#but uh i finally got my braces off!!

[brunchable]

Steve Rogers finally gets drunk.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader Themes: Funny? and CUTE. STEVE BEING CUTE WHILE DRUNK. Summary: Steve got wrecked by Thor's Asgardian Liquor and now he's stumbling under your balcony, reciting Shakepeare's Romeo and Juliet to you. A/N: I stumbled over a prompt that I have long lost now and this was the fruit.

It was a perfectly quiet night, and you were unwinding on your balcony, half lost in thought, when the unmistakable sound of someone quoting Romeo and Juliet—or at least attempting to—echoed from below.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn... so—hic—bright!”

Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was some drunk wandering the street. But then, in a voice far louder than necessary, the mystery romantic slurred, “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night... like a rich jewel in... uh... someone’s ear!”

You sighed, trying to ignore it. But then there was a strange thunk against your temple—a small pebble had just bounced off your head.

“Ow!” you hissed, standing and scanning the area, annoyed—until you spotted Steve Rogers, lurching slightly, down below on the sidewalk.

You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.

You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”

He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.

“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.

“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.

For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.

“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.

“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”

You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”

“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”

“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”

He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.

“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”

“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”

But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”

With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”

But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.

“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”

He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”

Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.

“Steve, please don’t—”

But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”

With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.

“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.

“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”

As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”

You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”

He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.

Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.

“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”

You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”

He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips. 

“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.

But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.

Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”

He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”

Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.

“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you. 

“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.

Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.

He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.

Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.

“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.

“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”

Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.

“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.

Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.

Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window. 

“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”

With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”

Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.

Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart. 

“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”

Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”

Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”

But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again. 

“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”

“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”

Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”

But Steve just shook his head again, mumbling about “betrayal” and “unhand me, knave,” as Bucky steered him away, calling one last time over his shoulder to you, “Fear not, Juliet! I shall return! Mercutio’s treachery shall not prevail!” You stifled a laugh as Bucky, looking thoroughly done with it all, muttered to himself, “Mercutio… unbelievable.” He gave you one final, apologetic look as Steve continued to mumble protests about “Mercutio’s interference,” until they finally disappeared down the street, Bucky still muttering, “I’m not Mercutio.” Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

sick day (next part)

summary: you’re sick and paige looks after you

content warnings: none!

mainly because im sick and dying rn and wish someone would look after me lol 🥲

“You said you had a slight cold, Y/N. This is not a slight cold, you look like death.” Paige says as she looks at you from the end of your bed.

You’re bundled up under your covers shivering and the light Paige just turned on hurts your eyes so you keep them closed, not wanting to worsen your already brain splitting headache.

“It is a cold.” You grumble, your throat hurting with every word.

“Uh huh, that’s why you haven’t moved a muscle since I’ve been stood here, when usually I can’t even make it through the door without you being in my arms.” She says matter of factly and she’s right. Whenever Paige comes over, you’re practically bouncing at the door waiting for her and tackle her into a hug as soon as she comes into sight.

“I’m fine, just tired.” You try and lie but Paige knows you better than that and you know her well enough to know she’s about to challenge you.

“Come here then.” She remarked and you peeled your eyes open, squinting at the bright light to see her stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a knowing look on her face but you was not about to admit defeat.

You begrudgingly flipped the duvet off your body, arms aching at the slightest of movement and you manoeuvre your body to the edge of the bed before bracing yourself to stand. Your legs were weak and wobbly as you took small steps towards Paige and just as you were about to reach her and prove her wrong, your knees buckled beneath you and she lurched forward, catching you in her arms.

“Easy baby, it’s OK, I got you. Let’s get you back to bed.” Paige says, effortlessly hooking one arm under your legs and the other around your back, lifting you off the floor to carry you back to the safe surface of your mattress.

“You’re burning hot too, Y/N. I think you have a fever.” She notes as she lays you back down, the back of her hand coming in contact with your forehead, then your neck and finally your chest.

“But I’m so cold, I can’t get warm.” You mumble, burying yourself back under your duvet trying to stop the shivers taking over your body.

“Definitely a fever. I’ll be back. Stay here.” She tells you, fixing the duvet over your body as you had done a bad job doing it yourself.

“Do you think I can go anywhere?”

“Sick but still got an attitude, that’s my girl.”

You drift in and out of sleep while Paige is gone and your headache only worsens and you hope she comes back soon because you need a drink but you can’t move. Your limbs feel like lead and your head spins at the smallest of movements.

You hear the front door to your apartment open and close and the taps of familiar footsteps walking towards your room and you immediately know it’s your girlfriend and you’re thankful you’re no longer alone because you genuinely feel like you’re dying.

“You’re back.” You whisper and your voice comes out low and weak you barely even recognise it.

“And I brought supplies.” Paige announces and you flutter your eyes open and she’s holding a huge bag, packed full with God knows what.

“Tylenol, DayQuil and NightQuil, Gatorade because you need electrolytes, soup, tissues, herbal tea, oranges for vitamin C, your favourite candy and water because I just know you’ve not been drinking enough.” She reels off what she bought as she lays it out on your bed.

Paige helps you sit up, propping up your pillows behind your back for support. She pops a few pills into her hand and unscrews the cap of a bottle of water, “Open up.” She says and you’re in no position to argue so you open your mouth and she drops the medicine inside before bringing the bottle up to your lips for you to take a sip.

“Thank you.” You croak out and she just shakes her head, “I wish you would have told me you were this bad. I would have been here straight away.”

“I didn’t want to worry you…or being a burden.” You admit and she sits on the edge of the bed, her hands taking yours, “You are not a burden. Far from it. I want to help you get better, just let me.” She practically begs and you could cry. You were so used to looking after yourself and always being the one to take care of others, it felt foreign being on the receiving end of such selfless actions.

“I’m going to make you some tea and soup. You think you can handle that?” She asks, rubbing your arm comfortingly.

“Maybe just the tea?” You suggest not feeling particularly hungry.

“OK, but soup later because you have to eat, Y/N.” She insists before taking the pack of tea to make you a cup.

Paige returns with a huge mug of hot tea and a damp cloth, “For the fever.” She says placing it on your head and even though you feel freezing cold, your teeth are chattering, the cool cloth is a soothing sensation against your burning skin.

You take the tea with shaky hands and immediately take a sip, the hot liquid mellowing out the pains in your throat. Paige positions herself next to you in your bed, tucking herself under your covers. Her body next to yours is comforting after laying alone, sick and suffering for the past twenty four hours.

“I don’t want to get you sick.” You sniffle, weary that whatever illness had attacked your immune system is probably contagious.

“Don’t worry about me baby, let’s focus on getting you better.” Paige replied hooking an arm around your shoulder.

You take a few more sips of tea before placing it down on your beside table, starting to feel tired as if sitting up in bed had taken the last of your diminishing energy.

You shuffle your body down so your practically laying in Paiges lap and her hand falls to your head and she runs her fingers through your hair, repeatedly. Her actions are slow and soft and full of love, you knew you’d be asleep in seconds.

“I’m tired, P.” You mutter, feeling guilty that you were about to fall alseep, leaving your girlfriend nursing you.

“It’s OK, go to sleep baby, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You give into your exhaustion at Paiges words and your eyes fall shut to the feeling of her fingers in your hair, your head on her lap and her scent being the only thing you can smell.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: don’t forget to send me requests if you have any! ily 💋

[munsonhoneybaby]

Too Much in Common | Eddie Munson X F!Henderson!Reader

Summary: After Dustin brings Eddie home for a D&D campaign, you find yourself enjoying his company more frequently than expected.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, drug use (marijuana), smut, kinda automatic dubcon since they're both fried?, fingering, a lil praise, eddie’s just a lil obsessed

A/N: it hasn’t been explicitly stated yet but reader is adopted. hopefully i actually post a part two in a timely manner.

part two | finale | tmic masterlist

The rumbling of Eddie’s van ceased in the Hendersons’ driveway as he turned the key back in the ignition. He was surprised, however, when the metal thrum of a guitar continued despite his radio now being off. Opening his door, he recognized “N.I.B.” by Black Sabbath and realized it was coming from inside, making his eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

He made his way to the front door, not bothering to knock beforehand since Dustin was expecting him and the kid’s mom wasn’t home. “Since when did you get a taste in music, Henderson?” He called over the music blaring from the sound system in the living room. A door around the corner slammed open much more forcefully than necessary and the aforementioned freshman barreled out of his bedroom. 

“It’s my sister!” He shouted back. “She said I could have you guys over while Mom is gone if I didn’t bitch while she was in charge, but APPARENTLY THAT MEANS MAKING ME GO DEAF!” 

Eddie could just barely make out your muttered “oh please” as you entered from the kitchen. You turned down the volume until the sound could be considered background noise. “If anyone here is gonna go deaf, it’s me from your constant shrieking.” Distressed jeans hugged the curve of your waist perfectly and the Poison t-shirt you had on looked soft from numerous wears. He tried not to stare, but he was sure he looked like a cartoon character– bugging, heart-shaped eyes and jaw hitting the floor. He almost missed it when you acknowledged him. “Munson. I heard you were still running Hellfire. Didn’t realize you’d be coming today.”

Oh fuck. You knew him. You knew him? How did you know him? Of course, you had gone to the same school, everybody in Hawkins did, but he would remember meeting a girl like you. Would you be upset with him for not knowing who you are? God, already embarrassing himself and he hasn’t even started talk–

“Relax,” You snorted. “I was a grade under you at Hawkins and I was homeschooled my senior year. We never talked, I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. I’m pretty sure everybody knows about you, though.” And this is when you tell him to get out of your house and stay away from your kid brother because he’s a drug-dealing, Satan-worshipping freak. “It’s nice you’re still running the D&D club, sounds like everything else there gets worse every year.” 

Some of the tension in his muscles slipped away and he realized he’d been subtly bracing himself. “Oh–” The doorbell rang and Dustin ran to get it, welcoming in Mike and Lucas who were already amicably bickering louder than necessary. Behind them trailed the two others they had ridden with, Jeff and Gareth if you remembered correctly. They seemed a little uncomfortable holding a session in a new house, but relaxed drastically when they set eyes on Eddie. “Uh– you guys can go ahead down to the basement with the freshmeat. I’ll be down in a sec, alright?” They nodded, waving politely to you before following the boys.

When they were gone, you and Eddie locked eyes again. “Seriously, I’m glad Dusty has someone watching out for him. He takes more shit than he deserves. Just try to be a good role model, alright? If I find out you give that kid Special K or some shit, it’s fucking over for you. Got it?”

“I would never let anything bad happen to those kids when they’re with me,” He spoke earnestly. “I’m gonna look out for them. If I’m ever gonna do anything right, it’s that.”

“I believe you, Munson.” You gave him a small smile and nodded towards the basement door. “You should probably get going. They can’t start the game without their dungeon master, right?”

An embarrassed flush fought its way up his neck to his cheeks as you turned towards the hall where your bedroom was. Before you could get more than a couple of steps though, he gently grasped your wrist. “Hey uh, by the way– I just wanted you to know that I don’t really– I don’t do any hard stuff anymore. Haven’t in a while. I hardly even sell it anymore and I stopped selling to first-timers.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie, I didn’t mean to–”

“No, don’t worry about it. I totally get it, I just wanted to let you know; for your peace of mind, I guess. You deserve to know who your baby brother’s hanging around with, I don’t want you to think I’m too bad an influence.”

“I don’t think you’re too bad, Munson. Just a healthy amount.” You gave his own wrist a small squeeze as you slipped your hand from his and finally went back to your own room. He gazed after you momentarily, even after your door had closed. If the guys were still present, they would definitely be giving him shit.

As if on cue, he heard Dustin’s muffled shout from the basement. “Eddie, hurry the hell up!”

You were sitting on the front porch swing lighting a joint when his beat-up van pulled up two nights later. “Seek & Destroy” poured from his cracked-open windows until his door opened and he set foot on your driveway once again. “He’s not here, y’know,” You called to him.

“That’s alright, I actually just needed to–” Eddie was halfway between you and his van when he caught a whiff of a particularly familiar scent. A shocked, teasing grin slowly spread across his face. “Henderson, are you smoking marijuana right now?” 

In spite of yourself, you let out a laugh, coughing around a lungful of smoke in the process. “Say it a little louder, Munson, I don’t think the deafening Metallica got the neighbors’ attention.” 

Laughing, he dropped into the space next to you on the swing. “I didn’t peg you for the smoking type.”

“Oh, you mean from the three minutes we interacted?” You squinted playfully but held the joint out to him. “Just weed, I don’t fuck with anything else personally.”

He took you up on the offer, calloused fingertips brushing your skin as he took the joint from you. Examining it for a moment, he smirked as he took a hit. “Fuckin’ with it pretty hard, apparently,” He breathed out. “You roll almost as good as I do.”

“Good, then you can roll the next one.” It passes between you as you speak, though Eddie tries to keep his turns short out of courtesy. “Which brings us back to the topic of why you’re here mooching my shit. You said you needed to do something?”

“Right, I uh- I forgot my lucky dice here the other night. I figured I’d pick ‘em up on my way home from The Hideout.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re in a band or something, right?” 

“Since middle school,” He nodded, “Just me and a few guys from school, s’called Corroded Coffin.”

“Sounds metal.”

“We try to,” He chuckled.

“You like Black Sabbath and Metallica, you’d better,” You teased. You didn’t notice the way his eyes followed your every move as you smoked. The way your cheeks hollowed ever so slightly as you sucked in a hit, how your breath hitched and your eyes fell closed as you held it in. The corners of his lips curled up in amusement watching you blow Os while conversation lulled for a moment. Offering him one last hit first, you stub out the roach on the ground and stand from your seat. “C’mon in, you can go get your dice.”

“Thanks,” He hummed, grabbing the door as soon as it was open to hold it for you. 

“Have you eaten?” You ask, heading into the kitchen as he made his way toward the basement door. “I haven’t, I was gonna make a sandwich or something. You want one?”

“That’d be great, actually, thank you.” The dice weren’t hard to find seeing as he’d left them there on purpose. So maybe it was a little weird, definitely a little desperate, but he wanted to make sure he had another opportunity to see you– get his foot in the door, so to speak– and he really hadn’t expected all this. He’d hoped you’d be the one to answer the door and he’d get to make small talk for a few minutes, point out your shared taste in music maybe, but this? Catching you alone, sharing a joint, getting invited in for something to eat? This was going better than he could’ve possibly expected.

“Find ‘em?” You called down.

“Yup!” He jogged back up the stairs, waving the small velvet bag as he joined you in the kitchen. “All good.”

“What a relief. Can’t have the dungeon master thrown off his game, that would be a travesty.” You glanced up at him mischievously as you finished making the first sandwich, scooting the plate across the counter to him.

Eddie suppressed a smile, shaking his head as he picked up the sandwich. “You just love teasin’ me with that, don’t you?” He asked before he took what was probably an unattractively large bite.

“Depends on what kind of teasing we’re talking about, Munson.” You drawled casually in return, turning to continue making your own. Meanwhile, it was an effort just for him to keep his food in his mouth without choking on it. You were flirting with him.

Weren’t you? Maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d meant it the other way around– that you’d only tease him in a joking way and that you’d never want to–

“Eddie, I can see the smoke coming out of your ears,” You snorted. “Stop thinking so hard, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” You took a big bite before grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Want one?” His answer was going to be yes, but you were grabbing him one before he had responded anyway. There was a brief and fairly comfortable silence as you cleaned up the rest of your small mess and he took a few long swigs of his water. “Wanna finish these in my room? We could smoke another joint maybe…just chill out, I don’t know…”

“Yeah, totally,” He agreed, maybe a little too eagerly.

“You’re rolling though,” You remind him over your shoulder as he begins to follow you to your bedroom.

The door creaked as you opened it, waiting for him to enter after you so you could close it. As you opened the window wide and lit a stick of incense, he took in his surroundings. Your room wasn’t like the average teenage girl’s– not that Eddie had seen very many of those– not pastel-colored, or frilly, or covered in heartthrob posters, though a few stuffed animals were perched tenderly on your bed. Actually, it was almost more like his, albeit much more organized. There were posters of horror movies and rock bands filling a decent amount of the empty space on your walls, the Dio flag pinned to the ceiling drawing his attention. “Oh, that is so sick!”

“I thought you might like some ‘a this stuff,” You laughed softly. Nodding towards the stereo in the corner, you continued, “You can put something on if you want.” He squatted down to look through your cassettes, hearing your voice move through the room as you got out your bud, tray, and paper. “Try to keep it understated though, alright? Nothing too hard or fast right now.”

“Really tryin’ to mellow out tonight, huh?” He began playfully, but looked back at you as his tone softened a little. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” You reassure. With the cassette in place, he made sure the volume was low before it began playing softly as you spoke. “I just get a little too pent up sometimes, you know? Everything’s just been kind of a lot lately, ‘s why I was already smoking when you showed up.”

“Hey, I can beat it if you want. I didn’t mean to show up outta the blue at a bad time and I definitely don’t have to stick around if you don’t want me here. I can totally get it if you want the time to yourself–”

“Please stay,” You quietly interrupted, then seemed a little embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t– I’d appreciate the company if you wanna stay a little while.”

Eddie gave you a comforting smile before taking a seat at your vanity to roll the joint, trying to lighten the mood. “Careful what you wish for, Henderson. I mean, you’ve got good music, good weed, made me dinner; I might be hangin’ around here more often with this kinda treatment. You’ve got me livin’ the life, babe.”

Laying down on your bed to watch him, your voice was more serious than he expected when you replied. “You’re welcome any time, you know. Mom likes when the house is busy and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Dustin practically worships the ground you walk on.” His rings glinted in the lamplight as he carefully sprinkled the bud onto the paper.

“Yeah? And what’s your review, hm?” You didn’t mean to stare at the way his lips wrapped around the joint or how his tongue traced the seam of the paper to seal it.

You hummed vaguely as he finished up, gently plucking it from between his fingers when he was done. Dramatically inspecting it much longer than he had yours, you finally say, “You roll clean joints.”

He shakes his head and laughs. Your lips close around the paper, feeling the seam still damp with his spit, and you jut your chin toward his lighter on the vanity. Grabbing it without a word, he leans forward to give you a light. Your gaze catches on his rings once more before lifting to his face again. A reflection of the flame makes the brown of his eyes warmer as they lock with yours, looking up from where you still lay on the bed on your stomach. You take a long pull as he draws the lighter away again and the spell is broken.

Sitting up to breathe the smoke in deeper, you tuck your knees under you. Eddie joins you on your bed, but not before he kicks off his shoes by the bedroom door. He sits cross-legged just in front of your pillows so you shuffle around to face him. “So, how was your concert?”

He snorted, “Concert might be a bit heavy. Gig is a little more accurate. Show maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but keep your tone light and pass the joint. “You’re a loser, you know that? You knew exactly what I was talking about, answer the question.”

“It was pretty good I guess,” He shrugged and took a long hit. “I think there may have been a whole seven people this time. And one of them was even sober!”

You smiled sympathetically, “You’re just in the wrong town. Don’t worry, I’ll come watch you play. I don’t know if that’d be a good atmosphere for the boys, but I could probably force Steve, Nancy, and Robin to come.

He twisted one of his rings around his finger for a moment. “That’s really nice, sweetheart.”

With each toke you both took, the joint burned slightly shorter until it was almost completely gone. “You want the last hit?” you asked. “I finished the last one. And you rolled this one anyway.”

“No, that’s alright. It’s your weed; I’m literally a drug dealer, I’ve got plenty at home.”

“Here,” You took one last long drag and he raised an eyebrow in confusion, but he understood when you sat up further on your knees and leaned toward him. A sense of giddy excitement overtook him for a second, nerves probably heightened from the weed, but he kept his composure. When your lips slotted over his, he took a deep breath in. His hand slid into your hair to keep your head steady as you sighed the smoke into his mouth. Your lips grazed over his afterward, very obviously lingering long after it was necessary. You giggled as you slumped down into a laying position, letting your head fall back into his lap.

“Seems like someone’s a lot more relaxed now,” He cooed playfully.

“Sorry, I can get off ‘f you–” He notices how your voice is slightly rougher after smoking so much.

“Hey, no–” His hands settle warmly over your shoulders, not holding you down so much as they were encouraging you to stay put. “It’s alright, baby. You can get comfy, you’re not bothering me.”

His hands soothed up and down your arms as you settled back in. “That feels really nice.” You hummed quietly and it drew out into another giggle, “Everything feels really nice.”

He laughs a little airily himself, “It does, doesn’t it?” Your skin felt so soft and warm beneath his fingertips, tracing imaginary shapes along the bare flesh of your arms. “‘M feelin’ pretty good, myself.” Your eyes couldn’t help but wander to his pretty pink lips again. They’d felt so soft against yours and you wanted more– to really feel him this time. His thumb brushes your chin, dragging down in a way that had your mouth opening slightly. “What’re you thinkin’ so hard about, sweet thing?”

Blinking up at him with glassy eyes, you raised an arm to brush your fingers over his flushed cheek. “Eddie, c’n you kiss me? Please?”

“Yeah?” He moved his thumb a bit higher to tug your lower lip down a bit, face dipping down a bit closer to yours. “That what you want?” You were nodding before he even finished his sentence, making him chuckle quietly. 

He allowed his lips to graze teasingly over yours, just barely touching, before finally kissing you. His nose brushed your chin and you could feel the small smile adorning his face before your lower lip was sucked softly between his. Fingers winding into his mess of frizzy curls, you moaned quietly into his mouth and pulled him closer. After another moment though, he slowly drew back, lips separating from yours with a soft smack that made you unreasonably desperate for more.

An ache had sparked in his lower back while loading the amps into the van after their show earlier that evening, deepening as he proceeded to help load the rest of the equipment afterward. Now the deep curve he had molded it to in order to keep his mouth on yours had the pain radiating up his entire back. “As much as I’m enjoying this– and believe me, babe, I’m seriously enjoying it– my back is kinda killin’ me and hunching over you like this…” 95% of his brain was screaming at him to shut the fuck up, to ignore it and just keep kissing you breathless anyway, but the other 5% was crying out to lay down and he had to listen.

