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[braesideautorepair]

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[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : THE ARGUMENT : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Angst but fluff at the end!!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Contains themes of intense argument, accidental injury, and emotional distress. It includes descriptions of pain and fear as well as a depiction of physical and emotional reconciliation.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: During a heated argument, Logan accidentally scratches your cheek. Shocked and scared, you pull away, but his sincere apologies and careful care help mend the emotional rift, leading to reconciliation.

THE LIVING ROOM WAS CAST IN THE FADING LIGHT OF THE SETTING SUN, the shadows elongating across the floor as tension thickened in the air. Logan and you were in the middle of a bitter argument, voices raised, emotions frayed.

"You never understand me!" you shouted, your frustration palpable. "Every time I try to share something important, you just shut me down. How am I supposed to deal with that?"

Logan’s expression was a mix of irritation and disbelief. "I do understand! I’m not shutting you down. I’m trying to protect you from things you don’t need to worry about!"

"You think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t!" you shot back, anger making your voice crack. "You’re so caught up in your own world that you can’t see how much this hurts me!"

Logan’s face was taut with frustration as he threw his hands up in exasperation. "I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just trying to keep things together. You don’t know what it’s like, and you don’t get to judge me for how I cope."

"Judge you? I’m not judging you!" you cried out, your voice rising with every word. "I’m trying to be a part of your life, to understand your pain, but you push me away every time I try!"

The argument spiraled, each of you lashing out, fueled by pent-up emotions and misunderstandings. The more you both spoke, the more entrenched you became in your anger and hurt.

In the heat of the argument, Logan’s frustration boiled over. He swung his arm out sharply, trying to emphasize his point, but his claws, which had been retracted, extended reflexively. His movement was sudden and uncontrolled, and the sharp metal grazed your cheek.

The sound of tearing flesh and your gasp filled the room. A sharp pain exploded across your face, and you instinctively clutched your cheek, stumbling back. Blood began to trickle down your face, mingling with your tears.

Logan’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the result of his actions. "Oh God, no!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and horror. "What have I done?"

You stood frozen, shock and pain leaving you momentarily immobilized. The initial sting of the cut was quickly overshadowed by a numbing fear. Your eyes were wide with terror as you stared at the blood trickling from the wound. The sight of Logan’s panicked face only made the situation feel more surreal.

Logan took a tentative step toward you, his hands raised in a gesture of helplessness. "Please, let me help you. I didn’t mean to—" His voice was choked with emotion, his usual gruffness replaced by a raw, pained vulnerability. "I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

But as he moved closer, you flinched away, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain and fear made it hard to think straight. "Don’t come near me," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Stay away."

The fear in your voice made Logan freeze. He looked at you, his face a mix of anguish and regret. "No, please, I—" His voice cracked as he tried to explain, "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry."

You continued to back away, the blood on your cheek mingling with the tears streaming down your face. Logan’s heart ached seeing you like this. He desperately tried to keep his voice calm and steady, despite the turmoil inside him.

"Just sit down, okay?" Logan’s voice was pleading, almost breaking. "I’ll get a first aid kit. Please, just sit down. I need to help you."

You hesitated, your body trembling with shock and pain. Slowly, you sank onto the edge of the couch, trying to steady your breath. Logan dashed to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit with trembling hands. He returned to you, moving cautiously to avoid any sudden movements that might make things worse.

Logan knelt in front of you, keeping a respectful distance as he carefully opened the first aid kit. His hands shook as he prepared the supplies, his eyes darting between the kit and your face.

"I’m here," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I just want to help you. Please let me."

You nodded slowly, tears still falling as you tried to control your breathing. Logan’s touch was gentle as he cleaned the wound, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m so sorry," he repeated over and over, his voice filled with remorse. "I never wanted to hurt you. I was just so frustrated. Please forgive me."

As he worked, he tried to explain, his voice a constant murmur of apologies and reassurances. "I know I can’t undo this," he said softly, "but I want to make things right. I need you to know that I care about you, that I’m here for you."

