#but it is so amusing to me that just like. yeah we do have at least one acknowledgement of them being separate

[jordiemeow]

AHHHHHH

I wanna DEEPTHROAT your fics!!

Okay okay so imagine enemies to fuckbuddies/lovers with patrick and he pisses reader off so much she pounces on him and chokes him and hes like "are you grinding on me rn...?" Like she didnt even realise and they fuck :3

girl i wanna deepthroat YOU for this suggestion hello. Please. anyways wasn't supposed to yap so much sorry self indulgent i just want him to call me a bitch and then tweak out about it.

warnings: smut 18+ (p in v), dry humping, choking, no proofreading soz

Oh, what a fucking asshole.

You swear your eyes are going to be stuck permanently in your skull with how hard you've been rolling them at Patrick all night. Smug grin and blue collar slightly upturned from a flick of Art's hand—you just wanna choke the life right out of him. Awfully tempting.

"—I just think you're being sensitive," he insists, leaning forward in his beach chair.

The gathering has long died down by now. Most of your friends have 'gone to bed' (are drunkenly hooking up with each other). Art staggered off ten minutes ago claiming something about having a hangover in the morning. Bullshit. He's had two beers at the most; he's just avoiding the bickering still going on in his absence.

Two weeks into the summer and you're regretting agreeing to come along with your friends to the Zweig summer house. You're only here for Art. Sweet boy.

Patrick? A menace.

"Sensitive?" You retort incredulously, setting your drink on the ground with a soft clang.

"Yeah. Sensitive. Sensible," he replies in a very poor imitation of French. "Does that help?"

Your jaw clenches. "Oh, yeah. Thanks."

Your dry reply amuses him further, head tilted as he observes your very apparent frustration. "It's just a word. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"I just don't think that men should—"

His groan interrupts you. "Should, what, say bitch? Don't get all liberal on me."

"Liberal?" You bark back.

"Liberal. Feminist. Whatever." A dismissive wave of his hand. "It's all the same."

You rise to your feet, scoffing under your breath about men having zero awareness. He just watches you, smirk still in place as you smooth down your summer dress and prepare to head for the house. Maybe you'll be matching nursing headaches with Art in the morning; you don't understand how he doesn't have a permanent migraine when he's stuck with this shithead all the time.

And then, of course, just as you start up towards the house—

"What, not even a goodnight? You don't have to be such a bitch about it."

You whirl on him in an instant. One, two, three, four long strides before you're lunging at him so hard his chair almost tips over. His smirk melts in an instant, the sound of surprise he lets off breaking into a choked sound when your fingers curl around his throat. You aren't sure whether it's the amount of times you've heard the word bitch tonight or just the complete assholery you've had to put up with for the last few weeks.

It doesn't matter. All you know is you can't take it anymore.

"Shut up, Patrick," you snarl. "Just... shut the fuck up for once in your life."

He's not sure what silences him: the pressure around his throat, or the sheer venom in your voice. But his mouth snaps shut audibly, and you can feel him swallow against your palm.

"You just... you never know when to quit, do you? Do you get off on this? On being a degenerate asshole? Or are you really just so much of a bitch—" He almost cracks a smile when he hears that. For the sake of his poor neck, he doesn't. "—That this is who you really are, huh?"

"I was just joking," he tries to pacify you, his voice strained. He's not sure why his hands stay on the arms of his chair; certainly not out of self-preservation, that's for sure. He should be prying you off him right now.

You take some satisfaction in the way he rasps, and that tiny flicker of fear in his eyes. But you're far from done. "You're so entitled that it's baffling. We get it, Patrick. Mommy and daddy don't love you so you feel the need to take it out on everyone else. But you aren't funny. You're just an asshole. So just... just shut up!"

It's a miracle he can breathe at this point. The way his eyes have widened and his breathing is stilted makes guilt settle at the pit of your stomach. Not enough to remove your hand entirely, of course, but your grip loosens enough for him to inhale a deep breath.

You're expecting either of two things: an apology, or for him to call you fucking crazy. Instead, what you get is:

"... Are you grinding on me right now?"

What? That's ridiculous. Laughable, really. Why would you be—

Oh, shit, you are.

In the midst of your tangent, you'd hardly noticed the way your hips had started to gyrate. Little circles of your hips, just enough to stimulate you. The movement was involuntary; grinding down against the thigh you're perched upon, little sparks of pleasure mixing with that guilt in your stomach. Fuck.

"N-no—" You stammer, cheeks flushed at the realisation.

"I can feel it. You are," he insists incredulously. And when your grip on his throat tightens in retaliation (or embarrassment), he just smirks this time. "Oh my god. You're enjoying this."

"Don't be so fucking ridiculous," you shoot back, your hips stilling. Somewhere deep down, you're disappointed by the loss of friction.

His hands finally leave the tanned wicker of the chair. Not to push you off, though. Instead, you find a pair of firm hands holding you in place, grinding you down hard against his thigh. Your own hand tightens instinctively, a pair of stuttered gasps synchronising between you.

"You're insane. Stop it."

"Am I? You're the one that's wet."

Touché. Your cheeks burn harder. There's just enough light coming from a lamp post to illuminate your mortified expression. All you can do is stammer over your words in an attempt to salvage your dignity.

"Yeah, well... well you're hard!" Good comeback.

You aren't wrong, though. You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh through the fabric of his shorts. You pointedly ignore the little thrill you feel when you realise how big it feels.

"Because you're choking me."

You stare at him incredulously for him a moment. "... You're sick."

"And yet you haven't stopped."

No, you haven't. Your hands are still wrapped around his throat, and you haven't made any attempts to stop the way he keeps grinding you down against his thigh. If you sat up long enough to look, you'd see the damp patch of slick you've transferred onto the cotton.

"Just... just shut up!" You repeat.

He just smiles crookedly. "You gonna keep saying that, or are you gonna make me?"

A moment of staring, and then your mouths are clashing together. There's no method behind it; just teeth and noses bumping together, stray tongues licking at lips and into mouths. Gasps and moans each time you grind against his thigh.

It shouldn't be happening. You hate him. You do. But just because he's an insufferable asshole doesn't mean he's ugly, and there's something oddly cathartic about the way his eyes flutter when your hand squeezes or he groans into your mouth when your knee presses against his erection.

"Sit up," he pants against your mouth. Against your better judgement, you find yourself obliging. One knee on each side of his thighs as he pushes his shorts out of the way.

Between the darkness and the angle, you can't see what he's doing. Your breath hitches when the rubs the head of his cock against your panties. They're so soaked it hardly feels like there's a boundary there at all.

"Can I?"

"Yeah."

Your reply is a little too fast, but he seems too focused on pushing your underwear to the side to mock you. Besides, mocking is what got you both into this whole mess. Your forehead thumps against his when the blunt head slides between your folds to tease at your entrance, breath stuttering.

Your hands slide to his shoulders for purchase, and you swear you see a flicker of disappointment cross his face. It's so brief you can't be sure as you sink down onto his cock, head tilted back with a groan at the sheer size of him. It takes a few moments to ease yourself down, and the stretch is almost blinding.

He waits for your hips to be flush together to make any sly remarks. "Big enough for you?"

"Shut the fuck up," you reply, voice rough.

He laughs. It's equally as strained.

And then you're riding him. It starts off slow enough for you to adjust at your own pace, just grinding back down against him. Patrick lives up to his asshole reputation, though—his hands find your hips to hold you in place and soon enough he's pulling you down against him, his hips bucking up to meet you.

You're vaguely aware of the fact anyone could still be awake and take a peek out the window, but it doesn't stop your hand from sliding down between you to circle your clit mindlessly. Your head lolls back, sweet moans filling the air each time he drives up into you.

Patrick, on the other hand, is watching you with rapt attention. Grunting and panting while he drinks up every sound and expression, his grip just short of bruising every time you're brought back down onto his cock.

"Fuck. You're so hot like this," he grits out.

"Bet you've been thinking about this," you shoot back breathlessly.

"Hell yeah I have," comes his unabashed reply. "Every time you're going off on your feminist bullshit. Or calling me a brat."

"You are a brat."

There's a glint in his eye. "Treat me like one, then."

So you do. Your fingers curl back around his throat as he fucks up into you; his reaction is almost instantaneous. Eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in a soundless moan, his pace faltering for just a moment before he catches himself.

"Yeah. Yeah, just like fuckin' that."

It's not long before you're both nearing your peaks. You can hardly focus on keeping a good grip with how desperately your other hand is rubbing your clit, knees digging into the wicker. You can feel the indents forming against your skin.

"Close—" You manage to warn.

"Yeah? Y'gonna cum on my cock?"

"Jesus, stop with the fucking dirty talk."

He laughs. Hoarse. Unrepentant. "Sorry. Used to fucking people that like to hear my voice."

To his credit, he does shut up for the next minute or so. It's just the sound of you both moaning senselessly and chasing your highs, until he shifts the angle just right and—

"G-God, yeah, right there. I'm gonna—"

"Cum?"

You'd glare at him if it weren't for the abrupt fluttering of your walls around his length. "Fuck, Patrick, oh—" And then your vision is whiting out and you're gushing around him.

His name on your tongue is almost enough to do him over. Almost.

"Choke me. C'mon, I'm so close," he whines, hips stuttering upwards into you. You feel like your brains have been fucked out, but you have just enough sense to comprehend the request. And then you're squeezing and watching the whites of his eyes appear.

A few more jolts of his hips and your name is cried out as he comes undone. You can feel the hot warmth filling your cunt, and he continues to pull you down onto him to milk out his orgasm. Moaning pathetically with his head tipped over the back of the chair.

And then it's just the sound of you both panting as both of your hands release each other. You shift off awkwardly, ignoring the whine he makes and the way the sudden emptiness has you feeling the same way. You stumble to your feet, yanking your dress down and peering at the crosshatching on your knees.

At least you're both sporting evidence of the encounter. Patrick's neck is sporting a reddening print, the start of little bruises forming where your fingers pressed too hard. Now you have to look at that for the rest of your vacation.

Great.

You swallow thickly. "Just to be clear, I still think you're an asshole."

He nods, like he hadn't even considered otherwise. "Yeah, I know. But I think you like that about me."

"Patrick—"

"Kidding." His hands raise in mock surrender. "Just get your pretty ass to bed. I've had enough of you yelling at me for one night."

You scoff. You aren't sure whether it's out of contempt or amusement. But you turn on your heels, shaking your head as you finally start back towards the beach house the way you'd intended to fifteen minutes ago.

You're making your way up the steps when he calls out behind you: "But we're doing this again, right?"

"In your dreams." You shoot him your middle finger over your shoulder. His laugh rings out as you trudge up towards the house on wobbly legs.

He watches you go, and it's only when you're safely inside that he mutters under his breath.

"... Bitch."

—

taglist: @gracelynnx @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @artspats @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @s0ftcobra @strfallz @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @m4lodr4ma @artdonaldsonmalewife @challengersism @artstennisracket @elsieblogs

[milatiny-xx]

promise | k.ys

pairing: kang yeosang x gn!reader summary: your childhood best friend accidentally admits that he's been secretly in love with you for many years and just recently got over it. at least, he thinks so. you want to put that theory to the test. warnings: best friends to loversss, mutual pining, fluff, make out!! make out!!, fade to black!! wc: 2.1k a/n: yeosang's biceps. send post. x

⊹₊⟡⋆ masterlist | taglist ⊹₊⟡⋆

You giggle as you throw back another shot of soju, wincing when you put the glass down.

"Ach, this stuff is terrible," you whine. "Next time, I'll buy the booze."

Yeosang laughs, placing the bottle back on the coffee table.

"Be my guest," he replies. "That one was expensive."

You're both sitting on the floor with a box of half-eaten pizza beside you and a mostly empty bottle of soju. Having been best friends since childhood, you and Yeosang try to meet up at least once every two weeks to hang out. You order food, get drinks, and watch a terrible drama neither of you have seen before. You have to give Sangie a lot of credit—despite his crazy busy schedule with ATEEZ, he always shows up to your friend dates and never, ever cancels.

"What are you complaining about? Surely, you can afford it."

"Ah, right. Because I'm a big time idol."

You nod, pursing your lips at him to say duh.

"Yeah, exactly. Even though you don't act like it."

He reaches for the bottle to pour you both another drink.

"What do you mean?"

"You're sitting here with me devouring greasy pizza and throwing back liquor while we watch one of the most horrendous movies I've ever seen in my life. It's just not how I imagine idols acting."

He hums in acknowledgement. His eyes slide from side to side as if he were looking for spies before he leans in toward you. You raise your eyebrows but follow his lead.

"You do know we're still humans, right?" he says, voice low. You scoff, playfully slapping his arm. "Besides, I would never give up this time with you."

Your heart lurches, his sweet words dripping like honey. On the one hand you love when he says things like that to you—it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, like you're special to him. On the other hand, it's usually followed with the most intense emotional pain you've ever experienced when you remember that he's saying it to you as a friend.

"Give me that," you gesture to the soju. "And tell me something."

"Tell you what?"

"I don't know. Something personal, something secret, something nobody else knows. Here, I'll go first. Ummmm," you study the ceiling as you think. "Ah, I know! When we were in third grade and that stapler disappeared from Mr. Wan's desk, Ha-joon got in trouble for it. But it was really me, and I let him take the blame because I didn't want them to call my mom."

Yeosang's mouth drops open, amusement flooding across his handsome face. He laughs, covering his mouth with his hand—an adorable habit that you've noticed he has.

"Ha-joon wasn't allowed to go to recess for three months after that. How can you live with yourself?"

You shrug, slightly embarrassed.

"It's not easy. Your turn."

He hums to himself as he thinks. His eyes catch yours for a fleeting second, and you can tell that he's got an idea.

"Well...there's one thing I can think of."

You tilt your head, interest piqued.

"Yeah? What's that?"

Yeosang's eyes sparkle. A sweet grin spreads across his face as he drops his head sheepishly. He chuckles, a deep rumbling noise that raises goosebumps on your arms. You can't help but giggle.

"What?" you ask, playfully smacking his arm. "What are you laughing about?"

He shakes his head, his long bangs falling into his eyes. Your heart flutters as you appreciate how gorgeous he is. A slight pink flush spreads across his sharp cheekbones.

"It's...ahh, no, it's too embarrassing."

"Oh no. No, you can't do that, Sangie. Now you have to tell me."

He hesitates for another moment. You bend forward to lean your head on his shoulder and wrap your hands around his bicep. Ignoring the sensation of your stomach flipping, you peer up at him with your best puppy dog eyes.

"Pleaaaaaase," you whine. "Tell meeee."

He laughs again and drops his head toward you.

"You're gonna think I'm pathetic, but I sort of...well, I used to sort of be in love with you a little."

You cackle, assuming he's playing a joke on you.

"Yeah...right."

"No, I'm serious."

You quirk an eyebrow.

"Mhm, this coming from the same boy who refused to kiss me when I asked him to on the playground. You remember, don't you?"

His eyes go wide, and he points accusingly at you.

"You mean when you assaulted me?"

You gasp, shrieking and grabbing onto his hand.

"I did not! I did not assault you. We were playing tag, and you got me out. And I was sooo mad. I hugged you tight and said I wouldn't let you go until you made up for it by giving me a kiss."

"Yeah...and then you physically grabbed my face and made me do it."

"You still did it!"

"Of course I did it. I wanted to kiss you, I was just embarrassed."

You shake your head, folding your arms over your chest to fake pout. A few moments of comfortable silence pass, during which you decide to poke the bear a little more.

"I don't appreciate you making fun of me, though," you say. "I thought you had something serious to share."

He looks at you, smile dropping.

"Oh, I am serious."

Your grin falters, and you sit up straighter.

"What?"

"I wasn't joking, Y/N. I was being serious. I think I was sort of in love with you. For a long time, actually."

You can't help yourself—a laugh slips from your lips. A second after, you gasp and cover your mouth with your hand. You can feel burning spreading through your face and neck.

"See! I knew you would laugh! This is why I didn't wanna tell you."

"That's because it's ridiculous," you say, unsure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

"Well, don't even worry about it," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm not anymore, so we're all good."

Your heart drops. Why did you say that? Why did you make fun of him? He gave you the absolute perfect opportunity to tell him how you really feel, how you've really felt all these years. And you absolutely threw it away like trash. Then again, he just admitted he's not in love with you anymore...you wonder what happened to change his mind. Maybe it's for the best that you don't say anything.

"Why would you be in love with me, anyway?" you reply. "I'm just a regular person."

"What? What do you mean? Why wouldn't I? It makes perfect sense when you think about it."

"How so?"

"We've been friends for so many years. We understand each other better than anyone. We make each other laugh. Besides that, you're kind and funny and smart. And, of course, you're beautiful."

Your heart is pounding in your chest now. Hearing him call you all of those wonderful things and the way he thinks of you, how much you mean to him—you've been dreaming of hearing that for years. But you want him to mean it. You need him to mean it.

"Oh...I guess it does kind of make sense."

The corner of Yeosang's mouth quirks up but flattens back down a moment later. You both drop your heads and silence settles between you. The tension and awkwardness grow with every passing second. You gulp and sneak a peek at him. He's absentmindedly playing with his fingers. The veins in his hands flex with every movement, and your stomach churns in response.

"A you sure?" you blurt, pasting a mischievous smirk on your face.

"Hm?"

"Are you absolutely, positively sure that you're over me?"

He looks at you, eyes widened. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze searching yours.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

"Hmmm, I'm not convinced. Maybe we should...I don't know...test it?"

Yeosang straightens, tossing his head to shake his hair from his eyes. His stare is glued to you.

"How would we do that?"

"Oh, I have an idea."

Your heart races as you position yourself across from him. You sit on your knees, your gaze flicking between Yeosang's eyes and lips. You start to shift forward, bracing yourself by putting your hands on his thighs. His chest rises and falls rapidly. Gulping, you tilt your head.

You pause right in front of him, your eyes rolling to the side to meet his. Your breath shakes. Under the soft glow of the lamp, you can see that his eyes are dilated. You drop your stare down to his parted lips and lean forward slowly.

Yeosang remains still as a statue when you press your mouth to his. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, the muffled sound of your racing heart echoing in your ears. When you pull back, your gaze returns to his. He holds your stare for a moment and then it all moves so fast.

His eyes drop to your lips, his hand slides across your neck and onto the back of your head, and the next thing you know, he's pulling your mouth to him.

He kisses you. Hard.

Your fingers dig into his strong thighs as you teeter forward. He angles his head to reach you deeper, his lips slipping between yours over and over and over again. Carried away by the moment, you swipe your tongue over his lower lip. He chuckles into your mouth, the sound low and gravelly. Goosebumps raise on your skin. He opens his mouth for you, and his free hand wraps around your arm.

You yelp when he jerks you forward. Your chest hits his with a thud. His hands are quick to curve around the backs of your thighs, maneuvering you onto his lap. Now straddling him, you wrap your greedy little fingers around his biceps.

He tilts his head back, giving you a different angle to taste him. You drop your hips, sitting yourself on top of his body. His fingertips dig into your thighs, creeping closer and closer to your ass.

You slide your hands under the hem of his shirt, frantically tugging it upward. He lifts his arms, and you pull it off. You bite your lip at the sight of him, skin smooth and muscled. Your hands move to his body like a magnet, and you whimper as you run your touch over his chest and stomach.

His lips attach to your jaw, trailing down to your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Your head falls back, mouth dropping open shamelessly. One of his hands slides onto your back to support you while he attacks your throat. His tongue licks stripes over your skin. He pulls at the hem of your shirt, shoving it aside to reveal part of your shoulder. A moan escapes your lips as he sucks on the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. You can't help your hips as they shift on him. He grunts, his lips slipping from your neck.

Your eyes flash open, meeting his immediately. His chest heaves as he looks up at you, eyes blown wide.

"I thought I was over this—over you,” Yeosang says, voice rasped. He smirks. "But I'm not."

He surges forward, flipping you so that you're on your back on the floor with him on top of you. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist to draw him closer. He responds by resuming his work on your neck.

You obediently tilt your head to the side to give him unrestricted access to your skin. Your touch snakes onto his back, fingertips tracing the chords of his muscles as his body expertly shifts above you. One of his hands slips onto the outside of your thigh, holding your leg against his hip.

"I'm in love with you, too," you blurt, out of breath. "I think I've always loved you. When I made you kiss me on the playground...since then. Every hour of every day."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating with heat against your neck.

"The kiss was that good, huh?"

You giggle, punching his arm, but inhale sharply when he catches your skin between his teeth. Your palms greedily slide over his skin in response.

"You've gotten a little better since then," you say teasingly. "And bigger."

He laughs again, freeing your neck. He braces himself on one arm as he looks down at you. You squirm underneath him as his glazed-over eyes size you up.

"Is this real?" he mutters.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I've dreamed about this for years, wondering what it would feel like."

"What what would feel like?"

"Loving you fully. Having you love me back. It doesn't feel possible."

Your heart aches, swelling with affection. You reach up to cup his cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear.

"It's real, Sangie. From now on, as long as you love me, I'll love you back. I promise. Do you promise, too?"

You hold your hand out, pinky outstretched. He chuckles but hooks his finger in yours. You curl your digits together, interlocking them firmly.

"Promise."

taglist: //

[kxsagi]

haia! how r u? can I request were reader and shidou were at a bar, and reader gets like drunk so shidou carries them home. BUT the reader is like crazy drunk and doesn’t know it’s shidou who’s carrying them and start saying things like “my boyfriend (shidou) is really hot” “I love my boyfriend a lot” AND JUST LIKE CRAZY STUFF LIKE THAT. I don’t really send requests that much, but seeing how good ur work is I would love it if u took my request c: ITS OKAI IF U DONT ILL STILL READ AND LOVE UR STUFF

“𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞”

a/n: hiii! i'm good, how are you angel?

i HAD to do this request HOW COULD I NOT, IT'S SO CUTE!!! also thank you so much!!!