“Oh, sorry,” There was a slight pant in your voice as you released your grasp on his hair. He sat up slowly as if a movement too fast would shatter the calm in the air. You sat up yourself, watching as he eased himself back onto your pillows. “S’that better?”

“Way better,” He confirmed. “We can uh- we could keep kissing if you want.”

Openly cringing at how awkward that sounded, he opened his mouth to say something else before you interrupted him with a still-sluggish giggle. “I’d like that, Eddie.”  

“Okay,” He nodded rapidly. 

Leaning forward onto your hands and knees, you crawled into his lap. His hands instantly settled on your thighs, running up and down the material of your pajama pants. His eyes flickered wildly over your body a few times before gazing up at you in awe. You didn’t waste any time in kissing him again, which was much easier now that he wasn’t upside down. As you moaned into his mouth, his hands molded to your hips, squeezing and pulling you as tight to him as he could get you. His tongue slipped between your lips, making them open further as your hands found his hair once again. 

He didn’t mean to start moving, slowly grinding into you in an attempt to relieve the tightness in his jeans that definitely wasn’t a problem before he came over— but then you were rocking down on him yourself, clothed cunt rubbing against him in a desperate search for friction. Hips rutting up into yours, he braced a palm against your lower back. You could feel his hardness pressing into you through the layers of clothing between you. Pulling back for air, you panted into his mouth, still subtly grinding against him. “Fuck,” He grunted quietly. The soft whimper of his name that you gave him in return made his head fall back against the wall with a thud. “Got me so fuckin’ hard, sweet thing. Please, don’t stop.”

“Don’t wanna stop,” You whined back quietly. “Feels so good.” 

“Good,” He cooed. “Don’t worry, ‘m gonna keep makin’ you feel good.” Hot, open-mouthed kisses moved down your neck and you let out a moan. His fingers wormed their way past the hem of your shirt, tracing the cup of your bra. “This okay?” He mumbled against your skin. Nodding, you cupped his hand and guided it higher until he pushed your bra out of the way. The pad of his thumb brushed firmly over your nipple, making your hips jerk against his. “Mmm, so sensitive. Is that jus’ the weed or are you always like this?”

“Both,” You breathed out. “‘N you’re good at all this.”

“Aw you don’t have to butter me up, baby,” He grinned. “I’m gonna make you cum either way.” Free hand dipping past the waistband of your pajama pants, Eddie continued playfully, “But, go on. Keep tellin’ me how much I turn you on.”

“Eddie,” You pleaded, “C’mon.” 

Fingers stroking the damp fabric of your underwear, he asked, “This okay? Really want me to touch you?” Your desperate nods made his lips curl, pressing more firmly against you and drawing out a moan that you tried to stifle. “No, no, no, you gotta tell me how it feels, sweet thing. We’re all alone, you can make those pretty noises, it’s okay.”

Your head slumped into the crook of his neck, mouthing lazily at his skin. Nudging your underwear to the side, he sank his middle finger knuckle-deep into you. Grasping tightly at the worn material of his t-shirt, your breath hitched. “Mmm, fuck– yes, Eddie, thank you.”

“Look at you, usin’ your manners ‘n everything. Of course, you would. Such a good girl.” Your moans only grew louder, making his hips jerk in search of friction. “So warm and wet, bet you’d feel so good around my cock.” Lifting your head to kiss him again, your hand found the shape of his length in his jeans. He rolled his thumb over your clit in circles as his hips rocked against your palm. Mouths open against each other’s, you exchanged panting breaths and muffled moans. Confined by your pants, his hand didn’t have much room for movement, leaving your hips stuttering frustratedly. “Lemme get these off’a you, babe. Can make you feel so much better than this.”

Suddenly, his hand was curled under your thigh and you let out a small squeal as you were flipped onto your back beneath him. Your pants and underwear were yanked down your legs feverishly, Eddie parting them to slip two fingers into you this time. “Shit, Eds!”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, was that too much?” Immediately, he tried to withdraw his hand, but you gripped his wrist to stop him. 

“Don’t stop, Eddie. Please, don’t stop,” You rushed.

“Alright, sweetheart, ‘m right here. Don’t worry.” Your hands laced into his hair for stability as his fingers crooked into a spot that almost made your eyes cross. Already dripping onto your bedspread, you pulled him even closer to you. Smirk spreading across his face, he said, “Oh yeah. That’s the spot, huh, baby?”

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re gonna make me come,” You whined.

“Good, want you to soak my fingers.” His hips rocked forward, clothed cock grinding into the back of your thigh. “Wanna feel you come for me.” The way his thumb rubbed so firmly against your clit had heat shooting all the way to your toes. Desperately tugging him down for another kiss, your thighs trembled as they squeezed closed around his hand. “There it is,” He murmured lowly against your lips. “Mmm, you’d feel so fuckin’ good coming around my cock, sweet thing.” The deep cadence of his voice had you shaking.

Grasping at the back of his shirt, you buried your face in the crook of his neck. He held you in silence for a long moment until your head eventually dropped back against the bed. A smile slowly grew on your face as you looked up at him and you let out a small giggle, making him grin down at you. He laughed softly too as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

Eyes darting shortly to the alarm clock on your nightstand, you did a double-take when you noticed how late it was. “Son of a bitch, my mom’s gonna be home any minute!” You grabbed your discarded underwear and pajama pants from the foot of the bed as soon as Eddie had peeled himself off of you. “Uh– fuck, I’m really sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to invite you in just for this, I just didn’t realize how late it got. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging, but–”

“Are you kidding?” He was already leaning against the wall by your door, slipping on his beat-up air forces. “I had a blast, babe. We should do this again sometime,” He winked teasingly.

You rolled your eyes half-heartedly, feeling your body warm. When the two of you reached the front door, you rubbed your arm and met his eyes only a bit awkwardly. “I’m sorry again about not…returning the favor.”

He chuckled, giving you a small smirk. “Don’t worry about me, sweet thing. After tonight, I’ll have no trouble taking care of it myself.” Taking a step closer to you, he leaned down for a kiss that was much slower and softer than the last few you’d shared. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Night, Eddie. Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

“Anytime.”

You waited at the door until he’d gotten in his van and driven away before finally heading back to your room. As soon as you closed your bedroom door and flopped down on your bed, you heard your mom’s car pull into the driveway. Meanwhile, Eddie drove home, foot a little heavy on the gas pedal as he itched to get back to his own room.

He didn’t see you again for two weeks. He knew the Hendersons’ phone number, but there was no way he could ask for you if Dustin or your mom picked up. So he waited, very impatiently mind you, and hoped he hadn’t ruined things by going so far with you so fast. 

When he did finally see you, it was at Hawkins High School. You’d come to pick Dustin up from that week’s Hellfire club meeting. You knocked on the door before entering, knowing that– despite the session being scheduled to end ten minutes ago– they often ran over their allotted time. Sure enough, you heard Eddie’s booming voice as you cracked open the door and slipped inside.

“And as the chimera flew closer–” When he noticed you he immediately straightened from his position looming over the table, clearing his throat and clasping his hands together behind his back. He didn’t want to scare you off with all this yet. “Okay gentlemen, that’s all for today.” The collective groan they let out had you feeling a bit guilty, they’d obviously been enjoying themselves, and now you were being the annoying big sister; you should’ve just waited in the car. But Eddie was quick to speak again. “Oh, cut the moaning. We’re almost fifteen minutes over and you all need more time to prepare for battle anyway. Amateurs.”

As the others all packed up their things, he approached you and you greeted him with a smile. “Sorry for interrupting, seemed pretty intense, I hope it wasn’t too important.”

“No, no, it’s good you came in. We would’ve been all caught up until someone else came in to stop us in a much less forgiving manner.” You both laughed and it went quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat again. “So uh, I’ve been hoping I’d see you around.”

“Yeah, me too… Smoking alone isn’t as fun anymore.”

His lips quirked up into a smirk and he nodded playfully. “Yeah, ‘ve been thinking the same. You should start buying from me, you know. I’ll give you a discount.”

“Oh, so I have to pay you to smoke with you again? You know, we used my shit last time,” You teased.

“You’ll never pay for anything you smoke when you’re with me, sweetheart. I’m a gentleman after all. Here, hang on.” He dashed back to the table, hunching over to write something down before tearing off the small scrap of paper and coming back to you. “Now you can get a hold ‘a me, come smoke all my weed anytime.”

“Oh, I’ll be taking you up on that.”

Your comfortable conversation was interrupted when Dustin shouted your name. “What’re you doing? Let’s go!”

“I’ll see you around, Munson.”

“Sure thing, Henderson.” 

As you drove Dustin home, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a bad idea to get involved with Eddie. He was one of Dustin’s best friends now, a mentor for him, one of the only male role models he’s had aside from Steve since he lost his father. The last thing you wanted was to make Dustin feel like you were taking that away from him. God forbid something should happen between you and Eddie and he doesn’t feel comfortable coming around anymore. You couldn’t do that to him. 

Still, you found yourself hunkered over the phone in the living room that night. You tried to hold out, you really did, but you only managed to hold yourself back until almost midnight after your family had gone to bed. Coiling the cord around your finger, you waited impatiently as the phone rang three times.

When he finally picked up, you could hear the smirk in his tone. “Hi, sweet thing. Just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

“Well, I figured I was running low on bud anyway,” You drawled quietly. 

“You’re awful quiet,” He teased. “Don’t want Mommy to catch you up on the phone so late?”

“Fuck off,” You scoffed playfully. “If you’re having so much trouble hearing me over the phone, why don’t you come over?”

“Oh, so she minds a phone call, but it’s okay if we have a sleepover?” He snorted. 

“No, but if you’re quiet you can sneak in and back out before she wakes up to get ready for work. I’ve got twenty bucks calling your name,” You cooed enticingly.

“Seriously?”

"Come on, Munson, you've never climbed through a girl's window before? I'm disappointed."

He simply replied, "I'll be there in fifteen, make sure it's unlocked."

part two | finale | tmic masterlist

<3

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[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 5

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

Read on AO3

CW: Hand feeding, praise, kink negotiations, discussion of power exchange dynamics, kissing (FINALLY)

When you reach for the cardboard box on the edge of the table, he catches both of your wrists in one hand. You only resist a little bit. His other hand flicks the box open and he picks up a thick fry.

“Open,” he rumbles, pressing it to your lips. When you open your mouth, you watch his pupils dilate. He purrs as you take a bite. “Good girl.”

The rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You would let him feed you limp celery with that tone. You lean forward again, jaw dropping open.

“Should talk now,” Simon rumbles, thumb dragging over your lip as he feeds you the rest of the fry. The contact electrifies you down to your toes. You must make some kind of noise as you swallow because he smiles. “Didn’t consider I might feed you myself.”

“Okay,” you breathe, leaning into the hand cupping your cheek.

“Finished your stretches?”

The temperature in your body drops significantly. You lean away from him. “I…uh. I… didn’t.”

Simon hums a low note, hand finding your chin again without making you look into his eyes. “Hurtin’ somewhere?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I just… I was in my work clothes. And I didn’t want to do… that in front of Gaz and Soap.”

“Fair,” Simon says, drawing you forward to brush his lips over your forehead. You feel your face get hot all the way up to where they brush against you as he speaks. “You want to do them now, or later?”

The tension you barely noticed creeping into your shoulders melts away. Of course. Simon is just Simon now, not Ghost. If you aren’t comfortable doing something, he’s not going to get mad, just give you other options. He’s kept you safe, and he’ll make sure you continue to feel safe under his instruction. Even though everything is different, it’s all the same.

Tears prickle your eyes, so you squeeze them shut as you lean further into him. Suddenly, one of his arms is around your back, the one on your leg lifting you into his lap. If there’s even a grunt of effort, you don’t hear it over the way your breath gets caught in your throat. Your hands come up, automatically, to brace against his chest and one bicep before you’re folded into him like that’s the only place you ever needed to be.

And then his lips find yours.

God, how many times had you thought about kissing him? The fantasy is so muted compared to the real thing. His lips are thin and a little dry, surrounded by the barest scratch of stubble. He doesn’t coax your mouth open, just presses his lips against yours like he could do this all night. The tip of his tongue flicks out for a quick touch to your top lip, startling a sound out of you. He does it again, opening his mouth to moan into yours when you squeeze his arm in response.

When your own tongue comes out to touch the scar you’ve always admired at the corner of his mouth, he growls. “Fuck, Bambi.”

“Simon.” You barely recognize your own voice.

The hand on your thigh goes tight. It startles a gasp from you that he drinks down with a groan of is own.

He surprises you by pulling back enough to speak between kisses. “Beautiful, you know that? Thought I was hallucinating.” He tips you back a bit, taking all of your weight to scan your face. He grins as he says, “Was thinkin’ so hard abou’ you, and ‘ere you are.”

“You were thinking about me?”

“’Course, I was,” he says, leaning back into the couch. You end up resting your head against his shoulder. He sighs and kisses the top of your hair. “Missed our check in this week, ‘n you’d this big trip you were all nervous for. Didn’t get to see you off. Was lookin’ forward to gettin’ the tour of your hotel room, gettin’ y’r travel stories. ‘n then I got the call today, n’ I was cancelin’ on you again. Just about broke my ‘eart.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say. You’d always kind of assumed he was indulging you, letting you ramble about your day until he could get to the good stuff, as your ex used to say. “I knew you were kind of… on call. I didn’t realize that you were saving hostages, but I knew you were busy.”

He twists a bit to look into your eyes. “Don’t like bein’ too busy to see you.”

“You just like seeing my ass,” you joke, burying your face into his neck to settle the butterflies in your stomach.

“’S a good arse,” he chuckles, shaking the meat of your thigh in his grip. “Was definitely lookin’ forward to a bit o’ skin. But if you were too tired, I jus’ wanted to ‘ear your voice, coax you through some of your stretches before bed. Speaking of…”

You roll your eyes at the significant look he gives you. The way he never forgets a command makes so much more sense now that you know what he does for a living. Your heart flutters to see the familiar way his scarred lips quirk at your sass, paired with the unfamiliar way he tweaks the skin of your hip with the gentlest pinch.

“I’ll do them later,” you concede. “I already did all my floor stretches, and I’m hungry now.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your ass. “Should prob’ly eat before it gets cold.”

He pops open the second takeaway container to reveal your meal, a dish you had picked basically at random from the menu Gaz had showed you on his phone. It’s a lot less hand-feedable than Simon’s wrap and fries, so he lets you feed yourself, but he refuses to let you sit on the couch, even halfway. Just holds you in place while he eats one-handed, trading fries for bites of chicken adana and tipping water into your mouth every few minutes.

You’re ravenous until you’re suddenly not, halfway through your food. Simon doesn’t comment, just finishes the other half of your food while you rest against him, exhausted. Simon’s hand is still on your hip, his thumb tracing back and forth in an idle, steady pattern.

When he finishes eating, he asks, “Where’s your head at?”

“Nervous,” you say automatically. This, at least, is familiar. “’M tired, and I don’t know what you’re gonna expect of me.”

He taps three fingers on your hip, twice. “Trust me?”

“You saved my life today,” you point out.

“Tha’s work,” he dismisses. “Not workin’ now. You trust me?”

You think about it, because he always wants you to think about it before you answer. You fall back on your rules, the promises between the two of you.

“I trust you to be honest with me,” you answer, the mantra coming easy. “I trust that it’s okay to tell you if I’m not okay with something. I trust that you won’t yell at me. I trust that you’re not going to hurt or harm me on purpose to correct my behavior.”

“Very good,” he rumbles, pulling you close to press his lips against your forehead again. “I trust you to be ‘onest with me, too. Trust you’ll accept a no, when I give it. Trust that you’re not g’nna yell. An’ I trust you not to punish me if you’re upset.”

“Wow,” you say. “I never expected to hear you say that in person.”

“Never thought I’d ever ‘old you,” he replies. “An’ I’ve never folded a whats-it-called… a romper, before, neither. Interestin’ day o’ firsts.”

“It’s a jumpsuit if it’s long,” you mumble, mortified all over again that he’d had all of your stuff in his hands.

“’S impractical. Soft, though. Bet it’s real pretty on you.”

A swell of embarrassment swoops through your belly. It’s automatic to bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“None o’ tha’, now.” Simon grasps both of your wrists in one large hand again and brings them down to your chest.    He makes you look at his face with a finger under your chin. “Won’t promise I’ll never make fun, but I won’t say I think you’ll look good if I’m no’ bein’ ‘onest. Promised, yeah?”

“Trust you to be honest,” you whisper, tipping your face back into his shoulder. “Acknowledged.”

“Good girl. Three deep breaths.”

You push all of the air from your lungs, the way your therapist taught you. When you inhale, you feel his chest rise with yours. He matches you when you hold, then release the breath in a steady stream. Where the back of your hand touches his chest, you can feel his heartbeat, solid and steady as he takes the next breath with you. By the third inhale, you let your spine relax as you feel him do the same.

“Know we never planned on meeting,” he eventually rumbles. He tips you back to look down at you, then ducks down for a quick kiss. “But I’m gonna be selfish and say I’m glad you’re ‘ere. If you don’t want nothin’ else, tonight, gettin’ to ‘old you is still everythin’ I ever could’ve wanted. Honest. Acknowledge.”

“This is good. We don’t have to do anything else, and it’ll still be good,” you whisper. “Acknowledged.” You lick your lips, prop yourself up to look into his eyes, then away. “What if… What if I want to do more?”

“One step at a time,” Simon chuckles.    “Stretches first. Then we’ll see about tha’ reward I promised you, yeah?”

He brings his mouth to yours again. Your hands are freed so that he can cup your jaw so tenderly that it threatens to melt your heart, even as it electrifies you down to your toes. When you moan into his lips, he echoes you, then pulls a way to press his lips to your cheek.

“Up, Bambi. Let’s get you to the bed.”

[darkbluekies]

The track runner reader fic w/Silas got me thinking👀

Hear me out okay..

Ballerina reader x Silas

How would he react to see her practice,her shows

Swan lake, Giselle..

Italian fouettés, Entrechat quatre x3 royale, Developpe A la Seconde etc

Yk the high extensions,leg holds the whole shebang

Just a thot👀

Stolen part

Yandere!mafia x fem!reader

Summary: you've finally been granted to do ballet, but when Silas sees you upset, everything turns into a nightmare

Warnings: yandere, mentions of blood, broken bones, a lot of guilt and confusion, panic attack(?), reader just feeling horrible

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I took some creative liberty with your request, I hope that's okay. And uh, I know 0 about ballet, so take this with a handful of salt<3

One performance — that’s the deal. One single performance and then you’ll go back to normal life. You nearly fainted when he told you that you could do one dance, after months and months of begging, pleading and crying. You almost started threatening him when you became desperate enough. 

“Well … we’re here”, Silas sighs as his men stop the car. “You know the rules, don’t you? Do we have to go through them again?”

“No, I know them”, you smile. 

You take his hand while exiting the car. Silas smiles and squeezes your hand softly. It’s worth all the trouble, he tells himself. If you’re happy, then it’s all worth it.

When you enter the practice room, you’re met by a dozen other girls wearing the same clothes as you. It’s been such a long time ago that you’ve felt so … included. There’s a certain feeling about wearing the same thing that creates a unity you can’t explain. 

“Run along”, Silas tells you, giving you a small push towards the group. 

He walks over to the instructor. He can tell right away that she knows who he is. He braces himself. She can either call the police or let him go. If she decides to call the police, he’ll have to create a blood bath and snatch you back in the car. 

“Can I have a word with you?” Silas asks politely. 

“Sure”, the woman answers hesitantly. 

“I can tell by the look on your face that you know very well who I am, so I want to make a deal with you.”

“What type of deal?”

“If you don’t call the cops on me and give my girlfriend an honest chance — because I know that she’s magnificent — I will fund your entire club. All clothes, all expenses, all props, venue, is on me. Fair?”

The woman thinks for a moment. Silas know that the club is underfunded. He knows that she has to agree.

“Okay”, the woman says shortly. 

“Good”, Silas replies and waves at you to come over. 

You skip over with sparkling eyes. He pulls you in to kiss him, in front of everybody. His kisses are always controlled by him, but they always show extremely much love for you, a deep hunger nothing can satisfy. 

“My men will stay to supervise, to make sure nothing happens to you”, he says and gives you another kiss. “Have fun now, little thing. I’ll see you soon.”

You nod. Silas squeezes your shoulder, gives the group of ballerinas a warning stare and then leaves. 

You return to the group. The people who knows who Silas is give you nervous gazes and the ones who don’t look at you with jealousy. 

Well, this is starting off great, you’ll absolutely make many friends.

Time goes on. Silas enjoys seeing the wise smile on your face every time you exit the building after a practice. Every time you’re in practice, he takes the opportunity to do some errands. He always makes sure to come pick you up clean, never covered in blood. 

But one day, you’re crying when you meet him. His heart drops in an instant and he thinks that putting you in ballet was a mistake. It wasn’t worth it at all. 

“What happened, baby?” he asks worriedly and takes you in his arms. “What did they do to you?”

You struggle to talk through your violent sobs. He believes that you’re having a panic attack, but you can still move relatively well. Silas grabs your shoulders and waves at his men to come over. 

“Y/N, what did they do to you?” he asks and looks at his men. “Did any of the others hurt her?”

The men shake their heads. 

“Y/N!” Silas says sharply. 

“I-I didn’t … get … the ... lead role”, you manage to get out through your sobs. 

You know it’s silly, of course. Honestly. It’s childish to cry over not being the main character, but this was your only chance to be on stage before you’ll get pulled back into capture. You’ll never have this much freedom again. It’s embarrassing to cry about this, and you know that very well, but they don’t know how much you’ve suffered to even be in the practice room. 

“You didn’t?” Silas asks shortly. 

“No”, you cry. 

Silas turns to his men and hands you to one of them. 

“Bring her to the car”, he says. “I will be back soon.”

He disappears into the building. The practice room is empty, apart from the constructor who is cleaning up after today's class.

“Oh”, she says, noticing him. “Can I help you?”

“If you're smart, you can”, Silas says coldly. “I heard that Y/N didn't get the lead role. I'm just wondering why?”

