of plump pillows, my burning eyes immediately fell shut.

I guess my body had other plans than taking that cat nap.

As the alarm rang, Sam stepped out of the bathroom, where he had been showering and getting ready for the day. It was, after all, only 10am, and he had a job to report to. He sat down on my bed, near my chest. He set a warm hand down upon my shoulder.

I squirmed under the covers, fully waking as I felt his touch. I aggressively shut off the noisy alarm and groaned into my pillow.

Sam chuckled, squeezing my arm again. “Go back to sleep, Daz.”

“I want to, but…I don’t want to waste the day away. God, this sucks!”

He laughed again, “You’ll get more used to it. Besides, we have a whole other week in this city. You will have plenty of time to see everything you want to.”

“Where are you going?” My own words were muffled by my unwillingness to open my mouth all the way. Sam patted my head soothingly and I felt myself quickly falling back asleep, like the rain pattering against the window pane. I barely understood what he was saying now, too dazed and confused. “The venue. Have some meetings and shit. I’ll send you the address if you want to stop by. Just, take it easy for me today, Daz.”

His comforting demeanor, his warm touch, the love and gentleness that he treated me with- it only coaxed me further into my slumber. Sam pressed a kiss to my head before leaving. The door to the hotel room clicking shut was the last thing I’d consciously hear for the next eight hours.

-

I woke with a sharp intake of breath. There was a dry taste in my mouth, drool crusted in the corner of my lips, and a sheen of sweat clung my t-shirt to the skin of my back. I sat up, so I could peel my hoodie off, a gross expression morphing onto my face. My head still hurt, but the Excedrin I had taken that morning was helping just a bit.

I lazily made the bed, knowing I would be back in its clutches in just a few, short hours. The process made me feel a bit normal, though I was thrown off my rhythm completely. As I did it, my stomach growled, angrily. I realized at that moment that I hadn’t eaten anything all day. The last thing I remember consuming was that souvenir package of pretzels on the plane- and that was nearly 24-hours ago.

First things first- I had to shower. So, I scrubbed the plane dust, the sweat, from my skin. Then, I dressed in something easy: leggings, a reputation album hoodie, my white sneakers. I clipped my wet hair up, away from my face, and filled my purse with what I thought were essentials- my passport, in case I managed to get lost somewhere- a portable charger, my wallet, hotel key card, a can of pepper spray. I knew Europe was much more safe than America, but- I still needed to be cautious.

As I rode the elevator down the stairs, I shot Sam a text. There were five unanswered ones from him- the address to the venue, a photo of the outside of it, a check-in to see if I was okay, a pin-drop of his location, and, finally, one of him informing me that he was returning to the hotel with the band.

I reached the lobby and spotted them all at the hotel bar. They had taken up a table in the corner, noisy, chaotic, bordering on drunk. The rest of the room was nearly emptied out, probably because of them. Max saw my approaching figure first. He raised a hand to wave, interrupting Sam to say, “Look who it is! Cat nap do you any good?”

I shook my head at his words, a small giggle on my lips, “Not at all. I slept for eight hours.”

“Oh, shit,” Sam turned in his chair to face me. “I was wondering ‘cause you never responded to my texts.”

“Sorry,” I shrugged. Cyrus and Adam gave their attention to me. I looked over their faces with a polite smile before my eyes landed on their lead singer. He clutched onto an amber colored drink, head pointed down towards the table. He didn’t even have the decency to look at me when I was speaking.

I took a deep, annoyed breath, countering my vision back to Max, as he said, “You’ll get in the swing of things soon enough.”

I ignored the frustration Oliver fueled in my bones and said, “Just mad I wasted a day.”

Adam tilted his glass to me, “It’s okay, Daisy. You didn’t miss much.”

“No?” I inquired, glancing around the men before me.

They all shook their heads. Cyrus frowned, “Just meetings. Boring shit like that.”

“You have all summer, Daz. You can start catching up tomorrow,” Sam reassured me again.

“Well, I am gonna go out tonight. Just for a bit,” I replied.

Max nodded appreciatively at my plans, ‘'Whatcha gonna do? Hit the town? Go dancing, maybe?”

“Eat my weight in Nando's, actually,” I giggled in response.

The boys shared a round of laughter. I glanced at Oliver, but his head was still down. He was scrolling his phone, now, frowning though the rest of us were having a great. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and looked at Cyrus. “Nando's is great. You’ll like it.”

“Hope so.”

Sam finished off his drink with just a small sip. “I should come with you.”

I waved him off, “I’ll be okay. I’m gonna be alone a lot this summer. Best to get used to it now.”

“It’s late, though,” he offered up again.

“It’s fine, I promise. I’ll give you my location and you can anxiously watch my little avatar move around London, okay?”

Sam huffed in agreement, unwilling to argue with me. I was an adult, after all. He didn’t really have a say as to what I did, though I wasn’t unappreciative of his efforts. Then, Max spoke again, “Well, you’ll have to let us take you out another time, though. Maybe even take you dancing. There’s a great nightlife here in London.”

“Yeah, that could be fun,” I nodded. My stomach growled and, luckily, I was the only one to have heard it. I began to wrap up the short conversation, “I’m gonna get going. I haven’t eaten all day and I feel like I’m gonna turn into the Hulk soon. See you all tomorrow?”

Sam stood from his seat and enveloped me in a short hug. “Be safe, Daz.”

As we pulled apart, I reached up on my toes to ruffle his sandy hair. I settled back onto my heels, my smile morphing into a mischievous smirk as I thought of a silly way to throw him off. I tilted my head to the side, teasing, “Sure thing, Sam Ham.”

I rushed for the exit, escaping the hotel bar before he could retaliate. I knew I had made his face flush a deep red. I could even hear the band’s laughter trailing behind me as they teased him for the nickname. It was a good start to what felt like it could be one of the best summer’s of my life.

As long as Oliver stayed out of my way.

-

I was gone for just two hours. I struggled to find Nando’s at first because Google had me walking in circles. But with a little help from a CVS worker, I finally reached the restaurant. I ordered a little more food than I was probably able to eat because I wanted to sample the popular menu. Between the mass amount of food and the speed at which I ate, it wasn’t long until I was full.

After I left the building, I took a stroll, finally in a decent enough headspace to be able to appreciate the lit-up city. It was Monday, and nearly 10pm, so most of the shops and bars were closed for the evening. When something interested me, I simply wrote down in my notes app so I could remember to come back. Tomorrow, I decided, I would return to this little corner of the world.

Elated with the excitement of this promising journey, the mood only heightened from the hunger dissipated in my bones, I made it back to the hotel. Though Sam had promised me he would stay up, he was curled up under the blankets, passed out. I wasn’t mad- I knew he needed to get a good night’s rest. Besides, back home, I lived alone, came and went late at night all the time. I didn’t need him to look out for me to this extreme extent. I tucked the blankets up under his chin a bit more snugly, plugged his phone in, and ensured I was quiet as I got myself ready to lay down.

However, I threw the covers off of myself after struggling to sleep for over an hour. My body was buzzing. I was just not going to be able to fall asleep for a while. I could feel the energy pulsing through my body, excitement forcing my once tired eyes to jolt open unwillingly. I needed to get up, move around, do something to get this jumpiness to leave me alone.

I pulled my once abandoned hoodie overtop my pj set, shoved my feet into the pair of slippers I’d packed. Rummaging through the mini-fridge, I pulled out a few small bottles of liquor- three vodka shots, one Jack Daniels. These few should be enough to get me to sleep.

I piled them into my purse, grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and headed out the door. I didn’t know where I was going when I got into the elevator, but my eyes scanned over the button pad and found an option for the roof. That seemed like a good enough place to chill for a while.

The air was cold, but not in a bitter way. My warm skin almost welcomed the stark contrast. It seemed to coax the buzz of energy out of my system once I began to shiver. There were a few patio chairs set up around fire pits or grills. I picked a huddle that was positioned towards the corner of the roof, sitting myself criss-cross on a maroon-colored couch.

I unlocked my phone and shuffled my liked songs playlist on Spotify. I uncapped one of the shots and downed it with a scrunched face. I never much liked the taste of alcohol because it was so bitter. And, then, because of that, tolerance was low and I was an annoying light weight. It immediately made my chest feel warm. At least two of these would probably coax me to sleep, no problem.

“Gonna share?”

I flinched at the deep voice, eyes snapping from examining the front of the bottle to the body seated across the firepit from me. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the light from the small tiki lamps surrounding our section of the roof. But, when they did, my pupils widened in slight shock.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I replied, tone a little more than annoyed that he was just now announcing himself.

“Long enough to know you can’t take a shot,” there was a smirk in his voice, a cockiness that made me want to wipe it clean off his pink, plump lips.

“Sorry I’m not an alcoholic,” I snide back. “If you want one, you have to come get it, by the way. I’m comfy now.”

“Comfy with this trash music playing?” He quipped, though he stood and reached out for the alcohol..

I begrudgingly handed him a vodka bottle, though his comment only annoyed me further, “Real men like Taylor Swift.”

“Hey, haven’t you heard? I’m a vessel. Not a man.”

I watched in silence as he took the shot. He held my eyes in his. There was a teasing sense edging at his pupils. I couldn’t quite read what he intended with his gaze, his quips. Maybe he was really trying to piss me off even more. I already figured him an asshole, based off of how he acted each time I saw him today. But, with every sentence that passed, this belief was only carved deeper.

I pressed my lips together in an attempt to soothe my frustration. If he really just wanted to get on my nerves, I wasn’t going to let him know it was working. I would just be sickly sweet in return. “So, Vessel, what are you doing up here? Can’t sleep?”

“Obviously,” he waved me off.

I watched him for another moment, wondering what I could say to bother him back. He took a cigarette and a lighter from his hoodie pocket. The end of it glowed red from the small flame. and he sunk it between his lips. When he pulled it out, he flicked his brows at me, as if to offer a drag. I frowned, head shaking, “That’s okay. Thanks.”

“Hm…too good for a smoke, then?” He flicked off the end of the cigarette, sending ashes down to his pant leg, onto the concrete of the roof below us.

I watched as they fell, a glare in my gaze, “More like my mom died of lung cancer because she smoked for thirty years.”

Oliver held the cigarette mid-air, paused from bringing it to his lips. He flicked his brows again, rubbed his lips together, Then, he tossed the stick onto the floor and stomped it with the toe of his boot. “Sorry.”

“Mhm,” I challenged, knowing I now had the upper-hand because of his obvious guilt. All I could think was that I really did not like him. But he was so fucking hot.

“I’d ask what you’re doing up, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day you had.”

“Yeah, no,” I chuckled dryly.

Oliver peeled his eyes from my face, looking out over the city lights sprawled out before us. He pondered for a moment, the process obvious because of the way it sat on his face- his eyes darkened, his brows furrowed, and he frowned. I wanted to make a comment about how I could see the smoke billowing from his ears as he thought, but he met my eye again.

“What’s your deal, Daisy?”

I wouldn’t admit it, but I loved the way my name sounded on his pretty pink lips. I wanted to hear it, closer, right next to my ear, in a much darker setting, wearing way less clothing. I shook away the thought, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he had thrown me for a loop. I ignored the smirk that curled on his mouth, shifted in my seat, and shrugged, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Oliver laughed, a dry, hollow sound that I quite enjoyed. I opened the other shot of vodka and went to take it, needing desperately to quiet my brain. But, he replied, “What are you here for?”

“What are you here for?” I leaned forward to toss him the bottle of Jack Daniels.

He took it, then stretched his arms out over the back of the couch he sat upon, the bottle hanging loosely from his fingers.. “Good question. For our music, I suppose. To perform it for our listeners.”

“That’s not what you’re here for,” I rejected his words, shaking my head just slightly, “That’s what everyone else is here for. What about you, Oliver?”

He glanced around. Smoke, ears again. I nearly cracked a smile at the parallel before he finally responded, “To…worship. To celebrate my music, myself…life.”

I held the shot out towards him, offering a cheer up to what he had said, “To life.”

Oliver leaned forward on the couch, stopping me before I could take the shot, “Wait, what about you?”

“There’s no deeper meaning to anything I do,” I waved him off with a small giggle. The air between us was growing more comfortable as we opened up to each other. Maybe Sam was right- maybe Oliver just needed to get to know me before he stopped being an ass. It didn’t make it okay, that he was like that. It was definitely a trauma response. But, it was alright. I’d be over it by the morning, especially considering some semblance of a friendship was blossoming here between us.

“Oh, Daisy, there’s always deeper meaning to everything humans do. Think. What’s yours?” He lay a hand out, as if I had to fill that empty air with my response.

I glanced from his hand, out to the city, thinking over the question. What was mine? Why was I here? I wanted to take a break from reality before my life would really start. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to visit friends, to discover life beyond my small corner of the map. But, what did it all mean to me? What was my purpose this summer? I was always quite stagnant. I just…existed. I don’t think I ever really lived, found that meaning within what I did.

“I guess…” I met his eye again, finding some answers in my own thoughts, “I guess…to find that deeper meaning. To find what I’m looking for, maybe.”

“Then, to life…to discovering life. To finding life,” he sampled a few phrases before settling upon what he’d come up with..

We both leaned our arms out until our shot glasses clinked together. It was cheesy, meta, a conversation that, 24 hours ago, I would have snorted at. At least, that’s what the girl who boarded the plane last night would have done. Maybe I was changing already, and maybe it was for the better. Maybe this summer really would be about discovering life, discovering my own.

I didn’t think we’d find much else to talk about, but that was quickly proven wrong. We spent the next hour and a half involved in a deep conversation, swapping childhood stories, dreams, favorite songs and movies. Oliver wasn’t so bad, wasn’t so depressing as I originally thought he was. Sure, he had plenty of skeletons in the closet. But, he was funny, too, with niche interests, interesting stories that drew laughter out of me. I hadn’t thought this was possible.

Eventually, we both needed to get to bed. He had to be up in just six hours and I wanted to get a good start on the next day. I was finally starting to feel tired, too. So, we boarded the elevator together, only after tossing his cigarette bud and shot bottles into the trash.

Oliver reached across my body to press the button for our floor. As his body passed mine, I caught a sweet whiff of his cologne. It rattled my brain around. That, combined with his warm breath, and the alcohol in my system, shivered goosebumps down my spine.

As he settled back on his heels, I braved a glance up at his handsome face. He was already looking down at me. The small smile on his plump lips stretched into a teeth-bearing grin. I blushed at the expression on his face.

I didn’t care anymore, not about his rude greetings, his annoyed stature at the bar earlier. I didn’t care about any of it, if it would mean he would keep looking at me like he was right now.

My eyes felt like they glazed over as we stared at one another. Oliver turned his shoulder, facing his chest towards me. The action was an opening door, an encouraging lure into dark places I should stray from. But, I didn’t.

I faced him, too, fingers grasping at my hoodie sleeves, nervously. Oliver tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He spoke, softly, quietly, “You’re very pretty, Daisy.”

I blushed, again. I went to step forward, to make some sort of move in return. But, then, the elevator doors were cracking themselves open. A bell rang overhead.

I guess it broke whatever trance we were both in. Oliver stepped out first, but didn’t move to stride away. He waited for me to join him in the hall. We walked, side by side, towards our rooms, silence taking up so much space and time. Maybe I was being delusional, but I really thought he was going to make some sort of move on me. It probably wouldn’t be for the best, but…Either way, I was grateful for the bond we had begun to form. It would make for a great tour, I just knew it.

Just as I reached my door, Oliver softly called out my name. I turned to him, hand on the door knob, ready to escape into the confines of my bed to think over everything. I met his dark eyes, catching the light in the golden flecks of his pupils. He smiled, “Thanks for staying up with me.”

I couldn’t help but grin back, appreciative of the time we’d spent, hopeful for the future of our friendship (even if I had imagined him blowing my back out in the elevator). “Thank you, Oliver. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And see him I did.

When Sam’s alarm went off, I joined him in getting ready, deciding to hit the town early. We went down to breakfast together, my attitude a little more perkier than his, considering the jet lag had started to get to him. And, considering I was excited to see my newfound friend.

We sat with Max and Adam. I greeted them both with a kind smile, my plate of pancakes coming to rest on the table before me. We chatted just a bit, everyone a little more quiet than usual due to the slowness of the morning time.

I finished up my first pancake just as Cy and Oliver sat down with us. I looked up from my plate, grinning despite myself, and tried to meet Oliver’s eyes. “Good morning, guys.”

Cy glanced up, a tired smile on his face. “Morning, Daisy. Sleep okay?”

It took more than a moment before I looked at him, mind focused on catching Oliver’s eyes, “Yeah, thanks. Struggled for a bit, but managed to get to sleep after Ol-”

“Butter,” Oliver reached out a hand, eyes trained onto his plate.

I peeled my gaze from Cy, my smile faltering when I realized Oliver was holding out a hand towards me. He was waiting for me to pick up the plate and hand it to him, without any sign of a please or, God forbid, a greeting. Not to mention, he interrupted me as soon as I had begun to mention our escapade from the night before.

I narrowed my eyes, hoping my burning stare would rattle him. But, it did nothing, so I picked up the butter and shoved it into his hand. He settled it onto the table before him and didn’t say anything else.

What was going on here?

I was thrown for a loop, which seemed to just be the case when it came to him. He was a game, I realized now. And, I did not plan on playing it. Cy looked up from his plate, “After what, Daisy?”

I tried again, just to confirm if that interruption had been as intentional as it seemed, “After Ol-”

He coughed. He coughed right through my words, stopping me from saying his name; again. His gaze was still locked on his plate as he buttered his toast. He blinked. Didn’t make any move to excuse himself, apologize. Nothing.