(art credits go to Shigeo_1102 on twt)

some suggestive content inside! 

you’re drunk. 

not tipsy. not giggly. you are obliterated. some mix of glowing cocktail and cheap shots and “let me try yours” has you in shambles, legs flopped over shidou’s arms like a noodle princess as he carries you out of the bar bridal style, ignoring every set of eyes on him. 

“hey,” you mumble against his chest, forehead pressed right above his collarbone. “i think i left my bones back there.” 

he sighs. “yeah, your brain, too.” 

“rude,” you slur, poking his cheek. “you’re so mean. how about we fight right now?” 

he doesn’t reply. he can’t, actually, because he's choking on his own laugh. 

you don’t even realize it’s him. your eyes are barely open and you’re holding onto him like a ragdoll, one arm loosely hooked around his neck, the other flopping dramatically every time he takes a step. he’s mostly amused. mostly. 

“my boyfriend’s gonna be so mad when he finds out some random guy carried me home,” you whisper, then giggle. “he’s super hot and scary and has this insane tongue piercing, that feels damn good in the bedroom, so good luck to you.” 

shidou blinks. 

“… is that so?” 

“yeah,” you hum dreamily. “he’s like… totally unhinged and i love him. one time he clocked a guy for looking at me. like nearly broke his jaw. full-on violent behavior. i almost cried. it was soooo romantic.” 

he adjusts his grip, lifting you higher up his chest because you keep slipping. your face squishes into his neck again. 

“he sounds toxic,” he says dryly. 

“maybe! but it’s sooo sexy,” you say, absolutely beaming now. “he looks like the kind of guy who’s been banned from multiple countries and– wait. wait. oh my gosh, are you the guy who’s carrying me?!” 

“you’re catching up fast, sweetheart.” 

you gasp. “you are shidou!” 

he gives you a flat look. “you just talked about me for ten minutes straight.” 

“did i?” your hand flies to your face, full of drunken horror. “i said the tongue piercing thing, didn’t i?” 

“you said a lot of things.” 

you groan and hide your face in his shoulder, whining, “forget everything! erase it from your mind! i was under the influence of tequila and cuteness.” 

“so i’m cute and scary now?” 

“you’re so scary. and so hot. and i love you so bad.” 

he kicks the door to your apartment open like a gentleman. 

“yeah, yeah,” he says. “i know.” 

“do you? do you really know??” 

he sets you down on the couch and you immediately flop face-first into a pillow. 

“i love you soooo much,” you mumble into the fabric. “you’re like. my little criminal boyfriend. i wanna take you to meet my mom. but not my dad, ‘cause he’ll get mad you pierced your tongue and dyed your hair and have multiple warning flags in FIFA.” 

he raises an eyebrow. 

“… you want me to meet your mom?” 

“obviously,” you scoff, rolling over to look up at him with the most lovestruck expression he’s ever seen. “she’d love you. you’re so pretty. she’s gonna say, ‘wow, he’s prettier than you.’ and i’ll be like ‘yeah, mom. i know.’” 

he stares at you for a moment. then bends down and kisses your forehead, soft. 

“sleep, psycho.” 

“okay,” you say. “but if i die, tell my boyfriend i love him.” 

he sighs again. “i am your boyfriend.” 

“right. duh.” 

a pause. 

“wait… you heard the tongue piercing thing?” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[starl1ght444]

jason todd x reader

── .✦ fluff

[you love jason, just the way he is]

2k word count

just the way you are ; by billy joel [spotify link]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the apartment’s quiet in the kind of way that only happens past midnight—when the city’s hum softens, when the world lets you breathe a little slower. the lights are low, the windows cracked open just enough for the breeze to drift through and ruffle the curtains. some playlist you made a while ago plays low on the speaker in the background, the songs bleeding into each other like watercolors.

you’re curled up on the couch, legs tangled with jason’s as he leans back, one arm draped around you lazily, the other toying with a loose thread on your sweater. he smells like his body wash and the faintest trace of smoke from the ride home, and he’s warm—he always runs warm.

you’ve been talking about nothing and everything. the future. the past. a little bit of the present, too. “do you ever think about where we’ll be in ten years?” you ask, your voice soft, words barely rising above the music.

jason hums. “only if you’re there.”

it makes you smile, that kind of small, slow smile that tugs at your cheeks and your heart all at once. you shift closer, resting your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of it under your ear.

the next song begins—piano keys warm and familiar—and your body stills for a second before you sit up, eyes lighting up the moment you recognize the melody. “oh my god,” you whisper, already smiling wider, “i love this song.”

jason raises a brow, amused. “yeah?”

“yeah.” you rise to your feet, barefoot and loose-limbed in the soft lamplight, swaying a little as the words begin. “don’t go changing… to try and please me…”

you sing it without shame, just like you always do when you’re in your own little world. but then your eyes flick to jason, and something shifts. you reach out your hand to him, still singing, still swaying. “dance with me.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that sounds like disbelief and fondness all wrapped into one. “now?”

“yes, now.” you tug on his hand. “c’mon, jase.”

and he can’t say no to you. not when you’re looking at him like that. — so he lets you pull him up, lets you guide his hands to your waist, lets you rest yours on his shoulders as you start to dance—slow and a little awkward at first, but it doesn’t matter. it’s just the two of you, moving gently in the glow of the living room lamp, as billy joel’s voice pours through the speakers and into the space between your bodies.

you’re still singing, but softer now, your voice aimed up at him like a secret meant only for him to hear. “don’t go trying some new fashion… don’t change the color of your hair…”

and jason… he freezes for a second. just a second. because something about the way you’re looking at him as you sing—it does something to him. he’s not used to this. not used to being seen so clearly. not used to being loved so simply. “don’t imagine you’re too familiar… and i don’t see you anymore…”

you smile up at him, still swaying, still singing. and you mean every word. “i wouldn’t leave you in times of trouble… we never could have come this far…”

“you mean that?” he asks quietly.

you nod without hesitation. “of course i do.”

he swallows hard, his eyes dipping closed for a moment like he’s trying to memorize this—your voice, the warmth of your hands on his neck, the softness in your eyes as you sing to him like he’s the most lovable thing on this earth.

“ i took the good times, i’ll take the bad times… i’ll take you just the way you are…” you brush your fingers along his jaw, smiling.

“jason,” you whisper. “i don’t need you to change for me. i never have.”

and that’s the part that undoes him a little. not all at once. but in the way his shoulders ease. in the way he leans down and rests his forehead against yours. in the way his voice cracks a little when he says, “i don’t deserve you.”

you shake your head, lips brushing against his when you whisper, “yes, you do.”

and then you just hold him, swaying together to the rest of the song. and he holds you like you’re something breakable, something precious, something he’s terrified to lose.

in his chest, his heart is aching in the best way—because no one’s ever sung a love song to him before. and now here you are, doing just that. telling him, through melody and motion and touch, that he doesn’t have to be anything but himself.

just the way he is.

and god, he thinks he could stay in this moment forever.

of course. here’s the continuation—jason holding onto the moment long after the song ends, wanting to show you in his own quiet way just how much it meant.

the music fades but neither of you stop moving. there’s no need for rhythm anymore. the silence feels fuller somehow—like the echo of your voice is still lingering in the air between you. your cheek rests against jason’s chest again, and he wraps his arms around you tighter, his chin brushing the top of your head. “you always do that,” he murmurs after a while, his voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by water.

you shift slightly to look up at him. “do what?”

“say the exact thing i need to hear… without even knowing it.”you smile, your fingertips tracing soft lines across the back of his neck. “guess i’m just good like that.”

he huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s something else behind it. something heavier. something that’s been sitting in his chest for a long time. “you know,” he starts, hesitant, “i used to hate that song.”

your brows knit. “really?”

“yeah,” he says, eyes distant now, gaze somewhere over your shoulder. “used to hear it on the radio sometimes and it pissed me off. felt fake, like… who actually says stuff like that and means it?”

you don’t say anything. you just let him talk. you always do. he exhales through his nose, then glances down at you. “but hearing you sing it? to me? it didn’t feel fake anymore.”

you reach up and brush a strand of hair from his face. “because it wasn’t.” — he leans into your touch like it grounds him. like he needs the reminder that he’s here, with you, and not stuck in some old memory where love was conditional or fleeting or used like a weapon.

“i keep waiting for you to wake up and realize i’m not worth all this,” he says quietly.

you frown. “jason—”

“i know,” he cuts in gently. “i know you love me. i just… sometimes i don’t know how to carry it. it’s so big. and soft. and good. and i’m still trying to figure out how to not ruin that.”

you take his hand in yours, bringing it to your chest, right over your heart. “you don’t have to carry it. just hold it. let it be yours.” he doesn’t respond right away, but you feel his thumb stroke across your skin, reverent and slow.

after a moment, he tugs you toward the couch again, pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to something steady. you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, and he holds you close enough to feel the beat of your heart against his ribs.

“what if i wanted to learn that song?” he asks softly.

you pull back, eyes bright. “you wanna sing it?”

“no,” he smirks. “god, no. i’d butcher it. but maybe i could learn to play it for you. on piano. if you taught me.”

your smile turns into a grin. “deal. but only if you let me film you messing up.”

he groans. “blackmail already?”

“i’m building our future memories, todd.”

he chuckles at that, low and genuine, his hand slipping under your sweater to rest on the small of your back. “fine. one recording. and maybe i’ll even let you teach me another song after.” — “it’s a date.”

you sit like that for a long time. the playlist eventually shifts to some soft instrumental piece, but you’re not really listening. jason’s fingers move gently along your spine, and every so often, he leans down to kiss your temple, your cheek, the curve of your shoulder. when it’s time for bed, he carries you there—not because he has to, but because he wants to. because something about tonight made his chest feel a little lighter, his heart a little fuller.

he falls asleep with you in his arms and the words of that song still echoing in his head—i love you just the way you are—and for once, he believes it.

not because he’s changed.

but because you never asked him to.

the morning sun slips through the blinds in golden strips, painting the apartment in soft light and quiet comfort. it’s the kind of peaceful morning that feels like it shouldn’t be real—too tender, too safe, too good to exist in a world like this.

the bed is still warm when you wake, sheets slightly rumpled beside you where jason had been. his side smells like him—warm spice, leather, faint smoke—and you inhale deeply before sitting up, stretching your limbs with a sleepy yawn.

somewhere down the hall, you hear the soft clink of pans and something sizzles in a skillet. and faintly—so faint it might’ve gone unnoticed if you weren’t still wrapped in the memory of last night—you hear it.

him.

humming. “don’t go changing…”

you smile before your feet even hit the floor.

padding into the kitchen, you see him there. shirtless, of course, in those damn soft cotton sleep pants that sit low on his hips. his hair’s still a little messy, like he ran a hand through it and called it a day. he’s standing at the stove, flipping something in a pan, a mug of coffee resting nearby.

and he’s humming your song.

it makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

you sneak up behind him, arms slipping around his waist as you press your cheek to his back, warm skin under your lips as you kiss between his shoulder blades.

he stills for a second, then melts into your touch.

“good morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice still a little gravelly with sleep.

“good morning,” you hum back. “you’re humming again.”

“yeah?” he says, flipping the eggs. “didn’t even realize.”

you grin against his back. “it’s stuck in your head, huh?”

“maybe,” he says. but you can hear the smile in his voice.

you hug him tighter, swaying a little just to make him laugh, which he does—a soft, low chuckle that vibrates through his spine. “you know what this means, right?” you say, nudging your nose against his skin.

“what?”

“that’s our song now.” he glances over his shoulder at you, brow raised, lips tugging into a smirk. “is it?”

“yep. official. no takesies backsies.”

he turns fully then, leaving the spatula resting on the counter for a moment so he can loop his arms around you. you look up at him, sleep still soft in your eyes, and he leans down to kiss your forehead first. then your cheek. then your mouth, slow and sweet and full of something unspoken.

“then it’s our song,” he says against your lips. “and i’ll hum it every morning if it means you’ll keep hugging me like that.”

you rest your head on his chest again, heart so full it feels like it might spill over. “deal,” you whisper.

and he just holds you there in the middle of the kitchen, breakfast forgotten for a moment, the sunlight wrapping around you both like a second embrace.

“don’t go trying… some new fashion…” he starts humming again, and this time, you hum with him.

two voices, one heart.

your song.

his home.

later that afternoon, after breakfast has been eaten (burnt toast and all), and the two of you have showered and lazed around in worn clothes and shared blankets, you find yourself sitting at the small upright piano in the corner of the apartment. it’s nothing fancy—bought secondhand and tuned just enough—but you love it. it feels like home.

jason stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and that soft look on his face, the one he only ever wears for you.

you glance back at him over your shoulder, raising a brow. “you gonna stand there and stare at me all day, or are you gonna come be annoying and sit next to me like usual?”

he smirks. “i like the view from here.”

“perv.”

“artist appreciator,” he corrects, stepping into the room. “big difference.”

you roll your eyes but your lips twitch into a smile anyway as you shift on the bench to make room. he sits beside you, his thigh brushing yours. his arm finds the back of the bench, lazy and loose, fingers grazing the fabric of your shirt. “you gonna play for me, sweetheart?”

“only if you’re nice.”

“i’m always nice.”

you give him a side glance, unimpressed. “you literally growled at the toaster this morning.”

“it tried to kill my english muffin.”

you huff a laugh and shake your head, turning your attention to the keys. your fingers settle against the cool ivory, familiar and easy, and you start playing—not just the way you are this time, but something else. something quiet and pretty and wordless.

jason watches your hands like they’re telling a story only he’s meant to hear. every now and then, your pinky brushes a key with extra softness, or you hum something under your breath to fill the space. he doesn’t interrupt. doesn’t speak. he just listens.

and god, he loves you. he doesn’t even know how to say it right most of the time, but watching you like this, so comfortable in your skin, so full of grace and light—it makes him feel something heavy in the best way. — when you finish the piece, your fingers linger on the last chord, letting it fade into the stillness.

“you’re like a dream,” he murmurs.

you glance at him, smile soft. “nah. just in love.”

he tilts his head, lips tugging upward. “with me?”

“unfortunately.” — he lets out a laugh and pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “lucky me, then.”

“you are,” you reply easily, resting your head against his shoulder. “but hey…”

“yeah?” — you shift so you can look at him. “next time that song comes on, you’re dancing with me again. no hesitation.”

“even if we’re in public?”

“especially then.”

he groans. “you’re trying to kill me.”

“i’m trying to love you.” — and he looks at you like that’s the most dangerous thing in the world—and the only thing he’s ever wanted.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I LOOVVEEE BILLY JOEL SO MUCH 🫂!!! i saw him in concert and it was literally on my bucket list— i adore his music and the way it lingers in my soul.

i think this song really is so beautiful, i listen to ‘the stranger’ album while i write and it truly helps me express myself.

this was a short little story that i thought of on a whim! i hope yall enjoyed!! :3

have a wonderful day / night wherever you are!!

not edited :p !!

[tobesolnelyx]

hey, we had fratboy shauna, lottie, and... fratboy jackie?

— so into you || fratboy and g!p jackie taylor headcanons 🎬

a/n: nothing smart to say this time. just need her. also, she gives strong ariana grande songs vibes if you ask me.

summary: she changed since high school and turns out…she’s not as bad as you thought she is. modern college au. girlfriend!jackie.

warnings: NSFW - content - MDNI

★ — well, you didn’t know that someone like jackie taylor exist til the day you walked in class. she sits spread open at the desk. varsity jacket around her shoulders with college soccer team logo. there’s weird, like really concerning amount of silver rings on her fingers. and, oh god, boxers are picking out from the waistband of her jeans.

★ — after that you learn that this girl is a soccer team captain! and your friends are pretty sure she’s into you. you let it slide for now, cause jackie…simply doesn’t make a move. sure, smiles at you, sometimes throw compliment or two. but nothing besides that.

★ — and hell, that girl got reputation. people say she’s mean which…just doesn’t make sense in your head. she’s so nervous around you, how could she be mean to anyone? then, when she finally gets her shit together, she catches you in cafeteria and in front of all your friends she asks you out.

i mean, she tries. cause what comes from her mouth sounds like she’s choking. “hi…so…” she swallows. “i actually don’t know, i mean, you don’t have a boyfriend, yeah? or hell, girlfriend? i just…” she stutters. “maybe you wanna go out? tomorrow? i mean, no rush! we don’t have to, it’s your choice, really…”

“jackie” you cut her off. “just pick me up around 6.”

she stares at you for a moment then she looks like she’s suddenly buzzing with energy. “oh fuck, great—“ she says relieved. “i mean, yeah. cool. whatever.” she mumbles, trying not to sound overexcited. she does anyway. she blushes like a total idiot walking away.

★ — did i mention her obsession with varsity jackets? no? cause this asshole has whole ass collection in her closet. not like you’re complaining when she borrows you another one. they’re smell like hell. (borrows is a big word, she just warps you in it. deal with it.)

★ — oh jackie’s smell. always so fresh, with that cologne sticking tt her skin that fills up your nostrils anytime she’s hovering over you.

★ — right! going back to her rings! the same with jackets — whole ass collections is placed at her nightstand. she wakes up in the morning and put random ones on. the more the better. turns out she loves jewellery in general. necklaces, bracelets. yes, she wears your bra strap as a bracelet.

★ — speaking of which — jackie has piercings! just in ears tho. beginning with basic lobes and ending with conch, helix and rook. and well…one hidden one. albert king piercing.

★ — you gasp when you have sex for the first time, feeling something like ring brushing against your velvet walls. you stare at her. not used to this new sensation.

“jackie, is that…?” you start but she nods swiftly, cheeks are flushed both from embarrassment and arousal.

“is it bad, cause…?” she pants but you shake your head swiftly.

“no, fuck that’s…” you manage to choke out. “that’s hot, jax.”

★ — you see, jackie was a virgin until she met you. she’s so panicked when you’re fucking for the first time. constantly asking you if she’s doing okay, if she’s not hurting you.

“jesus christ, jax.” you breathe out with amusement. “just fuck me.”

and god knows she does. firstly, she’s hesitant, taking things slow. but when her dick is buried deep inside your slick folds? she nearly cries out from pleasure. poor jackie, never had pussy around her cock. when she gets more confident, she fucks you like woman possessed. and she even moans way louder than you. whimpering in your ear with each thrust.

★ — not to mention the first time you give her a head. her eyes rolls back in her head from pleasure while you suck her tip with piercing.

★ — here’s another thing: jackie is prideful. jackie doesn’t like when people tell her what to do. always cocky, in charge. like she’s the best in every single thing she does (she’s not. she’s just annoying.) and then, there’s you. and she loves when you put her in her place while riding her dick. or even without fucking her. she just obeys.

★ — she loves affection but only privately. in public she plays this unbothered, smug frat. keeping your close but not always touching you. pressing kisses to your neck occasionally but she doesn’t cling to you. not around people at least. cough, reputation.

★ — cause when you’re alone? fuck, she does cling. her hands are all over you, lips travelling constantly up and down. like she’ll die if she won’t be touching you. call her all you want, she’s secretly an awful simp for you. also, people know that. probably after she fell asleep on you at that one party. gripping you like you’re the last person on planet earth.

★ — she gives you a lot compliments. leaving the notes on the fridge, in your notes, in your bag…everywhere. and you learn to compliment her too by that! she’s blushing like hell when you call her handsome.

★ — she’s annoying. like really fucking getting on your nerves sometimes. caring too much about her reputation. her clothes. her fucking appearance. all the damn time.

“jax, what the hell?” you ask irritated walking into the bathroom. “you’re sitting here for hours.”

“yeah, to look pretty for a date with my prettiest girlfriend” she grins tugging you for a kiss. and yeah…you melt right and there.

★ — she’s a smoker — always walking everywhere with her vape. she probably smokes something awfully sweet. like strawberry or raspberry.

★ — she needs to keep up her reputation of that confident, perfect asshole that somehow is loved by everyone around. but when it comes to you…you’re her safe place. she’s sensitive. more than people think. sometimes she simply cries in your arms because of the pressure. only to feel a little guilty next day and brings you breakfast to your bed. from your favourite restaurant. she memorised.

★ — she doesn’t say much i love you’s. she’s definitely not so obvious with her love. but she’s sure as hell possessive — you’re her absolute everything. and jackie taylor doesn’t share.

[cup1dluvhss]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ YOUR ANNOYING NEIGHBOUR (P2), written by cup1dluvhs

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊a couple weeks after your interaction with your loud neighbour, you come across him once again in an elevator.

| warnings: flirting, kinda fluff, swearing

| taking requests!

it had been around two weeks since you had finally snapped on your neighbour and marched over to his apartment, and you were happy to say that he had been moderately well behaved.

yes there was still noise, but it wasn’t as bad as it was, and you appreciated that he was making an effort to keep it to a minimum. however, you still hated him with a passion.

you could sense there’d be another stressful day ahead of you as you stepped out the door of your apartment, bag slung over your shoulder and the books you couldn’t fit into it in both of your arms. you had barely any time to get ready, look over your materials to prepare for your classes, and you were feeling like staying home and rotting in your bed all day.

you approached the elevator and hit the button, sighing slightly as the doors opened, your frame stepping inside and pressing the button for the ground floor. the doors were just about closing until a hand slotted itself in between them, and they opened again.

there he was. after two weeks, you had seen him again, and he was just as attractive as you remembered him. he grunted awkwardly as he stood next to you, a tension between your bodies lingering in the air.