“She wasn't exactly what I had in mind for this particular role … I mean, she's extremely good, but just not what I had in mind when I visualized the lead. She's a runner up, though.”

Not good enough, Silas thinks.

“Okay”, he says and nods. “I see.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turns around and leaves. Anger is burning through his chest. Seeing you so upset makes him see red. He would burn down the entire world for you to watch you smile. He walks back to the car where you sit in the backseat and the two men in the front. 

“Hey, baby”, he smiles and sits down beside you. “Are you feeling better? Should we get some food on the way home?”

You nod. Silas smiles and wipes your tears. His men are forced to hear how he sucks the air out of you in the backseat. He devours your lips, trying to comfort both you and himself. He holds you in his arms, letting you cry. The more you cry, the more embarrassed you feel. You’re ashamed because you can’t understand why you are so upset over it. It’s just a role, you’ll still be on stage, won’t you? Is it because you think that you’re better than the others? That you deserve the position of the lead? Do you deserve it because you’re so good or because this is your only chance? The others have many more opportunities to get the role you want, why can’t you just get one? You’ll never be seen again, why can’t you get it?

Why are you thinking like this? You’re not entitled to anything. Has Silas imprinted the narrative that you’re so special, so wonderful that deeply into your brain? Do you believe that you’re this special, one of a kind person that deserve everything because you’re so special? 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Silas asks, caressing your cheek. “You look so thoughtful. Let me in.”

“I- … I- …”, you start, but can’t seem to talk — you can’t even formulate your own thoughts.

“Breathe, baby. It’s okay, you’re with me now.”

“I am breathing … I just …”

“Just …?”

You shake your head. 

“Just hungry”, you lie. “And tired.”

“It’s okay, you’ll get some food soon”, Silas promises and kisses your lips once again. “We’ll stop by McDonald’s.”

You get your food and you eat together with Silas in your bedroom, but you can’t stop thinking about the lump in your stomach. Why are you so upset? Why can’t you put words on your feelings? 

You lay awake the entire night in your empty bed (because Silas is out working) and think. Crying over not getting the lead role won’t make you enjoy the last few weeks in the club. Ballet is your true love, you should do everything you can to enjoy it — specifically because you’ll not get it back. You should be happy with your role — you’re even a runner up! That’s fantastic. You breathe out. Ease sets into your heart. It doesn’t matter what role you get, as long as you have fun. 

When you enter the practice room the next time, you can tell that something is wrong right away. The girl who got the lead part … has crutches. You feel a shiver run down your back. Mortified, you shake your head. Silas. He must have done something to give you the lead role, that you so desperately wanted. He never got to know that you became satisfied with your original role. Guilt washes over you, suddenly you feel extremely sick. You need to take a hold on the wall to not fall. One hand presses against your chest to not vomit. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” one of the body guards asks as they hurry over. 

You nod sloppily. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god. This is all my fault. 

This is what you had been feeling bad about — finally you can put words on that weird feeling in your stomach. You were scared that Silas would do something to the girl that got the lead without even noticing it. If anything, that shows how close you know Silas.

“He … he did this … didn’t he?” you whisper, feeling distant. 

“The boss couldn’t stand to watch you be upset”, one of the body guards answers quietly, only for you to hear. “He made sure to get you the role he wanted.”

You’re freezing. That poor girl. Suddenly you don’t want that part anymore. The part is dirty, and your hands are covered in blood. 

Your mind is anywhere but in practice when you dance your stolen part, but your body works for you. 

Silas is standing out in the parking lot a wide smile when you walk out. He opens his arms for you, but you don’t walk into them. 

“Are you happy now?” he asks. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Silas …”, you say quietly and shake your head. 

He tries to grab you, but you jerk back. Silas frowns. 

“But you wanted it”, he says. “You had a panic attack. I gave the part to you.”

“Silas, I feel extremely guilty. I stole her part. It’s not fair.”

He grabs your shoulders and force you to look at him. 

“The world isn’t fair, little thing”, he says. “If you have some power, use it. I want to use my power to make you happy, baby. You’ll do better than that girl ever could. You should have gotten that part from the very beginning.”

He gives you a kiss and brings you to the car. 

When the day for the performance arrive, you refuse to come out of the dressing room. The costume looks horrible on you. You can only see the other girl in the mirror. None of the other girls have talked to you after the lead girl ended up with crutches. They all know why you got the role. And how you got it. 

“We start in five minutes, get out!” the instructor tells you and basically pulls you out on stage. 

You see a lot of familiar faces in the crowd. Silas has brought as many of his men as he possibly could. Silas himself is sitting in the front row with his right hand man beside him, smiling at you. You look around. All his men are smiling at you. Weirdly enough, it’s somehow cute. They all look like they could kill anyone in any second, but the second you look their way, big, genuine smiles creeps up on their faces. Turning them from killer machines to teddy bears. 

You dance to the best of your ability. This is what you’ve been begging and pleading for. Better enjoy the spotlight while you can. You can’t help but feeling dirty throughout the performance. Silas, however, has never looked this proud before. 

The second the applauds roll in, you fall to your knees, crying. You fulfilled your childhood dream, but at what cost? A girl broke her leg because of your emotions, you stole her role … you’re covered in dirt that you can’t wash off. You don’t deserve these applauds. You don’t deserve any of this. 

“Y/N!” Silas gasps and runs up on the stage with his right hand man by his side. “Are you okay, baby?”

“I want to go home”, you sob. “Get me out of here.”

Silas nods and waves at his men to walk out. He picks you up and follows his men. 

“You did so well, baby”, Silas smiles while walking. “I’ma always proud of you, but this was something else. Everyone saw how absolutely fantastic you were. You’re an absolute badass, baby. I fucking love you so much.”

You smile slightly. It’s finally over. You’ve achieved your dream — although you wish that you never had done it — and now, you’re going back to your locked bedroom. You almost long for it. 

[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Chapter 3

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range

Chapter Warnings: reader vs IKEA furniture, 1k words about Yoongi's hands, second-hand embarrassment, more cracktastic internal monologues, a tiny bit of angst

Word count: 7k (approx. 30 mins to read)

Posting date: October 19, 2024

Notes: Very Yoongi-coded of me to work through my sickness. So, yes, behold an update, while I am in the throes of flu. Enjoy~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Masterlist

Sometimes, the mediocrity in this office is just unbelievable. You’ve put in a request for a filing cabinet so that you can organize the copious amount of paperwork that’s been accumulating in your little space that has overtaken yours and Yoongi’s desks. That was two months ago. It finally arrives today, still in its flat box packaging.

Great.

You’ve been staring at the pieces of the Ikea furniture for what feels like an hour, trying to make sense of the instructions. Of course, they’re all diagrams and singular letters and numbers—just a bunch of arrows pointing to nuts and bolts that apparently hold this whole thing together.

Btw, where the heck is Yoongi?! He’s usually pretty punctual. Pretty and punctual. Hmm. Anyway…

Just as you’re about to abandon your unwanted task to write a strongly worded email to the procurement department, Yoongi strolls in your office, oblivious to the war inside your mind.

“You’re late,” you blurt.

Caught off guard, and wholly unused to your raging bitch tendencies, Yoongi looks like a deer caught in headlights, mumbling, “Sorry, I uh I just got this scooter and am still—”

Is he pouting? OH god…

“No, no…” you backtrack, not meaning to sound haughty at all. “You’re fine. I don’t really—sorry, I’m just in a mood.”

Yoongi nods, assessing the pile of rubble you are on, as he sets his helmet and bag on the desk. He takes a spot on the floor next to you, leans over to squint at the same set of instructions, and decides, “This shouldn’t be that hard.”

You roll your eyes, picking up a random board. “Yeah, says the guy who hasn’t tried yet.”

Wordlessly, Yoongi pulls the screwdriver from your hand and the nearest piece of wood, starting to line everything up. You expect him to struggle, because he’s an idol–LOL–he can’t be that good at this, maybe marginally better than you, but nothing to write home about.

Boy, you are so, so, spectacularly wrong. Chae would be laughing at you later that night as you recount this gross misjudgment on your part and would proceed to send you the link to Run BTS episode 148 and as you watch it in your bed with a sheet mask on you’d be like the fuck is wainscoting??

But for now, you are decidedly a non-believer, even as Yoongi moves through the steps with surprising ease, piecing it together like he’s done this a million times before.

“Hold this,” he says, passing you one of the boards to brace while he screws in the side panels. His fingers brush yours as he adjusts the position, and it’s then that you notice his hands.

Well, you’ve noticed his hands before, but this time it’s different. You watch as his long fingers grip the screwdriver, veins running along the back of his hand, disappearing beneath his shirt sleeve, flexing with every twist. It’s oddly mesmerizing—beautiful, if you’re honest with yourself. They look perfectly balanced between grace and ruggedness, bone structure firm, but the skin warm and soft.

God, those hands… Your mind flashes to places it shouldn’t, and you quickly look away. You clear your throat, as you wrestle with thoughts of those hands wrapping tenderly around your throat. 

Holy shit.

He’s completely focused on aligning the screws, while you’re completely unfocused thinking about how you’d very much like for y’all to screw.

Wow. You are a fuckin’ pervert. And so shit at double entendres.

As he continues to work, you can’t help but observe his fingers as they move with precision. Long, lithe, bony in all the right places. Delicate, yet also powerful. And then there are those lovely veins—they pulse slightly with each motion, as his fingers curl effortlessly around the tool like it’s second nature. 

It’s way too easy to imagine those hands doing something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with Ikea furniture. Everything to do with you. Naked, ideally. Now, preferably.

OK Stop. Stop right now.

With a shaky exhale, you force yourself to focus on holding the cabinet in place, but the mental image is seared into your brain now. There’s something unfair about how attractive Yoongi’s hands are—how much control they have, how easily they move, how they make your brain go berserk.

“You good?” Yoongi asks, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Hmm?” You blink, realizing you haven’t said anything for a minute.

He blinks blankly at you and doesn’t say more, just passes to you a handful of screws. You take them from him, swallowing the lewd thoughts racing through your mind.

As he finishes screwing the rest of the pieces together, his thumb grazes along the edge of the board, and your eyes trail after it like you’re hypnotized. You bite your lip, trying to focus on anything else. Anything but how good his hands look. Did you seriously just discover a fetish right now?

He shifts closer to tighten something, and you’re hit with the warmth of his body, plus the faint scent of his soap. Your heartbeat picks up, but you stay silent, pretending this is all fine, like you’re not on the verge of asking him to stop and just drag you to the back office closet to fuck.

Sweat is dripping down your neck at the sheer self control you are exercising at the moment. You need him to hurry the fuck up, because there’s already an uncomfortable wetness in your underwear and you need to deal with it stat. 

He inspects one of the wood pieces and knocks on it as if to test its strength and you study his knuckles, slightly prominent dappled with subtle brownish-pinkish marks perhaps from boxing.

Honestly, that’s so hot.

Yoongi finishes tightening one side and sits back, leaning on his hands, fingers splayed out on the floor. You glance down, and oof there they are again—those damn hands, long and elegant, resting on the floor like they’re mocking you. You wonder, just briefly, what it would feel like if those palms were pressed up against you, instead of the floor. Will those hands be gentle, rough, will he be the type to leave marks…

You’re staring. Definitely staring.

Yoongi clears his throat softly, and you snap your eyes up to his face. He’s watching you now, head tilted slightly, lips pressed into a line that looks suspiciously like he’s holding back a smile. There’s a knowing glint there—of course he’s caught you, but he’s not going to call you out for it.

“Want to hand me that last piece?” he asks, voice calm but with that little hint of amusement in it. He motions toward the final panel lying next to you, hand outstretched.

You quickly pass it to him, avoiding his gaze completely. His fingers brush yours when he takes it, slow, deliberate. 

Oh shit, he definitely knows.

He lines up the final piece of the cabinet and starts screwing it in, but there’s a shift in the air now. You force yourself to focus on what’s in front of you—on the fact that you’re literally just building a cabinet and not having an existential crisis over someone’s hands. 

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to read his expression, but he’s focused on the task again, his lips slightly parted as he concentrates. You catch yourself staring at his lips now and quickly look away before he can notice that, too.

Finally, he finishes tightening the last screw, sitting back to admire the completed cabinet. “There. Not so bad, right?”

You breathe out a laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah. Thanks for saving my ass with this.”

Yoongi shrugs, wiping his hands on his slacks. “It was easy enough. I think you were just overthinking it.”

You roll your eyes, feeling more at ease now that the project’s done. “Well, maybe if I had hands like yours, I wouldn’t have struggled.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and your face ignites.

Fuckkkk stupid fuckk dumbass bitchhh

He glances at you, eyebrows raised, then looks at his hands, flexing his fingers like he’s just realizing what you’ve said. He’s silent for a second, and then, “My hands?” There’s that barely-there smirk on his face, subtle but unmistakable.

You scramble to recover. “You know what I mean,” you mumble, grabbing a stray screw off the floor, wishing it would just swallow you whole.

Mercifully, he doesn’t push it further. Just chuckles softly, leaning back against the wall, his gaze flicking to you for a beat longer. “You’re welcome,” he says simply.

He stretches his fingers one last time before stuffing them in his pockets. “They’re at your service, whenever you need them.”

Cheeky bastard.

“Yes, mom, I won’t be late,” you tell Chae as you tug your high-waisted leggings into place, your phone sandwiched between your ear and your shoulder.

“Ok. See ya!” 

Finally you smooth the fabric of your sports bra in the office bathroom mirror, turning slightly to check your reflection. The purple set hugs your body in all the right places, accentuating your curves and giving you that boost of confidence you hadn’t realized you needed. You’re not perfect by any stretch, but something about this fit makes you stand a little taller, feel a little bolder.

It’s after-hours, and the office is mostly deserted. You’d told yourself it’d be fine to walk back to your desk dressed like this—barely anyone’s around to notice. Yoongi left minutes ago, or at least you think he did. He never really stays after 5:30 p.m. except that one night he returned “for his ear buds” and even then he actually went home and just came back to get drunk with you, apparently.

As you step into the hallway, your dunks squeak faintly on the floor, echoing in the quiet. You glance around, feeling pretty damn good as you make your way back to your desk to grab your stuff before heading to Chae’s Pilates class.

But as soon as you open the door to your office, you freeze.

Yoongi is still there.

Standing by his desk, packing up, his head snaps up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes lock onto you, and for a second—just a second—they widen, raking over you in a way that’s anything but office-appropriate. His gaze drifts from your legs, up to your waist, lingering at the curve of your hips, then up to your chest, where the sports bra does more work than it has any right to.

You see the exact moment he tries to recover. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and he quickly looks away, busying himself with stuffing papers into his bag like they’ve suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

Oh. Oh.

The corner of your mouth twitches. It’s almost funny, really—after all the teasing and the subtle suggestions, Yoongi finally looks like he’s the one caught off guard. Finally. You saunter further into the office, a booty-tooch here and there, pretending like nothing’s out of the ordinary, but inside, you’re fully aware of the power shift that just happened.

“Didn’t think you were still here,” you say casually, grabbing your water bottle from your desk. You make a show of bending just slightly, and when you look up, you don’t miss the way Yoongi’s stare flickers toward your cleavage before he quickly averts his gaze. His ears are a little red. Gotcha.

“I thought you’d left already.” He clears his throat. “You uh you got a class?”

“Mhmm…” You hum sweetly, tossing the bottle into your bag. “Pilates. My best friend convinced me to go. Free trial and all.”

Yoongi nods slowly, still not quite making full eye contact, like he’s trying really hard not to look directly at you again. The sadistic part of you wants to make it worse, just for shits—after all, didn’t you deserve a little revenge after the way he had you silently losing your mind over his hands the other day?

“So… what do you think?” You tilt your head, as if the answer to that question isn’t already written in big, bold letters all over his face.

Yoongi finally looks at you then, before darting back to his bag, his fingers a little too purposeful as they zip the bag shut. “About Pilates?”

“No,” you say, smirking. “About the outfit.”

It takes him a second to process that, and when he does, you swear you see his jaw tighten. He presses his lips together, trying to keep his cool.

“It’s… nice,” he says, the understatement of the year, and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to say more. 

“Huh.” You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip, the motion drawing his eyes back to you at the sliver of skin that just revealed itself. “Just nice?”

Yoongi exhales, running a hand through his hair, and for the first time in the months you’ve known him, he looks rattled. Not by much, but enough to notice. You wait, feeling a surge of satisfaction, enjoying this just a tad too much.

He catches your gaze again, this time holding it for longer. His tongue drags across his bottom lip, the gesture slow, and finally, finally, he leans back against the desk, arms crossing as he gives you an appraising look. The faintest smirk pulls at his mouth, but it’s restrained, like he’s weighing his next words carefully. You are still in office premises after all, not in some club in Garosu-gil.

“You’re trouble,” he says softly, and the word hangs in the air between you. The same word you’ve used for him more than once—now, turned on you. “You know that, right?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a grin. It feels like a straight-up W, having him flustered, even for a moment. “Yeah?”

He lets out a tiny chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah.” His eyes drop to your legs again, another once-over. When they return to yours, they’re darker, more intent. He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before replying, “Definitely trouble.”

You pretend to mull it over, playing with the front zipper of your sports bra. “I mean, you’re the one staring,” you tease, fully aware of what you’re doing now.

Yoongi’s grin returns, a little sharper this time. “And you’re the one who walked in here looking like that.” His voice rasps just slightly on the last words, and it’s enough to send tingles down your spine.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you jest, this time repeating one of his lines from the other night. He shakes his head again at you, clearly remembering it, too.

“Well,” you say, voice deliberately airy, “I should get going. Don’t want to be late for class.”

Yoongi nods, and his eyes follow you as you move toward the door. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little smug in the way he’s gawking at you. Man like him is used to being surrounded by gorgeous women, being in an industry that demands being perfect, and yet he seemed enamored by a perfectly imperfect you. How you like that?

Wow he’s still watching. Well if he wants this as spank bank material tonight, then by all means, you consent for him to stare. 

“Have fun at Pilates,” he says, his tone a little too even.

You pause at the door, glancing over your shoulder with a triumphant grin. “See you later, Yoongi.”

You have to admit, work has been pretty inspiring since you and Yoongi started hinting at your attraction to each other. Coffee breaks now feel like mini dates. Over steaming cups of latte (americano for him) that now tastes a little less shitty, your knuckles brush sometimes—just a quick touch, but neither of you pulls away. And even though it’s brief, it’s starting to mean everything. 

It’s becoming more obvious: you’re both opening up, letting each other in, swapping stories that are equal parts random and revealing. He tells you about the black cat he ‘borrows’ from a friend when he feels lonely. You tell him about your complicated relationship with your dad, how it’s still a work in progress. Each conversation feels like another layer peeled back, another step toward something deeper. Hopefully.

But then, of course, your inner saboteur decides to join the party. You start wondering what this really is for him. A way to pass the time, maybe, cause he’s just bored in the house. You know the kind of life Yoongi’s used to, but since he’s forced to step away, and here you are... just there, conveniently available. A little distraction. Maybe that’s all this is. You think about how easily he could pick you up like a little plaything and tickle you whenever he likes. Cos, damn, you know he knows that you are very much tickled.

He hasn’t asked for your number. And honestly? You don’t think you have the guts to ask for his. But it’s not even just about guts–you think you’re a plenty empowered woman. There’s the NDA—a whole ass contract hanging over your head, making sure you won’t cross. You’re stuck, confined to these small, controlled moments within the four walls of work.

And that’s what gnaws at you the most: you don’t know if this could ever become something real outside of this space. Your lives, your worlds—they’re just too different. 

Your Saturday looks a little different today. Tonight, you find yourself in Chae’s place of work. You’re wearing a pretty little dress, paired with cute heels that make you feel amazing, even if they pinch a little. Your hair is softly curled at the ends, one delicate pin securing it behind your ear on one side, leaving the rest to fall naturally. It’s simple but enough to make you feel put together, like you belong here, even if this whole scene is a bit fancier than your usual.

The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses fill the air as you settle in at the bar, a glass of sparkling wine in hand. The lighting is low, giving the restaurant an intimate, almost cozy feel despite its sleek, upscale design. Dark wood tables, candles flickering on every surface, and the kind of velvet seating that makes you want to sink right in. It’s posh, but not stuffy—like the kind of place where you can have a real conversation without having to shout.

You take a slow sip of your drink, eyes drifting around the room. The bar is polished marble, gleaming under the soft pendant lights that hang overhead, casting a gentle glow on everything. The vibe is understated but undeniably chic, with just enough buzz in the air to remind you that this is a special night. 

You imagine Chae in the kitchen, totally in her element, probably yelling at someone to get the garnish right while she’s knee-deep in prepping plates. Too busy to talk, but that’s fine. You didn’t mind. You’re here for the food, the drinks, and to support her.

A guy, about your age, slides onto the barstool next to you. “Hey. You here for the friends and family thing, too?” he asks casually, although it’s obvious since it is a private event after all. You know he’s just trying to make conversation.

You smile politely, nodding. “Yeah, my best friend works here. You?”

“Cousin of one of the line chefs,” he replies. “No idea who most of these people are, but free food, right?”

You chuckle. He seems harmless enough—just someone to pass the time with while you wait for the meal to start. The conversation flows easily, touching on casual topics. Nothing too deep, but enough to make you feel at ease in the unfamiliar crowd.

Then, out of nowhere, a ripple passes through the room. You notice heads turning, subtle whispers growing louder as two men were ushered to a VIP section at the far end of the restaurant. You exchange a glance with the guy–Jungwon, curiosity piqued.

“Who’s that?” Jungwon asks, craning his neck slightly. “Some kind of celebrity?”

You squint in their direction, but couldn’t quite make them out. “No idea, but they must be, with that kind of posse.”

Just then, your phone buzzes in your hand. You glance down, seeing a message come through.

Chae: fuck ur bf and my bf are here!!! Omgggg 

Your eyebrows shot up. You quickly type back:

You: Wtf are you talking abtt?!