I gave up then, reading the situation well enough to understand he didn’t want anyone to know about last night. I settled on saying, “After downing a couple shots of vodka. Helped me get to…sleep.” I continued to watch Oliver as I spoke, my -tone flat, frown settled deep into my cheeks.

Cyrus responded, though I wasn’t listening anymore. Max conversed back, moving onto some wild, drunken story from last tour, intended to make me laugh. I tried to catch onto their words, tried to give them the chuckles they searched for. The attention they deserved, and Oliver did not.

But, I couldn’t draw my eyes from his face. After a few minutes, he finally glanced up, though it was quickly, barely looking long enough for me to catch his eyes.

This was going to be a long summer.

[moonlight0934]

Do Better

Miya stretches with a yawn. Reki and Langa are chasing each other around the skate park, arguing about something. Everything aches, even though he’s pretty sure that he hasn’t been overworking himself. He still doesn’t get up to join them, because while he’s not sure why his joints feel like jello, he’s still not planning on going out there and hurting himself. Reki eventually walks over with Langa nowhere in sight.

“Hey, why aren’t you joining us? Normally you’d be skating circles around us by now just to prove that you could.”

Miya rolls his eyes before casting them back down.

“I’m just tired.”

“Oh, really?”

Miya nods gently while still keeping his head tucked into his arm. In fact his joints are starting to feel like someone is chisling at his bones, but he doesn’t say that. He just keeps his eyes down and lets Reki think whatever he ends up thinking.

“Ok, well you can go home. We won’t get offended.”

“I know. Not that I would have cared if you got offended anyway.”

Reki rolls his eyes.

“Alright, fine. I’m going, but I’ll see you later if you decide not to leave.”

Miya hums before letting his eyes fall closed. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but wakes up to Reki shaking his shoulder. The action hurts more than it should, and he can’t stop the hiss of pain from escaping his mouth.

“Woah dude, there’s no reason to make noises like that. I just wanted to let you know that we were heading to S now.”

Miya looks around, noticing that it’s dark outside. He sits up fully, biting the inside of his cheek.

“When did it get so late?” he mutters.

“I thought you were lying about being tired, but you fell asleep on this bench. Then stayed asleep the entire afternoon. Anyway, are you coming with us?”

“No, I’m going to go home.”

“Ok, see ya later then.”

Miya waves before grabbing his board and heading home. His mom is pacing by the time he gets in.

“Miya, baby, where were you?” She grabs his face, squishing him.

“Mom.”

She lets go of his face, but roughly grabs his shoulders. She’s still staring at him, and her grip is tight enough to hurt.

“I just got side tracked while I was out with my friends.”

“It’s almost ten at night.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Mom.”

“You know that I don’t want you out when it’s dark.”

Yeah, and that’s why I’m sneaking out of my window to go to an illegal skating ring.

“I know, Mom, and I’m really sorry. We were inside so I didn’t realize how late it was getting.”

“You know that I’m going to have to call their parents, right?”

Miya’s brain short circuits for a few seconds before he realizes that she thinks he’s talking about his old friends. The ones that he never told her he stopped hanging out with.

“You can’t,” he blurts out before his brain can really catch up with what he’s doing. All Miya can think is that she has to stop before his old friend’s parents tell her that they don’t talk anymore.

“Why not?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Because it’s not the friends that you’ve already met.”

Her eyes brighten immediately.

“Oh, so you made new friends?”

“Yes, Mom. I made a couple new friends. You wouldn’t have their parents’ numbers. Actually, I’ve never even met their parents.”

“Ok, who are these new friends?”

“Their names are Reki and Langa. They’re a little bit older than me.”

“How old are they?”

“Reki’s sixteen, and I think Langa is seventeen.”

“That’s really old. How did you meet these boys?”

“They skateboard, and they were at the rink that I practice at on my days off.”

“Ok, well, you promise that you were safe?”

Miya nods, and she hugs him one more time.

“In that case, it’s ok. Just go get some sleep, and try not to do it again.”

Miya nods, then heads straight up the stairs. He doesn’t tell her that he didn’t eat, or that he feels like his body might fall apart at any given minute. He just throws himself into bed, and goes to sleep. He doesn’t feel much better when he wakes up in the morning, and his head feels foggy. He goes to get up, but ends up falling out of bed.

“Ow.”

Someone knocks on his door, and he calls, “You can come in.”

He’s still untangling himself from his bedding when his dad walks in.

“Hey, kid, what are you doing?” he asks.

Miya freezes.

“I was just trying to get up.”

“Well, you’re going to be late.”

“It’s Saturday, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have anything to be late to.”

“You have practice with your manager, and another interview today.”

“Do I have to? I think there’s something wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Either I’m sick, or I’ve just been overworking myself. I just feel off.”

His dad walks over and puts a hand on his forehead. He sighs as he stands back up.

“I know that things have been hard lately, but you need to follow through on the commitments that you’ve made. You don’t have to pretend to be sick.”

Miya closes his eyes for a second then says, “Ok, I’ll meet you outside. I just have to change.”

His dad nods, then walks back out. Miya stays on the floor for another few minutes. Then he gets up, changes, brushes his hair and teeth, then heads outside to meet his dad. The drive is quiet, and Miya has to force himself to stay awake for the whole thing.

His dad walks in with him, then says, “I’ll meet you here in a few hours. I have some errands to run, but I’ll be back to pick you up.”

Miya frowns.

“Can’t you stay?”

“Why?”

“I just don’t… I don’t know.”

“You need to get better at dealing with these things yourself.”

Miya stares at the ground.

I deal with everything by myself! I always had to do everything myself before I met my friends. I was always in charge, even as a child. 

He doesn’t say any of that, just heads inside without replying. His manager is waiting for him, already annoyed that he’s late.

“You have to learn to manage your time, Chinen.”

“I’m not normally late,” Miya mutters, but it’s not loud enough for anyone to actually hear him.

Even warming up feels hard. His joints ache, and his muscles are protesting his every move. His brain is still struggling to keep up with everything. His manager keeps yelling at him to hurry up. Miya doesn’t pay him any mind, doesn’t speed up, or even respond. By the time he’s done warming up, the news people are there, and he’s already exhausted.

“Since they’re already here, we have to do the interview first,” his manager says, and Miya just nods.

He listens to their questions about how he got as good as he is, and about his support systems, and how he balances normal life and this. He doesn’t really give an answer to any of these, just kind of non-answers. Everyone looks confused by the time they’re done, and his manager looks furious.

As soon as they’re gone, he says, “What did we say about your people skills?”

“That they suck, and I need to do better,” Miya replies though he’s not sure how he actually phrased it.

“You do need to work on that, but I didn’t say they sucked. Haven’t you been hanging out with more people recently? Shouldn’t that have helped, or were you lying to me about what you were doing?”

“I wasn’t lying. You do not want me to talk to them the way I talk to my friends though.”

“Whatever, just get started on your training. You know it’s a day to work on your new tricks.”

“I don’t want to. Can’t we do something else today?”

Something that won’t make my hands hurt.

“No. I know it’s hard, but you can do it. You’re one of the best people your age in the entire world.”

Miya rolls his eyes.

“You can cut the flattery. It’s not going to make me more cooperative. I’m doing it, but I’m not happy.”

He walks over to grab his phone. He texts his dad to pick him up, lying that they got off of practice early. His dad texts back almost immediately saying that he’s still busy, but that he’ll get there as soon as he’s done with his errands. Miya can just wait inside until he’s back. Miya puts his phone back then grabs his board.

He makes it through twenty minutes of training before his right hand gives out entirely. Since he was putting his weight on it, the balance shift sends his skateboard flying. He slams into the wall with a crack. His awareness fades for a second, and his manager is beside him when his vision comes back. His hand is throbbing terribly from where he hit the wall.

“I’m going to call your dad.”

Miya nods though he doesn’t say anything, because if he opens his mouth it is not going to be words that come out of it. It feels like a long time before his manager comes back over, holding his phone.

“He didn’t answer me, so I want to try calling him on your phone.”

Miya nods, then with his good hand, which is still shaking pretty badly, he punches in the code. His dad still doesn’t answer, so he takes the phone. He calls Cherry, putting the phone up to his ear.

“What’s going on?” Cherry answers, curt and to the point.

“Can you come pick me up?” Miya asks, aware of how bad he sounds. His voice is wavering, and he’s physically shaking hard enough to affect his voice.

“Yes, where are you?”

Miya gives him the address.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Those ten minutes feel eternally long, and his hand just keeps hurting more. Cherry looks worried when he comes in, and he looks even more worried when he sees Miya.

“Who is that?” his manager asks.

“What happened?” Cherry asks, kneeling down beside Miya. He hasn’t even looked at Miya’s manager.

“He was trying to nail a new trick, and fell. He hit the wall pretty hard.”

“Do we need to go to the hospital?” Cherry asks, gently taking Miya’s arm to look at it.

“I think so. I left my dad a voicemail while you were on your way here, so he can meet us there.”

“Alright, come on.”

Cherry helps him up, keeping an arm around him to make sure that he doesn’t fall.

Once they’re in Cherry’s car, he says, “So, what actually happened? Did you just fall?”

“No, I need to do better. If I did better, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Cherry frowns.

“Just walk me through what happened today, because Reki told us how off you were yesterday afternoon.”

“I think I’m sick, but everyone just kept telling me to do better. Have better people skills, and stop lying and faking. I didn’t know what to say to make them understand that I wasn’t lying. Then my hands gave out on me, and I practically flew into a wall. I think my wrist might be broken.”

Cherry winces, though his face is hard.

“I think I need to have a word with your father. Sending you to do this while you’re sick is absolutely unacceptable. Also I know that you’re not lying about being sick enough to warrant that being his first response.”

Miya looks down.

“You don’t have to talk to him. I probably shouldn’t have called you at all. This is a lot to ask already.”

“No it’s not. In fact, I’m going to call Kojiro to meet us at the hospital. I was with him when you called. He was really worried, and I said I’d call him once I knew what was going on.”

“You don’t have to ask him to come down here,” Miya asks as they pull into the parking lot.

“I know, and I won’t be. Once he hears what happened, he’s coming without anyone asking.”

Miya hums. They head inside, and Cherry calls Joe once he gets them checked in. The next few hours are spent waiting with Joe and Cherry. His dad shows up while he’s getting his hand X-Rayed. Miya can tell that they already ripped him a new one by the time he comes back.

“Was it broken?” Cherry asks gently, his tone soft.

Miya nods, and his dad immediately hugs him.

“I’m sorry.”

Miya nods against his shoulder, too tired to do anything else.

“Can we go home now?”

“Yes, I’ll do the rest of the paperwork while you stay with these two. Then we can go home, and we’ll wait to talk about this till tomorrow,” he says, glancing at Cherry and Joe.

“Ok.”

After he walks away, Miya turns back to Joe and Cherry.

“Thanks.”

“It’s no issue, kid. We’re always available for this kind of thing. Also, give me your address cause I want to drop off some food tonight.”

“Ok, but can you wait until tomorrow? I’m going to give my parents some kind of bullshit explanation for how I know you two, but I don’t want to do that until tomorrow. I just want to get some sleep.”

Joe nods.

“Of course.”

Miya smiles, even if just a little. 

[s0xthef0x]

Theoretically Speaking

Ness accidentally stumbles into the life of Mike Schmidt, and in all honesty? He doesn't mind staying.

When a trip to the mall goes awry, Ness finds himself injured and in the arms of a security guard. With no friends or family to turn to during his recovery, Mike Schmidt enters the picture to lend a hand.

(Split/Alternating POVs)

SEE MASTER POST

CHAPTER 1

NOTE: This is a revised version of a securitywaiter fic I just completed on a03 (under the same username) so if you don't want to wait for revised updates here, you can read the original through the link at the end! Enjoy <3

Also this fic started out as a joke but I got really into it and it's lowkey my magnum opus

Chapter 1

NESS

Ness never would’ve imagined that things would've played out the way that they did, especially not at the mall. It was only meant to be a short trip, but the line at Macy's was much longer than he had anticipated. Especially for mid-morning on a weekday. As he stood in line, Ness couldn't help but think; don't any of you have jobs? Because he was going to be late for his own if the line didn't move any faster.

Ness was eager to get out of the store and far away from the clashing scents of perfumes and colognes. He had thought about getting a quick spray of something that smelled of sandalwood in hopes of covering the smell of bacon grease that seemed to perpetually linger on his uniform, but the store itself did a thorough job of making him smell like anything and everything on earth other than a diner- which wasn't exactly ideal either.

He absentmindedly swung the plastic Macy's bag in his hand as he walked out of the store. Ness felt his mind turn to static as he tuned out the people around him. It was the kind of mental numbness in which you can't stop your thoughts from wandering off wherever they want, until suddenly you're thinking about the kind of stuff that you normally dwell on at night. There was no repressing any of it now, and it sure as shit didn't help that he was surrounded by advertisements for Mother's Day sales. 

Ness didn't expect a bottle of low-end perfume to magically resolve anything, but maybe it was worthwhile enough to at least remind her that she had a son.

His head felt foggy. Everything had become blurry, and all noises were muffled. It was just him and his thoughts, which was why he didn't immediately realize what was happening. Ness's brain tuned back into reality when he was abruptly shoved from behind. He barely managed to gather himself before several more people rushed by. They moved in packs. It was a stampede.

Ness stumbled forward while scanning the crowd, in search of anyone who could explain what the hell was going on. He was drowning in a sea of pure chaos, and he could barely keep his head above the water. From the other side of the mall, Ness could see police officers rushing into a store, urging everyone to make for the exit.

People were pouring out from escalators and onto the first floor. Ness stumbled along with the crowd, all while behind jostled by the shoulders and feeling a pair of sneakers repeatedly stepping on the backs of his ankles.

Near the back of the second floor, three officers were restraining a man in a mask as they wrestled a gun out of his hands. Telling by the man's distance from Macy's, Ness was certain that he had been walking merely a couple of feet within his proximity. He felt a chill rush down his spine.

Ness had been so distracted from the chaos, he hadn't yet processed that he was falling. His foot had missed a step as he was nearing the end of the escalator. The crowd parted to make room in order to move past him, but no one made an effort to help him up. Ness clawed at the floor, pulling himself out of the way before he could be trampled. He leaned against a wall as he tried to catch his breath. His vision went blurry again, this time from a surge of adrenaline.

Once the rush of the crowd had dwindled, Ness began to push himself up. He immediately felt a terrible pain in his lower leg. He didn't want to look down. He felt sick as his brain conjured the image of his leg looking mangled and twisted like one of the pretzel sticks in the display at the Auntie Anne's just a few feet from where he laid. The only thing anchoring him to consciousness was the scent of daisy perfume as the last few drops leaked from the broken bottle. He laid back down against the wall and groaned. He looked to the other side of the mall, where the last of the officers were questioning a few witnesses. 

Ness was tucked away behind a large, plastic plant, blocking him from everyone else's view. He cursed under his breath and gripped onto the side of the escalator to try to lift himself onto his uninjured foot, though it seemed to be in vain. The pain was too much. He lowered himself down, groaning again as he fell back onto the hard tiled floor.

Ness looked to his left at the sound of the men's bathroom door swinging open, revealing a security guard. The man tucked something into his jacket, probably a pack of cigarettes from a not-so discreet smoke break in the midst of the chaos. As he stepped into the open, his face formed a rather clear "oh shit" kind of expression. 

The security guard began to walk towards the remaining police officers. Seizing the opportunity, Ness frantically threw a hand in the air to signal for help. The man stopped in his tracks and turned his gaze to where Ness sat.

"Are you okay?" The guard stayed standing at a distance, probably hoping that his assistance wouldn’t be necessary. Ness wouldn't have blamed him.

The pain made it difficult to form a full thought, let alone a full sentence. Ness didn't know how else to communicate other than gesturing down to his injury, which was getting harder to not look at. The security guard took a step, made another "oh shit" face, then hurried over.

Ness had a habit of slipping into his customer service voice upon interacting with strangers, and this time was no exception as he forced himself to speak up, “can you call nine one one?"

It took a moment of stunned silence for the security guard to react. "Yeah, yeah.” His voice was borderline monotone, which didn't match the sudden flash of urgency in his eyes. Ness stared after the guard as he ran to a door marked STAFF ONLY.

All he could do was lay there looking up at the ceiling. There were a few remaining customers wandering around the first floor, none of which noticed Ness laying there, like a crumpled up napkin that didn’t make it into the trash bin. He was once again alone with his thoughts, but this time he was painfully aware of his reality, literally speaking.

The worst part of it was knowing that if it hadn't been for a random security guard, there would be no one to call for help. The smell of the Daisy perfume served as a strangely cruel reminder. 

He thought he'd be used to it by now. He began to wonder if he ever would.

MIKE

Mike had witnessed his fair share of wild shit during his time working at the mall, but this morning had managed to beat a new record. It wasn't even noon yet.

Mike never had to call 911 before. It was daunting to dial just those three digits. He leaned against the cinderblock wall of the break room and waited. For an emergency line, it was taking a surprisingly long time for someone to pick up. At least it bought him a little time to think of what to say. Hey, some guy broke his leg, I think?

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

Since the station had already gotten the report about the active shooter, it didn’t take long to explain. Mike relayed the location and address of the mall, and that was that. He hung up the phone and heaved a sigh. 

The break room was empty, except for him. He was tempted to take a seat in one of the folding chairs, but decided against it. He was probably already on thin ice if there was any chance that his manager noticed his absence in the past forty five minutes, the time he spent reading in the bathroom when he should've been doing his job.