‘so—’

‘don’t.’

you said firmly, flicking some of your hair over your shoulder as his brown eyes glanced at you for a moment, observing your expression.

‘still mad at me, are we?’ he said cockily, as if the reason you were mad at him wasn’t completely reasonable.

‘uh—yeah? you think toning down the noise by point five percent is something i should be grateful for? what do you want me to do, get on my knees for you?’ you scoffed, your tone firm and assertive as an expression of amusement crossed his face.

‘i wouldn’t say no.’ he said, clenching his jaw slightly as you furrowed your brows at him before shaking your head, your eyes growing heavy.

‘your so annoying, you know that?’ you said, turning your body to face him as he replicated your action, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘well, if i wasn’t so annoying then i wouldn’t have met you.’ he said, his words tumbling out of his mouth so easily as you felt your heart begin to thump faster and faster.

‘shut up.’ you muttered, turning back to face the elevator doors.

‘you wanna tell me your name?’ he asked you, his voice low and husky as you rolled your eyes, your bottom lip catching between your teeth.

‘it’s y/n. will you leave me alone now?’ you seethed just as the elevator doors opened, and you were now free from him, much to your delight.

‘no promises, y/n.’ he called after you almost tauntingly as you stormed out of the elevator, a red tint to your cheeks and a fast heart which you were trying so desperately hard to ignore.

you shouldn’t be feeling this way. he’s your neighbour, and he’s arrogant, and he clearly thinks he can have his way with anyone. but yet, you still couldn’t manage to get rid of the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

[after-the-end-times]

Sasquatch isn't real and Steve's not a Banshee

Rating: G ◆ Words: 2k ◆ Tags: Established Relationship, Cryptid Road Trip, Banshee Steve Harrington, Human Eddie Munson, Being outed as not human by a friendly cryptid ◆ @steddiebingo Squares - Monster AU/ Road trip /Lake ◆ @stmonstercalendar - Banshee ◆ @steddie-spooktober Halfway to Halloween - Picnic Ao3

“Steeeve!” Eddie sung out, walking into their apartment, finding Steve in the kitchen. “Look what we’re doing this Spring Break!”

“Well, that’s Easter break and the kids are all heading home from college, so Dustin made a whole itinerary of activities and get togeth-”

“Yeah no, we’re not doing any of that. Look at this,” Eddie said, waving something around Steve’s head.

“Stop that.” Steve batted at the cloth Eddie had shoved in his face, yanking it from him. He opened it up to see a dish towel tourist map of all the supposed cryptids that resided in Indiana. “The fuck is this?”

“It’s our Spring Break plans!” Eddie pointed at the different creatures. “It’ll be like a little mini road trip just around the state! It’ll prepare us for this summer’s cross country road trip. And maybe we’ll see something cool or spooky!”

Amusement flooded Steve at seeing Eddie’s openly excited expression. “Fine, but you get to tell Dustin. And don’t get your hopes up about seeing any of them.”

“Yes!” Eddie grabbed Steve’s shoulders, hopping around him. “This is gonna be great! Let’s make some lists!”

Three weeks later, the truck rumbled under them as they set out on the road. The back end filled with coolers and suitcases, Eddie sitting shotgun with a real map, cryptid locations marked by red stars. Eddie had made a list of all the locations he wanted to hit, Steve had planned the most direct route to take, and Dustin gave them both an earful for missing most of his week of plans.

Their first destination lay just a couple hours down the highway. Eddie hoped to see Meshekenabek, The Monster of Lake Manitou. Steve knew Eddie wouldn’t see anything, but it’d still be a fun for him!

“So, you think we’ll see anything?” Eddie asked.

Steve palmed the steering wheel and reached a hand over to rest on Eddie’s thigh. “No, babe. You’re not gonna see anyone- thing. Anything out there. But we can still have a nice picnic and a nap by the lake.”

He tapped Eddie’s thigh, humming along with the song on the radio. He felt eyes on him, flicking a glance over, Eddie was staring at him in contemplation.

“What’cha thinking about so hard over there?”

“You keep doing that.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow toward him, brushing his thumb across his thigh and humming. “I guess, this is where I ask. Doing what?”

Eddie tapped Steve’s hand lightly. “Even while planning, you kept using pronouns for all the cryptids. And then you’d immediately be all shifty or try to laugh it off. So, I guess, this is where I ask. Do you know something I don’t?”

Steve smirked at the perfect set up. “Oh, babe, I know of things beyond your wildest imagination.”

Eddie laughed like Steve knew he would, hopefully distracted enough to move on.

“Steve, come on. We fought literal demon monsters in hell. We know a girl with actual real life powers. If you know that Sasquatch is real, you can tell me. Please tell me Sasquatch is real.” Eddie clasped Steve’s hand between his and held them up under his chin.

Steve knew he was making his eyes all big and wet, beseeching. Eyes Steve can’t help, but to always give into. Good thing he was driving, Steve was saved from the full force of that look. But he could still feel it, his heart and belly trying with all their might to make him look over at Eddie, to just tell him.

“Eddie. Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just because Hawkins happens to be a gateway to hell, doesn’t mean all that other stuff in your books, and dish towel, is real.”

Steve felt Eddie lower their hands to his lap, Eddie flipping it palm up, so he could trace Steve’s life lines. But he didn’t say anything. The sound from the radio filled the cab. It wasn’t tense, but Steve could feel Eddie thinking.

“Ok,” Eddie finally said.

They spent the rest of the drive bopping along to the radio, Eddie reading some paranormal books he’d checked out of the library. They passed through the town of Rochester and followed their map to the lake. They drove through a few neighborhoods until they found a spot to pull over.

Steve dropped the tailgate to slide the cooler to the edge, grabbing out some pops and sandwiches. Eddie grabbed his “Explorer’s Bag” holding a notebook, pens, sketching pencils, disposable camera, and polaroid camera. They walked down to the grassy edge of the lake, picking a spot to plop down. Steve got out their sandwiches, laying them on their baggies, and popped open his drink. Eddie stared out at the lake, waiting.

Steve took a bite of his sandwich. “So, what now? We just wait to for a sea serpent to pop up to say hi?”

“I don’t know, didn’t really think of this part.” Eddie glanced at Steve. “In my head, I guess we’d show up, see something suspicious and, I don’t know, track the clues? Maybe this wasn’t the most thought out plan. Should we just go home after this?”

“At least it’s pretty.” Steve nodded out at the lake. “I don’t mind road tripping just to see some nice spots. Bet a store in town has some touristy stuff we could pick up.”

“Yeah, ok.” Eddie didn’t look pacified, but at least he started eating.

Steve felt a little bad that Eddie wasn’t going to get what he wanted out of the trip, but Steve honestly didn’t mind just driving around the state, spending time with Eddie. They didn’t always get a lot of this kind of alone time, even living together, what with work and activities, Robin and Corroded Coffin.

“I’m gonna go grab the chips, hold down the picnic while I’m gone,” Eddie said, standing to run back to the truck. Steve looked back out over the rippling, blue lake, clouds reflected in its surface. It was so peaceful-

Splash

Steve tensed. It was probably just a fish or a bird landing, it definitely wasn’t-

Splash!

Steve stood, walking over to the lake, making it look like he was just enjoying the view. At the water’s edge, he glanced back to see Eddie hanging over the edge of the truck bed, trying to pull the dry food bag closer.

Steve leaned over the water, speaking low. “I’m not here alone, you need to stay out of sight.”

Splash

Water flicked up at Steve, wetting his clothes, sprinkling his face.

He wiped at his face, glaring. “Thank you for that, but no. I’m not coming in today. You gotta go.”

“Steve?” Steve flinched and turned to see Eddie walking back, hand halfway in the bag.

Flicking one last glare toward the water, Steve smiled back to Eddie. “Saw a bird scooping up a fish, pretty cool to see in person. You ready to head out?”

Eddie tilted his head, confused smile in place. “No? I just got the chips. Thought we were gonna enjoy this a little longer?”

“We could, yeah. Orrrr we could drive into town, see where we could find a key chain or magnet with this mythical monster on it. Maybe find a bathroom before we head out.”

“Ok, but can w-” Eddie’s eyes went wide, mouth dropping open, bag of chips spilling to the ground.

Steve dropped his head in defeat. He knew what Eddie saw rising behind him.

“Steve,” Eddie whispered, eyes still locked behind him. “Walk toward me, baby. Slowly. There’s- there’s a- The Monster of-”

Splash!

Water drenched the back of Steve, droplets making it to Eddie. Steve sighed deeply and rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Yeah, uh, he doesn’t like being called that.”

Eddie’s wide eyed gaze moved to Steve. Steve held out his hand, wiggling his fingers like he always does when he wants Eddie to hold his hand. “It’s ok, I want you to meet someone.”

Eddie walked slowly toward him, eyes flicking between him and the large serpent at his back, until his hand was firmly within Steve’s. He tipped his head toward Steve, lowering his voice. “I know it’s the wrong time to say this, but I knew you were lying and keeping information to yourself. Now, is it- splash -he nice? Obviously, he can understand me.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yes, he’s very friendly. Kinda the problem, actually.” Steve pulled him around so they both faced the creature.

“Eddie, I’d like you to meet Kevin of Lake Manitou. Kevin, this is my partner, Eddie.”

Kevin swam across the water toward them. Eddie jerked, stepping in close to Steve’s side, squeezing his hand tight. Steve swept a thumb over Eddie’s knuckles to reassure him, though he still glanced worriedly over at Steve.

Steve crouched at the edge of grass and water, pulling Eddie down with him. “Put your hand out. Like this.”

Eddie followed his lead, reaching out the hand not held tight by Steve over the water. Kevin came close, slipping smoothly up and out of the water to brush his head across Steve’s hand first and then Eddie’s.

Steve heard a tiny gasp from Eddie and looked over. Eddie was grinning, relief coursed through Steve as he watched Eddie petting Kevin’s head, flipping his hand under to scritch his chin.

“If you want, you can get take a polaroid. You can never show it to anyone, but you can take it.”

Eddie’s head snapped over to look at him. “You trust me with a photo? What if-”

“Eddie. ‘Course I trust you. I mean, maybe we wait to tell the kids til they’re older, but yeah. It’s just, I couldn’t tell you because it’s my duty to protect them all; from curious people, from hunters, from developers. It’s been my family’s job for generations going back hundreds of years.”

“So, what, you get to protect them ‘cause you’re, like, the only humans who know about them?”

“Uh, no.” Kevin lifted out of the water, resting his big head on Steve’s knees, offering support, Steve pet him slowly. He looked Eddie in the eye. “We’re, uh, we’re not exactly...completely...human.”

Eddie blinked at him, opening his mouth a few times before closing it. “You’re, uh, you’re- what?”

Steve ducked his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. My mom’s a Banshee, her whole side of the family is. My dad’s a human, though. Banshees are kinda, like, a warning system in our world. I don’t have all of Mom’s abilities, but I can still sense when something’s vaguely wrong or someone’s on the verge of death.”

Looking up, Steve wasn’t sure Eddie was breathing anymore. “You ok?”

Eddie’s distant gaze snapped backing into focus on Steve’s face. “This makes so much sense. All those times- And you knew in the Upside Down- Wow. Ok. Yeah, ok. But-” Eddie’s face fell, suddenly sad and worried.

“Eddie?”

“You said this has been your family’s duty, passed down for generations, but if we’re- You’ll need to, you know- I can’t give you- ugh.” he pulled a hand down his face.

Steve reached out, stopping him from shoving his hand into his hair to pull at it in frustration. “Eddie. I have cousins, it’s fine. Or we can find a surrogate. Robin’s kinda offered; though she said not until she’s established in her career. So, we have time. But...you’re fine? With the whole, you know, not human thing?”

Eddie tilted his head in confusion, before oh-ing in understanding.

“Honey,” he said, a wide smile overtaking his face, “I’ve loved you for four years now; you think a little thing like ‘not being completely human’ is going to change that? Not on your life, baby. You’re stuck with me forever.”

Steve’s cheeks hurt from how wide he smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

Eddie glanced down at Kevin, reaching over to scritch between his eyes, he suddenly gasped. “Wait! Does this mean Sasquatch really is real?!”

Based on this dish towel

[at4-raxia]

Mark Grayson x Ladybug!reader part 4

(part 3, part 5)

Before you read: Mark and the reader are whipped for each other (obsessed to some degree), suggestive, non consensual touching/kissing, the variants want that cookie, Sinister Mark is his own warning (I don't think I need to specify that any further honestly), the reader is not okay, angst (because why not?), and lastly but not least, violence and blood.

Synopsis: In every universe out there you're the sweet girl that knows Mark Grayson since birth and that sticks with him until you die. One way or another, no matter the circumstance, you die. The ways differ: some are more gruesome than others, some are just mercy, some deaths are an extreme act of rebellion. Right now, as you swing from building to building to try and save your parents, you don't know how exceptional you are, since no other version of yourself has ever left Mark's embrace.

("Mark"

It's a peaceful morning, a weekend. As always, you spent those at his house and wake up on his bed with him wrapped around your midsection. You know he's awake but doesn't want to get up since he tickles your stomach with his nose and hair as he tries to find a better position.

"Mmh?" That's the only thing that comes out of him as he just tightens his hold. You smile, amused, because out of all the people around the globe you're the only one that can 'tame' Invincible, you're the only girl in the world that has the opportunity to see him like this, make him like this.

Even if your parents don't approve of him.

They never did actually.

You wonder if their dislike comes from the fact that when you two were little he broke your wrist from playing too roughly. Maybe it's not that, but the fact that his eyes are a little too apathetic to be normal, his way of handling things is too rough, too harsh, sadistic at times. Nevertheless they don't know what you see in that mess, in that boy that smiles at you only when things go his way. Mark hated them just as much, they were nuisances in his opinion.

It's not that you don't see. You do, you do it better than anybody. It's just that you don't want to acknowledge, accept, that they are right. After all he is not a good person, he is not kind, he is merciless as he slaughters another monster in a way that's too gruesome to even record and show on the news. But he is so good to you, they just don't see it.

You know he loves you in his own distorted way, and that's enough. Because you'd prefer having Mark than not having him at all.

"I have received my acceptance letter from that culinary school. The one that has that two year experience course."

"The one in Paris?"

"Yeah", for a moment nothing comes out of his mouth as he is thinking about this, or maybe he is waiting for you to give him the answer he wants.

"I've been thinking we could go to Paris, since you dropped out of high school". After his father's indoctrination, he didn't see a point in completing his studies when instead he had to train for more important things, like the empire he was going to build.

"I don't know". It's almost a warning, it feels like one.

"What do you mean 'you don't know'? There's nothing that's holding you back". He's the one holding you back instead, because everyone knows that wherever you are, Mark is not far behind.

"What about the GDA?" His voice is calm, collected, a bit scratchy like always, and he has yet to look at your face. To him this conversation is meaningless, it's pointless, just a way to pass time as you comb your fingers through his hair. At the end of the day, no matter how much you whine, you always give in to what he says.

"Mark don't give me that bullshit, we both know that you don't give a shit about them", your statement is not authoritarian, it doesn't question the dynamic between the two of you, but your tone is enough to make Mark finally turn around and look at you.

His gaze is always so dark, so cold, it makes you wonder if he loves you at least a little bit.

"Are you going to keep wasting my time with this nonsense? Why would we even need to go to Paris anyway?" It's not as if in the long run you're going to need the certificate from that course if you're with Mark, the next ruler of the viltrumite empire. You frown, obviously. He knows how much you love baking, he knows how much you've trained and how much sacrifice you've put into this passion, and yet he remains selfish, even if it's you, the only person that's ever made him feel something.

"Then I'll just go alone", he laughs, of course. Where would you even go without him?

"[name]", his laugh tickles your stomach and then you feel his breath move higher and higher as he gets up from his previous position—like a wolf does to his prey as it decides which part to eat first—until your noses are almost touching.

"Do you really want to try me?" He stands now fully on top of you, his breath hot on your lips as he stares at them. You know he is a monster, you know who you're dating is not sane. He is dangerous, a killing machine that stands above any other man, any other creature on this planet, and in this little fantasy you're above anyone else too, above all the carnage and the blood.

But you're caged.

Like a little exotic bird who's known nothing else but that cage for their entire life. You dream, you dream big, you try to chase the feeling in your chest that screams that out there there's something else other than bars of metal, that there's a big future ahead. The cage is big, there's a lot of space to roam, it's not locked and your wings are not clipped. You could fly away at any moment, you've had plenty of opportunities before, you could leave him behind and stop following his twisted rules, and the funniest thing is he would let you. But you don't, because you've never known anything else but the cage, nothing else but Mark in your short pathetic life.

Right now you could tell him to fuck off, to let you be and let you live out your dream and have the life you want for yourself, you could get up right now from the bed and go home, and throughout all this he would look at you with those cold, dark eyes and then let you go.

Then you would be a person like the rest, nothing special, just a nobody like everyone else on this weak, miserable planet.

And you couldn't live with that, you could not live in a world where you're nothing for Mark Grayson.

And he knows it.

There's a cruel mocking smile as his lips get closer to yours with each word, his hand moves up your leg as if you were made of glass, a contradiction to his cruel behaviour. You don't give an answer to his threat, you just frown and look away, giving away your decision.

He doesn't say anything more, content with you as he closes the distance between the two of you. He almost crushes you against the headboard, your head banging against it as he assaults your lips. He's cruel, everything about him is. Everything about Mark is rough and bloodthirsty as he just bites your lip in the frenzy of the 'kiss'.

You nearly scream as you feel his canines rip through the skin, piercing it. It's muffled anyway as he doesn't even let you breath, he just takes, and takes, and takes.

Then, just when you think you're going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, he finally lets you breathe. You slump against his shoulder like a puppet whose strings had just been cut, dizzy and lightheaded as the room spins. Your lips hurt, they are swollen and red, just how he likes them.

You don't shed any tears yet, he's done it many times before that you almost like the pain now, but your eyes are glossy as you try to recollect yourself against his shoulder.

Mark' s grin becomes bigger, happier, as he looks at your unfocused stare, at the trickle of blood that runs down your mouth and that you don't bother to clean as you regain your breath slowly.

In mock comfort he nuzzles his nose against your neck, enjoying the way your vein is pumping faster to compensate for the lack of oxygen. He inhales your scent and then he sighs, genuinely pleased with the outcome.

"Maybe if you like we could go on a date in Paris?" You don't answer, still trying to get yourself together from this murderous make out session, even if you're already thinking about what he'd like for you to wear.)

-

Your feet collide with the glass roof of the factory as you smash your way in, the twisted version of Mark had not returned yet from his little trip, but it was only a matter of time before you would have to face him.

Your parents are relieved to see Ladybug here to their rescue, but not enough since that man is out to get you.

"My daughter" your mother gasps as you remove the gag and untie her as quickly as possible.

"Where is she? Is she safe from him? They were on a call just now". She sobs as she thinks of what he might be doing to you right now, and wonders how you knew this man. It was difficult to ignore his desire that radiated from every word as he talked to you on the phone, even harder to not puke at how quickly he had launched himself in the air after you had given up your location.

"She's safe, you don't need to worry about him, I'll take care of him." You make quick work of your parents' restraints, your only thought is being quick, hoping that you'll be fast enough to be able to not fight another version of Invincible. Even if you really want to murder him, you know it will be nearly impossible to do so, maybe it could also cost your life. "Go somewhere else, not your house, it's not safe".

"But our daughter, where is she—"

"She's fine!" You're sweating bullets as you feel the air change, your instincts already feeling the ripple in the atmosphere as something approaches. Something fast, murderous, angry.

"You need to go! Now!" You scream as you suddenly need to push your parents towards one of the doors as this Mark comes crashing down going straight for their heads. You manage to evade near decapitation by jumping acrobatically over his flying body, everything seems to go in slow motion as the both of you make eye contact.

Then, before he can stop himself and you can land on the ground, your yo-yo wraps itself around his whole body sending him flying against one of the machines. The whole building shakes from the collision, but you don't even hear him grunt as he just grabs the string of your yo-yo and pulls you to him. You yelp as you don't have enough strength to stop him, he's smiling, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he throws a lethal punch to your head, finally free from your yo-yo's hold after you were forced to let him go because of his pull.

"This is entertaining and all, but you've just interfered with a personal matter, did she send you?" His outfit comically matches yours as he flaunts the colours black and yellow.

You were a ladybug and this Mark looked like a wasp, aggressive like one two.

You would have laughed if you weren't busy shitting bricks thinking how to come out of this alive. Some dark part of you screamed to just kill him, to murder this tainted copy of your Mark not only to avenge your parents, but also the ones of the other version of you. Another part of you, the most rational one probably, tended towards a more cautious approach, one that would make sure you would come out alive with intact limbs.

"Very personal might I had, and now you're even blocking my path", then he laughs, all teeth and gums, "What's with the costume anyway? A ladybug? And those ponytails?"

"Could say the same for you with all that black and yellow", he doesn't even look at you, deeming you insignificant as he just dusts himself from the remaining debris on his costume.

"You sure do talk back for someone so pathetic"

"And you talk too much" you glare at his pitch black lenses, hoping to find at least something in those eyes that for a moment could make you remember that he is Mark, no matter what universe.

"You don't want me to be silent, little bug, after all I'm giving you time to think." He smiles cruelly, gloating at the large disparity between the two of you. Your hate returns triplicated, your whole body trembles under its weight. You know it's the truth, you know how limited you are. Yet you don't like not being taken seriously, you never did.