But before you can get a response, you are ushered into the main dining area with the rest of the guests. The low lighting and beautifully set tables were designed for an intimate evening, and you found yourself seated at a small two-person table with Jungwon due to limited seating.

As you settle in, your vision drift towards the VIP section again, this time landing directly on someone you didn’t expect to see. Min Yoongi was sitting there with none other than Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh. Well, that explains the murmurs. The sudden shift in atmosphere. And Chae’s message.

You weren’t expecting this—him. Not here. Not tonight.

You tell yourself to look away, play it cool, but your eyes keep darting back, betraying you. Yoongi hasn’t seen you yet—thank God—but it’s only a matter of time. 

You’re hit with a wave of something—excitement? Nerves? Probably both. This was supposed to be a low-key night, a chance to support Chae and enjoy some free food and drinks. Instead, it feels like the stakes just shot up, like you’re tightroping between wanting to be invisible and being seen.

You take a steadying breath, flicking back to him one last time. He’s still talking with Jungkook, leaning back in his seat, completely unaware of the fact that your world just tilted slightly off its axis. 

Suddenly, Yoongi’s head turns, almost like he can feel your frantic energy. He sweeps the room, pausing when they find you. And for a split second, there’s something there—recognition, a softness in his expression, the kind of look that makes your heart stutter. His lips lift at the corners, like he’s about to smile, and for that brief moment, you let yourself believe in it.

But then, just as quickly, his gaze shifts. His expression cools, like a door closing in slow motion. The familiarity drains, replaced by something distant. Detached. He nods at you—polite, formal, like he’s acknowledging a colleague at a meeting. Nothing more. Before looking away.

Wow. That’s cold.

That tiny, hopeful flicker you’d felt just a moment ago? Gone. You weren’t expecting some grand gesture, but this? This feels like... nothing. Just a nod. Just formality. 

You shift in your seat, fingers tightening around the stem of your wine glass, feeling like shit.

Of course. Of course it’s like this. Why wouldn’t it be? Here you are, your first taste of seeing him outside your office bubble and your inner saboteur was right.

It’s disappointing, but not surprising. This was always confined to the office, wasn’t it? That’s where it was convenient. But out in the world, with people around and the difference of your class apparent? Just look–he’s in the VIP section and you’re… not. It’s different. He’s different. And maybe you are too, suddenly unsure of where you stand with him.

Was he annoyed? Uncomfortable that you’re here? You replay the moment in your head, trying to decipher the brief look on his face before it shifted. You’ve always had a tendency to overthink things, but still... that coolness in his gaze lingers in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed.

You glance away, pretending to focus on the glass in your hand, but the truth is, you don’t know how to feel. You don’t want to feel disappointed, but you do. And it’s hitting you harder than it should, because maybe, deep down, you wanted more.

But this is your first glimpse of what happens in the real world. And right now, it feels like you’re just two strangers in a crowded room.

The first course arrives, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you try to refocus, letting the taste of the food ground you for a while. You chat lightly with Jungwon, making small talk about the meal, the restaurant, anything that keeps your mind occupied. Every now and then, though, your thoughts drift back to Yoongi, to that cool, distant nod, and the wound in your heart expands. You try to shake it off, tell yourself it’s nothing, but fuck—it stings.

Your phone buzzes again with a message from Chae. You excuse yourself from Jungwon and pull your phone out.

Chae: If u don’t intro me to Min Yoongi, friendship over!!!!!!! Also jk but ik you havent met him yet. Omg im guna freakkk

You sigh. Of course. Chae doesn’t know. She hasn’t seen the awkward distance that’s already wedged itself between you and Yoongi tonight. And you definitely don’t want to be the one to burst her bubble. This is her night—a huge one for her culinary career. The last thing you want to do is drag your personal worries into it.

You type up a simple reply.

You: On it. Stand by. And pls act normal

Fuckkk how are you going to do this? You excuse yourself to the powder room. Looking up at yourself in the mirror, you adjust your lipstick and clean up the edges with the pad of your ring finger.

Yoongi’s a good person, you remind yourself, your mind running through every little moment you’ve shared with him at the office. He won’t embarrass you in public. That’s not who he is. But still, there’s that nagging doubt in the back of your mind—the one that’s been whispering ever since you saw his face earlier, the way his warmth slipped into something more distant.

And if he does embarrass you? Well... maybe that’s your answer. Maybe tonight is the night you get the clarity you’ve been secretly waiting for. 

You come back to Jungwon wiping his mouth with the table napkin, chewing the last bits of his mains. Before you can even politely excuse yourself, he gulps his drink in one go, “Hey, I think I'm actually gonna bounce.”

So that’s that. You text Chae and make your way toward Yoongi’s table, heartbeat picking up speed.

Chae: I’m goin in. Get your ass ready. 

As you approach, Beefy—the bodyguard you recognize from past run-ins inside the office—gives you a friendly nod and lets you through without hesitation. You give him a grateful smile before turning your attention to Yoongi and Jungkook. Jungkook is mid-conversation, laughing at something Yoongi has said, but as soon as you appear, their heads turn toward you.

You give a small wave and a smile. “Hey.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours for a split second, and he gives you a smile that reminds you of that day you first met. Forced. Awkward. Tight-lipped.

Fuck. You’re starting to feel like such an idiot. Maybe this was a mistake—maybe he really doesn’t want to associate with you outside of work. You should’ve read the room. 

But before your thoughts can spiral any further, Jungkook thankfully steps in. “I’m Jungkook, and you are?”

You give him your name, a small, polite bow. You’re about to explain who you are, but before you can, Jungkook’s face light up with recognition.

“Ohhh, wait,” he says pointing a finger at you, a grin spreading across his face, “You’re Yoongi-hyung’s boss.”

You freeze. Boss? His grin widens, and suddenly, there’s a teasing glint in his eyes as he flicks his gaze between you and Yoongi like he’s just connected some dots.

Yoongi shoots him a look, something caught between exasperation and warning. It’s like you can hear the silent “Don’t.” Jungkook ignores it, his smile only growing, and so is your confusion.

“That would be me,” you say, trying to hold onto your composure, giving Jungkook a nod while feeling completely out of the loop.

“Hyung, why didn’t you tell me she was going to be here?” Jungkook’s tone is light, but there’s an unspoken challenge beneath it, like he’s teasing Yoongi in a way that only someone who knows him well could. The silent back-and-forth between them is hard to miss, and it leaves you feeling both confused and embarrassed. There’s clearly something you’re not getting.

Yoongi just shrugs, his voice more detached than you’d like. “I had no idea.”

You furrow your brows, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Jungkook gives Yoongi a curious look, as if they’re having an entire conversation through telepathy. You, meanwhile, are just standing there, completely out of place and unsure whether you should laugh or back away slowly.

And Yoongi hasn’t even addressed you directly in the midst of all this. God, you’re so embarrassed.

At this point, you figure it’s time to bail. You gave it a shot, and it feels like Yoongi doesn’t even want you here. Sorry, Chae. “Anyway, it was nice to meet you Jungkook, but I should just—” You jerk your thumb over your shoulder, already planning your exit.

“No, no!” Jungkook interrupts quickly, grinning like he’s enjoying this way too much. “If you’re here, you should definitely join us,” he says, gesturing to the empty spot next to Yoongi. “There’s more than enough room.”

You hesitate, but before you can even respond, Yoongi speaks up, his tone calm but there’s something else beneath it—something strained. “She’s with someone already.”

You blink. Someone?

Ah. Now it makes sense.

You glance at Yoongi, the pieces falling into place. He thinks you’re here with someone, like on a date. Is it really why he’s been acting distant? Hmm. It’s almost funny now, if it wasn’t so painfully awkward.

You clear your throat. “Actually, I just met Jungwon here. I came alone.” You explain it to Jungkook, but really, the person who needs to hear it is Yoongi. “And he already left, so I’d be down to join if it’s cool with you….” 

Jungkook’s grin is immediate, and he pats the seat next to Yoongi like it’s been waiting for you all along. “Of course! Sit with us.”

You hesitate for a second longer, glancing at Yoongi to see how he’s reacting. His expression shifts—softens—and before you know it, he’s pulling the chair out for you, at the same time Jungkook gets a call.

“Be right back,” Jungkook says and disappears into the hall towards the back of the restaurant.

You settle into the chair beside Yoongi, feeling this strange tension. You glance at him, but Yoongi avoids you, eyes fixed on the table.

But then, just barely, you notice it—the faintest tug at the corner of his lips. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He’s smiling, the kind of smile that betrays him. The kind that says, Yeah, you caught me. And it confirms what you guessed was happening: he was actually kinda jealous. Which is ridiculous, because why would he feel that?!

He breathes out a soft fuck, before he runs a hand across his scalp. It’s almost funny now and you can’t help but shake your head at him, a small pout playing on your lips. You hear a “sorry” in the deepest register you’ve heard for his voice.

Neither of you says a word after that, but the moment speaks for itself. There’s a quiet agreement to let it go. 

“So…” you start.

Yoongi clears his throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

You blink, a little surprised, but grateful for the gesture. “Just a glass of white, please.”

He nods, finally looking at you for a second before signaling the waiter. His voice is calm, easy, as he orders for you. He orders a whiskey neat.

As the waiter walks away, Yoongi leans back, glancing at you briefly before looking away again. He doesn’t say much, but the small smile that lingers on his lips tells you enough. He knows he got caught acting a fool. And he’s not quite sure how to deal with it.

And honestly, you don’t know what to feel about it, either. It’s… madness, really.

When your drink arrives, the clouds seem to part. You extend your flute towards him, and he clinks it with his lowball and you both take a sip, peering at each other through your own glasses.

Jungkook sits back down at the table, and the conversation picks up almost immediately. Jungkook leans forward, flashing a bright smile. “So, what’s it like working with him?” He jerks his head in Yoongi’s direction, boba-like orbs twinkling mischievously.

Yoongi sighs, leaning back in his chair, his usual calm demeanor settling in. “Stop,” he mutters under his breath, already sensing where this is going.

You laugh softly. “He’s not so bad. Actually, he’s really helpful.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up. “Helpful? Yoongi-hyung? Are we talking about the same guy?” He’s clearly enjoying himself, teasing while keeping the mood light.

Yoongi shoots him a look, shaking his head. “I’m right here.”

But Jungkook grins, ignoring Yoongi’s protest. “Nah, you sure he isn’t sleeping on the job?”

You chuckle, nodding. “Well, he does use his lunches for sleeping more than eating.”

Yoongi groans. “Great. Love this conversation.���

“I knew it,” Jungkook laughs, before drinking the rest of his drink like a shot.

You can’t help but snicker, but there’s something in you that feels a little protective of Yoongi. “To be fair, he is helpful. You should see him in the office. Always stepping in when I need something fixed.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, fighting back a small smile. “See? Helpful.”

Jungkook just raises an eyebrow at him. “Wow, look at you, hyung. Gunning for Employee of the Month.”

“It’s literally just him in my department. He already wins by default.” you bump Yoongi with your shoulders to coax a tiny smile from him, and you’re successful.

Conversations flow naturally after that, going towards the meal you just had (which Chae would be happy to know got rave reviews) onto other things.

“So, where are you from?” Jungkook asks.

“Busan,” you say with a grin, catching the flicker of excitement in his eyes.

“No way!” Jungkook says, clapping his hands together. “I’m from Busan, too!” He leans in, his enthusiasm infectious. “Do you know that bungeoppang stall at Gukje Market?”

You blink in surprise. “The one with the darling ahjumma with the big hair and red lipstick? I used to go there after school.”

“Oh shit, really?” Jungkook lets out a laugh. “I still dream about that mmm...”

“The ahjumma?” Yoongi asks, straight-faced and full of shit.

Jungkook’s expression sours and you giggle.

“You’re just jealous you’re missing out, hyung,” Jungkook says, turning to Yoongi with a teasing grin. “Busan people know what’s up.”

Yoongi doesn't say anything, just looks at both of you with amusement as you share a high five.

Before Jungkook can continue, Chae finally approaches the table, in her crisp chef’s uniform and a bright smile on her face. 

You introduce her quickly, and she immediately fits in, shaking hands with both of them. You admire the composure, really, considering she is meeting her favorite people.

But what she says next surprises you, when she stops being “loyal ARMY” and starts being “protective best friend.”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Chae says to Yoongi, her tone light, but knowing.

Yoongi looks momentarily caught off guard, but before he can say anything, Jungkook jumps in, grinning wide. “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve heard a lot about her too,” he says, nodding toward you.

Huh?!

You feel your face heat up, and Yoongi glances at you, clearly not expecting the conversation to turn on him like that. “Wonder why you two talk about each other so much,” Jungkook muses, tapping his chin dramatically.

You and Yoongi exchange a look, both of you feeling the awkwardness creep in. You try to laugh it off, but it’s clear both of you are embarrassed.

Chae, despite starting this whole ripple, decides to shift gears to give you a reprieve, “Anyway, I hear you’re part-timing in the military kitchen, Jungkook. I’ve been dying to know what you think of our food, as a fellow professional.”

Jungkook beams, clearly thrilled to be praised for his culinary pursuits. “Oh, it’s fuckin’ phenomenal. Though—that,” he points at one of the dishes on the table, “that’s way better than anything I’ve had lately.”

Chae’s face lights up. “Ah, that makes me so happy. That’s one of my original recipes. What did you like about it?”

As the two of them dive into an enthusiastic conversation about food, you feel a shift under the table. At first, you think it’s nothing—a stray napkin, maybe. But then it happens again, more deliberate this time. You glance down, and—oh shit, that’s Yoongi’s hand.

Your breath catches for a second, your heart doing a little flip. You glance at Yoongi, but he’s still keeping his attention on the conversation between Chae and Jungkook. Still, there’s something there—something softer—that he doesn’t quite hide.

He’s slow, careful, like he’s testing whether you’ll pull away. You freeze for a second, your pulse kicking up. His fingers brush yours lightly before he gently takes your hand in his, slipping it under the cloth of the table like it’s a secret just between the two of you.

Your heart soars. He’s talking to Chae, pretending everything is normal, but this? This is definitely not nothing. You glance at him, but he’s looking ahead, calm and composed as always, matching the tenderness in the way his thumb strokes over your knuckles.

You squeeze his hand back. It feels like the confirmation you’ve both been waiting for, even though neither of you says anything. 

As the night winds down, the crowd starts thinning out. You wait near the entrance for Chae to finish up, scrolling absently on your phone. You’d figured Yoongi left through the back at some point after he and Jungkook were requested to tour the kitchens. But then you glance up and there he is walking towards you.

He stands close, gaze steady on you, like he’s been waiting for this moment. “I’ll drive you home,” he says, his voice low, like it’s not even a question.

You’re caught a little off guard. “You don’t have to—Chae and I were just—”

“I’ll drive you home,” he repeats, softer this time but just as firm. There’s something in the way he says it that makes it hard to argue. It’s not just the offer—it’s the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already decided.

And because God knows you’re so weak for this man, it’s almost pathetic how you just nod wordlessly.

Chae appears, barely catching the tail end of the conversation. Her eyes dart between you and Yoongi, and then—because of course she can’t resist—her jaw drops dramatically. 

She pulls her phone out, putting on the most ridiculous performance. “Yeah? I’ll come over!” She pretends to talk to someone, then covers the phone mic, turning to you. “I won’t be home. Don’t wait up. You have the whole apartment to yourself, all night.”

You shoot her a look, and she gives you a wink before making herself scarce. You groan inwardly. Way to be subtle, Chae. Really nailed it.

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He motions to the car waiting outside. “Come on,” he says, and just like that, you’re following him out into the cool night air.

The car pulls up, sleek and black, with a driver already waiting inside. Yoongi opens the door for you, and you slide in, nerves buzzing in your chest. He slips in beside you, the driver closing the door for him.

The city lights blur past as the car moves through the streets, and for a moment, you’re both quiet, just watching the world pass by. But then, you feel it—his hand, creeping over the seat like it’s found a familiar place, slowly sliding over yours.

Your breath hitches as his fingers intertwined with yours again, his touch warm and steady. There’s no hesitation this time. His grip is a little firmer, more certain.

“Come closer,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, but the way he says it sends a shiver through you.

You hesitate, more out of nerves than anything. “It’s ok,” you mutter, half-playful, half-nervous. “I’m fine here.”

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle, the sound deep and amused. He doesn’t push it, but his thumb strokes over your hand again, like he’s perfectly content with the small bit of contact for now. Still, you feel the tension simmering between you—the quiet pull you’ve been dancing around for weeks, maybe months.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur, your thoughts spinning. When the car pulls up in front of your apartment, you take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. You know what comes next. You’re psyching yourself up to make the move, but Yoongi’s voice echoes in the stillness inside the car.

“Good night,” he says, watching you with that look that makes your heart race. “You look really pretty tonight.”

You feel the blush creeping up your neck, “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

He nods, a boyish grin on his face. 

And before you can stop yourself, the words spill out. “Yoongi, do you... want to come up for ramen?”

The second it leaves your mouth, you cringe inwardly. Ramen? Really? But it’s out there now, and you can’t take it back.

Yoongi’s tongue skims the seam of his lips before it curves into a knowing smile. “Ramen, huh?”

You clear your throat, trying to salvage whatever dignity you have left. “Yeah... you know. If you’re hungry.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Yoongi unbuckles his seatbelt, his eyes darkening ever so slightly. “Ramen sounds good.”

A/N: So....... ramen, eh???? Please lmk what you thought about this chapter <3 Any favorite parts? Personally, it was Yoongi drooling over MC's gym fit. That was hella fun to write.

Thanks again for reading this you lovely human!

Important poll right here Chapter Four >

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Hope I didn't miss anybody, but if I did please shout at me in the comments. 💕

[ruporas]

a conversation about scars

[ID: A Trigun comic. Vash is shirtless with his back to the viewer, showing off his many scars and metal implants. He complains, “Oh, c’mon... The shirt got stuck... Argh.” Wolfwood’s finger pokes him at the base of his neck, and Vash exclaims, “Ack! Wolfwood!?”

Wolfwood, looking down, asks, “Does it ever hurt?” Vash’s eyes go wide with surprise, and he looks down and says, “No-- Sometimes they ache, but nothing unbearable.” Wolfwood kisses the back of his neck and then leans against Vash, silent as Vash cheerfully laughs, “Got it! It’s free, finally!”

Wolfwood still looks sad, and Vash turns back and smiles nervously to ask, “What is it?” Hand over the grate over Vash’s heart, Wolfwood says, “... I was just thinking it would’ve been better had I met you sooner.” He hugs Vash from behind, and the background goes dark.

“If I were with you earlier, I’d been able to stop you from making dumb decisions. And protect you when you do.” Wolfwood’s expression is heavy as he looks down Vash’s back and says, “Then you’d at least have less of these.” He puts his face against Vash’s back, and Vash, mouth tight, thinks, “.. When he puts it like that... It’s so embarrassing somehow...”

Vash moves away and says forcefully, “But-- I don’t want you to protect me. Because then-- you’d get hurt.” Wolfwood angrily replies, “Huh? Are you forgetting-- Scars don’t last on me!” Vash angrily exclaims “Idiot!” and grabs Wolfwood’s collar.

Wolfwood, irate, goes, “Idiot!?” but Vash pulls down Wolfwood’s shirt as he leans their foreheads together. He exclaims, “I meant up here!” Vash looks upset and says, “Just because your body won’t leave anything-- doesn’t mean nothing every happened!”

Wolfwood grits his teeth as Vash continues, “So don’t say that-- I can take care of myself and I... wouldn’t want you to be burdened any-- mh?!” He breaks off with a loud sound of surprise when Wolfwood pulls him forward to kiss him.

Scowling very fiercely, Wolfwood demands, “Don’t call yourself my burden. That’s up to me!” Vash, flushed and scowling back with one hand raised to his mouth, shouts, “That’s what you’re upset about?!” For a second, they stay in the same positions, Vash braced over Wolfwood as they glare at each other, both labeled “upset.”

Then Vash turns somber and says, “These scars don’t bother me at all and I own responsibility for them... And... at least, I can count mines.” Wolfwood looks away as Vash touches his hair and says, “What about you?”

They lie down, Vash on top of Wolfwood as he says sadly, “I’m never going to know how many times you’ve been shot, how many times you had to drink that potion. (You won’t even tell me how it works...).” There’s a close up panel of Wolfwood’s eyes, tired and guilty, and Vash continues, “Don’t focus on me now... Please just protect yourself first.” Wolfwood responds, “You have to consider yourself first too.” Vash says, “This isn’t about me,” and Wolfwood argues, “Yes it is.” Vash says, “Nuh uh.”

There’s a final cartoony panel of them against white space: Vash pouting with annoyance at a ticked Wolfwood. Their next speech bubbles hover in white. Wolfwood aggravatedly shouts, “Listen to your own advice!”, and Vash exclaims, “Ack--! Don’t get mad, Wolfwood!!” “Fin” is written next to a donut and lollipop.

At the very bottom of the page is a cartoony sketch titled “Alt to p.4″. Vash presses their heads together and shouts, “I meant up here!” Wolfwood looks down with confusion at his bare chest. Vash looks down too, sweating. Wolfwood, squinting, says, “My ch--” but Vash cuts him off with a shrieked, “NO!!” End ID]

credits for ID text  

[d3add0vedonoteat]

Chicken Soup for Carmy

⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️ harsh language, sexism and violence in one scene (not from Carmy). Hurt/comfort, fluff.

A/N: I’m literally feral for this man. I’m sick atm and I started thinking about taking care of Carmy while I was making chicken soup. Bonus combo with Carmy protecting you from an asshole customer. Not proofread bc my brain is rotting. Plz be nice this is my first time posting a fic 🥺

-

It was cold. You braced yourself against the harsh Chicago wind as you made your way briskly down the street. After a late night phone call from your brother sent you into a spiral, you couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning all night until finally, at 4am, you flung off the covers and got dressed. It wasn’t a surprise that you’d come here. This place consumed all your mind and your heart since you started working here a few months ago. You used your key to unlock the door in the alley, sighing with relief as the warmth of The Beef welcomed you inside. It was quiet, the lights were down, it was peaceful. You slipped off your sneakers trading in your kitchen clogs and tucked your things safely away in your locker. You tied your handkerchief on your head as you moved. It was so comforting, the routine of The Beef’s prep work. You felt so at home, moving from the prep area to the walk in, diligently beginning the tasks that didn’t need to be started for a few more hours. He would understand. You thought to yourself as you began to prepare fresh stock for the day. He was a man after your own heart, your boss, Carmen Berzatto.