Mike’s approach towards work had always been to simply match his performance to his paycheck. You know what they say, you get what you paid for. Today was the only exception to his usual mentality. This wasn't just another kid throwing up outside of the candy shoppe, or another man having a heart attack in the food court. For once, Mike felt guilty for not doing the bare minimum.

Mike exited the break room and looked toward the escalator. Sure enough, the man was still there. It's not like he could've left that easily. 

"How are you holding up?" He hoped his question came out sounding more genuine than it did in his head, but the man didn't seem to care, and for obvious reasons.

The man barely glanced at Mike when he replied, "fine.”

"The paramedics are on the way."

"Great."

It probably wasn't a good sign that he was only responding with one syllable at a time. Mike looked around in search of anyone who could possibly be more qualified to deal with this. He wasn't paying attention when the man said something. Mike turned his head and looked at him with a lifted brow. "Hm?

"The bench.” The man’s hand trembled as he pointed to a set of benches near the bathroom, not too far from where Mike stood. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed or just tired, but it was probably both.

Mike, once again, looked around for anyone else who would be willing to step in. Did he feel like kind of an asshole for not wanting to bridal carry a stranger? Yes. But in his defense, it was clear that the stranger wasn't entirely keen on the idea either. Lucky for him, guilt quickly outweighed Mike's pride.

He wanted to move quickly to get it over with, but sooner realized that sudden movements weren't the best idea for dealing with a broken limb. The man had to wrap both arms around Mike's shoulders to steady himself until he made it safely to the bench. 

Mike crossed his arms and took his time to scan his surroundings, avoiding unnecessary eye contact. His job didn't normally require that much interaction with customers. The only times he spoke to anyone other than his co-workers was when someone needed directions to a store or the restrooms. All he could think to say was, "better?"

"Beats the floor.” The stranger wasn't doing a great job at selling his fake smile. It didn't help that he was still struggling to speak in full sentences without gritting his teeth.

They remained silent amidst the echoes of footsteps. Even during a public emergency, the speakers continued to play the same pop songs on a loop, all the same earworms that had been stuck in Mike’s head for months. He didn't go out of his way to listen to music other than what he was subjected to via public radio. He felt indifferent to most of it, despite his tendency to subconsciously hum Avril Lavigne in the shower.

"Shit."

Mike's attention snapped back to the stranger. The man was suddenly more alert. His arms frantically reached around the bench.

"Are you looking for something?"

The man rubbed a hand across his face and muttered something into his palm before speaking up, "it's nothing- it's just. . . I dropped my bag.”

Mike looked to the escalator, and a stray Macy’s shopping bag. "That?"

The stranger nodded as Mike lifted it from the ground. He could hear the faint clinking of broken glass. He looked further down to find that his shoe was in the center of a pinkish-orange puddle. A flowery smell filled his nostrils like a punch to the face. Mike dropped the bag into the trash and made a mental note to mop it up later. 

"Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it.” The stranger leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

Mike’s thoughts were cut short by the high-pitched wail of an ambulance. Outside, two paramedics were already on foot with a stretcher before the ambulance had come to a full stop. Mike took a brief glance at the stranger before leaving to meet the paramedics.

"We got a call about a broken leg?" 

Mike nodded and pointed over his shoulder at the bench. “That way."

And with that, it was out of his hands. Mike stood by the water fountain, watching as they escorted the stranger towards the exit. He wondered if he should've waved or forced a sympathetic smile, but it didn’t matter. The stranger had been safely transported into the ambulance, which was already racing off, out of the parking lot and into the distance. 

The pop music somehow sounded louder now, as did the echoing footsteps of the few customers that roamed the building. No more horrified screams or running footsteps, just distant laughing and sounds from the nearby arcade. It was as if nothing had happened, like today was just any other ordinary day at the mall. And like any ordinary day, Mike had work to do.

NESS

Hospitals brought on a strange sense of nostalgia. Even years after his last visit, Ness was still accustomed to the smell of clorox wipes and latex. The atmosphere was by no means comforting, but familiarity prevented him from completely spiraling.

Despite the heavy doses of medication to alleviate the pain, Ness still couldn't sleep. Fatigue held him in a firm grasp, but there was too much on his mind to give in. There were too many things to worry about. For one, his manager. Calling to explain why exactly he missed his shift was a nightmare waiting to happen. Breaking a leg in a freak accident at the mall hardly sounded any different than “my dog ate my homework”.

"Mr. Sansfield?” 

The sound of the door pulled Ness out of his state of half-sleep. He lifted his head to greet the nurse with a half-hearted smile. 

"You have a guest."

The nurse stepped aside to reveal a complete stranger. Ness squinted. He blinked twice, wondering if maybe the drowsiness was affecting his vision. The stranger stepped inside and the nurse left without another word. Ness sat up. He wanted to protest, or call out to the nurse to clarify that he had no idea who this person was. For all he knew, he had just been left alone at the mercy of a serial killer.

"Hey.” His voice instantly sounded familiar. It took Ness another moment of staring blankly until he recognized the uniform shirt, then the Macy's bag.

"What. . .uh," Ness's voice came out in a mumble until he cleared his throat. "What're you doing here?"

"I figured you might want this back." The stranger lifted the bag. 

"Oh, that," Ness shook his head, "it broke when-“ He stopped when the man reached into the bag to reveal a perfectly intact bottle of perfume, still in its packaging. "I could've sworn-"

"I got it exchanged.” The man took a seat in a chair near the foot of the bed. "I gave them the receipt and told them what happened."

Ness wanted to smile or show some sort of display of gratitude, but he was still overcome by pure amazement. "You really didn't have to do that."

The man shrugged. He sniffed and stared absentmindedly around the room. 

"Well. . . thanks. . .” Ness trailed off, raising his eyebrows, waiting for the stranger to pick up on the implied question. When he didn’t get an answer, Ness finally took the initiative. “What’s your name?”

It took the man a second to realize he was being spoken to. He barely turned his head enough to make eye contact, as though the effort was too much of a hassle. “Mike.”

"Thanks, Mike." Finally, Ness managed to smile. "I'm Ness, by the way."

“I know.”

Ness’s eyebrows furrowed at the response. Before he could ask, Mike nodded at the clothes in the chair beside him, where his name tag was lying face-up.

The corners of Mike’s mouth lifted slightly into a somewhat passable smile, while his eyes remained stony. His stoic expression made it all seem less like a selfless gesture and more like a chore. 

Ness's smile wavered. He cleared his throat and waited for Mike to leave wordlessly, the same way he entered. Probably slamming the door on his way out. Instead, Mike sank a little deeper into his seat in the same manner as a middle-aged man preparing to take a nap in his prized recliner. 

"Question," Ness spoke up again after a moment of silence, "how did you get in here?"

"Hm?"

"How did you get in here? Isn't there a policy-“ His question was cut short by the opening of the door. The doctor stepped in, with a clipboard in hand and a stethoscope dangling at the neck. Mike sat up in his seat, posture suddenly straight as a pole.

"How are we holding up?" the doctor asked with the click of a ballpoint pen.

Ness answered with a half-nod, half-shrug. "Could be worse."

The doctor nodded and scribbled on the clipboard. "On the bright side, you're free to head home now. You can rest in the comfort of your own bed."

"Right," Ness said with a weary exhale.

"I'm assuming Mr. Sansfield will be your ride?"

Ness felt his brows knitting together in confusion, and even more so when the doctor gestured with the pen, pointing towards Mike, who was now sinking deeper into his chair, gripping onto the armrests like a passenger preparing to endure turbulence. To Ness's surprise, he nodded.

"In that case, it looks like everything's settled." The doctor handed the clipboard to Ness. "Just sign here at the bottom and you're free to go."

Ness, in a daze, took the pen and scribbled his signature as a single, wavy line. The doctor was gone in the instant that the pen left the clipboard.

“Mr. Sansfield?"

Mike's eyes widened slightly as his face suddenly revealed a new emotion, a cross between panicked and defensive. “They asked if I was spouse or family.”

Seeing the flustered expression spreading on Mike’s face, Ness quickly jumped in to do some damage control, though it might've already been too late depending on whether or not Mike could see the redness in his face. "I didn't know I had a brother."

Mike chuckled under his breath. His eyes flitted to the door, glancing out the narrow window. "You don't think I'll get in trouble, do you?"

"You should probably get out of here before you blow your cover."

Mike stood up and placed the Macy's bag in the chair, safe from being stepped on or otherwise shattered all over again. His hands dug into the pockets of his jacket. "Is there anything else?”

Ness raised his eyebrows, unable to understand the question.

Mike let out a long exhale as he gazed around the room. His head rolled back to look at Ness with bored eyes. “Do you need anything?”

"Uh. . .” Ness wanted to kick himself for even thinking about taking advantage of the offer, but he knew he was in no position to decline. "Yes, actually. I need a ride. I left my car at the mall- but, I mean, it's not like I would be able to drive it in the first place," Ness continued rattling on and on. He couldn't help it. His nerves kicked into high gear, and the words kept coming.

"Sure,” Mike's answer was as sudden as it was blunt, “No problem." 

Ness had to force his mouth shut to cut off the rest of the word vomit. He would have hesitated before gladly getting in a car with a stranger, but this was different. This technically wasn't a stranger anymore. This was Mike. Besides, even if he was a serial killer, Ness was short on options.

_____________________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER >>>

MASTER POST

If you don’t want to wait on updates of the revision on this blog, you can binge the original on Ao3 or wattpad ;)

[academyofbrokenhearts]

Of Nightmares and Late Night Encounters

Kaya has a nightmare and Suna wakes him up. The rest, as they say, is history. One-shot.

My brain came up with this scene late at night on Christmas Eve, when I was trying to fall asleep, and it (obviously) didn't leave me alone until I actually wrote the entire thing. As mentioned in the tags, I have no idea how KaySun will evolve in canon, so I don't know how (or if) what I wrote here will fit in with the show. But whatever. This fandom deserves nice things.

AO3 link here.

Suna had been a light sleeper for most of her life.

It was like her subconscious was finely tuned in to catch even the smallest sign of something not being right in her environment. As a child, she would always wake up and reach out to Seyran whenever her sister had nightmares, her touch and whispered words always more than enough to soothe her and return her to a calm sleep. If she couldn't protect Seyran from the regular horrors of the day, she could at least protect her from the horrors that were haunting her sleep - which, Suna suspected, were the same anyway.

She had kept the habit of waking up at least once per night as an adult, even after Seyran had married and left her proximity, never truly being able to enjoy an uninterrupted night of sleep, always on edge.

She had enjoyed a change in her sleeping pattern only since marrying Kaya. Having him around during the night was comfortable in a way she hadn't expected. Kaya was keeping to himself for the most part, and, outside of the moments when they were being intimate, was extra careful to not cross into her personal space, putting a respectful distance between the two of them. He was also an exceptionally calm sleeper, not moving much during the night; he would fall asleep on his belly, hugging a pillow, and Suna suspected that's how he would usually wake up as well, although, thanks to her newfound ability to sleep without interruption during the night, she hadn't yet had the chance to wake up before him to test her theory.

So when she unexpectedly wakes up during what appeared to initially be just another regular night, she knows something is amiss.

With her mind still slightly foggy, she looks next to her, at Kaya who's still asleep (on his back, she quickly takes note), and at first cannot quite believe her eyes, but sure enough, she has seen a similar picture many times before. Kaya's breath is accelerated, his fingers clutching the sheet, the pillow on the floor, away from his grasp, and yeah, all signs point out to him having a nightmare.

A heartbeat passes, and she's not quite sure what she should do - if she should do anything at all. But then a brief pained moan escapes his lips, so her need to soothe takes over, and she reaches out to him, touches his forehead gently with her palm.

He wakes up with a shudder, and Suna almost backs off, but his eyes quickly focus on her, and he catches her hand with his before she can completely withdraw it.

"Suna," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," Suna whispers back, not exactly knowing what to say. "It looked like you were having a nightmare."

He swallows once, twice. "Yeah, I think I was," he says, no longer looking at her. "Did I bother you?"

He looks uncomfortable, and Suna remembers his reaction the morning after he had fallen asleep crying in her arms. At the time, she had thought he was being distant to punish her, but looking at him now, she realises it was probably also because he didn't like showing his hidden vulnerability.

"Don't worry about that," she replies. "I'm a light sleeper normally."

His features relax a bit, and he turns on his side to look at her, his hand still on hers. "Sorry anyway," he says. "I don't know why, but I don't seem to sleep well on my back."

A pause, then he adds:

"But I didn't know you're a light sleeper. It's a bit surprising."

"I used to be a light sleeper, at least," Suna amends, and for a moment she thinks whether it's okay to share this with him or not, but they did promise to be honest with each other, and she doesn't see what harm it could bring. So she adds: "It seems like I sleep better with you around."

His gaze becomes pensive, and he studies her for a while, without saying a word, his hand moving slightly over hers in touches just as gentle as her own touch on his forehead earlier. Suna feels her cheeks reddening slightly, but holds his gaze, waiting.

He eventually speaks again:

"Suna, is it okay if I hold you for a while?"

And she doesn't know what pushes her to say it. Maybe it's the fact that it's late at night, maybe it's the constant gentleness he treats her with, his great care around her, the respect regarding her boundaries, the way he looks in semidarkness, eyes on her. Maybe all of those at once.

But she says it.

"You can do much more than hold me. If you want."

He doesn't say a thing, but, before she can even start to second guess herself, his lips are on hers, and his kiss is hot and heavy.

*

Even with all her lack of experience and general shyness in intimate situations, Suna doesn't think Kaya realised that she was technically a virgin during their first night together.

Because he took so much time, touching her intently, pausing to ask her whether it felt good, encouraging her initially timid touches as well, that by the time he entered her, she was so relaxed that it didn't hurt, and she never bled.

He never quite asked her what happened in her first marriage; he probably suspects she was assaulted, but never asked for any details, and that's something she's quietly grateful for. She doesn't think she can share with anyone the sort of humiliation she was made to endure. Not even with him; not yet, anyway. She doesn't know why, but she feels deep in her core that he wouldn't judge her.

She's not used to ask for what she wants; she was always in the background of her own life, never being able to oppose whatever bad things would happen to her at any given moment.

There's nothing bad about this, though, nothing bad about the way his arms hold her, nothing bad about his lips on her throat, nothing bad about his whisper in her ear "you can stop me if I become too rough", nothing bad about his hands on her bare skin.

He's indeed less gentle than the previous times they did it, his hands wandering around more freely, his touch a bit more insistent, his whispers more commanding: "tell me how to do it, tell me how you like it", words that would normally make her blush in any other situation, but not here, not with him.

She feels him deep inside of her, intensity building up to the point that she can barely hold herself together, and it's frightening, but also exhilarating. "Let go," he murmurs, "let go, let go, I won't be able to last long either", and that's what finally sends her over the edge.

*

When she returns from the bathroom, she expects to see him already clothed, as it usually happens after their intimate encounters. But he lays between the sheets in the same position he was when she left, and, as far as she can see, he's still naked.

She pauses for a bit, then, almost without realising, slips out of her robe and lets it fall to the ground before climbing back into bed.

He reacts immediately, moving towards her, hands touching her tenderly. "Is it okay like this? Sorry, I didn't really feel like moving, but I can-" and then he pauses, and she knows he realised she's also naked behind the sheets.

"It's okay," she smiles. "It's comfortable."

His head moves towards her shoulder, his body almost completely covering hers, and Suna holds him gently, her fingers playing with his hair. She feels him from head to toe, a pleasant warm weight on top of her.

It's beautiful. It's scary.

She thinks she knows what love is, but she doesn't quite know how to define this, whatever it is that's between them. She just knows she doesn't want it to end.

"Suna," she hears him speaking. "Will you hold me like this for a bit longer?"

And so she gives the only answer that wouldn't sound like a lie: "Always."

*

He's still asleep when she wakes up in the morning.

[misericordia-writing]

First Meet

“Honestly, sweets, I can’t believe the lack of hospitality you’ve displayed to me tonight. Is that any way to treat your biggest fan?” He huffs, clicking his tongue. “And to think, I was just trying to make sure you were safe. Don’t you know? There’s a killer on the loose, babe.”

Chapter 3 of Matchbook

Pairings: Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | The Ghost Face/Gender-Neutral Reader

Word Count: 400

Summary: Reader's 'first' encounter with the Ghost Face. ~1.7k words.

TW for canon-typical violence, threats of murder, descriptions of murder

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45585013/chapters/114940360

       The breath catches in your throat, and you feel like the wind has been knocked out of you with the force of a hurricane. Elevated from a normal panic attack, you are frozen. The tightening muscles in your legs are telling you to run until they give out, coiled so tight you fear they might snap if you don’t move, but your brain is pulling you to stand tensely in your spot, feet firmly planted- you can barely process the sight before you, eyes still foggy and blurred with sleep.

        The specter sits before you, one hand loosely holding a glass of water, and the other lazily folding a newspaper. As if you’d interrupted his morning coffee or something. One leg crossed over the other, a faint smattering of blood splattered over his ivory mask, rain dripping from his clothes.

        Thunder roars outside, and you hear the taps of precipitation knocking at your windows and roof- aside from the ajar one at the end of the hallway, blowing in your curtains with a frantic breeze, as if its open, screaming mouth is warning you of the predator in your midst.

        You’ve seen him before, in security photos pasted onto every single newspaper and channel across the country, and especially, across your small town. Bile rises in your throat as you recall the details of his killings- corpses mutilated and defiled, intestines and spleens scattered across rugs. Taunting notes written in blood or ballpoint. You’ve seen things others haven’t, autopsy pictures, crime scene photos - perks (debatably) of dating a reporter, you suppose.