There's a moment of silence, the both of you waiting for the other to do something. You don't want to ponder too much on the proof of how twisted Mark could have become, had he made different choices. His cape twists around itself due to the wind, it's caked in blood along with his costume. Some of it is old and dried, some of it is bright and fresh as it drips on the ground, but no matter what form, that is still the blood of millions of people who were annihilated along with the city he chose to destroy.

People you can't bring back to life with your powers, because death is not something you can reverse with a quick smile and an object thrown in the air that vanishes in tiny little ladybugs and pink sparkles.

Death is permanent, the only irreversible act of destruction.

He doesn't wait for a remark, suddenly remembering why he was there in the first place, and he makes the first move by flying towards you with the intent to kill.

Every single one of his punches is deadly, so you're forced to dodge every single one of them.

This man doesn't even let you summon your lucky charm, he doesn't move like the Mark you have fought a couple of hours ago. His movements are the manifestation of years of honing his technique, of sharpening his body and mind in a machine that only works to massacre his enemies.

You don't have time to even say the famous words, since he just violently makes his way through the contraptions that surround the building, just to get to you.

You've seen yourself nearly decapitated, or with a hole in your chest as he just squishes your heart in his hands. You don't know how much longer you could escape all these near death experiences, you're just running on pure adrenaline as the beast in front of you gets more restless with each punch and kick that hits the air and not your guts.

Your luck for a moment falters, maybe it's just you making a tiny mistake, but it costs you dearly as the yo-yo you send his way is caught by him. In a matter of seconds your arms and legs are tangled around it, tying you up as he uses the other end of the weapon to send your body through at least three walls.

He hears the cracks your bones make, you feel all of it as you groan.

"Look at that, the little bug doesn't even know how to use her own silly 'weapon'." Your body is suspended in the air thanks to him and you're still tied up like some sick sort of present, all blood and cuts.

"Pathetic", the strings tighten around you, ripping through the costume and cutting your skin. Your yo-yo is indestructible, so you know that before the strings even think of snapping from his brute force, your body will already be a lifeless, sliced mess.

At every scream you make, his smile grows bigger. If he could, he'd take his sweet time with you, maybe even taste your thick dark blood that is now regrouped in a puddle on the dirty floor. Some of it splutters out of your mouth, adding some more red to his collection that stains his body which he wears proudly.

Before he can finally squish you like the bug you are, he's blinded by the pink sparkles of your de-transformation, shocked when he doesn't feel your yo-yo in his hands anymore. When you hit the ground, all tired and rapidly approaching blood loss, you struggle to get up and transform back.

"[name]?" It's a mix between euphoric and speechless, your name once again sounds like it hasn't been said in a long time, and it deeply freaks you out. You're afraid, don't really know what to do as you shed some tears that mix with the blood that coats your chin. You're back in your costume, but you feel naked in front of his gaze that speaks volumes, that almost devours you whole.

He laughs, ugly, like a maniac as he just hugs you tightly like you're the only medicine that can soothe his ache.

"I hate you so much" his words are fused with disbelieving laughter, his tight hold nearly makes you see god as he just inhales your scent, taking it in with deep long breaths and exhaling it in hot sighs that make you shiver.

"You don't know how much I hate you, after all I did..." He sounds so desperate, all his previous composure discarded. "You—you just left me, after everything I did for you—for us", he squeezes you even tighter, you can feel his rage, maybe even disappointment. You're scared like never before, cold sweat runs down your forehead, afraid of what he might do to you, seeing as he is losing his marbles ranting about things that happened with the you from his world.

"I fucking hate you so much, you had to go and ruin everything", he sounds like he might cry as he grits his teeth, but he doesn't, and you know he won't since instead his hands grip your blood coated skin even tighter, almost as if he was trying to imprint the feeling of it in his memory. He won't cry now, not when he didn't even flinch when he saw your lifeless body hang in the kitchen.

He had buried you, you had made him bury you.

He had taken care of every problem that stood in your way: his father wanted to get rid of you? Murdered in cold blood with his heart as an offer for you, people who did you wrong? Gone in the wind, your parents when they decided they had enough of him? Fucking ripped in half, bodies bent in the most gruesome ways imaginable.

You had always accepted him for how he was, because you couldn't live without him or with the thought of being nothing to him. You had flinched when you saw his dad's bloody heart, you had grimaced at the smell of the blood of your friends, of his coworkers, of innocent people, but it had never repulsed you enough to hate him or to not hug him, to not kiss him.

Yet, when he finally decides to murder the bastards that stood in the way of your future, the world he had envisioned for the both of you, you suddenly think it's too much?

How hypocritical could you be?

Your struggling is useless, you're punching him, trying to kick him, but it's all futile.

"Maybe deep down, you knew that I would have never let you go, even if I was so cold and 'heartless'". Without meaning to, you had given him clear access to your neck, to your vein that moves so rapidly due to the frantic beating of your heart.

"You're satisfied now, right? I let you make the choice you wanted for once." He hates how much he needs you, how dependent you had made him.

"Let me take care of the rest, now you just need to listen and be good for me, alright?", you don't understand how a statement could be both so malicious and adoring at the same time. After witnessing his delirium, anguish consumes you, were you the reason why he was such a psychopath? Was Mark destined to go rouge if he stuck with you?

Your speeding thoughts come to an abrupt stop as you feel teeth sinking in your neck, a scream erupts out of your dry throat, but he's quick to silence you as he just licks the blood running down your neck.

Your neck becomes his canvas, he covers it in bites and hickeys, brandin you like an animal and tasting your flesh and blood as if they were the most delicious things he has ever tried. A sob escapes you as you just close your eyes and take whatever he is giving you, but when you open them he is staring directly at you.

His mouth is covered in your blood—just like yours—then, as if he couldn't get enough, he slowly licks the blood that's running down your chin, loving the taste too much to let any of it go to waste. Your eyes widen as you feel his warm lips move against yours, your hands fly up to his hair and he moans in the kiss after you pull them to get him off you. For a moment your mouths separate but your lips collide again in a vicious cycle of tugging and pulling. He's panting, hair sticking in every direction, and you're light-headed, most likely due to the blood you're losing.

He doesn't give you any room to breathe, uncaring that unlike him you need oxygen to survive.

So you do the most logical thing really, you bite his tongue.

Nearly chewing off the squishy organ.

Naturally, his reaction is instantaneous as he screams and drops you to the ground. "You bitch—" he splutters out with a newly acquired lisp that makes you giggle as you lay on the ground, high in the clouds from all the blood that you were rapidly losing.

Before he is even able to grab you from the floor like a little mindless puppet, you're scoped in the arms of someone else, red paints his white suit.

You can't move, your eyes slowly closing as the cold air hits your face and warm, bloody hands hold you like you were giving to die at any moment, maybe you were, maybe not, you don't really know.

"Hey, don't go dying on me", the voice sounds as if it were underwater, you don't get all the words, but hearing 'dying' is enough to understand the meaning of the entire phrase.

"Don't worry, I'm just resting my eyes for a bit, okay?" You're mellowed out, tired and giggly as you just touch his nose with a "BOop!", your bloody finger smearing your insides on his perfect nose.

He looks at you with an undecipherable gaze, or maybe you're not really in the best conditions to understand his feelings, but then he just sighs, worried? Angry? Loving? All the above?

"You better just be resting".

( "Don't you sometimes wish you could just—I don't know—disappear, even for a second." It's cold, it's a dark night only illuminated by the full moon.

"I have done that sometimes, there are so many desert planets in the galaxy—", you interrupt his calm voice, gentle and relaxed as always when he is with you.

"I—I don't know Mark. I think that no matter where we could go, we can't escape this, our responsibilities." You're sitting on a roof, your black suit clashes with his white one. Another reminder of how incompatible the both of you were.

"I can't let you conquer earth, I can't let the viltrumite empire win, but I don't want to lose you".

"You don't need to lose me" he breathes out, after his hands always find yours. Sometimes you think that it might be an instinctual response for when you need comfort, stability.

"And then what? I give up like a coward and live off the rest of my days in luxury as earth is enslaved? You know right that I can't just do that". He doesn't get why you need to make it so difficult, he could force you to just accept his way and get this over with, but he doesn't want to hurt you.

"But why not?"

"Would you give up Viltrum for me?"

A shaky breath. A twitch. The air stills.

"Don't do this to me [name]..."

Your lips twitch downwards and you don't hesitate to just get away from him, baton ready to just fly out of there.

"There you have it, your answer, why should I give up Earth when you wouldn't do the same for me?")

Taglist: @xzmickeyzx , @fijiwaterbottle

[cookiedough77]

hey so, more peacock!adrien au uhm

oh you want the rest of the conversation? oh here you go, read under the cut!

(sorry if the writing isnt my best, lowkey rushed it)

Luka waves a hand dismissively. "Ohhh, don't worry about that, you're handsome even just in plain old pajamas." He leans in closer, a smile widening across his face.

Adrien's face flushes, and he holds the bouquet closer. "I'm not dressed."

Adrien crooks a brow. "Well I can't get up to dance, so..." He trails off.

"Thennn, it's just a party! Not everyone dances at a dance, we can just hang out here." Luka pulled up his other leg up on the bed, sitting crisscrossed.

If Father had seen it, he would be angry about shoes being on the bed. But Adrien has always liked Luka for the very reasons Father wouldn’t like Luka. Of course there were other things, but this just made Adrien like him more.

Plus, Luka's shoes were nice. Actually, seeing Luka in a suit is nice, he looks great.

A giddy smile comes across Adrien's face. "Does that mean snacks? Parties always have snacks."

"Oh- I did plan on that- Too worried about getting the bouquet on time. I can go get some real quick if you want?"

Adrien giggles. "Not yet, I still want you here." He looks down at the bouquet crinkling in his hands. "You did all this for me?"

Luka shifts closer, pointing to the flowers in the wrapping paper. "I knew you liked roses, and I know you like orange, so, orange roses."

"There's red roses too." Adrien smirks, shifting the bouquet to show Luka.

"Well." Luka clicks his tongue. "You like romantic too, needed classic red roses."

Adrien just smiles, staring down at the flowers.

Luka continues, "When's your birthday?"

"What?"

"When's your birthday? I can do more then. You haven't had a birthday come up yet, aaannnddd I know it's gotta be some time."

Adrien rolls his eyes. "October 13th."

Luka nods, taking in the information. "You've never had a proper birthday party, right? That's why the bubbler happened?"

Adrien pursed his lips. "Yeah, Nino was upset Father said no."

"That was before you were Indigo. What did akuma attacks feel like then?" Luka tilts his head.

"Life felt... Normal then. I was just glad my Father got me an actual gift, not some lousy pen for the 3rd year in a row." Adrien lets out a huff of amusement. "It was one of the times I thought Father cared."

"I'll get you a gift."

Adrien's face felt flush, he tried to conjure up a proper smile, playing it off as cockiness. "You already got me a gift."

"I'll get you more, birthdays are usually filled with them."

"That sounds... nice." He breathes a sigh of endearment.

Adrien ghosts his fingers over the flower petals. They feel soft, and he rubs one of the petals in between the pads of his fingers. He'd apply more pressure if he could, but that would rip the petal, and Luka got these for him as a gift.

His face drops, because he loves gifts, Luka loves giving him gifts.

He can't let Luka continue doing this for him.

He's not going to make it to his next birthday.

"Adrien? What is it?" Adrien blinks, looking up at Lukas concerned face.

"Luka I..." He glances back down at the bouquet. "We can't pretend this will last forever."

Luka is quiet for a moment. His face softens. "You deserve to be happy."

"And you dont?"

Silence again. The soft sound of Adrien touching the single petal back and forth in his fingers fills his ears. 

He shouldn't have said that. They have talked about this before, many times, but tonight wasn't a time for that. Luka was trying to do something sweet, he didn't need a reminder their relationship is on the clock. 

Adrien doesn't want to be reminded of that either. He's just reminded of it every time he coughs, every time he even attempts to stand, to get up.

Adrien exhales. "I’m sorry, you were doing something nice and I ruined it."

"No no, It’s ok." Luka stares down at his lap. "I just meant... We deserve to be happy, even if it's not permanent."

"That doesn't bother you?"

Luka swallowed. "Just... Don't worry about it."

A petal rips, and Adrien bites his lip. Luka doesn't need this, he doesn't need a doomed relationship, he doesn't need someone who will let him get hurt.

But he also wants to indulge Luka.

He knows he's close to the end, he knows any day, hell any moment, it'll be over. He can't get out of bed without wobbling, he feels weak, he can feel his body wanting to give up.

"How about those snacks, huh?" Adrien swiftly says, changing the conversation.

Luka blinks and drops his feet to the floor, still facing Adrien. "Uh, yeah, I can do that." He leans forward, pushing adriens bangs out of the way and kisses his forehead. 

He then backs off the bed, smiling now. "I'll be back, I know what you like." He starts walking backwards, like he wants to keep looking at Adrien, and it makes Adrien smile.

"Plagg, claws out." With an electric green light, Kitty Khaos finally turns around and climbs outside the window.

Adrien sighs, and closes his eyes, crossing his arms over his knees and pressing his forehead into them. 

[littlegrapejuice]

Love Story | OB87

Pairing: Ollie Bearman x Reader

Summary: Although secret, your relationship with Ollie is meaningful. And not even a protective dad can put an end to it.

Author's Note: my first time writing for ollie!! He's fr such a pookie and I'm so happy to have had inspo for him🤭 this is obv a taytay ref, based off that one recent interview in which ollie said he loves love story hehe

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

You were both young when you first saw Oliver Bearman.

Closing your eyes, the flashback started.

It was not really an unusual meeting, more so amusing to you.

As Fred Vasseur’s daughter, it was not surprising to see you in the paddock during a race weekend. You had been accompanying your father since you were a kid, as he went from managing one team to another. Your current home in Formula 1 was Ferrari since your father became its team principal, and you couldn’t dream of being anywhere else. Red looked good on you, and you were always proudly wearing the team’s merch for every race.

It often led to you being mistaken as an actual employee, which did happen when you first met Ollie.

You had obviously heard of him as he was part of the Ferrari Academy, but you had never talked to him until the 2024 Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Ollie, who had been competing in Formula 2 during the same weekend, had been called in at the last minute to replace Carlos. Reserve driver duties came first, and so he ended up racing for Ferrari rather than Prema.

Your first conversation with Ollie happened after qualifying. You had been in Ferrari’s garage talking with Charles, when Ollie made his way through the crowd of engineers towards the two of you.

“Hello”, he said.

“Hey, Ollie. Congrats on P11,” Charles told him. “That’s good for a first qualifying session!”

“Thanks! Congrats are more in order for you, though. You got P2!” Ollie reminded him with a smile, excited for the other Ferrari to start on the front row.

“Yeah, the margins weren’t close enough. But we’ll do what we can.”

You had stayed silent during the exchange, until you met Ollie’s eyes. You gave him a soft smile, and introduced yourself:

“Nice to meet you!” You offered him your hand, which he shook., before putting your hand on his shoulder and letting it linger there longer than it should have. “Congrats for making it to F1!” Your praise made him blush a little, which made you find him even cuter than you already thought he was.

“Thank you!” His smile was blinding, as if he had been blessed by the sun itself. “Are you one of Ferrari’s engineers?” He genuinely wondered. He thought you were pretty, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he would see you.

“Oh no, I don’t work here!” You told him.

“Might as well do with how long you’ve been hanging around here”, Charles pointed out with a chuckle. “The team kit is kinda misleading.”

“Sorry for supporting my father’s team! You should be glad to have me here,” you said with a scoff.

“Your father?” Ollie asked.

You were about to confirm your identity, but someone else did it for you.

“Ah, Ollie! I see you’ve met my daughter!” None other than Fred Vasseur had come up to the three of you, before he clasped a hand on the Brit’s shoulder.

“Yeah… like two minutes ago”, Ollie replied. He was unsure how to react, now that he knew you were his boss’s daughter.

“It’ll be nice for you, Ollie. She’s the only one close to your age around here,” Charles explained. “You should get along well.”

“Not too well, I hope.” Fred was laughing, his French accent prominent, but his tone was still made to act as a warning to Ollie.

You weren’t even surprised by your father’s words. If there was one thing he always made sure of: you wouldn’t date a driver.

“We’ve just met”, you emphasised with a sigh. “We’re not eloping.”

“You better not.”

While Charles was smirking at the exchange – he knew your father had made you off-limits to anyone on the grid who was relatively close to you in age, Ollie was petrified. The young driver was now scared to even try to befriend you, not wanting to end his already short racing career in Formula 1.

And when your father asked Charles to take you somewhere else in the paddock, Ollie was already accepting his fate. He was expecting to be scolded for ever laying eyes on you, and even imagined Fred ordering Charles to run him off track tomorrow.

“I really like you, Ollie. But you stay away from her if you can’t be just friends with her.”

“Yes, sir.” Ollie tried to maintain a neutral face, as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“You’re a nice guy,” Fred concluded with a smile. “She’s everything to me, and I’m glad if she can get more friends around here. But no dating.”

“Yes, sir.” Ollie could repeat himself, too nervous to say anything else. “Just friends.”

“Good, I knew you would understand.” Fred smiled, now abandoning his father persona and turning back to being the cheerful team principal who everyone loved. “You can go join her wherever they went, and have a friendly hangout.”

Ollie gulped, and nodded. He followed the direction in which you and Charles had left, quickly finding your voices outside of Ferrari hospitality.

“Can't you talk to him?” You pleaded. “My dad loves you, you can vouch for Ollie.”

“He does like Ollie, you know. It’s not targeted towards him,” Charles claimed. “He’ll do that to any guy approaching you, however well-intentioned they are.”

“But what if I want to date that guy?” You argued, pouting. “I swear he treats me like a kid.”

“Well, you are his kid. And be glad he doesn’t prevent you from having friends as well.”

“That’d be insane.” You sighed, not liking the situation. “I’m perfectly capable of choosing my relationships, friends or not.”

Charles gave you an apologetic smile, before ruffling your hair. Wanting to lift your spirits, he decided to joke:

“If you’re really determined to try it out with Ollie, just hide it.” He shrugged, showing that he wasn’t serious. “I’d keep your secret.”

“That’s not dumb”, you said with a pensive smile.

Charles thought that your smile meant you weren’t upset anymore with your dad. But actually, it meant that you were scheming.

When the conversation died down, Ollie realised that he had just stood there for the entirety of it and therefore showed himself.

“Ollie!” You grinned at him, ready to put your plan into action. “Sorry for whatever my dad might’ve said to you.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t, but Ollie didn’t want to badmouth your own dad in front of you.

“I guess we can still be friends?” You asked him, hope filling your eyes. When Ollie nodded, the smile on your face widened. “Are you free right now? We can hang out wherever!”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

Glad that you were still able to become friends, Charles softly smiled at the sight of you and Ollie. He notified you that he’d leave you two, and wished you a good night. You waved at Charles, before taking Ollie’s hand and dragging him towards the paddock exit.

As you left the track together, conversation naturally flowed between you and Ollie. He told you about his current career in F2, and how thankful he was to have a chance in F1. He asked you about your life, wondering about how it was to grow up in paddocks and garages.

And despite having different experiences, it was easy for the two of you to relate to one another. You were both part of the racing world, surrounded by cars and the sound of their engines since your childhood.

In the span of only one evening, a deep bond had been created between you and Ollie. You told him things you had never told anyone before, surprised at how easy it was to share your life with him. He made you comfortable, made you laugh, made you happy.

So when you had to part ways as it was becoming late, Ollie internally cursed your father for not giving him a chance. But if strictly being friends meant that he could keep hanging out with you, then Ollie would repress any initial attraction he had felt when meeting you earlier.

Which proved to be hard, when you kissed his cheek before bidding him goodbye.

And it got even harder, when he ended up P7 in the race on the next day.

You had obviously celebrated Charles’s podium at the track. But in the quiet of the paddock after the post-race clammer got quieter, you had found Ollie and offered to celebrate his debut points.

Just the two of you.

“We’re friends now”, you had claimed. “Friends celebrate each other’s achievements.”

And he had agreed with your statement. Until your hangout in the streets of Jeddah didn’t feel so friendly anymore when your hand brushed against his. Once. Twice. Until he was the one to cave in and take your hand in his, a nervous smile on his face. His face was redder than your Ferrari polo shirt. But under the lights, the blush on Ollie’s cheeks just made him even more beautiful to your eyes.

You didn’t kiss that night. Didn’t acknowledge that it had eventually become a date as hours passed. But the feelings were definitely there, and it was just the start of a love story between the two of you.

…..

Opening your eyes, you took in your surroundings. You were laying in bed – Ollie’s bed, in his hotel room that you had crashed the previous night. The curtains were slightly open, and you could see the faint light coming from the Saudi Arabian sun.

You were back in Jeddah, a year later.

A lot had happened in a year: you had started dating Ollie – your father was obviously not aware of it. You and Ollie were still ‘friends’ to him, albeit very close friends. So to hide it the best you can, you ‘hired’ some people.

It would’ve been suspicious if all of a sudden you were going to F2 races just to see Ollie. So you became friends with his friends, and you didn’t hesitate to share the news with your dad. You were quite surprised at how he never noticed, but you figured that the group pictures always showing you and Ollie being far from each other were enough of a distraction.

And when Ollie eventually raced twice for Haas at the end of the season, it wasn’t suspicious of you to visit him in his garage. Your support for him was quite public, but always just the right amount of friendliness to not bring attention to it.

So a year later, you were still getting away with dating Ollie in secret. And it had become even easier to hide it now that he was in F1, as you could share flights and hotels – Kimi, Gabriel, and Isack never too far away just in case.

It was meaningful for you to be back there, where it all started.

You couldn’t be prouder of your boyfriend, and your support was everything to him. Support that you showed him after every session of the weekend.