Avoidant, chaotically emotional, one wrong thing away from a complete meltdown, that you both disguised as workaholic tendencies. As you finely chopped onions, your mind quieted. Everything was shut out except for the task at hand. Your brother’s angry voice on the phone accusing you: “you never come home! You don’t even care about us! You can’t take come take care of your own mother?!” was drowned out by the rhythmic pound of your knife on the cutting board. You were in the zone.

Until a voice startled you out of your bubble. “Chef?” You jolted, looking up at the man before you. Carmy’s hair was messier than usual, the bags under his eyes were deeper and more purple. His lips were parted with each soft breath he took. He gave you a quizzical look. “What are you doing here?”

“I uh-” your mouth felt dry and you tripped over your words, as usual when he set those intense blue eyes on you. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Carmy nodded, not pushing you any further. All he said before moving toward the office was a simple: “Heard, Chef.”

You watched him go, noticing the slump of his shoulders and the labor of his normally spry step. There was no mistaking it, Carmen was sick. You stared at the office door for a long moment before you made up your mind.

You set a heavy bottomed pot on the stove with some olive oil. Your hands moved with well practiced efficiency as you chopped garlic and onions, celery and carrots. The garlic and onions went in first. Then the celery. A sprig of thyme and a dash of white wine. While that simmered you quickly seared some chicken breast and chopped it into perfectly bite sized pieces. All into the pot with chicken stock and water, tightly covered to develop the flavors. Next came the pasta. You cracked eggs into the well of flour, mixing and kneading until it became a smooth golden dough. You carefully, tenderly rolled the dough and cut it into thick, short noodles. A bath in hot water to cook, then they too joined the pot. In no time at all, you were ladling a generous portion into a bowl. You set a toasted piece of chibatta on the side, grabbed a spoon, and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle your nerves. Softly, you knocked on the office door.

“Yeah?” His voice responded.

“Chef?” You entered, nervous. Words failing you as they so often did in his presence, you set the bowl before him. Carmy’s eyes widened. The aroma made his mouth water. He looked to you, gaze softening. “You made me chicken soup?”

Your cheeks grew warm. “Y-yeah, I mean chicken soup always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

Carmy couldn’t believe you. You noticed? He smiled at you. You were so beautiful. You were always so confident and sure on the line, delegating with efficiency, respect, and authority. He had hired you the second you stepped into The Beef. Your resume was impressive but there was something in the way you carried yourself that truly earned the golden reputation you had in the culinary industry. But you were different with him, in the occasional moments like this where it was just you and him. Shy, almost bashful, gentle, and soft. He loved it. He wanted more of it. He lifted the spoon, bringing a bite to his lips.

“Gotta get a little of everything.” You muttered, eagerly awaiting his response.

Carmy shot you a sideways smile. It was good. No, it was better than good. The warm broth slid down his throat and each bite exploded with a depth of flavor he couldn’t believe. It was pure comfort. It reminded him of being a little kid staying home sick from school. Curled up on the couch while Jerry Springer played, eating crackers and ginger ale until his mom would bring a bowl of chicken noodle soup. But this soup, your soup, was more than that. People always talk about cooking with love but he swore he could taste it. Each ingredient had been so carefully handled. Perfectly chopped vegetables, moist and flavorful chicken. The warm feeling in his chest grew as he inspected the bowl.

“Did uh, did you make this pasta fresh?” He asked, eyeing you.

“Yeah, it’s better that way.” You blushed.

“Thank you, chef.” He said. “It’s really, really good.” Carmy looked down, suddenly feeling heavy. The fear of closeness set into him and all he could think about was how he’d fuck this up. “You-you didn’t have to make this for me.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” You insisted. “It was no big deal.” You began to leave, giving him one last truthful smile. “I like taking care of you.”

“I like taking care of you.” Your words rattled through Carmy’s mind all day. Throughout all of lunch, prep, and dinner he couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said. The soup you had made was the first thing he’d eaten in too long. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked for him and you’d just done it because you noticed he wasn’t feeling well. No motive, no games, just tender love and concern.

Love.

Carmy shook his head to try and shake the thought from his mind. No, no, no there was no way you actually cared about him. Not like that. You were just being nice.

That’s just who you are; nice. You were always so kind. The way you’d help Marcus workshop pastries, the way you’d make Tina laugh and listen to her talk about whatever trouble Louis had gotten in, how you’d encourage Sydney and remind her that she can do this. Even the way you’d throw snark right back at Richie or how’d you’d always set aside a portion of Family for Fak and Sugar, even Pete. You were always thinking of others. Carmy wasn’t special.

Yeah. Not special.

Carmy insisted the thought as he scrubbed the grill. Not special. Not special. Not special.

“Carmy?” There you were. You were always there. You had a thick denim jacket on, bag on your shoulder, knit beanie pulled down over your hair. Your brow furrowed at the sight of him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmy shook his head. “I’m fine… you uh- you heading out?”

You shrugged, hoisting your bag a little higher on your shoulder and eyeing him skeptically. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah, in a bit.”

You chuckled, more exasperated than humorous. “No.”

“What?” Carmy asked, confused.

“No, you’re leaving too.” You insisted. You were feeling bold. Months of long looks and his hand on your lower back every time he passed you had culminated tonight.

You had taken over the front for Richie while he ducked out to take a call from his daughter. You’d insisted. It was slammed for dinner but everything was going fairly smooth until an irate customer approached you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He’d asked, slamming his plate onto the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean are you retarded or something?” He continued. You were stunned into silence. You had never had anyone speak to you like that. “How hard is it to make a fucking sandwich? I know your tits are bigger than your brain but Jesus fucking Christ it’s not hard!”

“I-I…” you were shaking. “I’m sorry that you’re not satisfied, sir. If you like, we can-”

“Not satisfied?!” He screamed. “How can I be satisfied with this piece of shit!”

He hurled the sandwich at you. It hit you in the chest, toppings and sauce splattering everywhere. Before you even knew what was happening, a blur of messy curls shot past you. Carmy launched over the counter, tackling the man. His fist collided with the man’s face over and over while Richie and Fak rushed after him. There was a cacophony of yells as Richie pulled Carmy back. “Get your girl!” Richie yelled. “Cousin! Go get your girl!”

Fak and Richie dragged the man out and threw him into the street. Carmy’s hands grasped your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He wiped the sauce splatters from your brow. “Look at me.”

Carmy burned with anger as he watched you shake. Your white shirt and blue apron were covered in the sandwich. He imagined what you would do for him if he was in your position. How you’d care for him, how you’d tend to him… so he tried to do what you would. Gently he guided you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist. He practically carried you to his office where he sat you on the couch and quickly went to grab a clean shirt from his own locker. You were in the same place he left you when he returned. Carmy knelt before you, taking your face in his hands once more.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Tears welled in your eyes and you collapsed into his arms. He smoothed his hand over you back, repeating “it’s okay” over and over again. He felt like he was on fire. The feeling of you clinging to him, nuzzling your face into his neck, the smell of you, how you fit in his arms… it was too much. He wanted to run away and never speak to you again. He wanted to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of his life. He wanted to scream. He wanted to feel your lips against his. He wanted to find the piece of shit that yelled at you and rip him to pieces. He wanted your chicken soup every time he was sick.

All those feelings were closing in on Carmy once again as he stared at you across the kitchen. You still had his t shirt on. You were looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, uh… what did you say?” Carmy’s voice was softer than he expected.

“I said I’ll walk home with you.”

“Oh, no that’s okay. Ive got to-“

“Carmy,” you stepped closer. Your voice was firm but so tender. “You need to get some rest. Come on, I won’t take no for an answer.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at you. “Alright…” he conceded.

The two of you braced yourselves against the cold and hurried down the sidewalk side by side. You argued about who would walk who home. Carmy insisted on walking you to your apartment but you protested on the grounds that he’d just go back to the restaurant once he dropped you off.

“Fine,” you gave in. “But you have to call me when you get to your place so I know you made it home!”

Carmy looked at the ground, smiling. The warmth in his chest from your soup was steadily turning into a molten pool of lava.

“Heard.” He grinned. You wanted to know he’d made it home. You wanted to make sure he rested. I like taking care of you.

“Well, I’m just up here.” Your voice stopped his thoughts from spiraling before it could even start. Carmy’s brow furrowed. “What?” You asked, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanor.

“You live over there?”

“Yeah? Like a block down?”

There was a beat of silence before Carmy let out a breathy laugh. “I live right there.” He pointed to the building on the other side of the street.

“No shit!” You laughed in earnest. Your hand came to rest on his arm. “Guess I’m gonna be walking you home more often.”

Carmy’s entire body was on fire. He could imagine the tingle of your soft hand on his skin through all the layers of clothing. He wanted to hold you close again like in his office, but this time you wouldn’t be crying. A deep pit opened in his stomach. How long before he made you cry? How long before he fucked it all up? Until you hated him and quit the restaurant and everything fell apart because he-

“Hey,” your voice. Always your voice that brought him back. When he looked over at you it was like everything but your face faded into a blurry background. You were all Carmy could see. “Do you want to come to mine? I haven’t eaten and I KNOW you haven’t either.”

Carmy’s heart fluttered. “O-okay.” He started, his confidence rising when he noticed your hand was still in his arm. “Only if you let me cook you something.”

“Ooh,” you smiled. “I’d never turn that down!”

Carmy chuckled, feeling lighter for the first time in years as he walked so close beside you that your shoulders brushed. “It won’t be as good as your chicken soup.”

[devilstruly]

Hey so how do you think Jason Todd and Dick grayson would deal with their love who’s a ray of sunshine (not hyper. More like has an innocence about them where they’re just experiencing life for the first time. They just get happy over the little things in life: Like their dress has pockets or they see a stray cat or dog down an alley and they’ve left their boyfriend side to say hi to it and give it some food they somehow always have hiding in their clothes. Even tight fitted dressed).. and living a pretty good life s/o finding out the men’s secret identity and the men are like “are you sure you’re ok with this?” Or Jason’s like “I got a lot of baggage”. And s/o’s very calm and not their usual ray of sunshine self “ This is a lot better than other stuff I’ve been through in the past. I’m good with it”. Or to Jason “what? You think you’re the only one with baggage?” The men didn’t know this, but s/o grew up in the roughest part of gotham in a poor family? So they’ve seen a lot of bad things and bad things have happened to them? They’re ok with their bf doing vigilante work cuz if vigilantes were around more often back then, bad stuff that happened to s/o probably wouldn’t of happened. Also let him know that, “if you get injured, you can always come to me to help you”?

hi omg !! thanks sm for the ask <3 now i've never written the sunshine trope myself but i'll try my best here

i think when it comes to dick grayson he would go about revealing his identity very carefully and very thoughtfully, lest he scares you off. mans has probably been stressing about it for weeks. but when he finally drops the bomb and you're just there, all nonchalant, he's utterly confused. nightwing.exe has stopped working.

'w-what do you mean okay? that's it?!'

'i've seen worse. you're good.'

'WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?'

cue a lot of questions. you're in for a long night.

now with jason todd it happens as an accident. he was planning to tell you who he was. obviously. at some point of course. not now, while he's sneaking back into his apartment after patrol to find you sitting on his couch watching a movie. his first issue is why you aren't fazed by fucking Red Hood sneaking into your boyfriend's apartment. he's kinda concerned if he's being honest.

'uh- okay, might as well get this over with.' he sighs, taking his helmet off and bracing himself for you to either yell or just get up and leave.

but you don't, instead your eyes rake over his form, noticing the deep cut on his side.

'that needs stitches.'

redhood.exe has stopped working. 'wh- huh?!?'

'sit down, i'll be right back.' you get up from the couch and gesture for him to take your place while you go grab the first-aid kit you know he keeps in the bathroom.

while you're stitching him up and he's still trying to grasp what the actual fuck is going on he uses the opportunity to distract himself from the pain by talking. you talk a little about your background but it's mainly just him trying to make sure you know how fucked up he is and that he's bad for you and a killer, yada yada yada.

'you've told me all of that before, jay. i'm not going anywhere.'

his heart swells, but he refuses to cry in this state so he deflects like usual.

'how the fuck do you know how to stitch a wound?'

[punkshort]

somewhere to run | 2. book club

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: An incident at the diner causes you to get shaken up, and Joel is there to help.

Chapter Warnings: language, slow burn, mutual pining, PTSD type symptoms, flirting, jealousy, attempted robbery, reader gets mildly injured

WC: 6K

Series Masterlist

"So you see why it's so important you keep on top of your oil changes, yeah?" Mr. Connor finished saying as you set down his plate of waffles and sausage. You nodded enthusiastically while you filled up his coffee.

"I was never really any good at car stuff," you admitted, but he shook his head.

"If you take care of it, that car'll last you five more years and save you boatloads of money," he told you, wagging his finger. "You come by my shop any time and I'll take a look at that beater you're drivin', won't rip you off, either."

You laughed as you heard the bells above the door ring and Maria greet the next customer.

"I'll hold you to it," you said with a wink before turning to put the coffee back on the burner.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the familiar outline of a man settle into Joel's usual seat at the counter, and you felt the butterflies stir up in your stomach. You glanced up to make sure there wasn't any food getting cold in the window before pulling out your notepad and walking over. As you approached, you mentally braced yourself for the onslaught of his cologne, but as you got closer, you couldn't smell it. In fact, all you could smell was soap and maybe a faint hint of oil from his gun.

When you paused in front of him, the realization dawning on you, he glanced up from the menu with a smirk. A slow smile spread across your face when you looked him in the eye.

"Better?" was all he said, and you couldn't stop the giggle from escaping your lips.

"You didn't have to do that for me," you said, suddenly feeling bashful and looking down at your blank notepad.

"I know, but I wanted to," he said, leaning back and closing the menu. He didn't even know why he looked at it anymore, he knew it by heart already. "Thought maybe it'd make you stick around long enough for me to get to know you better."

You definitely felt your cheeks flare at that comment, and it must have been visible because Joel just grinned, clearly very pleased with himself.

"Where are you from?" he asked, determined to try to make some more progress with you today.

"Pennsylvania," you said, finally looking back up at him with a smile as you tapped your pen on the pad.

"Northerner," he said with feigned disgust. "And what brought you all the way to Texas?"

"The incredible job opportunity, isn't it obvious?" you said, and he laughed. A real laugh, one you hadn't heard before, and it did something to you. Uh oh.

"You're funny," Joel said, almost as if he were saying it to himself. You grinned and decided to steer the conversation in a different direction: away from you.

"What about you? Have you lived here your whole life?"

"Born and raised," Joel said with a nod. "Our pop used to be the town sheriff, before he passed 'bout ten years back or so."

"So, you followed in your father's footsteps?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Suppose I did," he told you, leaning forward. "But can I tell you a secret?"

You hummed and leaned forward as well, trying to bite back your smirk.

"Kinda wishin' now I was the one who bought this place instead of my brother," he said quietly and so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

Still leaning in, you dropped your voice to match his and said "then who would stop those teenagers from drawing phallic images on street signs?"

He laughed again, the same deep, throaty laugh as before, and you felt your stomach clench at the sound.

"You heard that, huh?" he asked, smiling and leaning back. You shrugged.

"Lee isn't as quiet as he thinks," you told him. You wanted to say you had to learn early on to eavesdrop, that listening and anticipating danger became second nature to you, but you caught yourself.

"Howdy, brother," you heard Tommy's voice boom from somewhere behind you. You took the opportunity to sneak away and check on your other customers while they talked, but you made sure to set Joel up with coffee before heading towards the other end of the counter, his eyes trailing after you and staring a moment too long on your bare legs.

"You givin' her the business?" Tommy asked, nodding in your direction, and Joel nearly choked on his coffee. Tommy raised his eyebrows.

"She's, uh... she's a nice girl," Joel finally managed to get out after wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"He's got the hots for her," Betty whispered to Tommy as she ambled by. Joel cleared his throat loudly and gave her a stern look, but she just laughed and kept walking.

"Oh, Joel, I'm beggin' you, don't screw this up for me. She's a real good waitress, I don't wanna lose her - "

"Would you keep it down?" Joel whispered, his eyes darting around to make sure you weren't within earshot. "I ain't gonna screw anythin' up for anyone, don't worry. She's just... nice."

"'Nice'," Tommy repeated, clearly not buying it. He was about to say more, but Joel straightened up in his seat and averted his gaze, trying to wordlessly warn him you were heading over.

"Sorry to interrupt. Are you ready, Joel?" you asked him, your pen and paper in hand. He looked up at you and it was hard to fight the goofy look on his face now that you didn't regard him with such disdain.

"Yeah, sure. Let's put this guy to work, huh?" Joel said, pointing to Tommy, and you giggled. Behind you, Tommy rolled his eyes. Nice.

Joel told himself he was only allowed to think about you on his walk back to the station after lunch. You had told Betty you weren't interested in dating anybody at the moment, but he could wait. He wondered if he could change your mind, if he could make you come around to the idea of being with him, or at least give him a chance. You definitely seemed much warmer towards him today. He must have been wrong yesterday, you really must be sensitive to smells if all it took was for him to stop using that obnoxious cologne Sarah got him that he felt too guilty to throw away.

"Hey boss, how was lunch?" asked Bobby, the town's deputy and Joel's right hand man.

"Good. Anythin' goin' on here?" Joel asked, shrugging off his blazer and hanging it on the coat rack outside his office.

"Not much. I was 'bout to let Ollie outta the drunk tank. His wife was callin', askin' after him," Bobby said before rising to his feet with a groan. Although the man was ten years younger than Joel, his joints seemed to be ten years older.

Joel glanced at the time on his watch with a nod.

"Yeah, go ahead. Third time this month, though. Next time it happens, I'm keepin' him longer."

"Alrighty," Bobby said over his shoulder as he pulled the keys from his pocket and headed back towards lockup.

Joel sighed and began flipping through the papers littering his desk before giving up and leaning back in his chair to stare out the front window, watching people as they walked past. Before he could stop himself, his mind had already wandered back to thoughts of you, and it took him five whole minutes and Ollie's hungover ramblings to snap him out of it.

Maybe Sarah would want to get pizza for dinner.

It was nearly seven at night as you made your way back home from work, your feet aching and your head throbbing. At the very least, it was a cool, summer night. The breeze was enjoyable and the sun was still peeking out just enough to keep your skin pleasantly warm. All you could think about was getting home and running a bath to soak your sore muscles. It had been a long time since you held a job, let alone a job that kept you as active as this one.

Patrick didn't like the idea of you working. When he first suggested you quit your job and stay at home, you thought it was sweet. You took it to mean he wanted to provide for you so you could relax and be a homemaker, maybe even a mom one day. But after a few months, you quickly realized he just didn't want you around other people, or more specifically, other men. Without even knowing it, you trapped yourself at home without a lifeline, and it was exactly what he wanted.

Even though you were sore now, you felt good. You were taking care of yourself. Providing for yourself. And you never felt more proud.

You were juggling your keys, trying to find the right one that opened the door to the sidewalk, when you heard a familiar voice exit the pizza place.

"Well, look who it is," you heard Joel say, and you let the keys dangle at your side as you turned around with a smile.

"Evening, Joel," you replied, your eyes quickly drifting down his body. It was the first time you had seen him in casual clothes. Every other time you ran into him, he was in his work uniform, which usually consisted of some type of suit. But tonight, he was wearing dark blue jeans and a beige button up shirt with short sleeves. As he strolled over to you, balancing a pizza box in his hand, your eyes were immediately drawn to the way the muscles in his arms strained against the fabric of the shirt, making your mouth go dry.

"Tommy finally let you leave, huh?" he joked, and you had to remind yourself to laugh, your mind still too fixated on the way he looked in that shirt.

"Dad?" you heard a girl's voice call behind him, and you both turned your attention towards the voice. You remembered your brief interaction at the pharmacy and realized that she must be Sarah. Her eyes flickered from you to Joel, then back to you, clearly waiting for Joel to introduce you, but he seemed frozen in place. So, you stretched out your arm and introduced yourself with a smile, which she reciprocated.

"You look familiar," she said, tilting her head to the side the same way her dad did.

"I think I saw you at the pharmacy a couple days ago," you reminded her, and she snapped her fingers.

"That's what it is," she said, giving you another smile. "Are you working for Uncle Tommy?" she asked, looking at Joel again, who was still standing there, unmoving, watching the two of you interact. She frowned slightly at him, picking up on his strange reaction as well, before giving you her attention again.

"Yeah, at the diner. He hired me earlier this week, brand new," you told her, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Joel's silence was deafening at this point and starting to make you uncomfortable, so you held up your keys and pointed to the door.

"I won't keep you guys. It was great to meet you, Sarah," you said with a wave, but before you could turn towards the door, she stopped you.

"Why don't you join us?" she asked, shooting Joel a mischievous look as if she finally realized the reason for his behavior.

"Oh, no, that's so nice of you, but I'm just gonna jump in the bath and go to bed, it's been a long day," you replied. Joel's body stiffened next to you when you announced your plans.

Finally, he managed to clear his throat and speak.

"We'd love to have you join us, we were just gonna grab a picnic table out back," he said, and you swore his cheeks looked a little pinker than usual.

You were struggling to find another polite way to turn down their offer when he added "c'mon, why don't you lemme serve you for a change?"

Sarah smiled as she watched the two of you. She couldn't wait to tease her dad about it in the car later.

"Alright," you said slowly, lowering your keys once again. Joel's face broke out in a huge grin before leading you and Sarah down the short alley to the small courtyard behind the building, where there were a few picnic tables and string lights draped overhead.

"Are you sure I'm not intruding?" you asked again, and they both vehemently shook their heads.

"No way," Sarah said, licking the sauce off her fingers after she picked up her piece from the box. "It's nice to have another girl around for a change."