        You snap out of it, unlocking from your momentary trance of horror-stricken eye contact with the figure. You bolt to the front door, desperately wiggling at the deadbolt (which really was supposed to do a better job at keeping things like this from happening.) You scream out for help, raggedly, hoping that a neighbor might hear you and call the cops.

        Before you can get the second plea out, a body crashes against yours with a thump, and you feel your ribs flare up with pain as a hand grips over your mouth.

        “Shut up,” He hisses, “Shut up, or I’ll rip your tongue out!” The man brandishes a knife to your throat, the blade gleaming and flecked with deep mahogany- looking eager itself to make the threat a promise.

        You can feel the rumble of his chest behind you, every wire in both of your bodies fraught with tension and ready to strike. You freeze like a rat, clasped deep in the jaws of a snake, though its fangs haven’t quite penetrated into you yet, delivering a final dosage of venom. You distantly think of Jed, and are glad he isn’t here. You don’t want him to die, too.

        Hot tears stream down your face, onto rough black gloves, and you nod violently, eyes squeezed shut with fear, pain, and defeat.

        He drags you back, shoving you down onto the kitchen floor. “Stay. And don’t go screaming your head off again, or I’ll chop it off.” He holds his knife up in the air, imitating a crude gesture of hand-guillotining you, and you sit there in pure terror, eyes wide and hair completely disheveled. He sighs, shaking his head, circling around you like a shark.

        “Honestly, sweets, I can’t believe the lack of hospitality you’ve displayed to me tonight. Is that any way to treat your biggest fan?” He huffs, clicking his tongue. “And to think, I was just trying to make sure you were safe. Don’t you know? There’s a killer on the loose, babe.” His voice is crackly with modification, words sounding like they are coming through landline.

        You quiver, sniffling up at him, afraid to speak and say something that angers him, but you’re overwhelmingly confused. “What?”

        “Oh, I’ve been watching you for months. I know where you work, where you live- obviously… What time you go to bed, what you order at that restaurant by the park, your hometown… Pretty much everything. I probably know you better than you do yourself.” He says cheekily, and you can almost feel his expression from behind that mask, as he puts a hand on his hip.

        Your eyes dart around, hardly listening to him, trying to identify a way out. You glare up at him, mustering your toughest façade. “Are you going to kill me?”

        “Kill you?” He says, planting his hand on his chest, clutching an invisible string of pearls like an aghast southern belle. “Of course not. At least buy me some dinner first, before you start getting all intimate. Forward much?” He tsks, crouching down in front of you.

        “I’ll admit, I’ve been entertaining the idea, especially with that attitude you’ve caught,” He growls out, before returning to a normal cadence. “But I’d like us to get to know each other first, wouldn’t you agree? Why rush to the main course? I’ve got time to waste. The better you behave-“ He says, emphasizing it with a grab and pull to your hair, yanking your head around with a steely grip, delighting in watching the way tears well up in your already puffy eyes, “The longer you live. Unless, of course, I get bored.”

        He releases you, drawing in close to your face, like he is about to let you in on a secret. “You see, I was just getting back from a little rendezvous with a nice lady… Works- or, worked,” He corrects, “For a law firm, two kids, slacker husband. Well, the kids were at their aunt’s house up north for the weekend, and so I took the opportunity.” He imitates a creeping motion, “Went right in there, and-“ He slams his fist into his hand- “BAM! Waited until right after she sprung the divorce papers on him. Then I divorced them both… each and every limb.”         You shake, crying out, gut twisting with disgust. He laughs, a wicked, wretched thing, and stands back up, wiping a tear from the empty black abyss of the mask’s eyes. You curse him with anguish. “How could you do that? They have kids!” You grab your face, pulling down. “Those poor children will grow up without a mother! Do you know what that’s like?” You stand up, balling your hands into fists, leaning down to the kitchen counter and cradling your head in your hands. “You’re a terrible person!” You say, glaring up at him.

        He stands there, posture unreadable, before tapping his hands on the table, moving to pick up the newspaper. You stare, quizzically, as he folds it open and begins to read. “’Ghost Face, Caught on Tape- In this footage, a dark figure is seen entering a house late at night… Lock your doors: a Killer is in our midst, roaming freely, like a ghost in the night…’” He trails off, chuckling.

        “Your boyfriend must have had a word count to meet, huh? But hey, I couldn’t have put it better myself. ‘Ghost in the night’… So poetic.” He imitates a swoon, fanning himself with the paper. “You think he’s got the hots for me? Seems like he spends more time thinking about me than he does you.”

        You tremor, knitting your brows. He starts, “As a matter of fact, I’ve been meaning to pay old Jed a visit. What should I bring? Is he more of a wine or liquor person? Seems like a wine guy…” He taps his knife at the bottom of his mask, in pseudo-pondering. “How would he feel if the articles were about him? I could make him the next headline- ‘Overzealous Pain-In-The-Ass Reporter gets his Guts Rearranged by the Roseville Ghost in Stunning Live-Action Game of Operation’?”

        No!” You say, a cold sweat breaking out. “Don’t! Please, I’ll do anything! He’s an innocent person!” You’re so angry, fuming, but it’s overtaken by a helplessness. You can’t physically overpower him, you can’t mentally overpower him- all you can do is beg, like a broken prayer.

        “Relax, I’m still in the planning phase. I’ve barely even began to draft the two of your stories… So hang loose,” He says, mocking you with the carefree hand gesture in the face of the most tragic encounter in your life.

        “You’re sick,” you say, shoulders tense. He swoops in, suddenly, backing you against the counter, trapping you. He laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t put yourself above it, sweetheart. I’ve seen the way you can be sometimes. You act like you’re incapable of it…” He leans in further, the mask pressed against your ear. “But I bet you’d secretly like to try it, wouldn’t you? Just once?”

        You try and push him off, appalled. “No, I’d never. I’m not… I’m not like you! I would only kill people who really deserve it, and only if I had to! Not random people, and certainly not just for fun!” You knit your brows and struggle in his grip.

        “Sure,” he says, twirling his knife and backing up. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, doll.” You immediately move to the other side of the kitchen, staring at him quietly. He stares back, before tilting his head.

        “Well,” he sighs, “I’d best be on my way. Places to go, people to meet, things to see. I’m a busy guy.” He stalks towards you, and you flinch back, but stay put. He draws a hand into and out of his cloak, placing a small square into your hand. You look up at him, puzzled, but unmoving.

        “A token of my affection,” He says, before silently making his exit, slipping out the window.

        The thunder has stopped, and the rain is reduced to the occasional mist. You hurriedly shut and lock the window, then make your way around the apartment, double checking every single one, drawing blinds.

        You sit down at the table, looking at the little flat shape wrapped in brown paper. You don’t want to open it, but curiosity gets the better of you. You hastily unwrap it, and almost seconds later, find yourself running to the trash can to vomit.

[baki-tiene-un-simp]

Hi,i know that i literlly made an ask minutes ago but i also wanted to request some other hc involving the prior hc that i just made, those hc where the S/O doesn't make it and dies with musashi and mumon but instead of coming back as a spirit they reicarnate in another realm for example like retsu did in his isekai but they reicarnate in another being that isn't human like a fairy or an angel or even some sort of paranormal entety in that realm and they have some foggy memories of musashi/mumon but they try to and they end up starting to have flashbacks of themselfs with them and they go on a journey to go back to the human realm and do it but they fear that musashi/mumon would find them disgusting or have moved on so they kind of like protect/haunt them to make sure they are ok and slowly reintroduce themselfs, i also wanted to know how they would react with their return (by the way this is all after like 2 years on the human realm wich equats to like 20 years on the other realm but the S/O is imortal and has cool powers) and if they would accepr them back as their companion and would start over or continue and what would change.

Sorry that this ask is so long but i had some sort of creativity boost at liek 5:00 A.M and i can't sleep so... sorry if i told any spoiler about retsu's isekai but that is the best example i can get.

I hope that everything is ok with you and that you have a good day and sleep well, because i can't sleep.

Here are some kisses and bear hugs

I'm not really sure how to develop this without having to properly personify and describe the S/O when we want to know what Mumon and Musashi think, but I tried my best to keep it neutral.

Situation: S/O's Isekai? / Isakai del S/O.

Characters: Mumon Katsuragi and Musashi Miyamoto.

Mumon Katsuragi.

He is restless, that feeling of being watched persists even when he is in the company of others. At first he thought it was his brain's way of processing his grief; he thought that feeling a little paranoid was typical for people who were grieving.

But he just didn't feel human the way he was watching, he wasn't watched by a normal person. It was a heavy and embracing feeling, like a person with overwhelming power.

He is more likely to use amulets to ward off spirits or ghosts, he is exactly that kind of person. He feels a little calmer, but it doesn't last too long.

At first he assumed he was dreaming, it was simply the smartest thing to do in his situation, in the middle of the night a creature materialized next to his bed. His body was bathed in an ethereal light that glowed a luminous gold, giving them an angelic and inhuman appearance that captivated him. Their features were simply familiar, but the sleepy haze that filled his senses made it impossible to recognize that face.

It wasn't until you smiled and leaned in to whisper soft words in his ear that he was able to recognize you, he didn't consider that it was your new identity as an elf, but that you were still just as beautiful as when you left his side.

He wasn't sure if you were a dream or not, but he didn't want to bother corroborating that, he had missed you so much and he would finally be able to see you once again.

The next morning he woke up and almost had a heart attack when he saw you sitting on his couch. Before getting out of bed, he was convinced that it had been a dream.

He is very curious, he wants to know how, why and when you were able to return. He's asking a lot of questions as he holds your hand, he just wants to make sure you're not going anywhere.

I miss you so much, he'll probably be stuck with you for a while, he needs to catch up with your presence again. He's happy.

He likes your new form, it's interesting and very cute, but he still feels a little nostalgic for the person you were before. Technically, the person in front of him is you, and you still have recognizable characteristics, but he still misses seeing your previous version.

He's just in love with you, a lot.

Musashi Miyamoto.

Musashi is strangely distraught lately, something really strange. He felt watched all the time. He could sense something non-human following him everywhere, a dangerously powerful entity that wouldn't leave him alone, but they wouldn't reveal themselves either.

His constant state of wakefulness made him hyperaware of everything around him, he hated the idea of not knowing where the threat was coming from, because it seemed to come from everywhere. All the time.

His desperation reached the point of making him enter a forest in the middle of the night, 3 am, exactly.

He is summoning this mysterious entity to fight him, to come get what they wants and to stop chasing him. His katana drawn and ready to attack whatever moved.

The breeze blows coldly over his skin, Musashi could attribute the shiver that ran through him to the cold of the early morning and not to the figure that materialized in front of his eyes when he decided to blink. It was a figure dressed in a black kimono with gold details, elegant over the zori, offsetting the misaligned obi that camouflaged itself with the anthropomorphic parts that grew from its lower back, two types of fluffy tails that almost looked like a fan from its position.

Miyamoto's hands tightened on the handle of his weapon as the masked creature moved their hand to stop any of his actions, silently asking him not to rush to attack them, he obeyed their request. Mysteriously.

It was not until the entity removed the mask from their face that he was able to observe a more human and comfortable feature for him. His S/O. His posture remained even when his S/O approached, Kitsunes are famous for being mischievous and somewhat malicious, wouldn't this be some kind of joke? That thought faltered in his mind when he saw your smile, it was definitely the same as before.

He's surprised, plus he's overly respectful of you, something about honoring who you are now. He still hesitates a little when you ask him to sit next to you.

He's happy to see you again and doesn't really want an explanation, I mean, he doesn't ask for one. You are a powerful spirit now, plus you make a feeling of respect and admiration grow in him, typical of Japanese folklore and those who know. That's all for him.

He uses very big terms and honorifics on you, it will take him a while to erase the image of mythical respect he has of who you are now.

But you are here, after all, with him. That's more than enough now.

Versión en Español.

Mumon Katsuragi.

Él está inquieto, esa sensación de ser observado persiste aun cuando está en compañía de otros. Al principio pensó que era la forma en que su cerebro procesaba su luto, creyó que sentirse un poco paranoico era algo típico para las personas que guardaban luto.

Pero simplemente no se sentía humana la forma en que era observado, no era observado por una persona normal. Era un sentimiento pesado y abrazador, como de una persona con un poder abrumador.

Es más propenso a usar amuletos para ahuyentar espíritus o fantasmas, él es exactamente esa clase de persona. Se siente un poco más tranquilo, pero no dura demasiado tiempo.

Al principio supuso que estaba soñando, era simplemente lo más inteligente en su situación, en mitad de la noche una criatura se materializó junto a su cama. Su cuerpo estaba bañada de una luz etérea que resplandecía en un dorado luminoso, dándole una apariencia angelical e inhumana que lo cautivo. Sus facciones eran simplemente familiares, pero la bruma soñolienta que inundaba sus sentidos hacía que fuera imposible reconocer aquel rostro.

No fue hasta que sonreíste y te inclinaste para susurrar suaves palabras en su oído que pudo reconocerte, no consideraba que se trataba de tu nueva identidad como elfo, sino que seguías siendo igual de hermoso que cuando te fuiste de su lado.

No estaba seguro de si eras un sueño o no, pero no quiso molestarse en corroborar eso, te había extrañado tanto y por fin podría verte una vez más.

A la mañana siguiente despertó y casi se infarta cuando te vio sentado en su sofá, antes de levantarse de la cama se convenció de que habías sido un sueño.

Es muy curioso, quiere saber como, por qué y cuando pudiste regresar. Está haciendo muchas preguntas mientras toma tu mano, solo quiere asegurarse de que no iras a ningún lado.

Te extraño mucho, probablemente se quede pegado a ti durante un buen rato, necesita ponerse al día con tu presencia otra vez. Está feliz.

Tu nueva forma le gusta, es interesante y muy linda, pero aún se siente un poco nostálgico por la persona que eras antes. Técnicamente, quien está frente a él eres tú y aun conservas características reconocibles, pero aún extraña ver a tu versión anterior.

Él simplemente está enamorado de ti, mucho.

Musashi Miyamoto.

Musashi está extrañamente angustiado, últimamente, algo realmente extraño. Se sentía observado todo el tiempo. Podía sentir algo no humano siguiéndolo a todas partes, una entidad peligrosamente poderosa que no le dejaba solo, pero tampoco se revelaba.

Su estado de vigilia constante lo hizo hiperconsciente de todo su alrededor, odiaba la idea de no saber de donde venía la amenaza, porque parecía venir de todos lados. Todo el tiempo.

Su desesperación llegó hasta el punto de hacerlo adentrarse en un bosque a mitad de la noche, 3 am, exactamente.

Está convocando a esta misteriosa entidad para que pelee contra él, que venga a buscar lo que quiere y que deje de perseguirle. Su catana desenvainada y preparada para atacar a lo que sea que se moviera.

"La brisa sopla fríamente sobre su piel, Musashi podría atribuir el escalofrío que le recorrió al frío de la madrugada y no a la figura que se materializó frente a sus ojos cuando decidió parpadear. Era una figura vestida con un kimono negro con detalles dorados, elegante sobre las zori, contrarrestando el obi desalineado que se camuflajea con las partes antropomórficas que nacían de su espalda baja, dos pareces de colas de esponjosas que casi lucían como un abanico desde su posición.

Las manos de Miyamoto se apretaron sobre el mango de su arma cuando la criatura enmascarada movió su mano para detener cualquiera de sus acciones, pidiéndole silenciosamente que no se apresurara a atacarle, él obedeció su petición. Misteriosamente.

No fue hasta que la entidad retiro la máscara de su rostro que pudo observar un rasgo más humano y más confortable para él. Su difunto S/O. Su postura se mantuvo aun cuando su S/O se acercó, los Kitsunes son famosos por ser traviesos y algo maliciosos, ¿no sería esta alguna broma? Ese pensamiento flaqueó en su mente cuando vio tu sonrisa, definitivamente, era la misma de antes."

Está sorprendido, además de que se muestra demasiado respetuosos contigo, algo sobre honrar lo que eres ahora. Aún duda un poco cuando le pides que se siente a tu lado.

Está feliz de volver a verte y realmente no quiere una explicación, digo, no pregunta por una. Eres un espíritu poderoso ahora, además de que haces que un sentimiento de respeto y admiración crezca en él, propio del folclor japonés y del que sabe. Eso es todo para él.

Usa términos y honoríficos muy grandes contigo, le tomará un tiempo borrar la imagen de respeto mítico que tiene de lo que eres ahora.

Pero estás aquí, a fin de cuentas, con él. Eso es más que suficiente ahora.

[sneezydarliing]

My piece for the 2023 snalintines exchange for @selfindulgentsuffering ! Hope you enjoy, and a huge thanks to everyone in the server for putting this together. 

Starve a cold, feed a fever

word count; 1,584

It begins the night before. 

The second Alhaitham opens his eyes he's thrown forward, sent into a coughing fit so harsh that he knows smothering his mouth with the blanket won't do anything against alerting his probably still-awake roomate. By the time he’s able to catch his breath, His door is already being opened, and he’s greeted with Kaveh rushing towards him, a worried expression on his face.  

“Love? You okay?” His roomate holds out a cup of water, and as Alhaitham takes it silently he can’t help but recognize the sweater hanging loosely off of the other’s frame. He eyes it, then returns his gaze to Kaveh, who huffs. “It was all I could find, okay? Jeez, come in here all worried and all you can do is be grumpy.” He walks out, continuing to mumble to himself about “being ungrateful” and how he’ll never come check on him again even though they both know better. 

The silence is welcomed. Alhaitham can feel an uncomfortable pressure beginning to build in his skull, and sweat prickles the back of his neck even though he feels fine temperature-wise. But surely it’s nothing. Sumeru’s grand scribe does not get sick. He returns to sleep with this thought in mind, brushing off what is easily a half hour of tossing and turning, occasionally muffling more coughs into his blankets. 