“Ollie, take me somewhere we can be alone. I’ll be waiting.”

This was something that often occurred between you two. It was one thing to only be friendly in public, but you still needed to spend romantic time with him. So it wasn’t unusual for you to sneak into Ollie's driver room to see him, keeping quiet because you would be dead if anyone knew.

“Close your eyes,” you would tell Ollie while laying in his arms. “Escape the paddock for a little while, just rest.”

You would then simply stay together like that, cuddling for what felt like hours until Ollie’s engineer would call for him and you would have to go back to Ferrari as if nothing had ever happened. You would share a quick but loving kiss before Ollie checked the surroundings and gave you the green light to leave his garage.

You didn’t know how much longer you could actually keep it a secret, but you stopped thinking about it when you saw Ollie enter his room after he had showered. Everything else didn’t matter anymore every time you laid your eyes on him.

Straightening against the bedhead, you softly smiled as Ollie finished getting dressed. You observed his face, the expression he harboured, his curls, his eyes. You could only admire him.

Sensing your gaze on him, Ollie looked at you. He tilted his head in confusion, silently asking you if you needed anything.

“Everything alright?”

“Everything’s perfect,” you replied.

“Do I have something on my face?” He wondered as he went to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re just pretty.”

Ollie should be used to that, used to your compliments. But even after a year, he still wasn’t. He still blushed like he did when he first saw you, a smile – one of his that you loved so much – slowly making its way on his face.

Chuckling at his reaction, you crawled towards him before you kissed him on the cheek and stood up.

“I’ll get ready and then we can go to the track, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ollie nodded, checking the time. “We’re meeting Kimi in twenty minutes,” he reminded you.

“Okay.”

As usual since the season had started, you would ask one of the rookies to arrive at the track with you and Ollie to not raise suspicions. Even if you were entering the paddock separately, people would always be watching what happened before and you would rather be safe than sorry.

…..

The race would be starting soon, and you debated making a quick trip to Haas to go wish Ollie luck. He was starting P15, and you knew he needed all the support he could get even though you wouldn’t be in his garage.

However, you got caught as you were about to leave Ferrari:

“Are you going to see your boyfriend?”

“Oh, Dad… hey!” You didn’t think that he would notice you, as he was usually on the grid by then. Suddenly nervous, you began stuttering. “M– my what?”

“Your boyfriend”, your father repeated. “I’m not stupid, I noticed that you’ve been sneaking around the paddock since the season began. Is it a driver?” He asked. “One of the rookies?”

“You know I wouldn’t date a driver”, you argued.

“And yet, I know you are.”

“What?”

“I wish you would’ve told me the truth yourself, but I’m not blind. So just tell me who he is.” Fred’s tone was stern, but there was a hint of worry in his voice as he was unsure whether you would trust him with the information.

“It’s… Ollie?” You admitted, waiting for his reaction.

“I don’t like that”, he simply said. “I want you to call it off.”

“You can’t ask me that!” You slightly raised your voice, appalled at what your father was asking of you. “I thought you liked Ollie!”

“As a friend for you, not some boyfriend who will break your heart. And when he does, you’ll still be in the same paddock. I don’t want you to get hurt,” he told you.

“He won’t hurt me”, you retorted. Your dad was about to speak again, but you interrupted him. “You can’t tell me to end things with him, I won’t.”

And with that, you left the Ferrari garage to go see Ollie. He immediately noticed something was wrong when you walked up to him with a frown on your face. He didn’t hesitate to hug you, resting his head on top of yours as he rubbed your back.

“Are you okay?” He asked you after a couple minutes.

“He knows…”

“Oh… I guess it didn’t go well?”

“Bingo,” you sarcastically confirmed. Taking a step back, you removed yourself from the warmth of Ollie’s arms around you and ran your fingers through your hair with a sigh. “He just said he didn’t approve, that you’ll hurt me, shit like that…”

“Because I’m a driver?”

“Amongst other things, but yes mostly. He’s tryna tell me how to feel, and said we should end things before it’s too late.”

“Will you?” Ollie knew you wouldn’t, but he still needed to make sure of it.

“Of course not! It might be difficult from now on, but our love is real and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.”

“Okay, well… I kinda don’t like that your father is mad at you, but we’ll be fine. I hope”, Ollie tried to reassure you.

“Hope so too,” you mumbled. “Guess we just gotta make it out of this mess”, you added with a shrug. “But anyways, I originally came to wish you luck.”

“I’m starting P15, ain’t much I can’t do from here. But thanks, I really appreciate your support.” He took your hand in his, his thumb slowly starting to stroke your skin. “Do you want to watch the race here?”

“Honestly, I think it’s best I go back to Ferrari. I’m mad at my dad, but I still wanna be there for the team.”

“No problem.” Ollie liked your loyalty to your father’s team, knowing that you were also loyal to him at the same time. “I’ll see you after the race, yeah?”

“Yeah, come save me. I’ll probably be feeling alone if we get a podium and everyone’s out there celebrating Charles.”

“It’d be nice for him. He’s starting P4 so he’s got good chances”, Ollie pointed out. He then used his free hand to cup your cheek, before leaning down to kiss your lips. “I’ll come get you when I’m done with the media.”

“I’ll be waiting”, you told him with a soft smile – the one usually reserved for him.

Ollie stole one last kiss from you as ‘good luck’ before he reluctantly let go of you and turned back to make his way to the grid. You watched him go, and eventually went back to Ferrari. You hoped that your father had left the garage already, meaning that you wouldn’t have to face him until after the race. Fortunately for you, he was already sitting at the pit wall and you were peacefully able to grab your headphones before the formation lap was about to begin.

…..

As expected, Charles had managed to get the first Ferrari podium of the season. You knew this would be good for the team’s morale, and you were more than happy for the Monegasque.

Ollie had gained two positions during the race, putting him in P13 at the end. You knew he wouldn’t see it until he was done with his media duties, but you texted him anyway.

Well done ollie<3 you did your best and i’m proud of you

I’m hiding in charles room to avoid my dad

Text me when you’re there, ily

You figured that you had an hour to waste while waiting for your boyfriend to come get you, so you just got comfortable on Charles’s sofa.

Half an hour passed. You had watched everyone’s post-race interviews.

An hour passed. You had liked all the teams’ posts on social media.

An hour and a half passed. You didn’t have any news from Ollie.

Deep down, you knew that the most logical explanation was a post-race debrief that was lasting longer than usual. But still, it wasn’t like Ollie to not even notify you of the delay. So you texted him again and hoped that he would eventually look at his phone.

I’m waiting for you, you still haven’t come

Just worried ab you so please text me as soon as you see this🤍

You were anxiously biting your nails when someone opened the door a dozen minutes later, which startled you. You quickly sat up, hoping that it was Ollie. But to your disappointment, it was only Charles.

“Hey, are you alright?” He asked when he noticed your smile fading. “We got a podium, you have to come celebrate with us tonight!”

“I’ll pass… but congrats on P3, I’m truly happy for you and I think your performance will help us for the future!” Despite your sour mood, you still wanted to show your support to Charles.

“I hope so too. But why are you still here? You usually leave my room earlier so that’s why I didn’t bother knocking.”

“I’m waiting for Ollie,” you told him. “He was supposed to get me like a half hour ago but he hasn’t come yet, and I don’t have any news from him.”

“Oh, sorry. Last I saw him, he was leaving the media pen to go back to his garage. You want me to text him too? Or call him?” Charles really wished he could do something to help you, not liking to see you down.

“It’s okay… I’ll just–”

“I’m here!” Someone shouted as their hand appeared before their face, fingers gripping the doorway. “I’m here, oh God. I can’t breathe, wait.”

Ollie looked like he had run a marathon before arriving, as he was having a hard time catching his breath. His gaze was solely focused on you, and he straightened up when he noticed the worry on your face.

“Sorry I took so long,” he apologised. “I was finishing my interviews, and then I was walking back to Haas. But I saw Fred. And I was going to ignore him at first because I was nervous as hell when I remembered that he knew about us, but then I thought of you. I didn’t want him to be mad at you because of me, and–”

“Ollie, slow down! Breathe, of my God. You look like you’re about to faint any minute now,” you said as you stood up and poured him a glass of water. He quickly drank it, and you were glad to see some colour come back to his face.

“Thanks. Anyways, I was saying…” He thought for a second, remembering where he had stopped. “Yeah, I talked to your dad; told him I love you; that I wouldn’t hurt you; that you were everything to me. And he was grumpy about it, but I think he accepted our relationship!”

“What?” You were flabbergasted at Ollie’s words. “You convinced my dad that you weren’t gonna break my heart?”

“Yep”, Ollie excitedly replied. His smile was contagious, making a matching one appear on your face. “I don’t think he actively enjoys me dating you, but I got his blessing.”

“His blessing?!” Charles exclaimed. He had been silent from the beginning, quietly following the exchange, but he felt like he had to join the conversation now. “I’m not even gonna comment on why he suddenly knows about you two, but did you ask Fred for her hand or what?”

“Well, hmm… no?”

“You sound unsure”, Charles pointed out as he raised an eyebrow at Ollie.

“Ollie, did you say anything else to my dad?”

“If you count me telling him that I was imagining my future with you, and that it would mean a lot to me if he could entrust you to me for the rest of our lives… then yes, that’s the other things I said to him.”

You exchanged a look with Charles, the both of you unable to believe Ollie’s words.

“I don’t know if you realise, but…” Charles thought of how to word it, as Ollie waited for him to keep going. “You literally asked Fred for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“I did what?” Ollie’s eyes darted towards you, hoping you could deny it. But when he saw you nod, he realised what he had done. “Oh God…”

“You literally said to my dad that you wanted to spend your entire life with me”, you explained the situation to Ollie.

“Go pick out a white dress then,” Charles added with a laugh.

You chuckled at Charles’s words, and Ollie noticed something.

“You’re not mad or weirded out about it?” He asked you, worry evident in his voice.

“No?” You replied, a smile on your face. “Ollie, I love you and I can see myself spending the rest of my life with you. I’d actually enjoy that very much.”

“Oh���” Ollie couldn’t help the blush that kept intensifying on his cheeks as he ran his fingers through his hair, symbolising how nervous he was. “Well, that’s good then.”

“That’s very good, yeah.”

You and Ollie exchanged loving smiles for a few seconds, neither of you saying anything else until Charles spoke up:

“Okay, kiss now! Y’all are happy and in love – we get it,” he told the both of you.

“Jeez, calm down. You get one podium and suddenly you’re giving us orders,” you complained. Still, you closed the gap between you and Ollie before gently kissing him. You kept it short due to Charles’s presence, and stepped back with a smile still harbouring your face.

“Be grateful I never said anything to Fred, though! I know I said I would keep it a secret last year, but I was actually joking back then.”

“I know you were. But yeah, thanks for not ratting us out to your boss.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied with satisfaction and smugness in his voice. “Now, get out there and celebrate your little love story elsewhere! I need to change before going out with the team.”

Charles was almost pushing you out of his room, clearly wanting some alone time for a bit. You chuckled at him, before taking Ollie’s hand and dragging him away to the exit.

Once outside, you couldn’t help laughing again. Ollie looked at you, waiting for you to convey your thoughts.

“Still can’t believe you asked my dad to marry me”, you teased.

“Stop, I’m gonna be traumatised next time I see him.” Ollie blushed again, and you could only think that he was adorable. “It’s gonna haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“I’ll be there with you, though.” You stopped laughing, as your tone became slightly more serious. “I meant what I said, Ollie. I’ll actually spend my life with you if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will”, he replied. “I’ll have you forever, for as long as we can get.”

It was now your turn to blush, not believing how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like Ollie.

Because you were both young when you first saw Oliver Bearman.

And you would be both old, when you would last see him.

..........

Y'all can't imagine how much i love this one🥹

As well as being my 1st time writing for ollie, it was my 1st time doing like a "song fic" (does that count as one?) - i hope the swifties out there got all the lyrics i included haha

I'm so glad f1 has challenged me in my writings and helped me try out new/diff things compared to what i was used to write like that feels super rewarding when i end up being proud of what i produced so I'm just super happy🎀

I really hope y'all enjoyed reading this one as much as i did writing it - don't hesitate to like, reblog, or comment to tell me your thoughts!!

See you soon, take care of yourselves, I love y'all xx

[arkaiveofurown]

Love Against Justice

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

tags: angst, major character death

You were born into justice— Admiral Akainu’s perfect daughter, raised to obey, to believe that fire could burn the world clean. But then you met him.

Portgas D Ace. Son of the Pirate King. Wild, golden-eyed, and free. He showed you a world beyond orders, beyond duty—a world where you could choose.

You weren’t supposed to love him. He wasn’t supposed to matter. But on the night you met, everything changed.

And when the war came, you had to make the hardest choice of all.

Stand by your father…

Or die for the man who taught you how to live.

Word count: ~4,500 words

my masterlist here ♡

——

The island was supposed to be quiet—just another checkpoint. You were out past curfew, your boots light on the sand, the stars above your only company.

Until he spoke.

“You shouldn’t be walking around here in that uniform, you know. Might give someone ideas.”

You froze, hand hovering over your sword. But the voice wasn’t threatening—just amused.

From the shadows, a man stepped forward. Black tattoo on his back. Orange hat. The moment your eyes met his golden ones, something in your chest shifted.

“Portgas D. Ace,” you said carefully.

He tilted his head. “And you are… a Vice Admiral’s brat?”

You stiffened. “Admiral. I’m his daughter.”

He let out a low whistle. “Didn’t expect Sakazuki to have a kid. You don’t have his scowl.”

Your lips twitched, despite yourself. “I get that a lot.”

He smiled then, soft and crooked. “So what’s a good little Marine doing walking alone?”

“I could ask you the same. You’re a wanted man.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, “you haven’t drawn your blade.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. For some reason, looking at him didn’t feel like facing an enemy.

“I’m not here to fight.”

He looked up at the stars. “Good. Neither am I.”

That night stretched longer than you expected—two hours of talking by the water’s edge. About justice. About pirates. About fathers.

“You trying to make yours proud?” he asked, picking up a shell and tossing it into the waves.

“…Yes.”

He turned to you, serious now. “You know that’s not living, right?”

Your voice faltered. “Then what is?”

He chuckled softly, plucking up another shell. “Living is… waking up and knowing the choices you’re making are your own. Not someone else’s. Not your father’s.”

You stared down at the water. “It’s not that simple. I was raised to believe in justice. That pirates were evil. That anything less than total obedience is weakness.”

Ace didn’t laugh this time. He just nodded. “Sounds lonely.”

You blinked at him. “It is.”

“Then why keep doing it?”

You sighed, fingers curling into fists at your sides. “Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Because I thought if I could just be strong enough, obedient enough, perfect enough—maybe he’d actually look at me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just another soldier in his fleet.”

Ace was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “You matter without any of that. You shouldn’t have to bleed yourself dry just to earn scraps of love.”

The words hit too hard, too fast. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re free. You get to be who you are. You’re not being crushed under your last name.”

He tilted his head. “You think freedom means not being weighed down? I’ve spent most of my life wondering if I even deserve to exist. Carrying my father’s name like a curse I never asked for.”

You looked at him, startled. “Your father?”

Ace looked away, a shadow in his gaze. “Gol D. Roger. The Pirate King.”

You swallowed. “But that means—”

“Yeah,” he said. “Everyone thinks I should be something—good or evil, depends who you ask. But none of them care what I want. They only see what I was born from.”

You stared at him, quiet now.

Ace sat down in the sand, arms resting on his knees. “So yeah. I know a little about trying to run from your blood. Or trying to live up to something impossible. But trust me… it never works. Either way, you lose yourself.”

You sat beside him slowly, the sea breeze brushing your face. “Then what do I do?”

He turned to you gently. “Start small. What do you want? Not as a Marine. Not as Sakazuki’s daughter. Just… you.”

You hesitated, breath catching in your throat. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” he said quietly. “Knowing you don’t know—that’s a hell of a start.”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the man who was supposed to be your enemy. Who was offering you more kindness in an hour than your father had in years.

“Why are you telling me all this?” you asked.

He gave a crooked smile. “Because you looked like someone who needed to hear it. And maybe… because I wish someone had said it to me when I was younger.”

You didn’t respond. You just sat there with him, watching the waves roll in.

The wind stirred your hair, the ocean licking at your boots.

“I want to see you again,” you whispered, surprising even yourself.

Ace blinked—then nodded. “Then we will. One day.”

That night, there was a pull between the two of you—something magnetic, impossible to ignore. Without a word, Ace closed the space between you, his hand finding yours, warm and calloused, his fingers intertwining with yours.

You didn’t pull away.

He kissed you then, a soft press of lips that deepened slowly as the tension between you both flared into something more. There was no rush—only the pressing need to feel alive, to be seen, to be wanted. You kissed him back, hands gently threading into his dark hair, your heart racing in a way that felt both terrifying and freeing.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, the stars above you like silent witnesses to something new and raw. Ace’s eyes were dark, but his smile was soft.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek, a promise in the quiet of the night.

You didn’t say anything, just nodded, letting his words sink in.

There, under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, you found something unexpected. You weren’t sure where it would lead, or if it would survive the world that lay ahead. But for that moment, it was enough.

“I’ll see you again,” you whispered, a promise between the two of you.

He nodded, the faintest glimmer of hope in his eyes. “One day.”

——

Marineford roared like a monster of steel and flame. Cannons fired. Blood painted the sea red. Above it all stood your father, barking orders with magma on his fists.

You stood with the other officers, heart numb, until your eyes found him—Ace, shackled on the execution platform, chest heaving.

You couldn’t breathe.

You hadn’t meant to fall for him. But those nights thinking about his laugh, the way he listened—like you were more than your name…

He found you too. His gaze locked with yours, even from the distance. You couldn’t tell what emotion flickered behind his eyes. Recognition? Regret?

Was this the future he’d imagined for your reunion?

——

“You seem distracted.”

Your father’s voice cut through the storm like a knife.

You stiffened. “Just focused.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t lose yourself. This war is for justice. For order.”

You nodded, throat tight. He’d never ask if you were afraid. He’d only care that you stood tall.

But inside, you were already breaking.

“Father…” you tried, voice trembling. “What if there’s more to this than justice? What if—”

“SILENCE.”

His voice boomed like thunder. “There is no ‘what if.’ There is justice. There is crime. And there is fire to purge it.”

You turned away before he could see the doubt in your eyes.

——

When Luffy burst through the chaos, a part of you hoped he’d fail. Another part—the part that remembered moonlight and laughter—begged him to win.

And he did.

The chains broke. Ace stood free.

You ran before you could think.

He was there, coughing, dazed. You called his name. He turned.

“…You came.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I couldn’t let you die.”

He smiled, pain flickering across his face. “You always were too good for them.”

You touched his arm. “We have to go.”

But fate doesn’t care about love.

——

Admiral Aikanu stepped into your path —raw, unrelenting, and burning with hate. His coat billowed like smoke in the wind, and steam hissed off his molten fists. You saw the rage in his eyes before he even spoke. It was the same rage you’d grown up under, now aimed straight at the man you loved.

“Portgas D. Ace,” your father snarled. “You dare escape judgment?”

Ace instinctively pushed you behind him. “Stay back,” he said, voice low and urgent. “Don’t let him touch you.”

But you stepped forward, shoulder brushing his. “I’m not hiding, Ace. Not from him. Not anymore.”

Akainu’s eyes burned into yours. “So. You’ve chosen your side.”

His voice cracked like fire through stone.

“I chose it long before today,” you said, lifting your chin. “You just never wanted to see it.”

“You would throw away justice for him?” His voice seethed, disgust curling in his lip.

“I’m not throwing anything away,” you said. “I’m claiming what’s mine. My life. My choice.”

Akainu’s fists ignited with fury. Lava spilled from his knuckles, hissing as it hit the ground. “Then you’re no daughter of mine.”

Something broke in your chest—but it wasn’t grief. It was the last thread of fear.

Ace’s voice cut through the tension. “She was never yours to shape into a weapon.”

Akainu turned his wrath back toward him. “You speak of freedom while hiding behind her skirts?”

And then he moved.

His magma-coated fist blazed through the air toward Ace. Time slowed.

And without thinking, without hesitation—

You stepped in front of him.

——

The pain was instant. A white-hot agony tore through your side as the lava smashed into you. You felt yourself being thrown back into Ace’s arms, the world tilting, fire blooming across your vision like a dying sun.

You were weightless and heavy at once.

“No!” Ace caught you, stumbling as he dropped to his knees. His hands trembled, cradling you like you were glass already cracking. “Y/N—no. No, no, no…”

Your blood was everywhere. On his arms, on your uniform, soaking into the dirt.

Your breathing came in ragged gasps, and yet—you smiled.

“Why…?” he choked out, eyes wild and wet. “Why would you do that?”

You reached up with shaking fingers to brush his cheek. “Because I love you.”

He held you tighter, pressing his forehead to yours. “You weren’t supposed to die for me. You were supposed to live. With me. You were supposed to live.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “I know… I wanted that too.”

“Then why—why—”

“Because this was my choice,” you said, voice thin but steady. “Not my father’s. Not the Marines’. Mine.”

He shook his head violently, tears spilling freely. “You idiot… you beautiful, stubborn idiot…”

You tried to smile again, even as the cold crept in. “This… this is freedom. I finally got to decide what I’d give my life for.”

Ace was sobbing now, arms wrapped around you like he could hold your soul in. “No. No, don’t go—please, Y/N…”

You leaned closer, eyes fluttering shut. “Live, Ace. Please. Not for him. Not for Whitebeard. For you.”

Your fingers slipped from his, and the last thing you saw was the sky—vast, open, free.