"Sarah," Joel said warningly under his breath.

"I just mean it's nice to hear about something else other than work and football," she said to him with a grin, and he rolled his eyes, choosing to sit on your side of the table instead of hers.

"So, you live above the pizza place? That seems pretty cool. Pizza whenever you want," she said, covering her mouth as she spoke. You swallowed your food before responding.

"Yeah, it is pretty convenient. And they actually have good pizza," you said. "I think I'm finally getting used to the smell."

Joel's knee accidentally knock against yours under the table and you had to fight the urge to jump away, the contact startling you.

Sarah asked the same questions everyone in this small town inevitably asked you when you first met: where are you from and why are you here? The first question was easy, the second one always gave you pause. It wasn't until Sarah asked that Joel suddenly realized you never really answered him when he asked the same question earlier that day, so he stopped chewing to pay attention.

"Just looking for a change," you said with a shrug, taking another bite of pizza. Sarah considered your answer for a moment before following up.

"Have you ever been here before?"

"Nope."

"So you just got in your car and ... drove?"

"Kind of," you said with a nervous laugh. Joel frowned slightly.

"That's so cool," Sarah said, a smile stretching across her face. "Dad, doesn't that sound so cool?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod, finally joining the conversation. "Do you got family down south or anythin'?"

"Uh, no," you said, shaking your head. "Just always heard it was nice down here so I thought I would see for myself."

"You think you're here for good, then?" he asked, his voice a little more hopeful than he wanted to come across.

"That's the plan," you said to him with a smile.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Sarah asked out of the blue, and your eyes darted back to her in surprise.

"No," you replied slowly, heat creeping up your neck and guilt dancing in the back of your head while Joel hid his grin behind his pizza. "Do you?" you deflected, raising your eyebrows at her with a smirk, and she giggled, shaking her head.

"You better not," Joel said, and the two of you laughed.

Over the rest of the hour, you listened to Joel and Sarah crack jokes and argue over what movie they would end up watching later that night and you felt the smile slowly begin to slip from your face as you came to the sobering realization that the type of dynamic they had, one that was so obviously built on love and trust, was something you never truly experienced before. It wasn't just something you saw in the movies or read in books. People in the real world actually got to experience it, and you couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Why not you? What did you ever do to receive the type of life you got?

After parting ways and thanking them over and over for dinner, you finally headed upstairs and collapsed on your small sofa. You untucked your work shirt and unzipped your skirt, but that was as far as you got, exhaustion winning the fight.

You closed your eyes and wished you had the energy to get up and run a bath, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it yet. Instead, you let your mind wander, imagining a life where you could call out to someone who cared for you in the other room and ask them to run the water. Maybe they would surprise you and light a few candles and mix in some soothing bubble bath. You knew that would never happen. You could never let yourself be honest enough with anybody to allow them into your life, but it didn't stop you from wishing for it, anyway. And right before you drifted off to sleep, you imagined that certain somebody had dark brown eyes and soft curls on the top of his head that you were itching to run your fingers through.

As hard as you tried to keep to yourself, the town was very small, and eventually you found it was nearly impossible to keep from making connections with people. Whether it was through work at the diner or striking up a conversation with someone at the store, you were quickly becoming interwoven in the lives of the people who graciously accepted you as one of their own.

You were particularly becoming fast friends with the girl who worked the register at the pizzeria below your apartment. Her name was Hailey and she was a couple years younger than you, but you had a lot in common, one of which was a shared taste in the same movies and books, so you were excited when she invited you to join a book club she and a couple other women in town started. As much as you enjoyed talking about books, you found you also very much enjoyed listening to all the town gossip that inevitably came out after everyone had their first glass of wine.

"So, Nikki, did I hear Sam asked you out on a date?" an older woman named Martha asked. Nikki blushed when the group turned to her, some women poking her in the side and others murmuring excitedly under their breath.

"Yeah, but it's not a big deal," Nikki said, flicking her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She looked to be a little older than you were but it was hard to guess her age.

"Not back in town for two weeks and she's already got a date," Hailey said, rolling her eyes next to you playfully. "Some girls got all the luck."

"Oh, stop it," she chided with a smirk, then paused as if she were rethinking her next statement before blurting out "kind of wish someone else woulda asked me out instead."

That got the whole group's attention, even your own, and you barely had any idea who most of these people were. But you supposed any amount of gossip paired with alcohol is good gossip.

"Oh, please, you don't gotta say it, we all know who you've been chasin' after all these years," another woman chimed in with a giggle. Fortunately, you weren't the only person in the dark.

"Who?" Hailey asked, leaning forward eagerly.

"Joel, obviously," the other woman replied, and while the rest of the group groaned, everyone tossing in their two cents and offering up their favorite things about him, you remained frozen in your chair, blood running cold.

"Lord, he came into school last week to pick up Sarah, and the way his ass looked in those jeans..."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly slipped on the ice and he caught me? Had to go to confession the next day..."

"... and I swear, I've considered committing a crime just so he would throw those handcuffs on me..."

"I don't know how that man has been single for so long..."

Part of you wanted to laugh at some of the things the women were saying about Joel, but the other part of you felt hot and angry. You wanted to scream shut up, don't think about him like that, don't even look at him. And through your alcoholic haze, you realized you were jealous. Jealous of all of these women, young and old, barking out comments about the town sheriff you had no business feeling jealous over.

The next day when he came into the diner for lunch, your head was still swirling with all of the comments the women in town made the day before. Distracted, you dropped your pen and pad on the ground as you made your way over to greet him, cursing under your breath.

Joel grinned when you finally approached, looking every bit as frazzled as you felt.

"Tough day?"

"Huh? Oh," you said nervously, tucking your hair behind your ear and shaking your head. "N-no, not really. Well, maybe - shit," you said when you knocked over a box of straws with your fidgeting.

Joel laughed and leaned back in his chair.

"What's got you all worked up?" he asked, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Nothing," you said, shaking your head again, trying to focus. "What can I get for you?"

"Nuh uh, darlin', not so fast," he said with a tsk, and you sighed. "What's goin' on? You can tell me, y'know. I am a man of the law."

He meant it to be playful, but with your history, it had the opposite effect. You winced and swallowed the lump in your throat, and trying not to make matters worse, you caved.

"I went to a book club last night," you mumbled, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Book club, huh? Sounds like fun," he said, watching you carefully. "Maybe had a little too much fun?"

You finally dragged your gaze up to meet his and saw he was grinning at you, and you managed to force out a small laugh.

"Yeah, you could say that," you said, hoping that would be enough, but he wouldn't let it go.

"Can you get me a coffee? Then when I get back from the restroom, I wanna hear all 'bout your little book club," he said with a wink, then stood from his chair and turned around, heading towards the bathrooms while your gaze landed on his ass. It didn't look too bad in dress pants, either.

You tried to steady your breathing while you flipped over a clean mug and filled it with coffee, your mind racing and wondering what lies you could come up with to prevent telling him the reason you were so distracted.

Lost in thought with your head down, you didn't even notice when another customer took a seat at the counter until the man cleared his throat. You glanced up and apologized before bending down to grab another mug and set it down in front of the stranger.

You were pouring his coffee and telling him about the specials, your eyes glued to the counter, when he slid the barrel of a pistol across the table and into your line of sight. You froze, your hands gripping the coffee pot fiercely as you broke out into a cold sweat. You flicked your eyes back up to him. He didn't appear to be much older than you. He had his unkept hair hidden underneath his black hoodie, and you noticed his eyes looked bloodshot, his skin clammy. You knew that look. You've seen that same look one too many times.

"What do you want?" you whispered, your voice shaking.

"Open the register, gimme all the cash in this bag," he said quietly, tossing a tote bag across the counter at you. You nodded, grabbing the bag while your fingers fumbled with the buttons, desperately trying to remember how to open the drawer without a sale. You could sense he was growing frustrated with how long it was taking, and you felt the tears welling up in your eyes.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed quietly. "I-I'm new, I can't remember-"

"Hurry the fuck up," he growled, and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision, the tears falling down your cheeks.

"Drop the fuckin' gun, Marcus," you heard Joel's voice call out, and a wave of relief coursed through your body. But Marcus got startled, and instead of doing as he was told, reached across the counter and grabbed you by the throat, pulling you against his chest to partially shield his body, the gun pressed against your temple as your fingers clawed at his arms.

You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. Tears just streamed down your face as you locked eyes with Joel. They no longer carried that playful glint, his lips no longer turned up into a grin. His brow was furrowed deep and his gun drawn, cradled expertly in his large palms as his eyes shifted back to Marcus.

"I'm not lookin' to hurt anyone, sheriff. Just lemme walk outta here," Marcus rumbled behind you, his sour breath invading your nostrils and making your stomach roll.

"Now, you know I can't do that," Joel said, taking a small step forward. "But put down the gun, let her go, and we'll talk."

The grip around your throat tightened and you let out a small, pained squeak. Joel's jaw clenched when he heard the noise, his patience running thin. You hadn't noticed at the time, but the entire diner had gone quiet, some patrons slinking down in their seats, others craning their necks to get a better look.

"Goddamnit, Marcus, don't test me today," Joel growled, his eyes ablaze. "I don't wanna call your mama and tell her I had to spray her only son's brains all over the floor, but I fuckin' will." The tone in Joel's voice sent a shiver down your spine as you stilled, waiting for the stand off to be over.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the grip on your throat loosened and you no longer felt the cold metal pressed against your head. Joel locked eyes with you again as you coughed and shakily fell down to the floor behind the counter, curling yourself into a ball while you heard Joel reading Marcus his rights, the jingle of his handcuffs rang like bells in your ears.

Once Marcus was restrained, you heard Tommy bolt out of the kitchen and rush over to you. He knelt down on the ground, asking if you were okay, if you needed a doctor, concern lacing his voice but when he reached out to touch you, you flung yourself backwards violently, knocking the back of your head against the counter.

"Shit," you muttered, rubbing your head as fresh tears fell down your cheeks.

"Hey, easy now," Tommy said soothingly, glancing over the counter as Joel spoke on the phone with Bobby, ordering him to bring a car to take Marcus back to the station and book him.

"I'm fine," you whimpered, still rubbing your head as you shakily forced yourself to your feet. You watched as Joel marched Marcus to the front of the diner, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping his shoulder as he directed him through the door. A few patrons clapped weakly as the two disappeared outside, and the diner filled with excited chatter once again.

"You alright, sugar?" Betty asked, suddenly appearing beside you, face etched with worry. You flinched and brought a shaky hand to your sore neck.

"Yeah, I just need to use the restroom," you said, and before anyone could say anything further, you tore off your apron and made a beeline for the women's room.

You locked the door behind you and slid down to the grimy floor, burying your face in your hands as you sobbed, the adrenaline wreaking havoc on your nerves.

It was too much. It was all too much. The look in Marcus's eye was one you saw too many times. A junkie in desperate need for a fix. A drunk who would say or do anything for another drink. The fingers around your neck were no longer there, but you still felt them squeezing every last bit of oxygen from your lungs, every tear from your eye until you could hardly breathe.

The door handle jiggled and you jumped, wiping furiously at your face before shouting out a shaky occupied!

"Hey, it's me," you heard Joel's voice say from the other side of the door. No longer did he have that hardened edge to his tone. The warmth and softness in his drawl had returned.

"I just need a minute," you said quietly after a long silence, and you heard him shift his weight.

"I know, but I - can you let me in?" he asked, and you could hear the concern in his voice. You slid your eyes shut as fresh tears drenched your face once again. You ached for comfort. You wanted it so badly you would do just about anything for it. But every other time, you've been let down. Over and over and over again.

"I just need a minute," you repeated, just a whisper, not even sure he could hear.

"Then I'll be right here til you're ready, alright?" his voice came back, even softer this time. You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. You heard him sit down against the door with a tired sigh, and you let your head tilt so it rested against the door. There was a small bit of comfort to be had when you knew only an inch separated you from him.

"You were real brave," he said after a few minutes of silence. You scoffed and wiped your nose.

"Is that why I'm crying on the floor of a bathroom?"

"Please don't cry," he said, his voice strained. But you didn't say anything in return.

"He wasn't gonna do nothin'. He's got troubles, is all. Bad habits get the best of him, but he's harmless," he said, trying to make you feel better.

"I don't know, these bruises on my neck say differently," you replied, and you heard his breath hitch. Then you heard his shoes scuff on the tile floor.

"Lemme see," he said, his voice firmer now. He was standing, his voice above you, waiting to be let in. You hesitated, the tone of his voice putting you on edge, but you knew you couldn't hide in there forever. With a trembling hand, you reached up and unlocked the door, then scurried backwards so you were pressed up against the opposite wall as he swung the door open and stepped inside. His gaze fell on you and his eyes went soft at seeing your wrecked state before clicking the door shut behind him.

He rushed forward and you flinched. A bad habit of your own. He paused and slowed his movements, crouching down in front of you instead. He lifted a hand to pinch your chin but you turned your face away.

"Will you show me?" he asked gently. You gazed up at him with red rimmed eyes, your knees pulled tight against your chest. Finally, you lifted your chin. Again, he reached a hand out, but you stopped him.

"Please don't touch," you whispered. He looked at you and nodded slowly, dropping his hand again, examining your bruises with only his eyes.

"Maybe you should see a doctor," he said after a few minutes, but you shook your head.

"I'll be fine, it's just sore," you said, and his gaze flicked up from your throat to your eyes. His lips parted the longer he stared at you, and you felt the tremor return to your hands. You couldn't look away, his gaze too magnetic.

"Don't like seein' you cry," he murmured, still gazing deep into your eyes, trying so desperately to read you.

"I cry all the time," you said without even thinking. He blinked and frowned. He was about to say something else when a gentle knock on the door interrupted him.

"You okay in there?" Maria called out. You sighed and stretched out your legs, standing up and waving off Joel's helping hand.

"We don't gotta do it today, but I'll need you to come by and give your statement sometime soon," he said, glancing down at you with a sympathetic look.

"Okay," you replied, your voice cracking a bit. You looked at one another, both of you wanting to say more but neither of you could. So you reached out to open the door, forcing a smile for Maria.

"Sorry," you told her meekly, and she laughed.

"You're sorry? You just had a gun pointed at your head and you're sorry?"

You laughed weakly, then stopped short in pain, your fingers brushing against your throat.

"I just wanted to bring you your purse so you could sneak out the back," she said, lifting your purse up and handing it over to you.

"But my shift-"

"Oh my god, take the day off," Maria said, shaking her head and grinning. "Think you earned it."

"Okay," you agreed, then turned to walk through the kitchen where you could leave out the back so no customers would gawk at you.

"Lemme walk you home," Joel's voice said, startling you. You had just assumed he went back out front.

"Don't you have to, you know... work?" you asked, floundering for the right word.

"He ain't goin' anywhere," Joel said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he walked by your side down the sidewalk.

The two of you walked quietly for a few minutes.

"I've never seen you like that before," you said, breaking the silence. He turned his head towards you, raising his eyebrows.

"Like what?"

"Like, all... cop-like," you said, chuckling at your terrible choice in words.

Joel grinned and glanced down at his feet.

"Yeah, well, job's not all inappropriate graffiti and speed traps."

You hummed in agreement as you kept walking.

"Do you have to unholster your service weapon often?"

"'Service weapon'?" he repeated, surprised at the term you chose. Although it wasn't wrong, it typically was not something most people said. You just looked at him, not acknowledging it, so he let it go.

"Uh, no, not really," he said, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Oh," was all you said, taking a deep breath and continued to stare straight ahead. He watched you from the corner of his eye for a moment.

"When I came outta the bathroom and saw - " he stopped short, then rubbed his lower lip with the pad of his thumb as he collected his thoughts. "You were scared. And I... reacted."

You glanced his way again, but he kept his eyes focused straight ahead. What was he trying to say?

"Thank you," you said softly, but he was quick to shake his head.

"Not lookin' for you to thank me," he said, finally allowing his gaze to drift back to you, giving you a small smile.

When you finally reached your apartment, you took out your keys and turned to him, ready to thank him again, even though he told you not to, but he spoke first.

"Here, why don't you take this," he said, holding out a small white card between his index and middle finger. You gingerly took it and flipped it over, reading the text on the other side.

"It's my card. Call me when you wanna stop by the station," he reminded you, and you nodded.

"My cell's on there, too. If you ever, y'know," he said, half a smirk playing on his lips as he nervously shifted his weight. "You ever wanna talk 'bout anythin', really. 'Bout what happened today, or... book club," he said, and you laughed. He grinned, relieved to finally see you smile again.

"Okay," you said with a nod, and turned to put the key in the lock.

He watched as you made your way all the way up the steps, and didn't leave until he saw the second door at the top of the stairs close firmly behind you.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77 @nandan11 @anoverwhelmingdin @fandomscollide @survivingandenduring

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Rewriting Their Stories

The 118 crew and their partners lounged around the fire pit in Bobby and Athena's backyard, the flames casting a warm glow on their faces. Buck nestled closer to Tommy on the small outdoor loveseat, a soft blanket draped over them. As he gazed around at his chosen family, a wave of gratitude washed over him.

Chimney's voice broke through the comfortable silence. "Alright, next question: first kisses. Who was yours and when?" He grinned mischievously. "Maddie, you're up."

Maddie groaned good-naturedly, rolling her eyes at her husband. "Fine. Jeremy Billings, sixth grade." She paused, scrunching her nose at the memory. "His lips were like sandpaper, and our braces nearly got stuck together. Not exactly the stuff of romance novels."

The group erupted in laughter, the sound mingling with the crackling fire.

Maddie, still chuckling at her own embarrassing memory, turned to Bobby. "Alright, Bobby, you're up next."

Bobby's eyes crinkled with amusement as he leaned back, one arm draped around Athena's shoulders. "Eileen Rogers, eighth grade," he said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "It was at my first co-ed party, during a rather intense game of spin the bottle."

Athena raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Spin the bottle, huh? Should I be jealous of this Eileen?"

Bobby chuckled, pulling his wife closer. "Trust me, it was about as awkward as Maddie's orthodontic adventure. We bumped noses before we even got to the kiss part."

The group dissolved into laughter once more, the camaraderie evident in their shared amusement.

As the laughter died down, Buck felt Tommy tense beside him. Glancing up, he noticed a shadow pass over his partner's face. Concern flickered in Buck's eyes as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hey, you okay?"

Tommy nodded, but the gesture lacked conviction. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his gaze seemed fixed on some distant point beyond the fire.

Buck's brow furrowed, his arm tightening protectively around Tommy's waist. He knew his boyfriend well enough to sense that something was off, but he also understood that now wasn't the time to press the issue. Instead, he simply intertwined their fingers under the blanket, offering a silent gesture of support.

"Tommy, you're up," Bobby said.

Tommy swallowed hard, his gaze distant. "Uh, Chad Miller," he began, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "I was... I was 14."

He paused, his grip tightening on Buck's hand beneath the blanket. "My dad walked in on us," Tommy added, his tone flat, devoid of the playful nostalgia that had colored the others' stories.

A heavy silence fell over the group, the jovial atmosphere dissipating like smoke in the night air. Buck instinctively pulled Tommy closer, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of his partner's hand.

Athena, ever perceptive, smoothly intervened. "How about we take a quick break? I think we could use some more snacks." Her suggestion was met with murmurs of agreement as the group began to stir, offering Tommy a moment to collect himself.

Later that night, in the quiet of their home, Buck finally broached the subject. They were curled up on the couch, the TV playing softly in the background, more for ambiance than entertainment.

"Hey," Buck said softly, his fingers gently combing through Tommy's hair. "You wanna talk about what happened earlier? About your first kiss?"

Tommy was silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on some invisible point. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, tinged with old pain. "There's not much to say, really. My dad caught his son kissing another boy, and he... well, he reacted how you'd expect."

The words hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken hurt. Buck's arm tightened around Tommy, offering silent support and protection against memories that couldn't be changed.

"I'm sorry you went through that," Buck murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Tommy's temple. "You didn't deserve it."

Tommy let out a shaky breath, leaning into Buck's embrace. "I know that now. It's just... sometimes the memories catch me off guard, you know?"

Tommy's voice was barely above a whisper, each word heavy with long-buried pain. "I stayed in that house for another three years after that day. My dad... I don't think he ever looked me in the eye again. He was so ashamed."

He paused, his body tense against Buck's. Buck remained silent, offering a reassuring squeeze, encouraging Tommy to continue at his own pace.

"And Chad," Tommy's voice cracked slightly. "He was terrified. Threatened to kick my ass and out me to everyone if I breathed a word about what happened. So I didn't. I just... existed. Invisible and silent."

Buck felt a surge of protective anger, but he kept his voice soft. "That must have been incredibly lonely and scary for you. I'm so sorry you had to go through that, babe."

Tommy's voice trembled, raw emotion seeping through his carefully constructed walls. "For the longest time, I thought I was broken. Like God had made some terrible mistake when He made me."

Buck's heart clenched at the pain in Tommy's words. He cupped Tommy's face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall.

"Listen to me," Buck said, his voice low and intense. "You are not broken. You are not a mistake. You're beautifully, perfectly you."

Tommy leaned into Buck's touch, his eyes closing as he fought to believe the words. "I know that now, mostly. But back then... it felt like the whole world was telling me I was wrong just for existing."

Buck pulled Tommy closer, wrapping him in a protective embrace. "I wish I could go back and protect that scared kid you were. Tell him that he's worthy of love and acceptance."

Tommy's arms tightened around Buck. "You're doing that now," he whispered. "Every day, you show me what real love and acceptance look like."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Tommy's revelation settling around them. Buck pressed a soft kiss to Tommy's forehead, a wordless promise of continued support and unconditional love.

Buck's voice was soft, his eyes meeting Tommy's with warmth. "Can I tell you about my first kiss with a guy?"

Tommy nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. He knew this story, but hearing Buck tell it always filled him with a mix of love and pride.

"It was the softest, most perfect kiss," Buck began, his voice tinged with reverence. "He lifted my chin with his fingers, so gently. When our lips met, everything changed. He rewrote my story."