It gets worse in the morning. This discomfort has switched to a painful throbbing, and every move sends his head spinning. He essentially stumbles into the main room, where his roommate is currently making himself breakfast, humming idly along to some song that must have been on the radio. He was still wearing his shirt. The sound of Alhaitham’s fumbling brings him back to earth, and he looks up with an irritated expression, squabble not forgotten. 

“You look great this morning.” His tone is heavy with sarcasm, and Al Haitham scowls. “And you probably slept better than me. Your tossing and turning kept me up-” “hHI-Chht!” Kaveh freezes, interrupted from his angry rambling. “Archons bless you.” The saying is an unconscious habit, coming out of his mouth before he can even think of it. As Al-haithan sniffles wetly, he stops and looks at him a little closer. 

“Are you sick?” The frown on Alhaitham’s face deepens. He storms to the coffee table, grabbing his set of keys, and quickly slips on his shoes. He’s almost out the door before Kaveh gets an actual response in the form of a gravely “No.” He gets the ingredients for soup out anyway, huffing to himself. 

       As Alhaitham walks to the Akademiya, part of him regrets leaving at all. Every noise sends a jolt of pain through his head, his throat has begun to feel like gravel, and the first sneeze seemed to have set off some sort of chain reaction, because now he can't go five minutes without another one. There is no other way to put it, he was miserable. 

   It must have shown. Younger students looked at him with mingled concern and curiosity, and he heard whispers about how people should "try to leave him alone today." By the time he got to his office, he was exhausted. 

   Work ticks by at an excruciatingly slow rate, yet he can barely get anything done. It takes easily 5 times of reading anything for it to cut through the fogginess of his brain, and he finds himself spending more time with his head against the desk to help soothe his headache than doing anything else. Every conversation he tries to have ends in a coughing fit, and at some point people stop coming in at all. The rumor of the Grand Scribe's illness must have spread. 

Eventually, he decides to go into the library. Nothing will get done regardless, so he might as well pass the time somehow. Browsing the shelfs, searching for one of the few titles he had yet to read, left him putting how awful he felt to the back of his mind for a moment, able to focus on the moment, at least until the sneezing returned. 

Perhaps it was the dust. Many of the books had lived more than double his lifetime, and the careful tending of them could only do so much. Either way, it was exhausting. He flips a page. "hI’tsCHht-uh! nGt!." Wipes the irritated tears from his eyes, tries to continue, but the cycle seems persistent on repeating. 

"hiDt-CHt!" a stranger offers a blessing. Others glare. He still can't find himself absorbing anything on the page, and it's too hot in the room even though everyone else in there is bundled up. He swallows, trying not to wince at the pain. 6 more hours until he can leave. 

At some point, he returns to his office in a haze. The lack of staring eyes brings him some comfort, but he's reminded more of the work that needs to be done. The papers pile up on his desk, and it seems he can barely go any time without somebody bringing in more. Until somebody hesitates. 

They avert their eyes, fidgeting nervously. Alhaitham resists the urge to tell them to spit it out so he can go back to resting his head on the table. Finally, they speak.  "Are you feeling alright, sir?" He bites back a snappy response. 

"I'm fine." He croaks out, voice sounding much worse than he remembers. The sudden intake of air sends him muffling coughs into his sleeve as the younger student stands awkwardly, clearly unconvinced. 

"Uhm, maybe it'd be best to head home?" Their tone is sheepish and well meaning, but Alhaitham still wants to point out the mounds of work that needs to get done. He resorts to glaring. The student doesn't budge. "Who sent you here?" He asks, running his hands down his face, somehow even more exhausted. 

"Kaveh did. He said not to leave until you go home, sir." He sighs deeper than he knew he was able to. He silently weighs his options. No work will get done either way at this rate, and returning home does sound nice. Maybe he'll let Kaveh win. Just this once. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll leave." The student smiles, clearly satisfied. "I hope you feel better soon, sir." The words are lost to Alhaitham, though, as he suddenly finds himself gasping, head tilted. 

"nGt! hiDt-SHhih! "Archons bless you!" He can't help but groan a little as he stands, the world spinning around him, and he's left gripping the table for support. The walk home continues in the same fashion, stumbling around at a snail's pace until he's unlocking the door, met with the back of his roommate's head in the kitchen. 

"tSCHh’uh!" He sighs, pawing at his nose. Kaveh jumps slightly, apparently startled out of some focus. "You're home early." He comments as he turns to face him, revealing a cutting board strewn with vegetables. Bastard, Alhaitham thinks. But he decides to play along. 

"I got sent home." He explains half heartedly, flopping onto the couch. "Well, no wonder. You look awful." Alhaitham can't muster up anything to say in retort, so he just brings up a hand to block the light from his eyes. He can almost feel Kaveh's disapproving look. 

"Go rest in your room. I'll bring you some medicine." Alhaitham doesn’t bother to respond. His nose itches. "What hurts? I can call the doctor over to check you out." He shakes his head. Falling asleep here sounds pleasant enough, but Kaveh will surely shoo him out. "C'mon, go to your own room. It'll be more comfortable.. I can't drag you myself." 

"hI’tsCHhi!" Kaveh sighs. "Archons bless you. Need a tissue?" He shakes his head, sniffling. He can hear his roomate huff in exasperation as he approaches, and is suddenly hauled to his feet. He opens his mouth to protest, but he freezes at the hand on his forehead. He finds himself lost in Kaveh's expression, the way his frown deepens into an almost-pout, like it does when he's stuck on work. 

"You have a fever." Alhaitham hums again. He's led by his arm to his own bedroom, barely noticing as Kaveh removes his ear pieces, too focused on the way he hums, the way he runs a hand through his hair as he searches for something- pajamas, probably. Alhaitham sneezes again, and Kaveh blesses him again. Eventually, he seems to find what he's looking for, handing Al Haitham clothes. He just takes them, not even having the energy to change. 

Kaveh makes a noise of agitation, but Alhaitham feels as he carefully undresses him. "It's no wonder you're ill, sleeping in these thin clothes all the time." He can't help but feel a bit bad, so he sloppily gets to work on his pants, putting the new clothes on himself. He looks up once he's done, and Kaveh gives him a satisfied look that quickly switches to sternness. 

"I'm gonna go buy some medicine, so don't you dare move." He nods, punctuated by a quiet sniffle. He hardly notices when his roomate leaves, leaning his head against the cold wall for comfort. And, once Kaveh returns, it is to that very sight, Alhaitham snoring quietly, mouth slightly agape. He resists the urge to laugh as he sets the bottle of medicine on the desk by the bed, moving his bangs to give him a gentle kiss. "Feel better, darling." He says as he closes the door, despite knowing Alhaitham won't hear it. He can't bring himself to mind. 

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Changes

Words: 4030

Summary: Steve Harrington has always dreamt about running away from Hawkins and his parents. Ever sense he could form his own thoughts, he has always wanted to travel the world in a beat up van with those he loved. Yet obvious circumstances stop him from leaving. Instead of being on a beach somewhere he is stuck in Hawkins, Indiana waiting for the world to end at any time. He loves all of his friends, but he has been missing a piece of himself for a long time. After taking the first steps of self discovery and putting down the crown, he realizes that he’s barely touched the surface of who Steve Harrington really is. Even if it means running away from home last minute, taking chances and using the flimsy excuse of a family emergency to get away from his friends for a while, he’s willing to do what it takes to make himself feel whole again. Make those thoughts finally disappear and maybe be more then what others has set his image to be.

Part : 1/?

Ao3 link

Note: I have the next few chapters planned out, but I don’t think this will be a terribly long fic. Five chapters is most likely max. But who knows I might like writing this so much that I add a few more. I just didn’t want to rush the process and not have Steve returning to Hawkins different hit the way I wanted it 😭

Steve runs a hand through his hair, water droplets falling down his forehead and down his nose. Watching each one move down his freckles through the reflection of the mirror. It wasn't uncommon for Steve to sleep in, honestly it was very common for him to sleep until nine am at the latest. Lately though, his body has been craving for a lot more sleep then what he can offer it. Flapping his hands a bit, spraying water around the small little bathroom of the diner moves himself out of the cramped space. Giving a tight smile to a older male that pushes his way through before he's heading back to his table. Moving, wiping his hands off his pants a little, fidgeting a bit before he plops himself into his designated spot next to Robin. Who was currently rambling about something, hands flying in the air as she leaned forward at the table in a chaotic manner. Matching Eddie, who was nearly standing on the opposite side of the booth from excitement. Steve isn't sure what part of the conversation he catches them in as his brain goes foggy again. The splash of cold water not grounding him into reality like normal. The feeling was annoying, and instead of catching either of his friends attentions he moves to start eating his food. Zoned out a bit as he planned out his day in a way that he could get a nap in. Maybe he was coming down with something?

For the last couple of months? Yeah no fucking way dude. There was something wrong with him and he wasn't sure what. Though he was physically good in health, maybe cutting back the amount of time going to gym was making him feel so ill. But that also didn't make any sense, he still felt the same icky feeling going to the gym, one of the reasons why he stopped going more then twice a week. He's chewing carefully on a strawberry when Robin playfully shoved him with a soft smile. Not showing concern, but looking curiously at him. Steve furrows his eyebrows as he swallows the fruit in his mouth. Letting a soft hum out, "Hm?" Licking his lips shortly after as he turns his head to glance over at Eddie who's properly kneeling on the booth seat, head cocked to the side a little bit. Trying to read him almost.

"Do you want the rest of my pancakes?" She asks gently. A common ritual between the two friends. Her eyes would be bigger then her stomach which left Steve swooping in and finishing what was left. He needed the calories anyway, constantly burning a decent amount on his morning jogs and in the gym. Though with the cut back of exercise he wasn't feeling all that hungry. That was the excuse he came up with as he shakes his head no, carefully licking some whip cream off from the top of his mouth.

"Nah, I'm find Robs." He responds with a hum. Watching the way she stops mid movement, holding the plate in her hand as if she was already on her way in moving it to put on Steve's. He chuckles gently, raising his eyebrow at how awkward she looks. Startled as well as she jokingly moves a hand forward and touches Steve's forward with the back of her palm.

"You feeling okay Dingus?" She asks softly. Not holding the plate for much longer as Eddie moves quickly scooping it from her hand. She doesn't bother looking over at the table, where Eddie was currently shoveling the food in as if he hadn't eaten a hamburger, a full plate of fries, and a strawberry milkshake with chocolate syrup mixed in a little bit. Steve had thought once the other wasn't on the run any more he would stop shoveling food into his face so fast that he nearly hit some of his fingers off. That, did not seem to be the case.

"Yeah, just started cutting back on how much I go to the gym." He admits, "so I'm not as hungry." He says softly. Watching Robin relax, the softness in her eyes grounding him better then the water in the bathroom. Her eyes crinkling a bit as she playfully pokes him lightly in the stomach.

"See, I told you so. Lady's dig the dad bods dude." She teases playfully. Causing Steve to laugh gently, shaking his head amused as Eddie starts to choke on a piece of fruit. Coughing a bit as he pulls back from hovering over the plate, any closer and his nose would have been touching the glass.

The day goes the same, for the most part. Steve drives to his shift at Family Video, sharing it with Robin like normal. Watches the neighborhood kids come in and leave after inspecting the shelf that held a , "new movies" sign above it with a life sized cut out of David Hasselhoff leaning against kit the talking car. It was a couple of years old, but it worked fine with getting the younger boys excited about the car. More desirable then having to move a life sized cut out of a girl in a bikini away from a drooler. He's fiddling a random rhythm on the counter as he tries figuring out what he has to do. Feeling a tad forgetful lately he frowns as he moves crouching down as he picks up a lollipop stick off the rug. Probably Robins wrong doing, scrunching his nose from disgust as he moves it likes it's the plague, to a trash can. Hearing the bell of the front door going off, following along with a very pissed off Dustin. Steve's lost as he swings himself over with the rolling chair.

"This is such bullshit Steve!"  Spit goes flying everywhere as Dustin has no control over his lisp. Voice Loud enough that it echos through the store catching Robins attention. Who had been opening new boxes of tapes. Behind Dustin is Max who looks agitated, Will Byers who looks confused and wants nothing to do with this conflict along with Mike Wheeler who's face is a light pink and looks like he's done something. What, Steve isn't sure. If they didn't all look like they were in one of the most serious situations in their life's Steve may have snorted and cracked a small comment to Dustin about "saying it not spraying it."  However the saying went.

"What is Henderson?" Steve asks slowly. Furrowing his eyebrows tiredly as he tries to catch onto what the other was talking about. He hadn't forgotten anything had he. But even if he had Dustin would not be this pissed. Mistakes happened, and most times Dustin made sure to ride his bike everywhere.

"You're parents!" Dustin spits out again. Steve's lost again, he hasn't heard anything from his Mother and Father in a couple of weeks. Doing god knows what in god knows where.

"What about my parents?" He asks confused. Moving his arms a bit as he looks concerned as well.

"Hellfire Club, or any club that doesn't fit a Christian like bubble can not and will not be allowed at Hawkins high because someone's parents refuse to donate money to the school if it's not a preppy Christian love nest!" Dustin says upset. And oh, that makes sense.

"But- I thought hellfire was banned already?" He asks confused.

"It was! But you don't understand, the only clubs that are allowed are all sport oriented." Dustin snaps.

"Ok—" Steve drawls out. "You can't create you're own—" before he can finish Dustin's snapping again.

"This is bullshit! Of course you would side with your parents, and here I thought you were on my side!" Dustin in clearly upset as he slams his hand on the counter. Normally Steve would be able to handle a out break like this, he understood he used to be a moody teenage boy himself. For the most part Dustin wasn't all the angry. He stands up startled, eyes glancing over at Max who says softly. Almost as if she was shy, moving her body around as she keeps her arms crossed around her self.

"They cut robotics club-" and oh. That made sense why Dustin was so pissed. He had been so close to creating a device where no matter how far away you were, it would use some form of connection to connect to another device. The purpose was to be able to tap on it, like Morse code almost. Which he somehow knew, along with his girlfriend Susie who would definitely appreciate the more private way of communicating instead of having a sibling eavesdropping. Though knowing this Steve was also a bit upset.

"Too far Henderson-" he says calmly, trying to get rid of the agitated part of his tone. Watching the way Henderson's shoulders deflate under the words. Meeting his eyes a bit. That mutual agreement they had months ago coming through, not once has Steve ever had to say to far to Dustin about something. Normally it was Steve who took the jokes to far sometime. Used to tough jocks his age who made fun of stuff like that, not a small teen boy who was obviously going to have some insecurities. "First off, I don't agree with my parents. Honestly, I didn't even know they were doing that. Haven't spoken to them in weeks, with the 'earth quakes' my phone line has been down, and I just got it fixed a few days ago. Plus, it’s not like my parents ask me for permission to do anything before they do it!" he rambles out. Most days he doesn’t even touch his phone, it was always through the radio that he contacted the group by.

"Second, I am sorry about your club. I'm sure that you brainiacs will figure out a way to steal the parts back and finish it up by yourselves. You've got a lot of it done. Third, no I am not on your side dude. I'm on all of your guys. Which includes the others not just you Henderson." Steve says waving his right hand loosely, leaving the other on his hip. Cocking said hip off to the side a little bit, his nose flaring a little as he hears Robin moving around in the back. His head was starting to kill him from all of the commotion, as he moves forward grumbling under his breathe as he pulls a ibuprofen out. Popping it in his mouth before swallowing and then sassily waving his hands for the kids to get out.

"Now scadadle. Start coming up with ideas for your own clubs, I'm sure you can create your own. Don't need money to just hang out with each other. Plus, I expect you to figure out a way in stealing what you started to  create Henderson." Steve says with a playful huff. Dustin his moving back a little as he nods his head eagerly. Much more calmer then what he been earlier. Now he looked like he had a part of a plan formed in his head as he playfully bounces up and down walking backwards out of the store with the other goons following shortly behind as their voices start to mix and go over each other as ideas started to form.

"You okay Steve?" Robin asks curiously. Moving over to him, slightly hovering over him as he sits down on the chair. He looks up with a soft smile, feeling her hand laying on his shoulder where his neck met his shoulder. He moves his own hand placing it on top of her tinier in a comforting manner. As if he wasn't the one who needed it.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He smiles dimly, watching his friend relax before patting his shoulder absent mindlessly then walking away to go finish what she had started.

Thing is, Steve has always randomly gotten the urge to pack up and leave. Leave everything behind, start over, become someone new - someone that wasn't Steve Harrington. Son of two rich assholes who didn't have any real touch to reality. Become something more, be something more then the image his parents have created, no spray painted all over this town. Of course he's used to it but the thoughts are particularly hard to shut up tonight.

Has Steve really not changed at all?

Is he still like his parents?

What if everyone around him was better off without him?

Now, the last thought was a bit shocking. Steve wasn't suicidal, he just wanted to curl up somewhere and disappear for a while. He didn't want to die, but he didn't want to be living in a sense. He was exhausted, feeling his bones ache to just lay in bed for a while. Though he was tired, he couldn't fall asleep. It was the most annoying thing he's ever felt. He rubs a hand through his hair, runs a hand down his face. Sitting up when the reality of the situation hits him. He can start over, he can leave Hawkins behind, he can go off and start off fresh. The excitement fills every part of his body as he throws himself out of his bed, looking around the room as he realizes he can make his own room. Have something that was his own, just as long as he got out of this town. Just as fast as he makes the decision to leave, he is quick to shut it down. Running a hand through his hair. Stressed out by the thought of even leaving Robin and the kids behind.