Logan carefully bandaged the cut on your cheek, his touch tender and cautious. He avoided any sudden movements, mindful of the pain you were in. Once he was done, he sat beside you, his posture weary but attentive.

"Can we talk now?" Logan asked gently, his voice a mix of pleading and sincerity. "I need to understand what happened, what’s going on with us. I want to fix this. I want to make things right."

The tears had slowed, and as you looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes began to cut through your fear and hurt. You nodded, your voice still trembling but more composed. "I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m scared, and I just… I need to feel safe.”

Logan’s eyes softened with relief. He moved closer, his arm gently wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. "I’m here," he murmured into your hair, his voice steady and reassuring. "I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right. I’m sorry for everything."

You leaned into his embrace, the warmth of his body and the sincerity in his touch helping to ease the emotional pain. Logan held you close, whispering soft apologies and promises of a better future. The warmth of his embrace began to heal the wounds that went beyond the physical.

As the night settled in, the earlier turmoil faded, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and understanding. The quiet of the evening was filled with the gentle sounds of Logan’s reassurances and your steadying breaths.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, a small, tentative smile on your lips. "Thank you," you said softly, your voice steadier now. "Thank you for being here and for caring."

Logan’s smile was filled with a mix of relief and affection. "Always," he replied, his voice soft but full of conviction. "I’ll always be here, no matter what."

And as the night deepened, the warmth of your renewed bond wrapped around you both, offering comfort and hope for the future.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know! 🫶

[xdyledz]

katsukis kisses

2nd time writing in a while….long while so please bare with me!

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

“ what are you looking at? “ you looked up from scrolling on your phone to see your boyfriend staring at you. “ nothing”. short and blunt just how he always talks, he’s been at this for a while now. it’s only been what a month and a half? and these past two weeks he has been acting VERY strange.

“ hurry up so i can walk you to your room, it’s time for bed “. just like that he turns around and starts walking. you quickly follow him. walking in silence to your dorm you can’t help but feel awkward ‘ something is definitely off ‘ you say to yourself.

“ night kit kat! “ “ i told you to quit calling me that” you playfully pout at him and go in for a hug “ ugh so rude “ he scoffs and you and you notice him holding you a little tighter then usual. you go to separate yourself and say “ goodnight kats “. just as you’re about to close your door he pushes it right back open “ huh?” “ you forgot something “ you look at him confused. ‘ i have my phone, blanket, dorm keys, what else am i-“ your thoughts are quickly cut off by bakugou voice mumbling a “ nothing “ and “ g’night”.

Thursday

“ heyy bakugou how’s it going? “ “ Hah? what’s it to you dunce face? “ “ wow snappy today what’s up “ bakugou gives him a glare and turns him away “ I KNOW WHATS WRONG WITH HIM!” mina shouts and she runs towards to kitchen “ damn do you extras always have to be so loud all the damn time? and nothing is wrong with me raccoon eyes “ “ yep something is definitely wrong either him “ sero pipes in. “ mina what’s up “ kirishima adds in. now all four boys a circling mina awaiting for a answer. “ it’s because…..y/n hasn’t kissed him yet..” all three boys pause for what seems like forever “ WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING!!! “ bakugou screams while whipping his head around looking like he’s ready to kill.

All three boys bust out laughing. “ who knew bakugou couldn’t grow the balls to kiss his girl friend! “ “ all it took is a kiss to get the great bakugou katsukis balls twisted” “ awww does poor little baby bakugou want a kiss from me to make him feel better “. comment were thrown around the 3 boys all directed at bakugou. “ DAMN YOU DUNCE FACE “ he said as he tackled kaminari to the ground “ you want a peace of me? i’ll kill you “ “ sorry man, i mean if you’re offering sure but…” kaminari holds back a laughing but fails “ i don’t think y/n will “.

bakugou growls and throws his hand back activating his quirk while sero and kirishima start crying untill “ good mornin- kugo? what are are doing??” at the sound of ur voice bakugou immediately stops his quirk and looks up at you, kaminari quickly crawls out from under bakugou to your feet “ y/n help” he said while clutching onto your leg.