Buck's hand found Tommy's, squeezing gently. "You rewrote my story, Tommy."

Tommy's eyes glistened with emotion. "I remember," he whispered. "I was so nervous, but you felt so right."

"You were perfect," Buck assured him. "Still are. That moment... it changed everything for me, in the best possible way."

Tommy leaned in, resting his forehead against Buck's. "For me too," he murmured. "You helped me rewrite my story too, you know. Showed me what love should really feel like."

Buck cupped Tommy's face, his thumb gently caressing his cheek. "We rewrote our stories together," he said softly. "And we're still writing, every day."

[alisonsfics]

back in chicago - part 4

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: after years in germany, you return to chicago and immediately run into your ex-boyfriend. if you thought it’d be easy jumping back into your old life, you were wrong. new people had entered carmy’s life, including a new woman, but you were still everything to him.

word count: 4.8k

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

A/N: welcome to the FINALE babbyyyy…also i may have gotten carried away and the finale is a little on the long side

warnings: unprotected sex, smut, car sex, jealous carmy which deserves its own warning, minors DNI (18+ only)

After Richie’s birthday party, you avoided Carmy for a few weeks. It was too messy. He had basically told you he loved both you and Claire and didn’t know what to do about it. You didn’t want to get on Claire’s bad side more than you already had.

It was easier to just ignore the problem.

During those weeks, you started to hang out with Sydney more and more. You both had hit it off upon meeting each other. She felt like one of your best friends, despite having only having known each other for a month.

Being friends with Sydney meant sometimes accidentally running into Carmy.

The first time was when you and Sydney decided to try a new lunch spot, which happened to be close to the Bear, so she could walk there after her shift. You accidentally got seated at one of the tables in front of the restaurant on that patio.

Carmy had walked by on his way to work, and of course, had to stop and say hi.

Then, you and Sydney made plans to go to a farmers market. You planned to meet her at the Bear, but didn’t want to run into Carmy.

You hung out in the alleyway beside the restaurant. You looked down at your phone and realized Sydney had texted that she was running a few minutes late.

You waited, mindlessly scrolling through social media. Finally, the back door swung open. You looked up expecting Sydney, but instead saw Carmy with a box of cigarettes in hand.

“Oh…uh, hey,” he said, shocked to see you. You gave him a polite smile, not exactly knowing what to say. What do you say to your ex-boyfriend who knows you’ve been avoiding him. “I’m just waiting for Sydney. We’re going to a market.” You quickly explained.

He nodded, slowly. He was slightly disappointed you weren’t there to see him. He knew he’d screwed things up, but he missed you.

“You know, you can wait inside if you want? You don’t have to wait out in the cold and pretend like we don’t know each other.” He offered. Before you could say anything, Sydney rushed out the door and saved you.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” she said, trying to break up the awkward tension between the two of you.

A few days after that, Carmy had texted you asking if you wanted to get lunch. You couldn’t say yes, but you also couldn’t say no without sounding like an asshole. So, you ignored the message.

One night at your apartment, you FaceTimed Sydney after ruining the dinner you were making. “Syd, this tastes like shit. I don’t know how to fix it.” You complained. Having a chef friend came in handy.

It reminded you of all the times you’d cooked with Carmy.

“It probably just needs more acid to balance it out.” She told you. You nodded and tried to tweak the sauce.

“Oh, by the way, there’s this big dinner next week. Have you heard of the restaurant Ever? They’re closing and having this big final dinner thing. You should come with me. It’ll be fun.” She suggested, bracing for your quick no.

You paused and looked over at Sydney on your screen. She instantly knew the expression on your face meant no way. “Is Carmy gonna be there?” You asked, slowly.

Sydney pursed her lips and looked away from the camera. You glared at her as she refused to tell you. “I will respectfully pass then. I really don’t want to go to a dinner with my ex-boyfriend.” You told her, honestly.

Sydney sighed. “Oh, come on. They’ll be a bunch of people there. You probably won’t even see him.” Sydney said, and you both knew she was lying.

You persistently shook your head. “I really don’t want to see him. There’s too much history, Syd.” You told her. She knew she had slim odds of convincing you, but she was going to try. To do so, she was going to try every possible angle.

“I have this chef friend. His name is Luca, and he’ll be there. I think you’d like him. He’s cute.” She said, smirking at you. You gave her a disappointed look. “I told you no more love drama. I’m not ready to start dating some new guy.” You said.

You tasted your sauce as Sydney rambled on about why you and Luca would hit it off. “You know another plus? It would make a certain someone jealous.” She said, winking at you.

You froze at the reference to Carmy. Over the past few weeks, Sydney had refused to talk about Carmy unless you brought him up, so it was new to hear her mention him. “I’m not gonna take advantage of some guy just to get back at Carmy.” You persisted.

“Luca’s a nice guy. He might even be down to pretend just to help you make Carmy jealous.” Sydney playfully threw the idea out there. You felt a laugh slip through your lips. “That would be hilarious.” You said, treating the suggestion as a joke.

“I can ask him.” Sydney said, dead serious. You looked at her, mentally weighing your options. You almost considered it for a second. “No, Syd. I was just kidding.” You said.

You both hung up, so that you could finish making dinner. You completely forgot about the conversation. Until the next day when you got a text from Sydney.

“Luca says he’ll do it.”

When it came to the night of the Ever dinner, you were extremely anxious.

Anxious to see Carmy. Anxious to possibly see Claire. Anxious for how Carmy would react.

You were currently standing in the lobby as you waited for Sydney to show up. You felt too awkward to go in and have to find Luca on your own. You nervously fidgeted with the necklace you were wearing.

You had picked a dress that made you feel really confident. If you were going to try to make Carmy jealous, you knew you needed to up your game.

You heard footsteps coming down the hallway and looked up to see Sydney. “Hey, there you are. You look so good.” She said, giving you a hug.

You thanked her and returned the compliment. “You seem nervous. You doing okay?” She asked you, noticing the way you were fidgeting. You shrugged. “Kinda stressed, but just trying to power through it,” you said.

“Everything is gonna go fine, I promise.” She assured you. She led you into the dining room. You saw a blonde man raise his hand and wave you both over. As you walked over to the table, you glanced around the room. You saw no sign of Carmy.

He pulled Sydney in for a hug and then turned to you. “Luca. It’s nice to meet you.” He said, sticking his hand out for you to shake. You smiled and introduced yourself.

He quickly pulled your chair out for you, letting you sit down. “So, what’s the whole story with Carmy? I’ve been dying to know. Sydney told me a little bit.” Luca said, sitting and turning to face you.

“We dated for a few years. I moved away for a job, and he broke things off. His new girlfriend is pissed at me, simply for existing. And I don’t think he knows how to be friends with me after all these years.” You summarized.

“That is wild. Did you move to Germany, by chance?” He asked. You and Sydney both perked up when he said Germany. “Yeah, I did. How did you know that?” You asked, curiously.

“I went to culinary school with Carmy, and he always talked about his girlfriend who lived in Germany.” He told you.

“Yeah that was me, but we broke up before I left. So, we were definitely broken up when he told you that.” You said, realizing how hard Carmy must have taken the breakup. Luca slowly nodded. “My best guess based on the way he talked about you is he definitely wasn’t over you.” He told you.

You felt a pit in your stomach as you thought about it. You always figured Carmy moved on quickly because he was the one who broke things off. But, you were starting to realize how much he regretted that.

“I’m going to run to the restroom really quick, but I’ll be right back.” Luca said, standing up and excusing himself.

“Carm’s not bringing Claire tonight, right?” You turned and asked Sydney. She shook your head. “No, I asked him and he said she’s working tonight.” She told you. You breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Carmy walk into the room. “Oh, shit,” you mumbled to yourself. Sydney looked over her shoulder and also saw Carmy.

He walked over towards your table. When you both locked eyes, you could tell he was shocked to see you.

Sydney stood up to give Carmy a quick hug. You also stood up. Carmy’s eyes raked down your body as he saw your dress for the first time.

It took everything in him to fight the urge to tell you how amazing you looked. He gave you a quick side hug. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” He mentioned to you before sitting back down.

He sat on Sydney’s other side. His gaze lingered on you. He saw you in that dress, and he knew he was screwed.

Then, Luca returned to the table.

“Oh, hey man, it’s nice to see you.” Carmy said, recognizing Luca. They both exchanged some pleasantries. Carmy seemed excited to see an old friend. Luca walked behind Carmy and back to his seat next to you.

“I got you a drink.” Luca said, handing you a glass. You smiled up at him and thanked him. Carmy furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t even think you both knew each other.

Luca’s hand softly grazed your back as he sat down beside you. “Do you umm…do you guys know each other?” Carmy asked. He was biting down on his lip.

“Carmy, Luca’s my date.” You said, watching as Carmy clenched his jaw. His grip tightened around his glass. You were almost concerned it would shatter. “Wait do you two know each other?” Luca played dumb, gesturing between you and Carmy.

“Yeah, we dated.” Carmy said, through clenched teeth. Luca slowly nodded his head like he was realizing the awkwardness of the situation.

Sydney covered her mouth as she tried not to laugh. Carmy was never someone who was able to mask his emotions. His jealousy was written all over his face.

“I’m surprised Claire isn’t here.” You said, with a tone colder than you meant to use. Carmy cocked his head to the side. “She uhh…had to work.” He said. He was thankful Claire wasn’t there. If she saw how jealous Carmy was acting, it’d lead to another fight. They’d been having a lot of fights about you.

Some other chef came up to introduce themselves to Carmy. Luca took the opportunity to reach over and grab your hand. Carmy saw the whole thing. Carmy moved his hands under the table, so no one could see how hard he was clenching his fists.

You and Carmy knew each other like the back of your hands, so neither of you missed any little subtle reactions.

Luca leaned over to you. “You were definitely right about this getting under his skin.” He whispered in your ear. You giggled, pretending like he’d just told you something funny.

Carmy rolled his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking. A second later, you saw a text pop up on your phone.

When you saw Carmy’s name, you grabbed your phone and held it in your lap. The text read:

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You had to stop yourself from laughing. Carmy was beyond easy to read. You quickly texted him back: “I didn’t think I had to. I didn’t even know you guys knew each other.”

Carmy was jealous enough that you had a date, but it was worse because Luca was one of his friends.

You saw Carmy huff as he read your message. Then, he furiously typed back a response.

“Oh, c’mon. You don’t think I know you well enough to know that’s bullshit? You should’ve told me.”

You turned off your phone and set it upside down on the table. One of the other chefs at the table started telling a story, which captured everyone’s attention except yours and Carmy’s.

Carmy kept looking over at the way your fingers were interlaced with Luca’s. He also saw how you both kept giddily smiling at each other.

You glanced over at Carmy after feeling him staring at you. He gestured towards the hallway. “Can we talk?” He mouthed to you. You shook your head and shifted your attention back to who was talking.

Towards the end of the party, Carmy was as frustrated as he could be. He’d watched you and Luca flirting all night. And you were ignoring him.

About half of the guests had left, and everyone was having small side conversations. Sydney had left because she had plans afterwards with her dad.

You and Luca were still chatting. Carmy was across the table as the guy next him continued rambling. Carmy wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation. His eyes were glued to you.

You grabbed ahold of Luca’s arm and then leaned over to whisper in his ear. You suggested a way to really make Carmy jealous. Luca played along.

Luca’s eyes went wide, and he rushed to stand up. He grabbed your hand and pulled you with him out to the lobby. You both did your best to pull eager expressions.

Carmy watched you both as you left. He couldn’t shake the pit in his stomach about where you both were going.

Luca pulled you into the one-person bathroom, leaving the door open just a crack. You both knew it was only a minute before Carmy came chasing after you.

“You’re an evil genius. Carmy is gonna lose his shit.” Luca said, laughing at your plan. You walked over to the sink and jumped up so you were sitting on the counter. You both were in a fit of laughter imagining Carmy’s reaction.

Until you heard quick footsteps in the hallway. Luca stepped towards you, and you pulled him to stand in between your legs. “You good?” He asked you, quietly. You quickly nodded, and you both started the show, knowing Carmy was close by.

Luca quickly kissed you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him back. You unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. He ran his fingers through your hair, so it looked a little messy.

Just as you predicted, the door yanked open, and Carmy barged in.

“Carmy, what the fuck?” You asked, pulling out of the kiss.

Carmy’s face was bright red, half from anger and half from seeing you kissing his friend. “Hey, mate. C’mon now,” Luca said.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Carmy said, walking right up to Luca. Luca towered over Carmy, but right now Carmy didn’t care. He’d watched Luca put his hands on you, and he was pissed.

“Carm, leave him alone.” You said, jumping off the counter and standing in between the two men. Luca had a slight smirk. Carmy read it as cockiness, but you knew he was trying not to laugh.

“Do you think you can just put your hands all over her?” Carmy asked, looking past you at Luca.

You grabbed Carmy’s wrist. “That’s enough, Carm. Come on,” you said, dragging him out of the bathroom with you. Over Carmy’s shoulder, you saw Luca give you a thumbs up.

You pulled Carmy with you until you both were on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. You walked over next to where Carmy’s car was parked.

“Alright, Carmy, what the hell is up with you?” You asked, crossing your arms.

His eyes went wide. He wanted to be asking you the same thing. “Nothing's up with me. What about you? You never thought to tell me you were going out with my friend?” He snapped.

You rolled your eyes. “Why do I have to tell you anything. Remember, you and I aren’t dating anymore. I don’t owe you any information.” You told him. Carmy ran his fingers through his hair, huffing to himself.

“Because I care about you. Even if we’re not dating, I still consider you a friend.” He told you. You shook your head, taking a step back from him. “I told you that you couldn’t care about me as much as you do. You’re dating Claire.” You reminded him.

“Claire has nothing to do with this. This is about you pushing me away. I haven’t talked to you in weeks, and I miss talking to you. I know I messed up with the kiss, but you said you could forget it.” He said, his voice cracking slightly. You could tell that everything he was saying was true.

This is where the conversation became a lot more real for you. This wasn’t about your fake date anymore.

“Of course I pushed you away. Because I’m fucking scared, Carmy. When you get scared, you run away. I can’t trust that you’ll actually stay. Even just to be friends. If Claire asked you to stay away from me, you would.” You told him. Your chest felt tight as you finally told him how you’d felt for years. After Carmy broke things off, you’d never been able to get closure.

“I wouldn’t leave you like that.” He said, hurt by the implications.

You tried to take a deep breath, but you felt your eyes start to water. “You’ve done it before.” You snapped. He froze when he realized you were talking about Germany.

“Yeah, remember that I wanted to try long distance, but you got scared? So, you broke things off. You were my best friend, and you just called it quits.” You complained, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“I was trying to save us. I knew how wrong long distance could go. I didn’t want us to hate each other when we broke up.” He told you. You quickly wiped your tears off your cheeks. Carmy started pacing.

“It fucking killed me, Carm.” You said, looking over at him. He almost broke seeing the emotion on your face.

“So, that’s what all this was? This was all revenge? Ignoring me and going on a date with my friend. It was just to give me a taste of my own medicine?” He asked you. You shook your head and rolled your eyes.

“Oh my god, Carmy. Not everything is about you. Maybe I was ignoring you because it was hard seeing you with Claire. And then you tried to tell me you still loved me. I don’t deserve to have that dumped on my plate to deal with.” You told him. You were so irritated that Carmy still wasn’t understanding.

“Do you want me to apologize for how much you mean to me? Because I won’t do it.” He told you, crossing his arms.

“I just want you to acknowledge how fucked up it is that you keep trying to flip flop. You either love me or you don’t. But either way, figure it out and don’t drag me through this anymore—” Carmy cut you off with a kiss.

He grabbed your hips and nudged you back against the side of his car. You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to you. He hesitated for a second.

“Luca’s inside,” he mumbled, stopping you. You shook your head. “We weren’t actually on a date. We did it to make you jealous.” You told him.

You realized that while Luca wasn’t an issue, Claire was.

“Of course you did,” Carmy said with a chuckle. He cupped your face and leaned in to kiss you again. You put your hands on his chest and pushed him away. “We…can’t,” you said, in between kisses.

He buried his face in your neck, pressing kisses to your skin. “Claire,” you mumbled. It was hard for you to not get distracted when Carmy’s lips were on you.

“What about her?” Carmy asked simply. He refocused his attention back on kissing your jawline. “Are you still with her?” You asked him, trying to stop your eyes from fluttering closed.

“Well yes but…” he started to say. You shook your head, moving his face so you could look him in the eyes. “No buts,” you told him firmly.

“I was planning on breaking it off tomorrow after I saw you in this dress tonight. I knew I’d never be able to get you off my mind.” He told you, letting his hands run along the curve of your back. He toyed with the fabric of your dress, caressing your sides.

You leaned into his touch. You always loved the way his hands felt on you. “We shouldn’t, until you tell her.” You said, even though every part of you wanted to kiss him again.

“I’m going to tell her. I promise. I won’t chicken out.” He assured you, noticing your hesitancy.

“We still should wait.” You said. The phrase came out more like a question than a statement. He leaned in closer to you. His nose brushed against yours. “Or we could…” he said, not needing to finish the sentence for you to know what he meant.

You grabbed his collar again and pulled him in to kiss you. He feverishly kissed you back. He quickly reached around his pockets to fish out his car keys.

He unlocked the car door and pulled the back door open for you. You practically jumped into the back seat. Carmy looked around before joining you in the car.

“We’ve waited five years. That feels like enough.” You said, in between kissing him.

“So long— too long,” Carmy corrected himself.

You cupped his face as you kissed him. He playfully nipped at your bottom lip before sneaking his tongue into your mouth. His hands were gripping onto your thighs as your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips tasted like the scotch he’d been drinking.

You were like a drug to Carmy. After not having you for so long, he couldn’t get enough of you. Especially not after hearing you whimper when he pushed his hips against yours.

He sat up quickly to shrug his jacket off his shoulders. You grabbed it and tossed it into the front seat.

You admired him as he straddled you. “You look so pretty staring at up me.” He said, leaning down to peck your lips.

Impatiently, you started unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt while he undid his tie. You ripped his shirt off his arms, letting it fall to the floor. His tie followed behind it.

You were silent as you admired Carmy. You ran your fingers over his chest, admiring his toned chest. “You really…wow,” you mumbled.

He laid you back down on the seat. “You’re getting to admire me, but I’m not getting to see you, gorgeous,” he whispered into your ear. You shivered as you felt his breath on your neck.

He reached down to the bottom of your dress and pulled it over your head. “You look fuckin’ breathtaking,” he said as his lips ghosted down your neck.

He placed a kiss on your lips and then started placing lips down your neck and down your chest. You almost whined as he placed a kiss right between your breasts. He continued leaving sloppy kisses down in a line til he got right above your panties.

He stopped and looked up at you with a smirk. “Such a tease,” you mumbled, pulling his lips back to yours.

“Normally, I’d make you wait a little bit, but I think we’ve both done enough waiting.” He said, slipping his fingers under your bra straps and tugging them off your shoulders.

“C’mere, sweetheart, can’t reach behind ya,” he said, pulling you both up.

He was sitting on the seat with you straddling his lap. You reached behind your back and quickly undid your bra. It fell into Carmy’s lap. You watched his eyes go wide, and you could feel his pants start to tighten below you.

You leaned forward and kissed Carmy’s neck. You started softly sucking on the skin. Carmy leaned his head back against the seat. A low groan escaped his lips.

You reached down to unbuckle his belt. You pulled his pants down to hang around his ankles. You could see how strained his boxers were.

“You’re not gonna leave me, Berzatto?” You asked him. He quickly shook his head. “Never leavin’ you ever again,” he said, reaching out to grab your hips.

You tugged down his boxers enough for his cock to spring out. “You look so fuckin’ sexy.” He groaned, biting down on his lip as he watched you.

He grabbed your hips and held you up as you lined him up. You slowly sunk down on him. You let out a muffled moan as you bit your lip. Carmy sighed and threw his head back.

“Oh my god, Carm,” you mumbled as he stretched you out. He nodded with his eyes tightly closed.

You braced your hands on his shoulders and pulled yourself up and sunk back down onto his length. “Oh…god, you feel— perfect,” Carmy groaned.

He massaged one your breasts in his hand, rolling your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger. A high-pitched whine escaped your lips. “That feel good, baby?” Carmy asked, growing cockier by the second. He attached his lips to your other breast, softly sucking and biting.

You quickly nodded your head as you continued to your roll your hips against his. “I’m gonna mark you up so good, sweatheart,” Carmy told you as continued sucking on your soft skin.

“Make me yours, Carm,” you begged. You quickened your pace, slamming your hips down into his. The sound of your skin slapping against his filled the car.

Your eyes rolled back as Carmy hit your g-spot. You desperately tried to grab onto something. Your fingers missed the headrest and slid across the foggy window.

Carmy was mumbling profanities under his breath. His hips thrusted up to meet yours. He got too eager, and you hit the back of your head against the roof of the car.

“Ow, fuck,” you muttered as Carmy cupped the back of your head with his hand.

“C’mere,” he said, slipping his arms around your waist. He pulled you against his chest and shifted you both so you were laying down with him on top of you.

“You don’t have to do any of the work. Just let me treat you real nice,” he told you. He roughly grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist.

With the new angle, he reached even deeper inside of you. “Oh, fuck fuck fuck,” you muttered, weaving your fingers through Carmy’s hair.

“That feel good?” He asked you, thrusting quicker into you. You ferociously nodded. “Yeah, you fill me up so good.” You praised him. Your moans only encouraging Carmy to go faster.

“Almost there, sweetheart,” he mumbled. He reached down and starting rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck, Carmy,” you yelled out. He kissed you to help muffle your moans. You could feel a tightening in your stomach. You were seeing stars.

You both were distracted when you heard something vibrating on the floor. You both quickly glanced over and saw Carmy’s phone with Claire’s name scrolling across the top. “Oh, shit,” you mumbled, “do you need to—” you started to ask before Carmy stopped you by pressing down on your clit for a second.

Your hips bucked up against his. A loud whine fell from your lips. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. I’m not answering her call when I’m this deep inside you. Tonight’s all about you, not her.” He mumbled against your neck. He pressed sloppy kisses against your throat.