Deflated of all hope he moves curling back into his bed. Deciding he would much rather live in misery, then conflict any hurt feelings on his friends. His rambling thoughts are non stop as he stays curled up, now on top of the comforter. Feeling the sun beaming through his window as he turns on his shoulder getting more excited about getting up and seeing Robin. Though slightly agitated that he had just spent the last eight hours laying in bed doing nothing. Hopping off the bed he moves, pulling his sweats off, then his shirt before scratching at the slight happy trail he had that connected to even more hair hidden behind his boxers. Moving his body at weird angles as he starts to get changed, tracing his v-line as he looks at the mirror. Slight scaring placed underneath his finger tips before he pushes himself out of his room, heading to the diner to meet Robin and Eddie for breakfast.

And today feels like yesterday, then feel the same as tomorrow. As he sat down next to Robin he felt like everything was moving around him so fast. Robin and Eddie’s voices drowning out in the back of his head. Eyes glossed over with exhaustion as he looks around the diner. Eyes stopping at the newspaper that had been pinned up on a board near the kitchen. Swallowing a bite of food he leaves his eyes trained there. Looking at the image of a town further away, that seemed to somehow be smaller then Hawkins. That seemed nice, Hawkins was pretty big for a rural town. In his head Steve realizes he’s daydreaming about leaving. About just disappearing, imagining everyone’s reactions. Knowing that not many people would care. Most likely only Robin and Dustin would be the only ones to notice his absence.

The slight shove against his side and his attention is back on Robin who’s not asking this time as she forces the last of her pancakes on his plate. Leaving a bit more for him then what she normally would, as if she was trying to make up for the day before. Steve smiles tiredly as he starts to eat. Staying silent as he glances over at Eddie. Who was a little disheveled this morning. Hair a mess, bags under his eyes as he rambles his thoughts out as well. Robin seemed a bit more tired then normal as well. “What’s got you two so tired?” He teases. Knowing his excuse, but it was rare for Robin and Eddie to have sleepless nights on the same night. It was more common for one to come in like a zombie and the other to be beaming until their roles were reversed. Steve would be the consistent one, always getting enough sleep. On occasion though he had his moments, like today.

“Oh, Eddie decided he wanted to throw a long ass session yesterday. Argyle, Jonathan, and I were all up until three am dealing with his bullshit.” Robin laughs gently. Steve looks amused, though his chest ached. Logically he knows he wouldn’t have been playing with them, but it still stung that he hadn’t been there when they were playing. He wouldn’t mind watching. And typically before every session he was invited to join anyway, to watch which he gladly accepted. Though there is no comment said about him not being invited, as if it was just common knowledge that he wasn’t accepted in the group.

“Oh?” He chuckles gently, running a hand through his hair as he lets the topic die. Letting Eddie take over, talking about some movie that was coming out. His brain wandering, not finishing his food as he steps out of the booth when it’s finally time to leave. Normally the minutes went by super fast, and he didn’t want to go. Today, he was bored out of his mind and couldn’t wait to head back home. Not having a shift today, maybe he could get a quick nap in. Waving at Robin, who would catch a ride with Eddie who would be passing the family video on his way home. Steve moves clicking himself in the car and rubs his eyes. He’s on a loose thread, and he felt like something was coming. Something that was just going to cut it in half and force him to have to do something he had no plans on doing.

And it does. When he gets a phone call from Keith, the store manager. Who’s trying to get him to come in on his day off. Wanting him to cover a shift, that someone else could easily cover. Steve was close to passing out, there was no way he was able to get behind the drivers wheel and drive like this. “Keith! Can you - dude I can’t come in right now!” He snaps. Running a hand down his face. This was really going to be his last straw. Something so small yet so big. The urge to run away was getting stronger, to escape from the real world. His exhaustion running deeper then just physically but also mentally. Before he can even think about what he was saying he spits it out. “Fuck dude! You know what, I quite. Don’t even bother calling me again, my uniforms already in my locker so I don’t even need to drop it off.” Steve snaps. Slamming the phone into its holder.

It felt amazing, the slight relief of not having something tying him down. The feeling was addictive as he sets his back against the wall. Sliding down dramatically as he feels tears forming in his eyes. Then the relief is gone and he’s overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with everything. Soon, he knows Robin will be calling him. Probably chewing him out about quitting the only stable job there was in Hawkins. His mind was making everything seem bigger then what it really was, anxiety eating away at his stomach as he tilts his head back. He felt like he was drowning, though just a few days ago he had been perfectly afloat. Fine really. Then something happened and he was being pulled down. Shuddering at the thought of a hand wrapping itself around his ankle and yanking him down he throws himself off from the cold floor. Rushing to go to his room.

Logic was gone, he needed to leave. Before this town dragged him down any further. Duffel bag on his bag, his movements and decisions are erratic and stupid. Any person staring and watching from a third persons view could see that. God even Steve could see that, but his brain was so wrapped around the feeling of being buried alive that he doesn’t even care. He wasn’t crying, but he wasn’t calm either. Pulling what he needed out, this was all last minute and he knew that the second he left Hawkins he would be stuck in shitty hotels and sleeping in his car for awhile. Though that sounded more exciting that sleeping in this empty house.

Moving to his closet next he pulls out what he needs, leaving everything else as is. There wasn’t much he needed here. Grabbing his walkie, hoping that where he went would be able to catch the station the kids were on. Moving to the bathroom packing soaps and his toothbrush. Careful not to let any of it explode in the bag. Moving out to his car tossing it in the trunk, before he’s moving back in grabbing any food that wouldn’t expire any time soon and didn’t need to be refrigerated. Though he was panicked, he was clear minded enough to think about cleaning the fridge out. Not much in there anyway. Running a hand through his hair he grabs his keys and takes one final look at the house. He could back out now. But that made him more upset then the thought of leaving Robin and everyone behind. Of course he left a small note, where he knew Robbie would find it. Though he’s sure that he would call when he got to a gas station. Coming up with an excuse about a family emergency.

Moving out side he realizes the thought of never returning to this ugly house didn’t phase him as much as he thought it would. Growing up he was convinced that he would be crying when he drove away from it for the last time. Instead none of those emotions were there. Instead his hands shook as he gripped onto the steering wheel. Looking forward, and not behind him as he pulls out. He shouldn’t be driving, with the lack of sleep he really shouldn’t. Though he needed to hold onto the walkie. Moving and grabbing it from the other seat he presses it hard on his right thigh. Letting the windows down, wind wipping his hair all over. He’s sure that this stunt would only last him a couple of weeks, he would be back in no time.

As the sun comes up, he slips his glasses on. Beaming excitedly as he turns the radio on. Letting whatever station that had been on last play. Heading off to god only knows where, with only what he got, a wallet with all of the money he’s saved up over the past couple of months and a bank account filled with hush money that has been yet to be touched. There was nothing but looking up from here. Letting the road take him where ever it wanted to, hours away from Hawkins. And when it was time for him to meet Robin and Eddie at the diner for their daily breakfast, he’s tempted to turn back. Hearing the panic in Robins voice through the speaker. Reminding himself that he would call later, he turns the thing off. Throwing it to the seat, hearing it thud to the car floor. Nothing but the woods and dirt roads surrounding him now as he finally fulfills his dream of running away.

With the time he had, he knew he was being stupid. Stupid got you killed. But kids his age were allowed to be stupid, so why wasn’t he allowed to be stupid. It wasn’t fair. He sighs as he sees a huge sign that read open. Moving and parking in the driveway, feeling and hearing his tires crunch against the rocks as he heads to eat in a entirely new diner, all by himself and alone for the first time in months.

And god, did it feel good.

Tag list; @whalesharksart @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steddie-as-they-go @justforthedead89 @kengwisi @anzelsilver @miss-wright

*note if you wanted to be added to tag list let me know, though again I don’t plan on this being more then a few parts and no more then 20-30k words because I’m also working on a bang fic lol*

[wizardofarles]

Lord, You Keep Me Crawling

Chapter Two: It’s Just A Little White Lie

Auguste’s flight home from Delfeur was delayed by forty-one hours due to a violent storm. Laurent tried very hard not to take it as a bad omen, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the dream he’d had the other day in class. It was always there, projected onto the back of his eyelids like a movie he couldn’t turn off. The only way to avoid it was to keep his eyes open.

So, Laurent hadn’t slept for more than a scattered few hours over the past two nights. And when he had, Auguste was waiting for him like an angry ghost haunting his dreams—yelling at him, choking him. A few times, the dream had ended with Laurent’s death. Once, with Auguste’s. Laurent was just grateful that his dreams had not been visited by Aimeric again.

Uncle’s voice pulled Laurent back to the present; to the back seat of the car where they both sat, while Uncle’s driver, Juerre, took them to the airport.

“You’re not wearing your earring,” he said.

Laurent’s hand shot up to his earlobe reflexively. “Oh, I—” didn’t want Auguste to see it. “I guess I forgot to put it in this morning. I didn’t sleep well.”

He shifted in his seat, trying to disperse his weight in a way that didn’t put too much pressure on the worst of his lingering bruises. He didn’t bother to hide his discomfort from Uncle—the humiliation was a necessary part of the punishment, or so he had been told.

“You know, Laurent,” Uncle said slowly, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal, “Auguste is an adult. He can take care of himself. As your legal guardian, my top priority is your well-being. If you don’t want him to stay with us, I can make other arrangements. He will understand.”

Laurent’s foggy brain took a moment to catch up. “What? No. Of course I want Auguste to stay with us.” Don’t I? He realized he was rubbing his neck and stopped.

“All right,” Uncle said, though he didn’t sound like he believed him. “I only brought it up because you are clearly distressed.”

“We haven’t seen him in over two years. Calling and Skyping with him aren’t the same.”

“Still, your level of anxiety worries me, Laurent. I am beginning to wonder if this is really what’s best for you.”

“I want to see Auguste, Uncle. Please. I’m sorry I worried you. I’m fine, really.” He tried a smile.

Uncle returned the smile, but he still didn’t seem convinced. He turned away from Laurent to look out his window into the gray haze. Laurent did the same on his side of the car. The heavy rain had lessened to a lazy drizzle, and the winds that had howled for the better part of two days had gone quiet. Laurent watched a raindrop trace a slow path down his window, consuming other little beads of water as it went.

The gentle hum and clicks of the car seemed to grow louder in the absence of conversation, until talking over them seemed like it would be a Herculean task. So, Laurent said nothing else, and neither did Uncle.

He thought about what he would say to Auguste. What he wanted to ask him. What answers he would give to the questions he imagined Auguste asking him.

By the time they arrived at the airport and climbed out of the car, Laurent had run through so many different versions of the reunion in his head that he felt like he had come back around to being totally unprepared. He was overthinking it, he knew that, but knowing it didn’t help him slow down his mind. In the end, Laurent decided that the safest course of action was to just copy everything Uncle did.

The airport lobby was crowded with friends and families waiting for their people to step off flights which had likely all been delayed about as long as Auguste’s. Their voices buzzed with anxiety and anticipation—a lot of people talking much louder and faster than they really needed to. The result was a wall of echoing sound that hit Laurent like a tidal wave the moment he stepped through the door.

Uncle didn’t seem affected by the noise or the close press of bodies, so Laurent pretended that he wasn’t either. He kept pace with Uncle as they maneuvered through the swarms of people, and he mimicked his confident posture as best he could.

They double checked the information for Auguste’s flight on the board, then made their way over to the seating area by the floor-to-ceiling windows to wait. A young couple saw Uncle’s clerical collar and gave up their seats as they approached, probably hoping to win themselves some brownie points with the man upstairs.

Laurent lowered himself gingerly into one of the freshly emptied chairs, shoved his earbuds into his ears, and let the somber tones of “White Lie” by the Lumineers wash over him.

As a kid, my hands were red.

When you asked me, I denied it.

Uncle sat beside him, pulled his reading glasses out of his breast pocket, and began scrolling through his emails on his phone. Juerre stood a bit away, scanning the room with his expressionless eyes.

But just as the song began to rise into its chorus, Laurent spotted a familiar face in the crowd. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled under his breath.

Towering over even most of the adults he passed, was Damianos, and he was heading Laurent’s way.

He tried not to panic. Uncle hadn’t noticed him yet, and it was possible that Damianos hadn’t even seen them and wasn’t walking straight toward them on purpose.

Damianos lifted his hand and waved.

“Fuck,” Laurent exhaled. He stared down at his phone, pretending he hadn’t seen.

And it’s just a little white lie.

If I was to blame, would you—

Then his earbuds flew out of his ears. Uncle held the wire. “Laurent,” he said cheerfully, “look who it is.”

“Father Laurent,” Damianos said with a big stupid grin on his big stupid face. The grin faltered when he nodded at Laurent. “Laurent.”

Laurent’s first thought was that Damianos looked handsome in his off-white sweater. He strangled that thought immediately and banished it to the deepest fires of hell where it belonged. Damianos looked presentable. He looked clean. It was a nice sweater, that was all. Probably cashmere.

“Ah, Damianos,” Uncle mirrored the big stupid grin, and he and the Akielon giant shook hands like old friends. Laurent rolled his eyes so hard he gave himself a headache.

Then Damianos smiled at Laurent, a bit lopsided and awkwardly. A dimple appeared on his left cheek. Laurent carefully kept his own face as still and emotionless as a stone, until Damianos’s smile fell into a scowl and he looked away, working his jaw like there was something unpleasant on his tongue.

An older woman appeared at Damianos’s side. She had dark hair and dark eyes, and her skin was darker than Damianos’s, but not by much more than a shade. Despite that, she didn’t actually share all that much of a resemblance with him. Her hair was straight where Damianos’s was curly. Her face was longer and thinner than his. The nose wasn’t even remotely the same shape. And Damianos had rounder, softer eyes. Like a giant puppy. If she was his mother, he definitely took after his father.

“This is my step-mother, Hypermenestra,” Damianos said, answering that question immediately. Then he turned to the woman and gestured at Uncle and Laurent in turn. “This is Bishop de Vere,” he said, “headmaster of my new school. And this is his nephew, Laurent.”

Hypermenestra smiled and shook Uncle’s hand. She was also dressed well, in a plum-colored pantsuit and elegant gold earrings.

Laurent looked down at his own ensemble; ripped black jeans and a powder blue hoodie with a faded RVAB lacrosse logo that was three sizes too big for him because it was Auguste’s. The ends of the hoodie’s cuffs were fraying a little. He stuffed his hands into the pouch pocket.

“Pleased to meet you, Your Excellency,” Hypermenestra was saying. Her Veretian was much more thickly accented than Damianos’s. “You’re very young for a Bishop, no? I’m sorry, how rude of me!” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear when she laughed.

“Oh, dear, it’s quite all right. God has blessed me with great fortune,” Uncle said through a smile as slick as an oil spill. “We’re honored to have Damianos here at the Academy, and in Vere. He is a bright young man with a promising future ahead of him.”

Hypermenestra thanked Uncle and beamed at Damianos, who at least had the grace to look bashful. Then she held her hand out to Laurent. He shook it politely. “I see the resemblance,” she said with a smile that deepened her crow’s feet. “You have the same eyes.”

“But I wear them better,” Laurent quipped.

Uncle and Hypermenestra shared a laugh, and Uncle agreed, “You certainly do.” He placed his hand on Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent felt a little burst of pride and warmth in his belly.

Though Damianos tried to include him, Juerre maintained a respectful distance and refused to engage in the conversation beyond a lukewarm greeting. He stood still and silent, until he seemed to disappear into the background like a piece of uninteresting furniture.

The others volleyed pleasantries for a little while longer, but Laurent stopped listening. His eyelids were growing heavier, and he could feel his mind pulling him back down into his dream. On top of that, Damianos kept shooting him glances that he couldn’t decipher. If Laurent didn’t know any better, he’d think that he was making Damianos nervous. But why should he be? Damianos had kicked his ass and then faced no consequences for it. But there it was again—the weight of his brown eyes like a physical force against Laurent’s skin, irritating as an itch. He glanced quickly away when Laurent stared back, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Liar, dream-Auguste snarled in his head. A ringing started in Laurent’s ears, and his head felt light like a helium balloon. He excused himself—or maybe he didn’t, he couldn’t remember—and found the men’s bathroom.

Only the handicapped stall was free, so, with a small twinge of guilt, Laurent went inside and locked the door behind him. He stood with his back against the door and forced himself to take deep breaths, allowing the cold of the metal to seep through his clothes; into his skin, into his bones. He stayed there, just breathing, until his ears stopped ringing and his head felt somewhat normal again.

Then he listened. When the noise outside his stall died down, he emerged. The bathroom was empty now except for him. He checked the time on his phone. He didn’t know how long ago he’d left Uncle, but he did know that Auguste should be through security and passport control soon, if he wasn’t already. He might be out there right now, hugging Uncle and shaking Damianos’s hand. Looking for Laurent, who wasn’t there.

He hurried for the door, but a sidelong glance into the mirror stopped him. In the harsh artificial light, his skin was sickly pale and blotchy around his eyes. He hastily splashed some water over his face and hoped that would be enough to coax some life back into his skin.

He was patting his face dry with the pitifully thin, scratchy paper towels native to all public restrooms when the door swung open and a tall, brown-skinned man in an Akielon military uniform strode in.

The man glanced at Laurent in the mirror as he walked behind him toward the urinals, and Laurent saw that he was young—maybe the same age as Auguste—with dark stubble coating his cheeks and chin.

“Little girls’ room is the next door on the right, sweetheart,” the man said in Veretian that was almost as smooth as Damianos’s, but still held a trace of an Akielon accent. It took Laurent a few heartbeats to realize that the man was talking to him.