“ you bastard GET OFF MY GIRL- girlfriend” at the mention of your new name you herd his tone soften but still be as sharp as ever. “ suki what’s going on? “ you say as you help kaminari up “ nothin “. you walk over to him and place a hand on his shoulder. you see his eyes travel to the hand on his shoulder to your eyes and then fall down but quickly come up to your eyes. “ katsukis…why do you keep looking-“ “ nothings wrong hurry up class will start soon “ and just like that he turns around and walks away.

After watching this whole interaction the 3 boys and mina look at you and you silently ask ‘ do you know anything’. Sero finally speaks up and says “ bakugos got his panties in a twist because you won’t put him out of his misery” giving him a shocked look you look back at bakugou who is now half turnend around looking angry “ tape face i swear if you- “ “ OH MY GOSH y/n bakugou wants you to kiss him sooooo badly “ the room is silent after that.

Sero and kaminari quickly run out of the dorm rooms to school to escape bakugou wrath, mina and kirishima slowly back out of the kitchen, now it’s just you and bakugou.

you turn to look again him but…his angry expression is now replaced with and embarrassed scowl…” katsuki.. is that true? is that why you’ve been so moody lately?” you say as you walk up to him but before you can get another word out he turns and leaves you there.

“ good morning y/n “ you turn to the voice” hey todoroki” …

The whole day bakugou been ignoring you. when ever you tried to talk to him he just walked away. turn training him and iida got pared up againist kaminari and sero…yeah you prayed for them. but while watching them fight you walked over to kirishima to ask him about the whole situation “ well you know bakugou he’s not one to talk about his feelings so i never heard of this until this morning, but i did remember him me mentioning that you to haven’t..you know “ “ wow you’re making it seem like we’re doing something…inappropriate” he laughs at this.

“ well if you do end up talking to him today give him a kiss… and tell him it’s from kaminari “ you both laugh at this “ will do.

Its currently 7:15 pm but bakugou is no where to be found. ‘ maybe in his dorm?’ you think to yourself. knocking on his dorm you hear no answer “ katsuki?? are you there “ you hear a slight shuffle “ if i don’t here a answer i’m coming in and farting in your room”

“ what do you want “ he says as he opens the door. “ woowww how romantic that’s what every girl wants to hear from her boyfriend “ “ you just threatened to fart in my room and sorry i don’t want my room to spell like your crappy farts “ you pout at him and say “ at this rate you’ll never get your kiss.” and now there’s a door slammed in your face. welp you’re going in.

You open the door to see him seated on his bed “ i did not say you could come in”. you ignore him and sit next to him. “ you know you could’ve just told me” silence “ don’t ignore me “ silence “ katsuki “ silnce “ ….katsukiiii~~” you say one final time as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “ get off me women “ he says but makes no effort to move you “ hmmm no “ you say as you kiss him on the cheek. his eyes go wide and then fall back into in resting-angry face.

He turns his head towards you and try’s to state “ if you gonna tease me about this the-“ he’s cut off my your hand grabbing his shirt down to you and your lips on his. short and sweet. “ what the hell…” “ you know i was waiting for you to kiss me first but i guess this proves that i wear the pants in the relationship “

you didn’t think you were going to get away with that last comment but to your suprise bakugou pushes you away and lays down on the bed and closes his eyes. “ that’s not fair i wasn’t ready. “ he says as he pulls you down to on him. you smile against him “ you smell good “. he hums in response. he asks you a question trying to stray away from the topic but there’s a promise you have to uphold.

you lick you lips alot..like alot and as bakugou calls your name you suddenly sit up grab his face and pull him towards you. at first he leans into it but notices how wet your lips are and knows he didn’t do that. “ y/n what the hell” he says as he pushes you off him. “ what? that was kaminari kiss to you “ you see his face shift to confused to shocked to angry.