“Y’know, she knew she couldn’t compete with you. She knew you and me were meant for each other.” He told you.

Your nails scratched down Carmy’s back as you got closer to your high. “Please, Carmy— faster,” you begged him. He quickly obliged.

The sound of you both panting filled the car. His thrusts started to falter. “Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you fall apart,” he mumbled into the crook of your neck.

You balled your hands up in his hair, tugging on his curls. “I’m gonna—” you whined. His hips sped up, ramming into yours. “Yeah, me too,” he said in between groans.

You felt him twitch, and you both came together. A long string of profanities came rolling out of your mouth. He leaned back down to kiss you. His thrusts slowed down as he helped you both cool down.

He pulled out of you and flipped you over so he was laying down with you on top of him. He brushed your hair out of your face, which was pretty sweaty now.

“I fuckin’ love you. No running, you’re it for me.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

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[autisticlancemcclain]

The ship was shaking like a kid holding a goldfish bag.

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time. 

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her. 

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus. 

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing. 

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor. 

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed. 

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it. 

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet. 

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing. 

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different. 

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it. 

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed. 

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one. 

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop. 

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material. 

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge. 

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –” 

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

part two

[absdoll]

abby jerking off her strap while r is fingering their 🐱💕💕

mmm so hot & yummy i love this <3 i’m sorry it’s short , maybe i’ll rewrite it soon ! mwah

abby loves control. while obviously she wants to fuck you, make you take every inch, begging her to ease up while also begging her for more. today she wants to see you all pathetic and needy. putty in her hands.

abby loves watching you totally desperate and aching for her, knowing how badly you wish your fingers filled you up the way her thick strap does. the tall blonde is towering over you as you lie on the bed. she wraps her big hand around her girth, as you whine and moan around your dainty fingers. she begins to stroke her dick. you bring your hand to your mouth, sucking your white slick off your pink painted nails. “how’s it taste baby?“ she taunts, “bet you wish you were sucking that off my cock.” the blonde lets out a small grunt when the base of her strap hits her clit.

your fingers dive into your wet hole again, your sweet nectar leaking down your legs. abby’s got a steady pace going on her silicone member, never taking her eyes off your glistening pussy. the tall blonde throws her head back, the sensation of the constant friction against her needy clit is getting her closer to her peak.

“go faster princess, fuck yourself the way i would fuck you” she huffs through gritted teeth, “cmon baby fucking faster, i know you can do it.” you add another finger, now three hitting up against your g-spot.

“mmm just like thaaat baby, doing so good for me.” abby says shakily, awaiting her release.

as you both continue to fuck yourselves into oblivion, the pit of your stomach starts to feel warm and fuzzy, your vision dizzying. “i’m c-close abs.” you warn her, biting down on your lip as you go cross eyed due to the pleasure.

“hold it in pretty girl, i’m almost there. fuuuuckkk.” abby demands. but the way your fingers are moving, combined with how fucking hot abby looks all flustered and close to her orgasm. she’s vigorously pumping her cock in one hand, the other groping your breasts, twisting your sore nipples.

“i’m gonna c-cum abs ahh-gh i’m c-cumming!” you exclaim in pleasure. abby looks down at you, watching as you release your sweet syrup all over your fingers and palm. with one final jerk of her strap, she’s a blabbering, fucked out mess. “fucking hell baby, ugh uh uhhh fuck!”

you smile up at your girlfriend, “that was so hot abs” you blush. “we’re just getting started doll” she smirks as she flips you over, ass exposed as she lays a loud smack across it. “up on your elbows.”

you brace for her 8 inches to completely destroy you.

a / n : this is rushed i’m sorry :( but hope u nasty sluts still enjoy it hehe ♡ reqs are still open for now btw !

💗 @whore4abby @hersweetheart @enbesbians 💕

[pink-bandana-writes]

The Secret Girlfriend

Raphael x Reader

Summary: When the boys save a human girl from some muggers, they expect her to scream, not rush into their brother’s arms.

Note: Watching OotS rn and this popped into my head. Enjoy <3

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Word Count: 0.4k

Reader is: Female

It was a seemingly ordinary night in New York City. Well, as normal as it could be for the guys when they were out on patrol. They swept the streets, looking for signs of trouble until, as usual, they found it. A scream erupted from one of the alleys and they sprung into action, jumping down from their spot on the rooftops.

A mugger. No, three of them and one helpless college girl, fighting them off as best as she could, which was to say, not very well.

“Hey! Why don’t’cha pick on someone yer own size?” Raph all but growled, causing the nearest of the muggers to back off, intimidated by his height and the depth of his voice alone. Leo, Donnie, and Mikey helped him scare off the other two easily, and when they were done, all that was left was you, the helpless, human girl.

Leo braced for impact. Any second, you’d catch sight of the monsters in the alley and scream. But instead of a scream, like the brothers were expecting, instead, recognition flashed across your features.

“Raph!” You sighed in relief, rushing into the arms of the towering turtle. You held onto him tight. “Oh my god.”

“(Y/N).” He cradled you against himself, a large hand stroking through your hair as he held you. “Ya alright? I didn’t realize it was you.”

“I’m okay.” You assured him, pulling away to look at his face. “Are you okay?”

He grinned, confident. “I’m bulletproof, babe. Of course I’m alright.”

“My very own Superman.” You murmured, hugging him again, face resting in the crook of his neck as your heartrate slowly returned to normal.

“Um…Raph?” Leo asked, clearing his throat. “Care to explain?”

“Oh right…” Raph chuckled, looking up at his brothers. “Guys, this is (Y/N). My girlfriend. (Y/N), these are my brothers.”

“Nice to meet you, finally.” You smiled, shy. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Raph, you…have a secret girlfriend?” Mikey asked. “No way!”

“Yeah, uh…I was gonna tell ya soon, I just…” He shrugged. “Needed the quiet for a bit.”

“Does Sensei know?” Leo asked, crossing his arms.

“Nah, but April does.” Raph shrugged.

“She’s really nice.” You added. “We get coffee sometimes.”

“You do?” Raph asked, looking down at you.

You nodded. “Mmhmm. We’re getting our nails done next week.”

Leo glanced around. “Hey we better get going.” He looked at you, still skeptical, but polite nonetheless. “You’re welcome to come with.”

“Can I?” You asked, looking up at Raph, stars sparkling in your eyes. “I’m…that was really scary. I’m kinda shaken up.”

“Yeah, of course, baby.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Leo’s eyes widened. Never in his life had he seen his big brute of a brother so gentle. So you had him whipped, whipped.

“We can order pizza! We’ve got a bunch of movies and video games.” Mikey smiled, his face welcoming. “It’ll be alright, girl.”

“Thank you.” You laughed, nodding. “I’d really like that.”

Tagged: @thelaundrybitch, @turtle-babe83, @dilucsflame33, @happymoonangel, @leleouwu

[krahk]

Blood for Ruin

Part One

Masterlist

Thank you all so much for the love and support for Part One, it is always so scary sharing brain children. You are all amazing.

Part Two

(Or, Alastor Proves he Makes a Shit Hotel Host by Bullying a Murder Victim)

By the time you opened your eyes, you had been moved to a bed, a comfy bed, in a warm lit room that was modestly decorated. And you were alone, thank god. Sitting up on the edge of the bed and kicking the sheets off as you straightened up. You stretched in a vain attempt to bring yourself some comfort, at least in body if not the mind. Doing this however, resulted in an immediate eye opening panic, because the sides of your arms brushing against either side of your head caught onto nothing.

Y’no, nothing. Nothing where ears should be. Looking around frantically, there was a cracked door heading into what was possibly a bathroom- please god, please be a bathroom. You body checked the frame as you ran in, muttering a whiny ‘ow’ before flicking a switch that turned on the overhead lights by the sink. Door open, lights on aaaand yep. Yep, yep yep. Ears missing. Hyperventilating now, you stumbled to the vanity and braced yourself on the ledge, staring into your own reflection as the panic began to set in.

Hell took your ears!? This was fucking ridiculous. Could one bitch to the devil? But also…how…how were you hearing? Because you definitely could hear. In fact you could hear better than before, like the wind outside rattling against something and a creak from the walls possibly 2 rooms over. Your brain might have been empty of explanation but your ears more than made up for it in what you heard. You leaned towards the mirror, turning your head back and forth trying to figure out what had happened to you. Then you felt it, a twitch, a little itch, at the very top of your head. Eyes drifted upwards to the pair of soft brown ears (?) That didn't quite point straight up, instead pointing more in a 45 degree angle. The left one was flicking of its own accord. The scream that left your mouth was instinctual, and loud.

Almost immediately you heard a knocking at the door and Charlie waltzed in, breathing hard, indicating the speed in which she came to your need. You spun around to meet her eyes, hands whipping to the very soft - so soft - ears utop your crown, breath shaking as you tried to get control over yourself.

“Ooohhh, yes, yes you’ve discovered your adorable new features! Thank goodness, I was so worried!” Charlie said, hands waving in front of her before clasping them together on her chest. “Everyone who comes to hell as a sinner takes on a delightful new appearance that reflects the way they lived and died! It’s a great way for you to meet new people and uh…learn to live a better life in spite of them! Many people take on animal appearances, my dad thinks it’s because every soul transcends the image of a human body.”

Still taking large breaths to keep yourself from screaming, your stuttering proof of your inability to form basic words, Charlie continued.

“Angel Dust is a spider, we think because he was involved in a ‘web of crime’ with his exciting mafia family - Husk…well okay Husk is interesting because I’m pretty sure cats in the overworld don’t have wings but he was a gambler before death so maybe he was just lucky to get wings too! You know, cards fell in his favour ha-haaa…” She trailed off awkwardly, face scrunching in a manner that you understood as her realising maybe she wasn’t explaining any part of this new discovery very well. She rubbed the back of her head with one hand, the other one placing itself on her hip. “Alastor is a deer demon, and it looks like you could be one too! I mean, you’ve got similar ears, although yours are much cuter because they are kind of floppy. And your nose is so cute! Like a baby doe! You’re pretty adorable honestly.”

You glanced at the mirror again, hands finally falling to your face to rest on your chin with your fingers covering your mouth lightly, spaced apart to allow your haggard breathing to come in and out. She was right, you did have a cute nose, it was similar to Charlie’s in appearance, and your ears did closely resemble the ears of a hooved forest animal. They reminded you of a mule deer's ears, the only deers you ever saw in Oregon (where your home was). Looking closer at yourself without the same level of panic your eyes moved back and forth rapidly taking in the new details of your person. Your skin all around was a sort of fawn colour, if fawn the colour could look dead. It was as if Bambi had died and his fur turned an ashier colour devoid of the warmth of active blood. That was you! Your ears were a dark blonde peppered with black, complimenting the soft blondish brown of your hair. Fingertips and nails were black, the black creeping up your arms before ending below the sleeve of your short sleeved pyjama top. You looked down and poked your foot out a bit to see if your lower limbs matched and hooray…they did.

In another world, maybe one where this was a costume, you would admit that you were cute out loud. However denial was still the leading emotion so you just slightly nodded at yourself before slowly turning around to face your gracious host once more.

“So. I’m a deer, so that’s a fun new fact…will I stay this way while I’m…here?” You winced at your admission of hell being your new place of residency.

“Yup!” Charlie replied in a chipper voice.

”And if I manage to get to heaven…will I change into something new?”

Charlie paused, the hand that was on her head had shifted to her chin, finger now tapping in pensive thought. “Hmm, I’m not sure? But from what my dad has said, humans who go up to heaven also take on forms that reflect their earthly life. Soooo you would probably stay a deer.”

”How would your dad know? Can we talk to the people in heaven?” This casual conversation was helping hasten the subsiding panic.

“Uh no. Heaven and Hell are pretty much separated all the time, except for the extermination BUT we’re working on that…My dad is Lucifer. Like the archangel!”

Your face was in obvious shock. Jaw dropped lightly and your hands came to your sternum, and you gaped at Charlie with wide eyes. “Lucifer? Like…the Devil? Satan himself?” What the actual fuck, why was your luck so cursed?

Charlie rocked back and forth on her heels, slightly grimacing from your comments before answering. “Yes, my dad is the Devil - but Satan is his own person, lots of people get them confused, much to dad’s chagrin. Lucifer Morningstar is my dad, the Devil, the King of Hell, fallen angel, and Satan is just the Lord of Wrath. It’s all very simple once you’ve been here a while.” Charlie had come to your side and wrapped her arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the bathroom. ”You should really join us downstairs for a proper tour, breakfast was over a while ago but we might be able to find some lunch in case you’re hungry.”

Your stomach rumbled at the thought of food. Was Hell just like Earth, but scarier? And redder? Would you need to get a job? Pay taxes? Oh good god, was Hell was just the worst part of living on monotonous repeat? Brutal. And certainly great punishment.

“We can work on getting you some more personal clothing later, but you are Vaggie look to be around the same size so she’s dropped off a few pieces just to get you in gear for redemption! I should probably go tell the others that you’re fine. I can’t wait for you to join us!” Charlie was so sickly sweet it was crazy to think she was the daughter of the Devil. She was too cheerful for a normal person, never mind a demon. She waved to you and said bye before closing the door as she exited.

Picking up the first couple of pieces in the donated pile, you dressed yourself in a shorter dress with a billowing skirt oh my god you have a tail ignore it ignore it ignore it and thicker grey socks that went all the way up to the middle of your thighs, covering up your black skin meeting up with the length of the dress. The dress was a softer white colour, not as bright as a crisp, new piece, this was a well loved item. No complaints, it was broken in and you were grateful for the gift. The only questionable features were the X’s that were placed directly over the nipples of the top. That was…quite the fashion statement. No time to be picky, something would be better than the pyjamas you died in. No shoes were provided so you simply walked out of the room into the hallway without.

The hallway appeared neverending from both sides, the detailed wallpaper and carpet going for visual miles. Which way was the right way? Good thing you were unconscious when you were brought up here, makes it much easier to retrace your steps. You were grateful for your giant new ears because it seemed like you could follow the sound of chatter down a hall.

Frowning, you let instinct take over and you went to the right. You were passing a door on your left and you felt the hair on your body begin to rise, a staticky sensation passing over your skin. It was a similar feeling to when you would take a giant fleece blanket out of the dryer when it was still warm. You shuddered and made an audible noise of discomfort. Thankfully it appeared that you chose the right path however, since you found yourself at a set of stairs that appeared to curve to the lower floor. You could hear the chatter clearer- “She screamed at the mirror? She’s adorable! She coulda been a worm or a giant slug or-” You shook your head, attempting to ignore the conversation you were accidentally eavesdropping on. A click was heard behind you and you whipped around to face the creature that resulted in your uncomfortable welcome to the hotel in the first place.

Alastor.

Now that he wasn’t talking and simply staring at you, analysing your being, you could really take in his face. Large, red eyes with a frightening depth to them were framed by darker red skin on his lids, his nose somehow sharp but similar to your own, his was more nose-like however. His smile was the worst part though. You were unsure of what could possibly make him smile so wide. His teeth were very large, and clean despite their colour. Strange for a person framed after a prey animal to have such sharp teeth, and you instinctively ran your tongue over your own behind your lips to discover sharper canines only, nothing comparable to the man in front of you.

In the silence his eyes narrowed and focused on you, making his face far more intimidating. Again, an unintentional shiver ran down your back and you shuddered under his gaze. You were a startled deer, caught in his frightening gaze. You were so unsure and uncomfortable with the situation that you had completely missed that he said something to you. You closed your eyes and shook your head to get out of your thoughts.

”Pardon? I’m sorry, I missed what you said there.” You admitted with crossed fingers that he would accept the apology.

”Yes, clearly. I merely asked you if you slept well! You took quite a nasty fall to the floor! Generally people know my history before I can make them faint from fear so I will accept the compliment. It appears as if my sabbatical has had very little effect on my presence.” He bowed slightly in a polite manner, arm crossing over his stomach as he did so, the other arm holding a microphone that was promptly used as a cane once he came up from his polite gesture. You had done a small curtsy in return, awkwardly grabbing the side of the small skirt to fulfil the action. He appeared to nod in acknowledgment, hopefully appreciating the polite return.

Your arms dropped back to your side as you processed what the man had said. Things were only going to continue to confuse you. This was all a nightmare, honestly.

“Now, on to a more serious matter,” He snapped his fingers, and the both of you were in a different room. Two chairs to your left were angled around a small table, the little radio featured on top of it. God damn it that fucking thing again. Farther behind one of the chairs however, the room opened into a bayou swamp environment - dark, marshy and foggy, the eerie sounds coming from it promised danger of an unknown kind. What kind of place was this? You could feel your ears flick from the ambient sounds coming from the strange forest as Alastor continued his interrogation. Walking to the antique, he asked “What were you doing with my radio, my dear?” Gesturing with his free hand to the little machine.

You essentially vomited out the story behind it, where you found it, why you were there, the reason you took it home with you. He listened intently, glancing at it once you finished your very brief history with the item. It truly wasn't a scandalous thing that you pilfered from some ritzy location, you salvaged it from a hoarder's house after it was put there by a woman with an obsession with Antiques Roadshow.

“If it is yours, why did it come here with me? Charlie said that possessions don’t follow souls into hell, but this did?” You inquired, hoping perhaps he held the answer.

Alastor became pensive “Hmmm. It is quite peculiar that it came with you. What were you doing with it? Please do not miss a single detail my dear, I am curious about our situation.

You frowned. What else other than grabbing the cord as you fell back? You listed out your actions on your fingers, reciting out loud the steps you took before your death. When you landed on the finger you paired with ‘took the back panel off-‘ he shouted a sharp ha-Hah! Confused and with a frown you continued, ending with cutting your hand on it before putting everything back together and heading to bed. Well, then dying. The actual ending.

“Are you sure that was all you did? Do not leave a single detail out, or you might regret it.” A sound attune with a record scratch sound from nowhere as you stared at the demon. Took radio home, took radio apart, bled on the radio, cleaned blood off the radio - your eyes went wide. And you silently checked off a step you missed in your story. You had cleaned blood off the symbols in the radio, the ones that looked like they themselves had been written in blood. Alastors gaze sharpened at your realisation.

“On the panel, inside the radio…” You started, “There were these symbols inside of it, I didn’t really get a good look at them before cutting my hand open,” You absentmindedly looked at your palm only to see a bright white scar where the long cut once was. Already? A Scar in hell? Alastor had stalked towards you and grabbed your hand to look at it. The air around the two of you was suffocating. It was difficult to think straight with him in front of you. And you were suddenly hyper aware of yourself, and him. Holding your hand was almost too much to handle and you tried to pull it back only for him to grip harder, nails pressing into your hand painfully. He raised his other hand palm up and held it beside yours. A matching scar was present. He frowned, though his smile was still prominent.

Dropping your hand he returned to the radio and black shadow tendrils rose from the floor and grabbed it, taking pieces off and placing the back panel of it in his hands. In silence he looked at the mess before entering into a low laugh, one that increased with each breath before he was near hysteria. His figure increased in size, antlers growing in size from his head, limbs lengthening - he swung his head to face yours as his figure started to loom over yours.

“Well my dear, we seem to have a problem” he said in a strange, distorted voice, his figure still looming. “You have compromised some old runes within my radio…it could possibly explain how you ended up here, with us, looking as you do.” Halfway through his terrifying statement he had returned to his ‘normal’ form and fluffed out the lapel of his coat as he did so. Eyes returning to yours the room became darker, and green symbols similar to the ones in the radio appeared on the floor, some appearing to raise up and float around the two of you.

“You will not mention any part of this radio or what you know of it, including where it was found or how you came into possession with it. You will not let others know of how your scar came on your person, and you certainly will not mention any of the runes you saw.” He wasn’t making a request, he was clearly demanding it. It felt as if wind was billowing his hair and coat as his eyes took on a much brighter look. ”If you do, I promise you will regret having ever come here and I will devour your soul only after a long and painful torture, am I clear?” You nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that the only reason you had not thrown up yet was the complete lack of food in your system, though the bile was resting at the back of your throat from fear.

He raised his hand to yours in a handshake motion, beckoning you with the outreached hand to join yours with his. You grabbed his hand with your own, both scars meeting in the middle, and they began to glow before he said only one word - “Deal?”

Well really, was there any other option? You nodded before he tsk-tsked your action, “I need vocal consent my dear, it is required.” The last word turning dark with static.

“Deal.” You barked out, and as soon as you responded, the room reverted back to its original state immediately. Alastor took his hand back and wiped it on the opposite sleeve. ”Excellent. You may leave now, the stairs will direct you right into the lobby. Please tell Ms. Morningstar that my afternoon has changed and I am unable to join her.” The door swung open on its own accord and black tangible tendrils of shadow had all but shoved you across the room and out the door before slamming the door shut so hard you swore the wood splintered slightly.

You paused to catch your breath, staring at the door, which you now knew led to Alastors Room. On the other side you could tell he must have been pacing back and forth, his heels clacking on the hard floors as he did so. Soon after however, it sounded as if a wild animal was throwing furniture and ripping fabric, loud screaming as it did so. Not about to stick around, you sprinted to the stairs and nearly slipped from the lack of shoes trying to place distance between you and the Demon upstairs. You kept up the pace on the main floor until you ran past an open door and caught sight of Charlie sitting on a sofa. You entered the room, out of breath and slightly sweaty from the encounter upstairs. She waved excitedly before patting the open seat beside her for you to sit as she held up an apple in her other hand. You sat, accepted the apple and took a bite before looking at the Television and promptly choking as you watched a news anchor discuss something called an ‘Extermination’, didn’t Charlie mention that upstairs?

Thankfully, once things had settled down in your head, you found yourself swept up in trust exercises, oh goody. Thankfully this spiralled into chaos and you were glad everyone had simply accepted your presence without hesitation, there were far more exciting things happening. It was especially comforting that Alastor would be keeping his promise and leaving on an outing for the day.

****

I will add here, this will be a semi-slow burn. Alastor is aroace pre-reader, but with time things change. Time, magic, and forced proximity.