And Ace—broken, holding you like the world had ended.

Behind him, your father stood still. Staring. Silent. Like even fire had forgotten how to burn.

——

They say Ace fought like hell that day.

They say he screamed your name like a prayer turned curse, tearing through enemy lines with fire that scorched even the sea-slick stone beneath his feet. Magma met flame, and still, he stood. Burning. Bleeding. Unstoppable.

They say it took Luffy, broken and battered, to drag him back—his brother’s arms locked around his chest as he screamed and kicked and sobbed. They say Ace didn’t want to run. That he wanted to die there, next to you.

But Luffy wouldn’t let him.

Not after you had already made that choice.

After the war, Ace disappeared from the public eye. But everyone in Whitebeard’s crew knew where he went.

The first place he returned to was your grave.

Buried quietly, anonymously, far from Marine monuments or war heroes. Your marine pin sat at the headstone, cleaned and polished. And on it was carved only what Ace asked for:

“She died free.”

He stayed there for hours the first time. Maybe days. No one knows what he said. But when he came back, something in him had changed.

He still laughed. Still drank. Still threw his arm around Thatch and teased Marco and got into brawls with the crew. But the light in his eyes had shifted.

He lived like a man with a fire he couldn’t put out.

Every time the Moby Dick passed through a new island, he asked for any news of the Marine girl with the burning eyes and the fireproof heart. Every time he met someone who believed they were born into chains, he told your story.

Not to make them mourn you.

But to remind them what choice could look like.

“Don’t live trying to prove yourself to people who will never see you,” he’d say. “She taught me that.”

He never said your name out loud. Not often. It hurt too much. But your memory followed him like a shadow—like the steady heat of a fire that never died.

Sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, he’d take the small locket he wore under his shirt—a single photo of you, tucked behind a scrap of your old Marine uniform—and whisper,

“I’m still burning for you.”

And he was.

Not for Whitebeard. Not for revenge.

For you.

Because if someone like you—born into war, raised under fire—could choose love in the end…

Then he could choose life.

Just as he was.

And he would live every day the way you wanted him to:

Free.

[peterm4rker]

(𐙚⋆.˚) nine years shy

⋆ 𐙚 ⭑.ᐟ [johnny x reader] ...୨♡୧... wc. 3k w. age gap, swearing, very slightly suggestive! fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

spending time in bars was never your preferred activity.

sure, it was fun to have some drinks with your friends in a place where you could meet new people. but still, there were a million things you could have been doing instead.

thats what you thought before your eyes settled on the handsome man by the bar, anyways. 

there was a big group, maybe around ten people that sat close to where the drinks were flowing from incessantly. still, even when surrounded by many other attractive men, your eyes could only focus on him. he was tall, his hair brown and his body looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. 

“quit staring, you’re drooling,” one of your friends spoke with a small laugh, taking your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“sorry, what were you saying?” you mumbled, trying your hardest to focus once again and ignore the gorgeous man. to no avail, of course. your eyes seemed to naturally gravitate towards him, watching as he spoke and made everyone laugh; how one of the girls that accompanied his group was very clearly trying to seduce him, and how he rejected her so politely and naturally that you almost didn’t feel bad about it.

at some point of the night, two of his friends had approached your table and somehow managed to whisk away two of the girls you were with, and yet he still stayed exactly where he was in the first place. ultimately, he was the only one left on his table, and your chance was presented.

his eyes were piercing as he watched your every move when you approached, one of his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly in curiosity.

“hi, i’m yn,” you greeted, standing by his table and not daring to sit down just yet. “can i buy you a drink?”

he studied you for a couple seconds before speaking up for the first time. “i just got one, but we can pretend you did. i’m johnny, by the way,” he introduced, reaching out to pull a chair out for you.

you let out a small chuckle, sitting down and nodding at his words. “perfect then, nice to meet you.” 

he seemed to be amused by your attitude, judging by how the sides of his lips quirked up the more he looked at you. “nice to meet you too,” he said before taking a slow sip of his drink. “can i ask to what i owe the pleasure to?”

you could feel the nerves begin to form in the pit of your stomach, starting to doubt at what point of the night you thought it was a good idea to approach someone like him. 

“well, i wanted to ask you if you would like to go out sometime… assuming you’re not taken?” you said, putting aside the fear and masking your shaky voice with taking a sip of your own drink.

“i’m not taken,” johnny shook his head, the amusement still twinkling in his eyes as he noticed your nervousness. “may i ask how old you are, though?” the question took you by surprise. it was a little odd, but nothing bad.

“i’m twenty three, why?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

a scoff escaped his lips, once again taking you by surprise. 

he watched as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion rather adorably, and he almost felt bad for the words that left his mouth next. “i’m nine years older than you.”

he expected you to grimace, to give him some type of sign of discomfort at the newfound information. “okay, and?”

a small laugh of disbelief escaped him as he studied your face and looked for his next words. “nothing,” he settled for something simple. “mind telling me what a very attractive twenty year old is doing here with me instead of with the other attractive twenty year olds that were very clearly hitting on her?” his words seemed to start clicking in your head, a small smile making its way to your perfectly glossed lips as you shrugged. “twenty three year-old,” you corrected, “and to be honest, i already know them and i figured you’re far more interesting.”

“yeah? how come?” he asked, his deep voice making the simple question sound millions of times hotter than it should have.

“well, i’ve been watching you for a little while,” you admitted, crossing one of your legs over the other, “you didn’t talk much but everyone laughed when you did, you haven’t really drunk that much and you’ve rejected every girl that has tried to approach you.”

he let out an impressed whistle, leaning back on his chair and taking the opportunity to give you a once over. your clothes hugged your curves beautifully, and you carried yourself with incredible confidence for someone your age.

“you sure are observant, i’ll give you that,” he muttered, amused, “you must be really confident if you thought you could be different.”

he expected you to falter, but you chose to surprise him for a second time that night.

“that, and i’ve also been talking myself up to this and getting courage for the last two hours.”

your sincerity caught him off guard, it was honestly refreshing after a night of dealing with fake smiles and high pitched voices.

“how much courage did you need, exactly?” he asked, his eyes travelling to your glass for an instant. “i’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you assured, setting the glass aside for his sake, “but it’s nice of you to check.” he smiled again, nodding softly. “how confident are you feeling?”

you thought about it for a couple seconds. “pretty confident.”

he raised an eyebrow at you, his smirk still present on his lips. “and why is that?”

“well, i’ve made you smile quite a few times, you’ve called me attractive and you were clearly paying enough attention to me to know that i was getting hit on before i walked over.” you listed, smile still confident as your gaze didn’t falter once.

johnny had to admit he was impressed by how observant you were, but there was still something that didn't sit right with him. “i was a legal adult when you were eleven,” he noted.

“and now we are both legal adults, it's funny how time works,” you joked, looking at his reaction before you stood up from your seat. “but i can see that it bothers you, so i’ll get going.”

he thought about asking you to stay, he really did, but his words betrayed him. “thanks for the drink.” you chuckled as he lifted the drink you hadn’t bought him towards you, mirroring him with your own. “you’re very welcome.”

with that, you walked back to your own table. your mood didn’t falter, the sour taste of his rejection fading with one swing of your bitter drink and your friends loud laughs. johnny watched you from his own seat, admiring the way you laughed and continued your night like nothing had happened. after a couple minutes of admiring the back of your head, he decided he was going to leave. his body had another idea, though, and it always seemed to win.

so really, he wasn’t half surprised at himself when he realised he was tapping on your shoulder. you turned back to him with a stunned expression. “hi?”

“hi,” he greeted shortly, giving you a smile that could’ve easily knocked all the wind out of your lungs if you hadn’t been staring at him for the past couple hours, “mind if i ask you some questions?”

the request was odd, but the way his eyes twinkled was completely overshadowing. “sure, shoot.”

“what's your favorite drink?”

“i don't know… margarita?” you asked, a little confused about the whole ordeal.

“okay… what do you do?” his arms now rested on the back of the booth you were sitting at.

“i study fashion and i’m currently working at ralph lauren.”

“oh shit, very rachel green of you.” he smiled, genuinely impressed by your accomplishment.

“i actually get that a lot,” you chuckled, now invested in his questions.

“do you have siblings?” he asked, back to whatever game he was playing.

“yeah, two, both older,”

“what’s your relationship with your dad like?”

and well, that kind of explained where he was trying to get to.

“great, actually.” 

“yeah? what does he look like?”

“the complete opposite to you.”

“perfect, can i buy you a drink?”

“of course,” you smiled, completely satisfied at how the conversation had gone.

“i’ll be right back with your margarita,” johnny assured, winking at you before moving to go to the bar, leaving you to turn back to your friends and let out a small, completely silent squeal at what had happened.

you didn’t have much time to continue your celebration before he slipped into the booth, handing you your drink and very slickly placing his arm over your shoulders on the booth. “hi ladies, i’m johnny,” he introduced himself to your friends with a polite smile.

both of the girls greeted him back, not missing a beat after checking their phones a second later. “oh, would you look at that? it’s time to go.” chaewon smiled, showing you the screen. 

“is it really?” you asked, masking a glare at her direction at how obvious she was being. 

“yep, i’m so tired,” she faked a yawn and you resisted the urge to hit her.

meanwhile, johnny was clearly not stupid and very, very amused at the entire situation. “do you guys have a safe way to get home?”

“yeah, the boys are here to pick us up,” she nodded, giving him a small smile before waving one last time. “okay bye, enjoy your night!”

just like that, you were abandoned by your friends in a bar with the most handsome man you had ever seen.

“i assume ‘the boys’ are the rest of your friends?” he asked, his attention now fully focused on you.

“yeah, the boyfriends,” you nodded with a small smile.

“either of them yours?” he raised an eyebrow, amused.

“nope, i’m free as a bird,” you smiled.

“good.”

...୨♡୧...

johnny’s lips felt entirely too good as they danced with your own.

they were on you the moment that you got to the door of his house, immediately pulling your focus to him as he pressed you onto the door while juggling with his kiss to open it. it had been long overdue, and so much better than you thought it would be to have him pressed up against you. his hands travelled to the underside of your thighs to pick you up, closing the door with his leg and walking with you until he set you on the kitchen counter. his body settled between your legs, his hands pressed against the cold surface as he almost devoured your mouth in the most delicious way.

the moment continued when his hands travelled under your shirt to rub gently at the skin of your waist, pulling you even closer as you arched towards him. his lips began moving down your jaw all the way to your neck, leaving gentle nibbles on the skin.

your breath was labored once he moved away, his eyes hooded as he watched the faint johnnys beginning to form. “so pretty,” he mumbled, stealing another kiss from your lips.

you felt like you were positively going to explode when his hand slowly made its way under the fabric of your skirt, dangerously close to where you needed him the most. 

as the night progressed, you realized that feeling was constant when being with him.

...୨♡୧...

“so… i’m guessing i should call an uber now?” you spoke up softly after some minutes of comfortable silence. your head laid on johnny’s shoulder, his fingers running up and down your arm gently.

“no, i’ll drive you if you want to leave,” he said, his voice sounding almost offended that you thought he’d make you take an uber at such an unholy hour. “but you don’t have to.”

his words almost made you gasp in disbelief. a man that actually didn’t mind you staying after having sex with you? that was new.

“i’ll stay if that’s okay,” you answered, your voice small as if you were scared to say that.

“alright then,” he sat up a little, giving you time to move away before he stood up. you watched him as he moved, going to the adjacent door for a few seconds before coming back with a damp towel. he sat back down next to you and tapped your thigh gently to tell you to open your legs. you did as he asked you, utterly bewildered by the way he cleaned you up. “how about a drink? i’m an incredible bartender.”

oh, he had already ruined every other guy for the rest of your life.

“yeah, that sounds good,” you nodded, still a little in disbelief. he nodded and went back to what you assumed was the bathroom, returning seconds later and pulling out some clothes from the closet. he slipped into a pair of gray shorts and handed you a white cotton shirt which you put on wordlessly.

he watched you attentively when you stood up, your legs a little wobbly still when you walked towards him. 

“already sore?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“shut up and make me a drink, come on,” you rolled your eyes and fake annoyance as you made your way back into the kitchen.

you heard his laugh behind you as you settled onto a stool, watching him do his magic while he prepared a cocktail with alcohol that looked far too expensive to be used in a drink for a hookup.

“so, ralph lauren then?” he asked as he handed you the glass, looking at you with interested eyes.

“yeah,” you nodded, feeling oddly happy at the fact that he remembered. “what do you do?”

“i work in music, production mostly,” he smiled, leaning forward over the counter. “nothing too interesting.”

you chuckled at his humbleness, shaking your head. “that’s really interesting, actually.”

“meh, if you say so,” he shrugged, an amused  expression on his face. “it gives me enough free time to do other stuff, so that’s fun.”

you took the moment to really look at him, eyes running down the skin of his arms. you had already proven he was quite strong, and it made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“i’m guessing you go to the gym a lot?” you raised an eyebrow, looking up at his eyes again.

“yeah, how did you know?” the man asked, tilting his head in mocked curiosity.

“well, apart from the past experience,” you began, following his little game. “you look like you could lift me up like in dirty dancing.”

it was a joke, of course.

except apparently it wasn’t.

“man, do i have a surprise for you.” he set his glass down, watching amused how your jaw almost fell to the floor.

“you’re kidding,” you said in complete disbelief.

“try me,” he dared, already having surrounded the kitchen island until he was standing in front of you.

“oh, i definitely will,” you set your glass down and stood up, eliciting a small laugh from him.

he moved a couple meters away, making sure you had enough time to get some impulse before he showed you his stunt.

“ready?” you asked, the anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach being overshadowed by the excitement.

“ready, go,” he nodded, putting his arms out for you. you couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips as you ran towards a perfect stranger you had just had sex with, trusting him with literally hauling you up in the air.

his hands wrapped around your waist before moving you into the air, having you hovering above his head as he looked up at you. you did your best to keep your body firm when he moved in slow, deliberate circles for a couple seconds before pulling you back down and safely on the floor.

“holy shit, you can actually do it,” you breathed out.

“told you,” he smiled, his arms still wrapped around your body. you looked up at his handsome face for a couple seconds before standing on your tiptoes and joining your lips together again, which he welcomed more than gladly.

“is that some type of move you do to get laid?” you asked as you sat on johnny’s lap on the couch, his hands rubbing the skin of your hips under his shirt.

he shook his head with a small chuckle, “surprisingly enough, no girls ever ask if i can lift them up like in dirty dancing,” he said, mocking your earlier words.

“so you’re telling me you had never done that before?” you asked, growing apart from his torso to look at him properly.

“no, but now i know i can,” he smirked, amused by your fake offence-

“i could’ve fallen,” you complained, hitting his chest playfully.

“but you didn’t,” he answered, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist and bringing you closer. “besides, it worked.”

“what worked?” you asked, trying your hardest to bite back the smile on your lips.

“i have a pretty girl sat on my lap right now,” he gestured at your position. “that’s a successful move if you ask me.”

you rolled your eyes with an amused scoff. “you’re terrible.”

“sure i am,” he nodded, looking down at your lips before capturing them again.

...୨♡୧...

“i can see your eyes closing,” johnny interrupted himself mid sentence, smiling at your sleepy figure.

“no you can’t, i’m listening,” you shook your head, adamant to ignore how much your body was screaming for sleep. you didn’t want the night to be over, even when you could see the sun beginning to rise behind the curtains of his room.

“sure, what was i saying?” he questioned you, feeling an unfamiliar tug in his chest as he watched you trying to stay awake rather adorably.

“something about jackson's party, you found a dog there?” you tried, clearly making stuff up from the small fragments you hadn’t missed.

“hmh, sure,” he laughed ever so softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him until your head laid on his chest. “you can sleep, i’ll tell you the story in the morning.”

his words made your heart swell with hope.

in the morning.

“ugh, okay,” you groaned, cuddling further into his chest. “but just because you insisted.”

johnny couldn’t make himself stop smiling as his hand went to your hair, scratching it ever so softly.

“yeah, it’s not like you’re-” he nodded, stopping as he realized you were already completely asleep.

maybe a couple years didn’t have to be an issue when it came to you.

𐙚 blue's corner ;; hi there ! soooo, this was originally written as mark tuan fic but since i dont post got7 i adapted it to be for johnny bc i LOVE that man thank you 𐙚 taglist ;; @neozon3nha @winwintea @spacejip @dudekiss3r @yizhrt @lyvhie @mae3xoxo @taroddori @hollxe1 + let me know if you want to join the permanent tl ! 𐙚 back to the masterlist. 𐙚 please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!!

© peterm4rker, 2025

[bigsoggyboots]

Cliché

(Sevika x Reader)

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆

summ: you and Sevika get invited to Topside's party. She doesn't want it, you both know you need it. You have to get along in order for you to complete your mission.

wc: 930

an: welcome back to my uploads being slow because of testing. thats my schedule for the next 3 weeks btw, basically until school is over. I had this idea of sevika being in a love-hate relationship with you (hopefully) you can understand where that kicks in. this took me too long to do and I hope u like it. bye.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆

imagine…

how Sevika feels when she sees you every time she directly asks to see Silco. she knows you purposely ignore her request every time she asks, she sees how you pretend to write it down. she's damn sure she knows what words play in your head as you give her that knowing smile and fake glint in your eyes.

she hates it, just as much as she hates you.

you listen to everything but her own personal requests; you meet her at Babettes, discreet, sheathing yourself in a blue cloak. you make sure to book a room furthest down the hall, in a name only people who worked for Silco would understand. hell, you even changed your makeup for this.

you sat in front of her now, the dim candlelight igniting your face in a way that Sevika would only see as infuriating, as she passed you the envelope. she tried to push down the thought of how soft it made you look.

you and Sevika knew of the arrangement Silco set his scary lady set her up for the task for, the formal invite was still of a shock.

Silco hadn't told you two much, only that Topside was making a meeting he couldn't be there for. You both knew that was a lie. Silco could make it, he chose not to. So, as substitutes, you would be talking to Piltover officials about Zauns “unsanctioned” Shimmer activities.

“don't know why the hell he's making us do this.” Sevika grumbled, watching you tear open the envelope to conceal your smile.

“perhaps to have more time to keep jinx under control?” oh, so now you make jokes? yeah, whatever. Sevika scoffed at that.

you glazed over the contents inside the letter, eyes widening at what the proposal would be. Sevika inhaled a puff of smoke from her cigar and her eyebrow quirked up at you. for once, the words almost didn't make it out. you had to say it plainly.

“Topside is inviting us to a party.”

…what?

even though you only whispered, Sevika looked at you like you yelled. she momentarily forgot to breathe, choking on the smoke she harbored.

Topside inviting Zaunites to a party? willingly? on a formal notice?

“they've gone to shit.” sevika hit her chest, coughing her smoke out.

“you mean they've gone batshit.”

“that too.”

you read more of the letter and realized you needed to wear formal attire. you muttered to yourself all too well, “where the hell are we going to find a dress in Zaun?”

“they want us to dress up?”

“this.. has to be joke.” it felt like it, like there's an attack going to be behind this. but, Silco was serious, this letter was serious, and the conditions and information given all about it was serious.

you and Sevika held gazes, wide eyed and utterly clueless on what to say. Sevika never thought in her life Piltover would so as have the thoughts glaze their mind, you researched Piltover well enough to know that Piltover wouldn't like Zaun to be seen in the same sun's rays.

then you had an idea. a terrible idea. such an idea that Sevika could begin to pick up on. she almost looked amused.

Sevika crossed her arms. “no.”

“we have to.”

Sevika spoke harsher this time. “no.”

“it'll help us make a better convincing argument.”

“i wouldn't keep you for as long as i can throw you.”

“are you serious?”

“very.”

“unbelievable.” you huffed out beneath your breath. “think logically here.”

“i am.” her grip on her biceps tightened, she leaned in closer. “it's not happening.”

“we're happening. we're making this happen.”

“i'm not pretending to be in love with you.”

“how else would we come together and talk to those Topsiders up there?”

“like acquaintances. like normal people.”

“what's not so normal about this? people act in love with one another all the time.” and for a minute, Sevika stopped herself. you had a point and she wanted to choke you out all the same.

it's not normal when it's you; that's what she wanted to say.

“no, we need them to be forced to look at us. we need to have their attention and keep it Sevika for everything to not go to shit.” you continued on, having to keep a steady voice.

Sevika sighed. a low, deep, annoyed sigh. frankly, if you hadn't known any better, she would have sounded furious at you.

“it's better to have a story that guides them away from the truth.” right. the truth. the plan that Silco had been crafting for so long for Zaun's independence. she wanted to throw that plan to shit.

“there's no changing your mind about this, is there?” you almost thought you were dreaming; there was a light blush that creeped on Sevika's neck as she couldn't dare to look at you.

she looked.. defeated, like she couldn't believe she didn't want to put up more of a fight.

you smirked, confirming her suspicions. “no.”

“we're.. together.” okay, definitely blushing now. no amount of shadows and limited eye contact could erase that.

“for the night.” she reminded, to both you and herself.

tonight is the closest you two have ever been. literally and figuratively.

she'd never looked too long, never stood too close, and most definitely never blushed at you. you thought it was just the stress of running around Zaun and all, thats why you teased her so much, but now you know why.

and tomorrow, you have a feeling you'll get even closer.

“yeah, for the night.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆

[original-szajnie]

Klonnie Weekend Day 1: Forced Proximity

Bonnie Bennett knew this flight was going to be a mistake the moment her gate changed three times in under fifteen minutes.