“I’m a boy,” he said, pouring venom into his voice.

The Akielon soldier, who was now standing at a urinal with his legs spread wide, craned his neck around to squint at Laurent. “Really?” he asked with genuine surprise that made Laurent clench his jaw.

The sound of urine tinkling into the ceramic bowl echoed in the nearly empty bathroom. The soldier kept his eyes on Laurent as he peed. Laurent shifted his weight from foot to foot. The fluorescent tube light above the sink flickered behind him. It occurred to him that he could leave, yet his body didn’t seem to get the message from his brain.

The soldier cocked his head. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure,” Laurent spat.

“Whoa, easy there,” the soldier laughed. “All I’m saying is—” he grunted a little as he finished relieving himself and the tinkling sound stopped, “from where I’m standing, you look like a girl.”

Laurent recognized the bait, but for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he took it anyway. As he approached, he imagined this man on the battlefield, shooting at Veretian soldiers. Shooting at Auguste. For all Laurent knew, this man could have been the one who killed his father. He had a killer’s face, Laurent decided. A hardness like steel in his eyes that served as a poor mask for a deeper hollowness.

The soldier turned his body, and Laurent stopped short. He hadn’t put his dick away. It was just hanging out of his camouflage pants like a fleshy little tail.

“Well?” the soldier said with a grin, “I showed you mine.”

Laurent expelled an involuntary giggle of surprise. That seemed to throw the soldier off.

“Are you sure you’re not meant to be in the little girls’ room?” Laurent asked with a pointed glance at the penis. In truth, it wasn’t particularly small, but Laurent knew that the kind of men who whipped it out in front of strangers in public bathrooms were operating on insecurity. So, he hit him where he thought it would hurt the most.

It would have been enough to stop there. The soldier’s face was already flushed with rage. But something compelled Laurent to push. “Is that really meant to be a dick? It looks more like your clitoris was stung by a bee.”

“Let’s see yours then, you little shit,” the soldier snarled. He lurched forward faster than Laurent had anticipated.

Laurent stumbled backward. The small of his back slammed into the sink counter hard enough to bruise.

“What, are you shy?” the soldier laughed. It was a harsh, flat sound. “Got something to hide, blondie?” He stepped forward slowly, closing the space between them, and Laurent—despite having prepared several comebacks and escape plans before he had even spoken—didn’t move. His limbs had turned to stone.

He didn’t feel the hand that unbuttoned his jeans. It wasn’t happening to Laurent. It was happening to someone else. Someone small and scared. Laurent wasn’t scared. He didn’t feel anything at all.

Then, the bathroom door burst open and a voice swept in like a gale, speaking loudly in Akielon. “Kastor, Dad wants to know if you—” Damianos stood in the doorway, a smile dying on his lips as he took in the sight before him.

“Shit,” the soldier mumbled as he sprang away from Laurent and scrambled to shove his dick back into his pants.

“…fell in,” Damianos finished, like he had to push those words out before he could process what he was seeing.

“Damen.” The soldier patted the air placatingly. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

There was a terrible silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Then Damianos’s voice exploded like thunder. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Kastor! He’s a child!”

The soldier—Kastor, apparently—winced. “I can explain! Let me just explain—”

Without deciding on it, Laurent was in motion. His legs acted on their own, tired of waiting for input from his frozen mind. He brushed past Damianos, blood pounding in his ears as he made for the door.

“Laurent, wait,” Damianos said, but Laurent didn’t stop. He just had to make it to the door, then out of the bathroom, and all this would fade away behind him like a dream.

“Please, Damen, it’s not a big deal! I wasn’t even—it was just a joke!”

“A joke? What the fuck was the punchline, Kastor? Sexual assault?”

As Laurent opened the door, he glanced back to see Damianos shove Kastor in the chest hard enough that the soldier stumbled backward.

“No, I didn’t—Oh, God,” Kastor hugged his arms tightly around his abdomen, doubling over like he was going to be sick. “Please don’t tell Dad. Damen, please—”

Then the door swung closed with a clang, and Laurent was alone in the hallway. The noise of the crowded airport came back to him slowly, like the tide washing in. He didn’t know how long he stood there outside the bathroom door, but when it opened again and Damianos stepped out with a face full of fury, it was the kickstart Laurent needed to start walking away.

Heavy footsteps followed him.

“Laurent, are you okay?” Damianos called. His voice was closer than Laurent thought it would be.

“I have seen a dick before, Damianos,” Laurent said without turning around or slowing down. “I’ll live.”

“I’m so sorry about… My brother’s an idiot.”

“I see it runs in the family,” Laurent retorted as he attempted to re-button his jeans and failed because his hands were shaking so violently.

“Would you please, just—” Damianos trotted up beside him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Fuck!” Laurent exhaled with a frustrated growl as he fumbled the button again.

“Here, let me help you.” Damianos reached for the button on Laurent’s jeans. Laurent slapped his hands away like swatting a fly.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped.

“Sorry, I…” Damianos seemed genuinely taken aback. Maybe Laurent had been a little harsher than he needed to be. He didn’t care. Damianos was still trotting along beside him. “Wait! Laurent, you have to—”

“I said I’m fine. So would you please fuck off and stop following me?”

Laurent finally managed to fasten the button just as the hallway ended and spit him back out into the waiting area.

“Laurent!” a voice called from somewhere across the crowd before he had taken two more steps.

Laurent stopped. Auguste. The voice was Auguste’s. He knew it without thought; it was as familiar and correct as his own heartbeat. When he heard it, the shock he had been carrying from the encounter in the bathroom—along with all his bruises and pains, and the anxiety that had been festering in his gut—melted away. All that was left was a focused desperation to find something he’d lost; to find Auguste before he could slip away again. He scanned the moving mass of bodies for any glimpse of his brother.

Over by the windows, where Laurent had left Uncle, a flash of golden hair caught his eye. Relief rushed through him like an ocean wave inside his veins.

There Auguste stood in his smoothly pressed uniform, with the window and the gray light of the fading storm behind him, and a smile on his face that could have coaxed the sun out of hiding, if he hadn’t been beaming it at Laurent instead. He dropped his suitcases and waved.

And suddenly Laurent was twelve years old again, watching Auguste board the plane that took him away, waving just like that as he headed off toward Delfeur and what Laurent had been certain at the time was his imminent death.

Don’t leave me alone …

Only now, Auguste was moving toward him—suitcases forgotten on the floor where he had been standing a moment ago—and this time the hammering in Laurent’s chest felt like victory.

“Auguste!”

He tore his way through the bustling press of bodies, weaving and dodging and pushing anyone who got in his way. He picked up speed with every step, and saw that Auguste was doing the same. By the time they reached each other, they were both running.

Laurent launched himself at his brother, and Auguste scooped him up into a crushing hug, spinning him around just like he used to. Their mingled laughter was the only sound in the universe. “Auguste, stop,” Laurent giggled, “you’re making me dizzy.”

Auguste put him down and ruffled his hair, but they remained locked together in the hug. Laurent buried his face in the soft fabric of his brother’s uniform. Auguste was warm, and even after all his time away, to Laurent he smelled of home. He closed his eyes and breathed him in, bathing in the warmth of the embrace like a lizard on a sun-soaked rock.

“I missed you so much,” Auguste said, speaking with his lips pressed to the top of Laurent’s head. His breath stirred Laurent’s hair. One of Auguste’s hands cupped the back of his head like he was holding a baby, but Laurent didn’t mind. His own hands were fists bunching up the back of Auguste’s previously pristine uniform.

A feeling of peace spread through him, starting in his chest and radiating outward. He imagined it encapsulating himself and Auguste and this whole perfect moment in a tranquil bubble of light. “Don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered into Auguste’s chest. He wasn’t sure if Auguste even heard him over the din, but he squeezed Laurent tighter as if in answer.

Still clinging to his waist, Laurent looked up at his brother’s face. Up close, Auguste looked different. It was hard to pin down exactly what had changed in the two years he had been away, but it was impossible to miss that he was not quite the same Auguste who had left. Maybe it was just that his face had thinned out a bit, shedding the last softness of youth and leaving him with a sharper look. Maybe it was something deeper than that.

Before, Auguste had been radiant. Even after the losses of both their parents, there had remained a little light in his eyes that refused to be snuffed out, as though he carried a small sun in his heart that illuminated him from within. Now, though he was still beautiful, he seemed muted. Tired. Like the gray sky outside the window. Laurent felt a deep sadness tug at his heart, threatening to pull him under.

Auguste’s eyes were searching his own face, and he wondered if his brother was seeing the same thing in him. Or what other changes he might be seeing there. The thought made Laurent want to look away and hide his face, but he didn’t. This was one of those rare moments that he knew was important while it was happening. He could feel the weight of each second like grains of sand in his hands, and he wanted to hold them for as long as he could before they all slipped through his fingers.

Finally, Auguste spoke. “You’ve grown,” he said, voice breaking on the word grown.

Laurent laughed, blinking back the mist in his eyes. “Did you expect me to wait until you came back?”

Auguste smiled like it pained him, then pulled Laurent’s head to his chest again and held him close for one last moment before they were interrupted by Uncle and the others.

The group moved over to them; everyone pulled into Auguste’s orbit. As the others stepped into their space, he felt the peace of his moment with Auguste slipping away. Their perfect bubble popped.

Uncle arrived last, just behind Juerre, who was carrying Auguste’s luggage. Uncle’s eyes smiled, but there was a tightness to his lips that was subtle but unmistakable to Laurent. Uncle was irritated. Someone would pay for that later.

Auguste introduced Laurent to Damianos’s father, whom he had happened to sit next to on the plane and chatted with all the way from Delfeur. He was the CEO of some big Akielon multimedia company called Angelico, and had recently acquired the parent company of the Arles Times, where his eldest son and his future daughter-in-law were set to start working; he as an executive, and she as a journalist.

Laurent had been correct; Damianos took after his father. He could see traces of what this man must have looked like in his youth—underneath the beard, the wrinkles, and the beer belly—and Damianos was that spitting image.

The man held out a beefy hand for Laurent to shake. “Theomedes DiAkielos,” he said by way of introduction. His voice was deep and booming, and his handshake firm. He smiled indulgently, as if at a frightened child.

“Laurent de Vere.” He was proud of the crispness of his own voice. He had feared it would tremble.

“Ah, named after your uncle here, I take it?”

Laurent nodded.

A striking blonde woman who looked like she was barely out of college held out her pale hand next. Her smile was professional, and her posture so perfect that just being near her made Laurent want to stand up straighter.

“I’m Jokaste Agrippina,” she said in Veretian as smooth as his own. Laurent shook her hand with the vague sense he knew her from somewhere, but he didn’t press it. “It’s nice to meet you, Laurent de Vere.”

“Likewise.”

Her gaze lingered. There was a sharpness in her blue eyes that made Laurent feel like a bug under a microscope. Then something behind him caught her attention.

“And here comes my fiancé,” she said with a nod over Laurent’s shoulder. He turned to follow her gaze.

Damianos and Kastor walked slowly in their direction, their heads huddled in what appeared to be a heated exchange of whispers. Absurdly, Laurent’s first thought was that Jokaste was referring to Damianos. But no, of course, she had meant Kastor.

“Oh,” Laurent said, then nearly burst out laughing. He composed himself quickly, hoping no one noticed his slip.

Hypermenestra leaned close to Theomedes. “They’re arguing again, Theo. They’ve only been in the same building for twenty minutes and they’re already arguing.” Theomedes took her arm in his and patted it reassuringly.

Jokaste met them halfway, sliding to Kastor’s side and snaking her arm through his. Damianos looked away and walked over alone, his eyes on the floor.

As Damianos and Auguste made their introductions—Damianos with a strange wide-eyed expression on his face that left Laurent feeling like he’d missed something—Hypermenestra ushered Kastor over to greet Uncle and Laurent.

“This is my son, Kastor,” Hypermenestra said with pride. Uncle greeted him with warmth.

“We’ve met, actually,” Laurent said airily. “Just now, in the bathroom.”

He smiled sweetly while Kastor sputtered and Damianos shifted his body like he was preparing for violence.

“Oh, yeah, I um—” Kastor cleared his throat and then finally found his voice, “I asked him if he watched the game, uh, last night.”

Laurent’s smile didn’t move an inch. “I said no.” He thought he sold the lie much better than Kastor. But after everyone else had moved on, Laurent could still feel Uncle’s eyes on him, watching. The air in the room suddenly felt thin. Laurent caught himself touching his neck again, and shoved his hands back into his hoodie pocket.

Theomedes cleared his throat. “I was just saying before, we finally found someone besides me who’s taller than Damen!” He punctuated with a friendly slap on Auguste’s shoulder.

“Well, I mean,” Damianos interjected, looking mildly offended, “I’m probably not done growing.”

“And so handsome,” Hypermenestra added. “Such a handsome pair of brothers.”

“Just wait until this one catches up,” Auguste said with a nod at Laurent, “Mark my words, he’s going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Auguste,” Laurent hissed through his teeth. He prayed that his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. Auguste laughed and ruffled his hair. Laurent huffed and tried to comb it back to order with his fingers, which only made Auguste laugh again.

“So, I have a proposition,” Hypermenestra segued. “How would you all like to have dinner with us next Sunday? I’d like you to be the first guests at our new home. It’ll be like a Christening of sorts!” She laughed at her own joke.

Damianos started, “I don’t know if that’s a—”

Uncle spoke right over him, “That sounds lovely, Hypermenestra. We would be delighted. When should we arrive?”

“How does six thirty sound?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Oh, you’ll need our address, of course! It’s 5 Chestnut Avenue, the peach-colored house at the end of the cul-de-sac, you can’t miss it.”

Laurent’s stomach swooped. He saw a white door with a gold number 5 nailed to it as clearly as if it had sprung up out of nothing in the middle of the airport. Yellow light poured out from the window in the door, and Laurent could hear laughter coming from the other side. He blinked, and the door was gone.

Auguste silently slipped his hand into Laurent’s and gave it a squeeze. Laurent squeezed back, trying to communicate, I’m fine. Which was true. He just really wished the room would stop spinning.

“Is he all right?” Damianos sounded concerned, and very far away.

Laurent was about to ask who he was talking about, when Auguste answered. “We knew the family that used to live there. The Fortaines.”

“Guion Fortaine sold us the house,” Theomedes said. “I didn’t know he had a family.”

Laurent was able to hold onto pieces of the conversation, but the ringing in his ears was growing louder, and their voices were fading in and out.

Auguste was speaking. “…wife and four sons…youngest, Aimeric…Laurent’s best friend…”

In his mind, Laurent saw blue walls. Somewhere close by, a violin was crying out the melodies of Sibelius’s violin concerto. A note slipped into another where it wasn’t supposed to, and a string of curses exploded out of Aimeric’s squeaky voice.

“…was very troubled…” Was that Uncle’s voice now? “…his own life…”

Burn in hell! Laurent’s own voice rattled the walls of his brain.

A fuzziness flooded his vision as though he had stood up too fast after lying down. It felt like his brain was full of ginger ale. He could no longer tell if he was standing still or not. He felt movement—the lurching and swaying of vertigo—but he couldn’t feel his own body at all.

Auguste? He tried to say, Are you still here? All that came out was a strangled gasp.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

I’m dying, he thought as the world went dark and flipped on its side like a ship overturned by the sea.

[hollandorks]

saved

matt murdock x original female character

chapter fifteen

Summary: Fleeing from an abusive relationship, Grace St. James goes to the only place she still has a friend: Hell’s Kitchen. She’s forced to live in her car and beg for a job from the law firm Nelson, Murdock, and Page all the while making sure her past doesn’t catch up to her. Enter Matt Murdock: cocky, handsome, and willing to let her live with him for free until she can afford to get a place of her own. Grace is drawn to Matt in a way she’s never been drawn to anyone, causing sparks to fly as they inevitably grow closer and closer.

a/n: do I really need a note here since I’m posting so frequently? Idk, it feels like it’s a requirement so I just do it out of habit! All I can really say is that I keep meaning to write angsty bits for this story and all that comes out is flirting....oops.

*NSFW themes in this one but nothing too explicit! (which tbh you can kind of expect from here on out oops*

Series Masterlist

word count: 4227

Grace vowed that no matter what Matt Murdock did, he’d at least still be her friend.

She hoped.

Grace’s POV 

Unfortunately, Grace didn’t see Matt that night. When she left the office, he was still working, buried in a pile of papers with Foggy, working on a potential new case. 

She ate dinner in the silent apartment, wishing that Matt had a TV. She watched videos on her phone to combat the silence, then did laundry to wash the scent of her night off of Matt’s fancy sheets. Then she cleaned up the kitchen, making sure everything went back in its original spot so Matt wouldn’t miss it. 

It was late by the time she got ready for bed, and still no Matt. She texted him asking teasingly if she needed to come save him and Foggy from an avalanche of paperwork but he didn’t respond. 

She wondered if he was avoiding her. 

She really shouldn’t have brought up the bet first thing. She should have talked to him about it, instead, and told him that maybe she wanted something more. 

She fell asleep daydreaming about him sleeping next to her. 

In the morning, Matt was either still gone or already at the office. She wondered again if he was avoiding her, but brushed the thought off as stupid and paranoid, especially when she saw him enter the building right before her. She must have just missed him. 

“Hey, Matt,” she called out as she caught the door. Matt paused as he was folding up his cane. 

“Hey,” he said softly. Karen and Foggy weren’t in yet. “Must have just missed you.” 

“Oh, so you didn’t sleep at the office?” she teased with a lightness she didn’t quite feel as she slung her jacket over her chair. 