Now, as she stood just inside the plane’s narrow entrance—shoulder bumped by a harried flight attendant, suitcase wheel dragging like a limp limb—she caught sight of 12B and froze.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

There he was. Reclined like the world owed him something. Which, knowing him, he probably believed it did.

Klaus Mikaelson.

Neat black button-up. Ridiculously tailored coat folded on his lap. Glass of sparkling water already in hand, as if this were his private cabin and not a commercial flight full of crying toddlers and stale air. He looked… amused.

“Witch.” His tone was pleasant in the way of someone who fully intended to enjoy watching you suffer. “What a surprise.”

Bonnie blinked. Looked at her boarding pass. Then at him. Then back at the pass.

No. No no no. The universe would not do this to her.

“Don’t you have a private jet or something?”

His expression remained unchanged, but an amused slant curved his mouth. He opened a book on his lap. “Or something,” he replied.

Bonnie turned. She wasn’t even subtle about it. She waved down the flight attendant. “Hi—yeah—there’s been a mistake. I can’t sit here. This seat’s taken by Satan.”

“I’m afraid this flight is full, ma’am,” the attendant said in that dead-eyed voice only retail and aviation could inspire. “If you could just take your seat so we can begin the safety demonstration—”

Bonnie was still standing. Still glaring. Still calculating how much magic it would take to teleport herself out of this hell-tube of recycled air and supernatural smugness.

Klaus didn’t even look up from whatever overpriced history book he was pretending to read. “There’s always your broom,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

Her jaw twitched.

Bonnie Bennett did not slap people on airplanes. It was probably a federal offense. Probably.

With a tight smile (that promised murder), she shoved her bag into the overhead bin—aggressively, on purpose—and dropped into the seat beside him with all the grace of a guillotine.

Not looking at him. Not talking to him. Just existing beside him like they hadn’t attempted to kill each other multiple times.

“This is fine,” she muttered to herself. “I’m fine.”

Bonnie buckled in with unnecessary force.

Click. Yank. Set.

Klaus didn’t say a word. Just continued flipping a page every thirty seconds, clearly for show. She could feel the amusement radiating off him like heat. Of course he found this funny. Of course the universe thought this was character development.

The flight attendant began the safety demonstration. Klaus didn’t look up.

Bonnie, on the other hand, was suddenly very invested in the proper operation of a seatbelt.

“…in the unlikely event of a water landing—”

She swallowed. Hard.

Ocean crossings were always the worst.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the armrest. Not panicked. Not yet. Just… present. Just trying not to imagine a freefall.

She popped in her earbuds. Music on, volume high. Not loud enough to block everything—nothing ever was—but it gave her something else to focus on.

She could feel him watching her. Briefly. A flicker in her peripheral vision.

But he didn’t say a word.

The engines whined, the cabin rattled. The nose tipped up, pressed her back against the seat. She closed her eyes. Focused on breathing.

Klaus shifted beside her. Not a fidget—he didn’t fidget—but a subtle shift, like he was cataloging everything. Or maybe bracing for her to hex the oxygen masks.

Then the plane leveled out.

The seatbelt sign chimed off. People began talking, moving, laughing again. She exhaled through her nose.

It was fine. She was fine.

“You’re tense.”

She opened her eyes, barely tilting her head toward him. “I’m sitting next to a homicidal psychopath.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Just looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.

“Let me guess—big, bad Bonnie Bennett prefers portals?”

She narrowed her eyes. “At least portals don’t shake.”

He leaned back, ever so slightly. “Mm. Shame. I never figured turbulence might be more powerful than you.”

She stared.

He smiled.

She turned away, muttering under her breath, “If we hit a sudden drop, I hope your ego cushions the fall.”

Fifteen minutes later, the drink cart rattled down the aisle like salvation on wheels.

Bonnie sat up straighter the moment she heard the squeaky roll of those little plastic tires. She yanked her earbuds out—not gently—and threw a look at the approaching flight attendant like a woman parched in the desert.

Klaus raised a brow. “Thirsty, love?”

“I’m being proactive,” she muttered. Then before he could speak again, a warning: “Don’t start.”

The attendant stopped beside them. “What can I get you?”

“Vodka. Two, please.” Bonnie held up two fingers, just in case.

The woman blinked. “A double?”

Bonnie smiled sweetly. “No, two bottles.”

Beside her, Klaus huffed a laugh under his breath.

“And for you, sir?”

Klaus offered his best impression of a civilized man. “Nothing for me, love, thank you.”

“Of course you’re abstaining,” Bonnie muttered as she unwrapped the world’s tiniest bottle like it owed her something.

He angled his head. “Some of us manage our existential dread with grace.”

She downed the first vodka mini-bottle like it was NyQuil. No chaser. Just burned it down.

“Some of us don’t have a hybrid metabolism,” she countered, opening the second bottle immediately.

The attendant, wisely, moved on.

Klaus said nothing for a beat. Then, with an almost amused curiosity: “Are you actually afraid of flying?”

Bonnie didn’t answer right away. Just sipped. Stared out the window like the endless blue of the ocean might offer a better conversation partner.

“It’s not flying… it’s the part where we drop out of the sky,” she said finally, voice low and edged with that rare thing he almost never got: honesty.

He didn’t smile this time. “Point taken.”

They resumed their mutual silence.

The cabin settled into its mid-flight lull. Lights dimmed. Window shades half-lowered. The couple across the aisle was snoring in unison. Klaus thumbed his book—not that he’d read more than five pages—while Bonnie stared out the window, jaw clenched so tightly her molars ached.

She hadn’t spoken since drink service — just drank her vodka, crossed her arms, and tried to pretend the sky wasn’t breathing weird around them.

Then came the shift.

The plane rocked, not violently, but enough that her empty plastic cup slid an inch along the tray table. Her hand shot out instinctively to stop it.

“Relax, love,” Klaus murmured beside her. “It’s just a little turbulence.”

She didn’t respond. Just focused on keeping her shoulders from rising too high.

A second tremor passed through the plane, stronger than the last. The overhead bins creaked. Someone let out a nervous laugh three rows back.

Bonnie’s fingers curled into her armrest.

Klaus cast her a sidelong glance. He was smiling. Barely. But it was there.

“Surely you’ve faced down worse things than a bit of weather.” His tone was low. Amused. Dangerously close to smug.

She glared at him. “That was the woods. On the ground. Not in a metal tube over the ocean.”

He chuckled, quiet, indulgent, like he couldn’t decide what was more entertaining: the storm, or her.

Then the plane dropped.

It was sudden and sharp, like the floor vanished. A collective gasp rose through the cabin—someone shouted, another screamed, a baby cried—and Bonnie…Bonnie clutched his arm.

Not lightly. She grabbed him, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise. Her breathing turned fast, shallow. One heartbeat away from cracking.

Klaus stiffened.

The amusement drained from his face in a breath.

He turned toward her, fully now. No smirk. No arrogance.

Just immediate focus.

“Bonnie,” he said, quiet but firm. “Look at me.”

She didn’t. Her eyes were locked on the back of the seat in front of her like she could burn a hole through it.

Given who she was, she probably could.

Another lurch. She flinched again.

“Bonnie,” he repeated, his hand rising—slow, deliberate—to cover hers. His palm was steady, anchoring.

She finally looked up, eyes wide and wrong.

That was fear.

Real fear.

Not frustration, not anger. Not even her usual simmering disdain for him.

This was her body betraying her. This was survival panic.

And Klaus, well, Klaus knew that feeling too well.

“Breathe in,” he said softly. “Through your nose.”

She tried. Failed.

Tried again.

He nodded at her. “Good. In. Hold it. That’s it.”

The plane shuddered, but she didn’t flinch this time. His hand tightened slightly over hers—just enough to say ‘you’re not alone’.

He could feel her magic humming under her skin, wild and scattered. Like a hive of bees. Not dangerous, not yet. But if she lost control…

“You’re fine,” he said. Low. Reassuring. Real. “The plane’s not crashing.”

“How do you know?” she managed to whisper.

“Because I’m on it,” he replied, with absolute certainty.

That startled something close to a breathless laugh out of her. She let her head fall back against the seat.

The plane dipped and shuddered for another ten minutes.

Her grip didn’t ease.

And Klaus didn’t move once.

After what felt like forever to Bonnie, the turbulence passed.

The plane steadied.

The engines hummed their usual white noise, the overhead bins stayed shut, and the flight attendants resumed pretending they weren’t two seconds from pressing the panic button.

Bonnie exhaled—finally. Slow. Unsteady.

Her fingers were still curled around Klaus’s arm, knuckles pale against his coat. She blinked, realized it, and drew back like she’d touched fire.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t comment.

Didn’t smirk or raise a smug eyebrow or say something infuriating like ‘Was that so bad?’

He just sat there. Quiet. Steady.

Bonnie shifted in her seat, brushing her hands against her jeans like it might scrub the moment off her skin. She reached blindly for her water bottle, took a too-long sip, then stared ahead as if the seatback TV held the secrets of the universe.

“I’m fine,” she said eventually when she could still feel his eyes on her. Her voice was rough. A little hoarse.

Klaus finally looked away from her. “I know.”

That was it. No teasing. No pity.

Just fact.

And somehow, that comforted her more than anything else.

She let out a breath—this time less shaky—and sank lower into her seat.

Silence stretched between them again. But it was different now. Not cold. Not sharp. Something slower. Easier.

Bonnie folded her arms, pulled her hood up, and let her eyes drift shut.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But she did.

Two bottles of vodka and an adrenaline rush would do that to you.

And Klaus? He didn’t move the entire time. Not even when she drifted sideways and her head found its way onto the curve of his shoulder.

Her breathing had evened out, arms tucked beneath her hoodie like she was hiding from the world.

Or maybe just from herself.

Klaus didn’t look directly at her, but he didn’t stop watching either.

Not in the obvious way. Not like she’d accuse him of. Just enough to note the faint twitch of her fingers as she slipped deeper into rest. The way her foot was still tapped faintly, like her body hadn’t quite gotten the message that the danger had passed.

She had been afraid. Genuinely.

And it shouldn’t have rattled him.

He knew that she could do impossible things. Snap necks with a thought. Tear open prison worlds. He’d watched her bleed and burn and rise again, over and over.

But this? A plane. A little turbulence. Something she couldn’t control?

That was the kind of fear that lived under the skin. Quiet. Deep-rooted. The kind that didn’t scream—it whispered.

The insidious kind of fear there was no defense against, and he found himself wanting to take it from her.

Even now, her head had drifted slightly to the side, resting on his shoulder. Close enough that if he breathed too deeply, her curls would stir against his sleeve.

He didn’t move.

Wouldn’t dare.

Because then she may wake and feel it again.

Instead, he returned to his book and stared at the same sentence for forty-five minutes.

Eventually, the captain’s voice crackled overhead, muffled by static and disinterest. Something about beginning their descent, local time, seatbacks upright.

Bonnie stirred.

Her brow twitched first, then her fingers, curling slightly as if remembering the shape of fear. Then her eyes opened, lashes fluttering before she blinked fully awake.

Still on the plane.

Still next to him.

Still alive.

For a second, she didn’t move. Just… assessed. The weight in her chest had dulled. The vodka was gone, the panic had passed, and her skin no longer felt two seconds from splitting open.

Then she caught the way her body had drifted—closer to his than she remembered.

Her spine straightened fast.

Klaus didn’t react.

Didn’t glance at her.

Didn’t so much as twitch.

Which, of course, made her feel even more watched.

She cleared her throat. Pushed a hand through her hair. “Did I drool?” she asked dryly, chin lifting just a little.

“Not even a snore,” he said, perfectly even.

She looked at him. He was staring out the window now, all serenity and civility like she hadn’t clutched his arm like a drowning woman a few hours ago.

It was… oddly generous.

A beat of silence passed. The kind that hummed with everything unsaid.

Then the plane gave a tiny lurch.

Not a drop. Not even a wobble. Just a mild nudge of turbulence as they descended through a bank of clouds.

Bonnie’s hand twitched, a reflex. Her fingers lifted slightly from her lap like they remembered the motion. Remembered reaching for him.

But she didn’t reach.

She breathed through it.

She kept her hands in her lap.

And Klaus? He saw it. She didn’t need to look to know.

He said nothing, but there was the faintest curve to his mouth now. Something… proud.

The plane dipped lower. The seatbelt light flared on.

She rolled her shoulders, re-snapping. “Tell me we’re almost there.”

“Landing gear’s down,” he told her, glancing toward the wing. “You’ll be kissing solid ground in under ten minutes.”

“Better than kissing some other things,” Bonnie muttered.

And Klaus—just barely—smiled.

The wheels hit tarmac with a dull thunk.

Bonnie let out the breath she’d been holding. Not a shaky one. Not this time. Just… measured. Intentional.

Klaus shifted in his seat, casual and composed as ever, coat folded neatly over one arm. If he was waiting for her to say something—acknowledge something—he didn’t show it.

Which was almost worse.

The seatbelt light blinked off. Everyone scrambled like the plane was sinking, but Bonnie took her time. She stood only when she was ready, tugging her carry-on from the overhead bin with a practiced yank.

Klaus stood behind her. Close, but not touching.

The jet bridge air was stale and humid. The terminal was louder than she would have liked. Too many voices, too many announcements. Too many fluorescent lights after the half-dark cocoon of the plane.

Still, she moved through it like nothing had happened.

Then—

“Bonnie.”

His voice stopped her just short of the exit.

She turned.

Klaus stood a few feet behind her, an expression on his face she didn’t quite recognize. Like he was weighing something in his head and had decided—just barely—to say it aloud.

“Have you ever seen the Belladonna Gallery? The one with the lost Rossetti?”

Her brow lifted. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Mm. It’s on loan to the museum here. Only for the next month.”

Bonnie crossed her arms, but felt her lips twitch. “That’s subtle,” she said. “Is this your idea of a post-panic pick-up line?”

His own mouth quirked. “Hardly. Consider it an educational opportunity. If you’re up for it.”

“You’re really gonna pretend this isn’t you asking me on a date?”

“I’m not pretending anything.” A pause.”You were brave up there.”

“I’m always brave,” she countered. Then, hardly believing the next words out of her own mouth, continued, “Which is why I’m accepting this not-date you’re pitching.” She turned, pulling her suitcase behind her, hair bouncing slightly across her shoulders as she moved, but she didn’t rush.

Klaus huffed, but fell into step beside her. “The Death of Breuze Sans Pitié has hardly ever been seen in public outside of the 1850’s…” he began.

Bonnie slanted him a look. “I’m going to at least need dinner and wine, too, if I have to actually listen to this.”

Klaus laughed.

And Bonnie, despite herself, decided she liked that sound.

[sandcobangevent]

Be My-

By @itsnobodysproblem and @tiredmilkshake

She saw it after one of their movie nights, sometime in early February. John had asked if they wanted to eat together, more to hear himself talk than any actual curiosity. They always ate together on movie nights. She could think of one, maybe two exceptions.

She said yes. Sherlock didn’t bother to give him an answer. Not until John opened the fridge, looked at the options, and asked,

“You, mate? Chicken and veggies or third day of penne pasta?”

“Pasta.”

“Yeah, thought so,” John answered, his voice a mix of exasperation and fondness.

She scrolled on her phone while he heated up Sherlock’s pasta and their veggies. He had a song stuck in his head, and sang it to himself even though the only lyrics he remembered were,

“Don’t you… forget about me…” and “rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling, down, down, down…”

She rolled her eyes and turned her head towards Sherlock, expecting him to return an annoyed, if amused look.

But Sherlock… He was just… Staring. At John.

His eyes followed his every move, his lips were curved in a soft, sad smile. His head was tilted ever so slightly, as if he were lost in thought. As if admiring something beautiful and rare.

Something he loved.

It wasn’t just love.

If she didn't know better, she'd say it looked like longing.

She did know better. Didn’t she?

She thought about it, that night. 

Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she'd been blind. 

She should've seen it.

She should've seen it when John was shot. When he told her, not quite believing his own words, how Sherlock had reacted. When Sherlock went with him to the hospital, just to keep him company. Even though John insisted it wasn’t necessary. When he kept himself as close as possible to John for the following week or so. Kept searching for his hand.

A few weeks ago, John had let it slip that him and Sherlock had shared a bed, once. She didn't have time to react before he noticed what he'd said and clarified that no, “It was right after I was shot, you know, with Abe. We were both… Shaken.” She’d thought nothing of it. It had been horrible and traumatic, for both of them. Getting shot. Seeing your best friend get shot, and not knowing that he was wearing a vest. Of course they wouldn't wanna be alone. Why would she think anything of it?

But it wasn't just that. It was jealousy, when John seemed interested in someone else. It was devotion. Putting John's well-being above his own. It was casual touches, leaning on him for no reason, holding his hand on cases and when they went out. Cuddling. 

She only saw it once. A couple weeks ago. Also on movie night. Sherlock had sat his head on John's chest, draped an arm over him, and John didn't even bat an eye. Just put his own arm around Sherlock's shoulders. Like they had done that many times before.

She didn’t know why she needed to see Sherlock staring longingly at John to realise it. 

They were in love. Weren’t they?

Sherlock certainly was.

She didn’t want to mention it. They would’ve told her if they were together. She didn’t think they would keep that from her. No. They were still figuring things out. 

She didn't plan on mentioning it. But just the next day, Sherlock came down to 221a, looking for a hoodie he’d misplaced. Alone. She couldn't help it.

“Sherlock,” she called just before he left. “We're… You and me, we're good friends, right?”

He seemed taken aback.

“Of course. Did I do something-”

“No! No no no! It's just… You know you can… Tell me. Stuff. Right?”

“What kind of ‘stuff’?”

He seemed genuinely confused. So she just… Said it.

“I saw you yesterday. After the movie? You were… Looking at John.” 

She didn’t get to elaborate before his face changed from confusion to embarrassment.

She smiled.

“Does he know?”

“That I was looking?”

“That you’re…” 

She hesitated. 

Did he not know? Had he not realised?

“I- I don’t know how I didn’t notice until last night. But. You’re in love. You’re in love with him.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes,” she almost laughed, “You are! You’re so protective of him, almost territorial, you’re jealous when he seems interested in a pretty girl, you value his opinion above the rest, you trust him more than anyone, you talk about him when he’s not there, you always stand so close to him and hold his hand and- and cuddle. You’re practically oozing with love! And somehow I only got it when I saw you stare at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world.” 

“...not the only thing. I was simply... Admiring him.”

“While he was heating up food.”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Alright. Admiring him. But… Everything else I said. Am I wrong?”

He thought about it. Arrived at a conclusion. Seemed concerned.

“Are those indicators of romantic attraction?”

“I mean. Kind of? Maybe not by themselves, necessarily, but together…” 

She tilted her head.

“But I don’t wish to kiss him. People who are in love want to kiss.”

“I- I mean, not always.” 

His face fell a little. 

“It’s true, though,” she continued, “usually it’s… It’s a very good indicator.”

“Right…”

“But, you know, it’s different for everyone! It might look a bit different for you.”

That didn’t seem to help. He seemed even more confused than before.

She tried to think of another way to figure it out.

“Oh! Ok, I know. Let’s… Put it like this. Imagine he’s dating someone, yeah?”

“A woman.”

“Sure. And one day he comes to you and tells you he’s gonna marry her. She’s… The One. For him. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her.”

Sherlock listened intently.

“You’d be at the wedding, of course. He’ll probably ask you to be his best man.”

“Would I have to give a speech?”

“It’s- Ok, no, that’s not the point, sorry. You’re a guest, at their wedding, and you’re watching them profess their love to each other, you know, say their vows, promise they’ll be there for each other through thick and thin, that they’ll be each other’s priority. Stuff like that. How would you feel?”

She waited for his answer. She saw his eyebrows draw together, his eyes seeming a bit more shiny than before. But she waited for him to speak.

“I… Should say I’m happy for him,” Sherlock said, voice full of uncertainty.

“But are you?”

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

“Then how do you feel?”

Silence for a few seconds.

“Betrayed. Left behind. Angry,” he said, and as the last word left his mouth he looked at her, and he seemed scared. “Not… Angry,” he corrected. “Frustrated.”

“Why?”

“Because I want-”

He stopped himself, and looked away. 

“Aw, Sherlock…” She put a hand on his shoulder. “You should tell him.”

He didn’t answer. The fear in his face morphed into something closer to dread.

“Sherlock?”

“Don’t tell him.”

“Of course I won’t.” He still wasn’t looking at her. “But you should.”

“No...”

“Honesty, Sherlock, I don’t- I think it’s worth a try. Honestly.”

He shook his head, looking rather distressed.

“Listen. He loves you. However it goes… He won’t take it badly. I promise you that.”

“No…” he muttered. “It’s too much.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant too much for him, or too much to ask of John. But whatever the case,

“Would you rather wait until it comes true? Until you’re at his wedding and you watch him promise to spend his life with someone else?”

He thought about it. And finally looked at her.

***

A few days later he was baking heart-shaped cookies. Mariana’s idea. He’d thought about it, and it made sense. If wanting to kiss wasn’t a prerequisite for being in love, if all those things she’d listed were indicators of romantic feelings, then she was right.

He asked her how he should tell him, and she suggested… This. Heart-shaped cookies, today, on the 14th. Valentine’s Day.

His hand shook as he decorated one of the cookies, tracing the edges with icing, to define the shape.

He’d been sure when he’d started. Now he was doubting himself.

He did know - he’d known for a long time that he loved John. But people always acted like when you’re in love, the object of your affection distracts you from other things. The world pales in comparison when they’re in the room. You only have eyes for them. Your logic is impaired.

What he felt for John… It wasn’t that.

Then again. Look at him, decorating heart-shaped cookies, planning to confess only a few days after he himself had had the revelation, emboldened mostly by the fear of someday being left behind by John. Maybe his logic was impaired. 

He tried to remember what it felt like with Victor. They dated. That was romantic. They kissed. It was… Nice. Victor liked it. Though now that he was thinking about it, before they ever kissed, he didn’t… Desire it. Did he? He didn’t remember. He must have, right? He must have, otherwise why had he been so sure you needed to wish to kiss someone for that relationship to be romantic? No, yes, he must have.

Would he kiss John, if he wanted? He didn’t know. It felt different, with Victor. But John was different than anyone he’d ever cared about. 

He chose one of the bigger cookies and started writing on it. Be… My…

Was he doing the right thing?

The lock turned.

Sherlock froze.

“Heyaa!” John called.

His heart felt heavy in his chest.

No. No, he shouldn’t have done this.

John’s keys clinked as he hung them up.

He’ll scare him away, and he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling. No.

He ran out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind him. He needed to get him to go away, to the shop, to buy… To buy…

“Eh. Glue!” 

He frowned to himself. Glue?? 

“Glue?” John questioned.

“Yes. Glue. I need you to go and buy glue.”

“But I just-”

“Now, please.”

He motioned for him to go, but he didn’t.

“We have glue,” John said and headed for the drawer where they usually kept it.

Sherlock blocked his way.

“It’s. Done. I need more. Go.”

“Yeah, let me see.”

He tried to get past him, but he didn’t let him. 

“I need more glue for a project-” No, what would he show him as proof afterwards? He’ll ask him what he used all the glue for, and they had plenty of glue, why the hell did he say glue?? 

John stopped trying to get past him.

“Ok, why do you want me to leave?”

“Uh.”

John looked at him with well-deserved suspicion.

He knew. Of course he knew, John wasn’t stupid, and most importantly, John knew him.

He crossed his arms whan he didn’t get an answer. “Well?”

He wasn’t gonna go. He knew something was wrong, so now he wasn’t gonna go. And the kitchen was full of those cookies, heart-shaped and decorated with smaller hearts and he’d written ‘ love u ’ on some of them, which wasn’t even grammatically correct but he had no space, and on the big one he’d written ‘ Be my Val- ’ well he didnt get to write ‘ Valentine ’ but it wasn’t that hard to deduce. He couldn’t let him see the kitchen. But he won’t go. And he will, he’ll see them. And he’ll know. He shouldn’t have done this. Not this way. Not this quickly. No, not at all. How had he thought for one moment that it would go well? That John would feel the same? How could he tell him “I’m in love with you but I don’t really wanna kiss you and I definitely don’t want more.” Too much if John didn’t like him romantically, too little if he did. But of course he didn’t. This was a stupid idea, stupid, stupid, and now he couldn’t take it back, there was no solution, no escape, and now John was asking him if he’s ok, and he wasn’t, and he didn’t even know what he was feeling, not for sure, he just knew he wanted John to stay, he wanted John to hold him, he wanted John, but it was too much, too much, and now he’ll know, and it’ll be awkward and he’ll take a step back and they won’t hold hands or cuddle anymore, and he’ll be lucky if he’ll still want to hug and the friendship will grow cold and he’ll drift away quicker than if he’d just done nothing, he shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have, he’ll lose John, he’ll lose him.

He took a deep breath after what seemed like an eternity and to his horror, he felt two hot tears slide down his cheeks.

And in a moment of lucidity that could only come after the defeat, he realised that if only he’d stayed calm, he could’ve told John that he thought friends bake each other Valentine’s Day cookies too.

Too late now.

He closed his eyes, bent his head, and just let himself cry.

***

John was confused. He’d been out with Archie on one of their longer walks, stopped for a beer, and got home to find a panicked Sherlock asking for glue.

Well, not really. He did think it was odd that Sherlock had seemed surprised by his own words when he asked for that. His unwillingness to let him see the drawer was only a confirmation. That, and him stopping mid-sentence because he’d realised it wasn’t a good enough lie.

For whatever reason, Sherlock didn’t want him around. He thought he had a right to ask.  

“Ok, why do you want me to leave?”

“Uh.”

Sherlock stared at him. 

“Well?”

He didn’t answer. He glanced at the kitchen. Then back at him. 

He seemed… Frozen. Scared. 

“Sherlock?”

He’d thought maybe he just didn’t want him to see something embarrassing, or something that wasn’t done yet, or something he’d destroyed by accident (as if he’d bother to hide that from him). But now the fun ‘what are you up to’ type of suspicion was morphing into actual worry.

“Are you ok?”

He was breathing faster. Shallow breaths. Panicking.

Not ok.

“What’s wrong? Why did you want me to go?”

He stepped a little closer.

“Sherls?”

Sherlock took a big breath and blinked, and two tears rolled down his cheeks at the same time. Then, in a moment, all the panic turned into defeat. He hung his head and hugged his arms. And started crying.

John hurried to close the distance between them and took him by the shoulders.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Sherlock…”

He waited for Sherlock to unclench his arms so he could hug him, but he didn’t. So he just stayed close and stroked Sherlock’s shoulders with his thumbs.

“It’s ok,” he said, painfully aware that he had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s alright, mate. It’s gonna be ok.”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Yes it will. Course it will. Whatever it is, we’ll… We’ll figure it out together, yeah?” 

But that just made him cry even more.

“Alright… Alright, let’s, uh…” He guided him to the couch. “...sit down.”

They did. John put a hand on Sherlock’s back and just held it there, feeling completely useless.

He couldn’t stand it. Not doing anything.

So he got up-

“I’ll go get you some water.”

-and headed for the kitchen. His hand was already on the doorknob when Sherlock almost shouted,

“Don’t!”

He looked back at him. He was gasping, quietly. His face was slick with tears.

“Please.”

John hesitated as he connected the dots.

He could find out. He just needed to open the door, and he’d know what was wrong.

Sherlock kept his eyes on the doorknob.

John released it.

He returned to the hallway and grabbed a small water bottle from his backpack.

He sat down next to Sherlock and pushed it into his hands.

“I don’t want water.”

“It’ll help you stop crying.”

Sherlock huffed, frustrated, took two sips, just for show, then put it on the table. He did try to get his breathing under control. John waited.

“I can’t…” he started after a minute. “I can’t persuade you to go for a bit and then- And then never speak of this again. Can I?”

John considered it. If he were sure it was just… Something personal, embarrassing but not harmful… He wouldn’t push. Clearly, Sherlock didn’t want him to know. But…

“I’d really rather you told me. If- If it’s really- I won’t make you tell me. But I’m asking you. Because. I’m worried. And I won’t just forget this and I’ll keep being worried because I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what’s making you so scared and why you can’t talk about it because we talk , about… everything, and I don’t know what could be so bad that you can’t tell me and- I don't know if you're safe or-”

“I am! I am,” Sherlock interrupted. He pressed a palm to his forehead, and looked at him for a few seconds. “It’s nothin- It’s just-” He paused, gritted his teeth in annoyance, then took a breath, for courage. “I realised that I can’t actually tell if- If I’m in love with someone or-”

John felt the tension leave his body in an instant. He sighed so aggressively it was almost a groan, and buried his face in his hands.

“Oh my god… You. Are such. An idiot. I thought you were in danger!”

Sherlock had the audacity to chuckle.

“Don’t laugh, you bastard…” He straightened up and looked at him. “I thought something happened to you!”

“Sorry…” Sherlock said, still a bit amused. “I, uh.” His expression turned serious. “Um. I was-” Then, worried. Again. “I- I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

Right. He’d been so relieved, he hadn’t even processed what Sherlock had said.

“You think you’re in love with someone.”

“I don’t know. I thought I did, but…” 

It all clicked at the same time. Valentine’s day, today. The kitchen, something in the kitchen. Did he plan to tell him? Did he change his mind? Yes. He wanted him gone to get rid of whatever he’d prepared. He’d changed his mind, he wasn’t sure. He was scared of John’s reaction.

Was it arrogant of him? To assume…

But what else- who else could it be? If it were anyone else, he’d have no trouble to tell him.

“Can I know who?”

He waited for a few seconds, but Sherlock didn’t answer.

He opened his mouth, tried to ask, ‘Is it me?’ but he couldn’t get the words out.

If he said no, John would feel like the biggest, most self-obsessed asshole.

If he said yes…

He wouldn’t know what to do. He couldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t. But… He couldn’t lie, either. 

He loved Sherlock, he loved him so much, and he was only half-kidding in that mailbag when he’d said they were soulmates. But he wasn’t in love with him. 

He didn’t want things to change. Everything was perfect just as it was.

Maybe they won’t. He did say he wasn’t sure.

“Ok… Um. Well, I dunno, do you- This- Whoever it is. Do you… Wanna… Kiss them?”

“Not really.”

Oh thank god.

“Then?”

“I was recently informed that kissing is not a prerequisite for being in love.”

“I mean… I guess? Yeah, I see how that could… Yeah.”

“Then how do I know? How do I make the difference? I thought I knew, but… I… Tell me. How do I know?”

“Um. Alright. Well, I mean, it’s differe-”

“Different for everyone, yes, I know. Tell me how it is for you. Please.”

“Ok...” 

He thought about Carrie, how it had felt in the beginning. He thought about his high school girlfriend, the first time he’d felt like that. He tried not to think about Mary. 

“Um. I do want to kiss if I uh… If I like them… That way. Um. I think about them a lot. I mean really… A Lot. Like- Almost everything reminds me of them. Uh. I get… Nervous? Towards the beginning, at least. And it’s… Exciting. Just to be next to them. Or. Touch them. It feels a bit… A bit like it burns. And, um. Sometimes my stomach twists. In- In a good way. It literally feels like it's-” he put his hand over his stomach, then turned it “-twisting. Or. Falling a little. So… Yeah.”

He looked at Sherlock, and almost laughed at the expression on his face.

“That is… A lot.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. He thought he knew the answer already, but he still asked, “Is that what you feel?”

“No,” Sherlock replied without missing a beat. “No, that's… No. The only thing that even comes close is that I do think about yo-” He stopped abruptly, then looked at him as if caught red-handed.

“It’s ok,” John said. “I figured.”

“Yes… I suppose there weren't many suspects.”

John didn’t add that he wouldn’t have reacted like that if it were anyone else.

“I... do think about you a lot more than other people, but not… An exaggerated amount.”

“Yeah, mate, I’m your best friend. We see each other every day. Of course I’m gonna be in your head a lot.” He tapped Sherlock’s forehead with one finger. “You’re in mine, too.”

Sherlock smiled, then took a big breath and leaned back on the couch, as if exhausted. He did still seem a bit… Melancholic. As if a big danger had been averted but there were still losses.

“What is it?”

“Hm?”

“Something’s still bothering you.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is! You’re… Sad.” 

Sherlock didn’t deny it. He shrugged.

“Why?”

“It’s...” He trailed off. “No, it’s nothing.”

John waited a bit to see if Sherlock would elaborate after all. He didn’t. So, he tried guessing.

“I, uh. You know, I’m not, like… I’m not judging you for not- For thinking- For not knowing exactly what you’re feeling. I mean, it’s-”

“It’s not that.” 

Alright… Getting somewhere.

“Then what is it?” He reached out and took his hand. “Why are you sad?”

Sherlock looked at him. The sadness turned into fondness as he studied his face. He opened his mouth, but the only sound that came out was a strangled “I”. He looked down, at their hands. He took a few shallow breaths. Then, in a forced whisper, as if fighting to get the words out:

“I wish we could be friends forever.”

Sherlock’s eyes welled up as quickly as if he’d pushed a button, and he turned his head away.

“Oh… Sherlock…” John pulled him closer, by the hand, then hugged him. Was that it? Seriously? “Of course we will. God.” He stroked his back a few times. “I’ll always be your friend. Always.” He pulled back to look at him. “Alright?”

Sherlock nodded, but the expression on his face remained the same.

“...you don’t believe me.”

His friend smiled for a moment.

“I don’t think you’re lying. But… One day you will move out. To have an actual family. And we will see each other often enough, at first. Then less. And less. Until one day I’ll become your old friend Sherlock. Whom you haven’t seen in two years. And I will still be, officially, your friend. I will still have that title. But… I won’t be, really. I’ll-” Sherlock’s voice broke for a second. “I’ll just be a thing of the past.”

John thought he could feel his heart break. His vision blurred, and before the tears had time to fall he pulled Sherlock back into a hug, this time leaning his weight on him, burying his face in his shirt, holding him as close as he could, as if just that could prevent them from ever growing apart.

“I don’t want that,” he managed to say, muffled and barely understandable. “Never.”

It wasn’t… Right.

It felt like… This. Baker street. Them, solving crimes. Living together and bickering and cuddling and annoying and impressing and… completing each other. This was it. 

He never really… Officially, consciously decided that he wanted this, forever. It wasn’t a secret he kept. But… Every time he did think about the future… It was him and Sherlock. It just… Made sense.

He turned his head so his voice could be heard better.

“I mean, uh. How do I know you won't get bored of me , eh? Thought about that?”

Sherlock sighed, and it only sounded a little annoyed.

“John. You are by far the best and closest friend I have ever had. And, I think it would be fair to say that includes my family.”

“Oh.”

“I know I might not make it obvious, a lot of the time. But I appreciate you immensely. I am… Very lucky to have met you.”

John let out a watery laugh.

“Shut up,” he whispered. “You’re gonna make me cry again.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s… Good.”

He pulled back, rubbed the tears from his eyes, and smiled at his friend.

“Sherlock, I don’t wanna move.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean this would happen in the near future.”

“No, I mean. I don’t… wanna… move. I kinda just… I like it now. I want…” He looked away, swallowed, embarrassed, and wondered how Sherlock had managed to say so many things today. “I want us to stick together.”

No answer for a few seconds. He looked back at Sherlock, who was staring at him with a mixture of cautious disbelief and hope.

“You’re… You’re saying this because I made you sad.”

Technically true. He probably wouldn’t have said it out loud if Sherlock didn’t bring it up. But…

He shook his head.

“I mean it. I- I’ve said it before. Not to you, but. I found what I was looking for. And it’s here.”

The disbelief slowly left Sherlock’s face.

“You’ll stay?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’d like that.”

And Sherlock finally, finally relaxed. Smiled, with all his face. Leaned back on the couch and tried to suppress laughter.

“Is this it?” John asked. “You... wanted something that’s usually a... Couple thing. That’s why you thought you were in love.”

“Yes. That was… What convinced me.”

“Convinced?” 

“Yes, well. Mariana noticed-”

“Oh my God!” John laughed in disbelief, then leaned his forehead in a hand. “No...”

“She… meant well.”

“Yeah, I- I mean I guess it worked out good.” And, to her credit, she was usually right about this stuff. “But, still!”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Alright, well. Go on. What did she notice?”

“I was looking at you. After our latest movie night. You were heating up the food and singing… Something. It was… A nice moment. I wanted to remember it.”

John smiled.

“Don’t you forget about me.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Well.” He leaned down on the couch, too. “I guess it could look… like that, from the outside.” He chuckled as he remembered something. “I did let it slip that we slept in the same bed that one time. After… Slaney. So.”

“Hm. Yes. We… Cuddled. I enjoyed that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“We could- Do that again. Sometimes. If you want.”

“We can?”

“Yeah. I love a good cuddle.” He scooted a little closer to Sherlock and threw an arm around him. “I love you .”

“Yes.” Sherlock turned his head so it would lean on John’s. “I do too.”

They sat like that until every bit of stress and worry seeped out of John’s body.

“So what’s in the kitchen?”

[confused-since-birth]

Razor's Grip - part two

Hello! Hope you enjoy this part as well. I was thinking to make the chapters longer, so let me know what you think. Enjoy! Also, worth mentioning is the fact that the reader is you, looks like you, has your skin color. This place is safe. If in what I am writing there ends up being something not as inclusive as it should be, please let me know.

Part 1

✨synthesis: Trying to build your career in the domain of protocores and science leads you into the Onychinus organization without knowing. Secrets surround you and Sylus and nothing is what it seems. It might be unexpected, but you two are more alike than you both think. What will go wrong? What will go right? Destiny is full of unexpected things, after all.

✨word count: 1233

✨warnings: nothing much, being kidnapped and unsettled I guess :))

Laughter bubbled inside you, then spilled, breaking the silence. First, it was just a chuckle, but it turned fast into a full-blown laughing fit. Was it really funny? Or was it from the stress, begging for your life to what god was listening and exhaustion? Maybe all of them. You couldn't stop. Your throat and lungs started to protest.

The ‘mechanic’ looked like he was getting more unnerved by the second. It's as if he didn't want to be right here right now. That would really make two of you.

‘Boss’ was sporting a wonderful poker face - no more smirking, raised brows or other cocky expressions. Was he feeling insulted? Bored? Couldn't really figure it out.

After a while, as reality settled in, your laughter stopped leaving you more tired than before

“Do I look like a kidnapper to you?”, you asked.

“Do I seem like a professional kidnapper to you?”, he asked as a smirk found itself back on his lips.

“Professional kidnapper might be the best opinion I have of you right now. This is like, my first impression of you.”

He raises his brows slightly then drops the knife on the coffee table next to him.

“So?”, he looks at you, waiting for an answer.

“So what?”

“I told you I want you to work for me”, he scoffed as if he was annoyed.

He’s there, sitting in a comfy chair, not tied up, sweaty and hungry…and HE is annoyed.

“I’m tied up. Standing. Last time I checked, when you go for an interview there's a table and chairs. And both are sitting down. I feel like I'm interrogated, more than convinced to work for you”, you say lifting your wrists to prove your point.

In a second the ropes disappear in a red mist. A table and a chair appear in front of you from the other side of the room.

“Sit.”

You fall heavy on the chair as the two men who brought you here leave.

When the door closes behind them the silver haired man starts talking again.

“I am making you an offer- “

“Who are you, first, where am I right now, second”

He chuckles. It doesn't sound like an amused type of chuckle. His cold eyes have a bored glint into them.

“N109 Zone. My offer is to work for Onychinus. You would have to help Philip here with things he will tell you later. The important part is the fact that we know you are one of the best regarding physics, protocores and such.”

“I am still a student. How can I possibly be the best?”, you state the obvious hoping that you would just go home.

“Look, I know that since fifth grade every year you’ve finished with a cute little diploma that has ‘excellence’ written on it, also that recent papers of a certain very well-known professor have your name on it. Did I mention that those papers are very appreciated in the scientific world? Would I be wrong to assume that what is written there is mostly your work?”

That is… terrifying. Yeah, you are working your ass off, but it’s more about ambition. Everything you got and came to you was about putting more work into it, rather than luck. And this guy? Beautiful as he may be, he is scary - he shouldn’t know these things. Alright, the papers are one thing as they are public, but fifth grade? What else does he know?

“Flattering, didn’t think I already have fans. How much?”, you try to play smug, try to hide how scared you actually are.

When people know to much about you, it’s never a good sign. Didn’t this also happen…last time? You knew that since you are here, there's already no going back for now. If you want to live, you should always be smart. Were you to refuse and fight, who knows what might happen? So, now, there's only one right answer - say yes to this, set some boundaries and hope that maybe you will find a way later. And, maybe, be a small thorn in their side.

“How much you want?”, the smirk on his smug face never wavers.

“10 000”, you say the most shameless amount that comes to mind.

No sane person would ever give you this much money. Perhaps, he would find someone who does what he wants for cheaper. Hopefully.

“You know, for emotional compensation after today. Also, it's not easy to live as a student.”, you add.

“Make it 20 000”, he says getting up.

Your so-called new boss walks in long strides to the door, as you sit there dumbfounded. Before he exits, he casts you one last look and says:

“Oh, also you're not a student anymore. Perhaps you will find more than that and what you are searching for here.”

And he was gone, leaving you at the table with your life turned upside down. Hundreds of questions flying around in your head.

Asshole.

***

The shop owner tried his best to give a warm welcome. The tour of the shop might have picked your interest, but what really caught your attention was the kitchen. You were hungry and thirsty. He could hear your stomach being very vocal about its opinions regarding today and the lack of food.

“Uh, I think I have some pasta leftovers from a few hours ago, if you want. Do you want some tea? Milk?... Water?”, he asks scanning his fridge for what else could he offer you.

“Pasta and water are fine, thank you.”

Philip heats up the food, passes you a glass of water. He sits across from you at the table, looking unsure what to say to you or whether he should say it.

“Sylus said that for a while you are not allowed to get out of the shop. He gave me this”, he gives you a watch. It is a beautiful watch, silver, simple. “It’s to monitor your location.”

But of course!

“Is that his name? Sylus?”, it might have been a beautiful name if it wasn’t his. It is a strange one, but it sounds nice when it rolls of your tongue. Sylus. Sylus.

The shop owner just nods and a sigh leaves your lips after you swallowed a mouthful of pasta. The watch is cold to the touch. It makes goosebumps appear on your skin when it finds itself on your wrist. After you put it on, you finish your food in complete silence.

The room you were given is…you could say, minimalist. There is a double bed, a desk, some empty shelves and a dressing. To your surprise and unease, the dressing has a few clothes exactly you size. They aren’t fancy or anything, but the idea of it makes your skin crawl. The funny part? There’s no underwear. You don’t know whether this is nice, as it would’ve been uncomfortable to know those two guys might have chosen or stolen your underwear from home, or annoying. Either way, you take a shower, do your skin care – because apparently there are your favorite products in the bathroom and they are quite pricey – and collapse on the bed.

Sleep doesn’t come right away. You lay there, exhausted. What’s the plan now?  Turning the problem on every side, asking a million questions, tiredness paralyzes your mind and body slowly, until you slip into the world of dreams.

______________________

Tags: @m00njinnie @allura-miss