Matt laughed softly. “No, but almost. Foggy woke me up at midnight, I think, so we could both go home. We fell asleep on our desks, like we were in college again.” 

“Must be an important case if you were both working late while being hungover.” She clicked her computer on and frowned at the work that had piled up for her, mostly stuff for her to transcribe and a few order forms with Foggy’s messy handwriting. “Looks like I should have stayed late too,” she murmured to herself as she began sorting through the stacks. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. It could be big. We’re still researching stuff, though.” Matt shrugged out of his jacket and slung it and his cane on a chair right inside his office. Grace watched as the material of his shirt pulled taut across his chest for a moment with the movement, then looked away. 

She hesitated before sitting down at her desk, then walked to stand in Matt’s doorway. “Hey, can we…talk about the other night?” 

Matt paused, head tilted to the side. She tried really hard not to remember him doing that, painted in neon, shirt open. “I…you don’t owe me any money, Grace,” he said softly. 

Shame flared hotly in her chest. “I know, I–it was a stupid bet and–” She stopped, unsure how to say what she needed to. It was a stupid bet because I want to be something more than friends with you. It was a stupid bet because it was the only way my drunk brain could think of to get you to kiss me and I’d really like to do it again. 

“Yeah, it was stupid,” Matt said. His shoulders tensed as he spoke. 

Grace stepped back as if the words had been a physical blow. Yeah, it was stupid. 

She tried to remind herself of what Karen had said, about Matt closing himself off as a coping mechanism. But it didn’t feel like that’s what he was doing. It felt like he was trying to let her down easy. It felt like…he thought it was a mistake. 

“Yeah,” she said faintly. “I’m…sorry.” The world faded and narrowed around her as the hot flame of embarrassment in her chest flared even hotter. 

When she blinked, she was back at her desk. She put her head in her hands for a moment and sighed. “Fuck,” she said under her breath. She’d wanted to talk to him about exploring more of what was between them, this time without alcohol. 

But if he felt like it was stupid, she didn’t want to press for more and potentially ruin anything between them. She wanted to stay friends, wanted to keep the easy camaraderie between them. Even if, at that moment, the gulf between them felt insurmountable. 

After letting herself wallow in self pity for a minute, she straightened and got to work. There was nothing else to do. Matt felt like it was a mistake, so she would treat it as one. They could move on, simple as that. 

She spent the day buried underneath as much paperwork as her three coworkers, all of them catching up from a slow, hungover morning the day before. They were also catching up on other, smaller cases that had been put off in preparation for the trial. 

At the end of the day, they went to dinner together, all four of them. Matt was nothing but polite and professional towards her. She pretended that she didn’t see the secret looks Foggy and Karen kept exchanging, or the way Karen raised her eyebrows at her once when Matt was just a little too curt. 

The shame lodged like a solid coal in her chest. 

“I’m going to head home,” she said the minute she finished her food and paid. She wasn’t sure she could endure Matt’s forced politeness any longer. “See you guys tomorrow.” 

She tried to hurry out, only for Matt to catch up with her at the door. He sure was fast for a blind man, she thought. 

“I’ll walk with you,” he said softly. He held his arm out for a minute. She stared at it and remembered walking home from Josie’s with him, the two of them laughing and flirtatious. 

She sighed and took his arm right as he started to lower it. 

“How was your day?” he said carefully as they started to walk. 

Grace grit her teeth at the benign pleasantry. “It’s okay, Matt,” she said. “We don’t have to make small talk if you don’t want to.” 

“I–that’s not–” 

She nudged him gently. “I’m letting you off the hook.” 

Matt turned his head towards her. “I wasn’t aware I was on the hook.” She caught the edge of a smile. But she also noted that he was blushing a little. 

“Seems like you’ve been wanting off the hook to me,” she said. “Since you kind of blew me off this morning.” 

Matt hesitated, almost tripping before catching himself. “I…didn’t mean to blow you off.” 

“Look, I get it. I work for you. We’re roommates. We were drunk. It’s fine.” She shrugged. “We can just go back to normal, yeah?” 

Matt made a little noise. “I think I fucked up, didn’t I?” he said so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. 

“I said I’m letting you off the hook, Matt,” she said softly. 

“Just because I was on the hook doesn’t mean I don’t want to know how your day was,” he said after a moment. She watched his cane swing back and forth across the sidewalk. 

“We work together, you should know how my day was since you kept dropping stuff on my desk,” she said, but she kept her tone light and teasing. Back to normal, she told herself. “All three of you.” 

“Sorry about that,” Matt said with an awkward little laugh. “You can see why we were so desperate to hire you.” 

“I’m surprised you survived so long without me.” They turned a corner and the apartment building came into view. 

“Me too. Foggy’s terrible at filing, and since Karen used to be our office manager neither of us wanted to treat her like that again.” Matt laughed and she drank in the sound of it. 

“And you? Are you terrible at filing too?” She squeezed his arm playfully. 

“Oh no, obviously I’m great at it.” They both laughed at the joke. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said as they stepped into the building’s elevator. Matt leaned back against the wall and tilted his head towards her. His eyebrows raised behind his tinted glasses. 

“What’s that mean?” he asked. There was an undercurrent to the words that she couldn’t quite figure out. 

She almost said something about him being good at hearing things he shouldn’t hear or how he sometimes found things on the first try with his hands. Instead, with a burst of unexpected bravery, she said, “It means, Matt Murdock, that I’ve found you surprisingly good at unexpected things.” It came out much more husky and flirty than she’d intended. It was too late to take the words back, though, so she let them hang in the air between them. Let him make of it what he would. 

Matt was saved having to reply by the elevator doors opening. She walked out casually, as if she hadn’t just reminded him of the very thing they were pretending hadn’t happened. But fuck it, she thought as she unlocked the apartment door. He had been unexpectedly good at it, and she didn’t regret how good it had made her feel. She only regretted the awkwardness it had created between them. She regretted that he thought it had been a mistake. 

“Do you need the bathroom first?” she called over her shoulder. She turned and found a still stunned Matt standing in the elevator. The doors started to slide shut and his hand snapped out to catch them. 

“Uh, what?” he asked as he finally followed her into the apartment. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need the bathroom first?” She couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that she’d rendered him speechless. Matt was so confident and cocky more often than not that she enjoyed having the roles reversed for once. Even if she’d been almost unintentionally flirty. 

“Oh. No, no, you go ahead, I’m gonna–get changed. Probably go to the gym or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Okay,” she said with a little nod. She bit her tongue against the urge to invite him to shower with her. He was very clear about it being a mistake, she reminded herself. That didn’t stop her from imagining it for a moment. Maybe the urge was because she liked him. Maybe it was because it was easy to flirt with him. She didn’t know, but it overpowered her for a moment as her thoughts drifted. 

Maybe it’s because you want another three orgasms, she told herself as she stripped off her work clothes in the bathroom. She groaned and leaned back against the bathroom door. 

Her mind flipped rapidly between daydreams and memories. Daydreams of Matt joining her in the shower. Memories of him painted in red on his knees before her. 

A cold shower should work. Hopefully. Because try as she might to stop it, she’d been thinking about those three orgasms pretty much since they’d happened. Her mind helpfully provided more flashes of that night even as the cold water hit her skin like a wall of ice. 

Grace sucked in a sharp breath as she leaned against the tile wall and let herself remember, just for a moment. Matt’s hands on her ass, carrying her to the bed. The way he’d looked at her, even with his eyes sightless, like he wanted to devour her. That low growl of a voice when he said Sweetheart, that was just my hands before he did devour her. His moan as she pulled on his hair.  

She let her hands ghost across her breasts and stomach, lower and lower as she remembered. And then her thoughts drifted to what could have happened. She would have undressed Matt slowly, revealed each and every one of those delicious muscles before she laid him on the bed and repaid the favor with her mouth. She remembered how hard he’d been against her, right where she’d wanted as they’d kissed on the counter. She bit back a moan as she imagined being in that same position but naked instead, the counter cold underneath her bare skin, Matt’s hands braced against her hip and the mirror.

Her breath came in pants as she came, hard, around her own fingers while she imagined all of the things she wanted to do to Matt Murdock. 

–

Matt’s POV

In the other room, Matt could hear everything. He’d stepped into the bedroom as soon as the shower had turned on and grabbed something more comfortable to sleep in. 

His thoughts were a wreck as he thought of her teasing in the elevator. It means, Matt Murdock, that I’ve found you surprisingly good at unexpected things. 

He’d known immediately what she’d been referring to. It had stunned him into stillness, a gut reaction beaten into him by his nightly activities. Fight, flight, or freeze, wasn’t that the saying? So he’d frozen, his mind churning out exactly what unexpected things he’d been good at. 

She’d been flirting with him. He might have been blind, but he wasn’t that blind. 

Grace had told him that she wanted to go back to normal, but God if he wasn’t having a hard time with that already. 

He practically ripped his shirt off. Maybe he’d go out that night. He’d probably feel better burning off some of the lingering adrenaline in his veins. He’d intended to do that after leaving the office the night before, but he and Foggy had both dozed off at their desks like a couple of amateurs. 

Plus, it was Friday. He was supposed to meet her that night, at twelve thirty, as Daredevil. 

He didn’t know if he could face her. He was terrified she’d recognize him. That whatever tentative truce they’d just reached would be obliterated by the truth. 

As soon as he yanked on his sweatpants, he heard it. 

A stifled moan. 

Matt froze for the second time in less than ten minutes, his shirt halfway on. 

Was she–

His whole body reacted to the noises coming from the shower. Noises any regular man wouldn’t be able to hear. 

Even with the shower on, the scent of her arousal hit him so hard he stumbled back a step. 

He unfroze and chose another of the three options: flight. 

Matt half-ran up to the roof, trying to get as far away as he could from what was happening in his goddamn bathroom. He hated his abilities at that moment. He didn’t want to intrude like that on such an obviously private moment. He didn’t want to be able to hear and even smell everything she’d done in there. Everything she was doing. 

He strode to the edge of the roof but it wasn’t far enough. He could still hear her heart accelerating, hear her fingers moving, hear the way she bit her lip to keep any more noises from slipping out. 

He leapt onto the next roof and kept running until he couldn’t hear her anymore. He was at least four blocks away now, and even though the sounds had faded, it felt like he wasn’t far enough. 

One thought pierced through his panic. 

What was she thinking about? 

Matt cursed under his breath and dug his fingers into his hair. 

It was so much worse than when she’d had whatever dream she’d had. Because now he knew what it was like to have her. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there trying to calm his breathing, but he eventually made his way back to his apartment. 

He could hear her rustling around getting ready for bed as he came back through the roof access door and bolted it shut. How was he going to face her after that? Nothing like that had ever happened in the weeks she’d been staying with him. Even after her dream, she hadn’t…touched herself. 

He had to focus very hard in order to keep the thoughts of her touching herself at bay. 

“Oh, hey,” Grace said as she stepped out of the bedroom. He’d somehow missed the sound of the door sliding open. He barely kept himself from visibly startling. “Your turn,” she said. There was a note of something in her voice and her heartbeat picked up as she moved past him towards the kitchen. Guilt? Embarrassment? Lust? He couldn’t pinpoint it. 

Despite the shower, he could smell it all over her. He cursed himself silently as she grabbed a drink of some sort from the fridge. He couldn’t concentrate enough to be able to tell. 

He fled into the bathroom. He was supposed to go to the gym or pretend he was going to the gym and go out as Daredevil. 

But the smell was stronger there, in the bathroom, so Matt flipped the shower on with a muttered curse. His body was overheating. 

He regretted inviting her to live with him for the barest of moments. 

Did she have any idea the kind of torture she was putting him through? Of course she didn’t, Matt reasoned as he stepped into the cold spray. On his sensitive skin, it may as well have been like bathing in the Arctic. 

Maybe she wouldn’t notice if he showered twice. Because no matter what he did, no matter how many times he had to use his own hands to take care of things, nothing helped ease the fire raging in his body like a fight did. He would have to go out, have to find a criminal of some sort to fight, and come home sweaty and in need of a second shower. 

Matt groaned quietly. Grace was driving him crazy. She might be able to pretend things were normal, but he wasn’t so sure he could. 

When he came back out, hair dripping slightly, she was sitting in the bed in those same goddamn silk pajamas. He could hear the whisper of it against her skin, something about the soft slide of it innately sexual. Or maybe that was just the memory of when she’d worn them last. 

There was a rustle of something else, too. Paper. The scent of ink and dust. A book. 

“Hey,” she said with a voice softened by sleepiness. “I could take the couch tonight, you know.” 

Matt half-smiled. “No, it’s alright. I…was going to go to the gym. I don’t want to wake you up when I get home later.” He knew he looked like an idiot, freshly showered and talking about going to the gym.  

Grace sighed, either not noticing him contradicting himself or not caring. “Matt, you’re like, ten feet too long for that couch. And last night you slept at your desk for part of the night. If you won’t sleep on the bed I need to at least foot the bill for your chiropractor.” 

Something in Matt’s chest squeezed at her words. “My back is fine. Besides, I’ll get my bed back when you get your own place.” 

“Ouch. Trying to kick me out already?” Her tone was light and teasing. 

Matt frowned. “Of course not.” The thought sent panic through him, even though what she’d done in the shower earlier had made it nearly impossible to share a space with her. Yet the thought of her leaving made him…sad, almost. It was better to her her here, where he could protect her even as she unknowingly tortured him, than to have her leave. 

Grace made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Always so serious, Murdock. I was kidding. I know your good Catholic heart won’t let you kick me out on the streets.” 

It was Matt’s turn to sigh. “I don’t think that has anything to do with my Catholicism.” 

“It’s because you like my company, isn’t it?” 

Another pang in his chest. She was teasing and had no idea how right she was. “Nah, it’s because you clean up after me. It’s like having a maid that works for free.” He grinned at her. He heard her book sail through the air and forced himself not to react until it hit him in the chest. “Hey, you can’t just throw things at a blind guy!” But he laughed, because of course she would do something like that. She’d never treated his disability as something to tiptoe around, for which he was grateful. Foggy and Karen were the same way, and it was a big part of the reason they got along so well.  

“I can if he’s being a dick,” she said back but she was laughing too. “I don’t buy the poor little blind boy act, anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” Matt said as he bent over to retrieve her book. He made sure to miss it a few times before she sighed and told him it was to the left. He held it out to her. “What makes you say that?” 

“I think even though you’re blind, you’re just a regular guy. You use the blindness to hide behind to get away with stuff. Like those guys who are so handsome that they can get away with anything. Except you’re handsome and blind.” She snorted a little. “So somebody has to keep you humble. Like me. And Foggy. And Karen, though she’s much nicer about it.” 

“Oh, so you think I’m handsome?” he said before he could stop the words, hands on his hips. He silently cursed himself for flirting with her. 

He could hear her shift, that damn silk sliding over her skin. He heard the sound of her teeth rasping over her slightly chapped bottom lip. Her heart started beating faster, too, and he hated that he knew what he did to her, because he just wanted to be normal, just for once. 

“Matt, even though you can’t see yourself, I know you know you’re handsome. I’m rolling my eyes at you, by the way.” Her light tone betrayed her nerves, if that’s what they were. 

Matt didn’t want to go down this road with her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “Can I plead the fifth?” he said instead of all the things he wanted to say. All the things he wanted to do, like crawl into bed with her and kiss her senseless. To beg her to tell him what she’d been thinking about in the shower. 

Grace laughed and it was the best sound in the world. He wanted to make her laugh every day for the rest of his life. Which is probably why he kept flirting with her, teasing her–because it almost always got a laugh, and he was addicted to the sound. 

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Lawyer Man. I just said I need to keep you humble. So maybe I’m going to mix up all your little color-coded notes in your closet and start doing laundry and turn your white shirts pink.” She raised her finger in the air, likely pointing it at him. Her heart was still pounding. She was enjoying this, he thought a bit helplessly. Too much. And so was he. “I’m pointing my finger at you all threateningly by the way.” 

Matt couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “Well if you’re going to do that, then you can sleep on the couch from here on out.” 

“Hey!” she said, laughing. “I thought you were a gentleman!” 

Matt must have been drunk again, even though he hadn’t had any alcohol in two nights, because the words slipped out of his mouth in a rough voice. “We both know I’m not a gentleman.” 

Grace froze, and he wished yet again he could see her. Her breath was coming in little pants and–goddamn it, he could smell her arousal. 

What the hell was wrong with him? 

“I should go,” Matt finally said, pretending really hard that he couldn’t tell she was a little nervous but aroused by his words. “Goodnight, Grace.” 

There was a silence at his back as he retreated towards the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him. 

“Goodnight, Matt,” she finally called out to him, swallowing so hard he was certain he could have heard it without his abilities. 

Matt yanked out the duffel bag that held his suit. He was such an idiot. But there was something about her that made him react that way. Some kind of gut instinct around her that came out and made him cocky, made him flirt. He hadn’t acted that way around a girl since–

The thought sobered him. 

Since Elektra. 

Matt closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. 

Grace was nothing like Elektra, but something about her still reminded him of her. Elektra had always been teasing and flirty like that, too, but often in a much more dangerous way. A way that usually involved blades, blood, or violence. Or all three. 

Matt realized it had been a while since he’d thought of the woman he’d lost. He still missed her, still hated that she had died the way she had–both times. 

But Grace made it almost easy to forget Elektra. Matt used to be afraid of meeting another woman, of dishonoring Elektra’s memory. He thought he would compare them all to the woman he’d lost–twice–and nothing would stick. 

Yet Grace wasn’t Elektra, and for the first time, the thought didn’t take Matt’s breath away.

Next Chapter

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