“ DUNCE FACE IM GOING TO KILL YOU “

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[alnilaem]

House of the Rising Sun butcher/neighbour simon x reader

-

The rusty knob of your shower gratingly creaks as you twist it. You look up at your showerhead, toward the sparse drops of water falling from the nozzle. How they splatter against the floor of your bathtub in quick, light taps. Dripping like a leaky faucet, emptying itself out. 

Annoyance congeals under your skin. You have a meeting in an hour, for a second job somewhere north of here, and still smell like the sweat you’re sleek with from the nerves. And, naturally, your shower isn’t working. 

It’s rashly undertaken desperation that pushes you out of your flat and in front of Simon’s. Clutching your towel and clothes to your chest, rasping on his door. You know he’s home—you can tell by the hum of the football match thumping behind the wall—and Simon confirms this by swinging his door open, looking down at you with his depthless, burnt eyes. 

He’s wearing a mask again. And before that deep-seated urge to see him without it, to see him bare, fully consumes you, you’re blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Can I shower here?”

Simon’s brows purse together, his eyes marginally widening, and you realise how odd that sounds. 

“M-mine isn’t working,” you tack on, “and I’ve got an interview in an hour.”

Simon grunts. The short, guttural sound carries an undercurrent of disapproval. “You gettin’ a second job?”

Temperately, you nod. Feel your knees grow tender as you’re dwarfed by his stature. 

He throws his chin over his neck, shepherding you inside. Simon’s flat smells of salt and antiseptic, a little bitter, and is flecked with things like fishing implements and staples for hunting. A bolt-action rifle is mantled above his television. A cobweb-cracked picture frame holds a photo of four men on the coffee table, inscribed in perfunctory writing, Scottish Highlands, 2019. That makes you avert your eyes, stare at your shoes, not wanting to seem pervasive as he leads you to his restroom. 

Here, you realise Simon is a red-blooded minimalist. He keeps his restroom barren, save for an eroded bar of soap on the lip of the bathtub, a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner bottle, and a shaving kit that looks stolen from an inn. 

Simon recovers something from a cabinet under the sink. When he stands back up, he holds it in his hand, awkwardly curling in on himself. It’s a little unseemly to see—a man of his big stature, trying to sheepishly make himself smaller in your eyes.

“A candle,” he grunts. “I heard birds like showering’ with candles or somethin’, yeah?”

Softly, you smile. A pang of something sweet hits your chest when you see the shells of Simon’s ears turning pink, his hands fumbling in his pocket for a lighter. He sets the burning candle on the counter, then proceeds to bull-headedly stand in the middle of the bathroom, staring at you. He reminds you of a dog on guard. 

You call his name and his spine straightens.

“What?”

“You need to leave when I’m showering.” 

If Simon had dog ears, they’d be sagging. He twitches like he’s confused, disappointed, and only now realising you’re waiting for him to leave. 

He turns and exits the bathroom. 

And even when you turn the knob, stepping under the shower, you notice the hot water can’t replace the warmth Simon had taken with him.

And you also notice, that while lathering yourself in Simon’s shower, invading his space, an affinity takes hold of you. A pinprick of belonging, and, an avaricious undercurrent for wanting something more.

[porcelainseashore]

Us

Pairing: Guitarist! Leon Kennedy x Singer! Fem! Reader

Summary: You've joined Chris, Claire and Leon in Stars Rebellion as the band's new lead vocalist. If you thought chasing fame was hard, dealing with your growing feelings for a certain blonde guitarist might just take the cake.

Content & Warnings: Rock bands, friends to lovers, romance, slow burn, feelings realization, fluff and angst, swearing, recreational drug use, drinking, implied alcohol abuse, sexual harassment, suggestive themes, panic attacks, religious guilt, other Resident Evil characters (Chris, Claire, Ada, Wesker, Jill, Luis, Irons, Steve).

Authors' Note: Mostly imagined RE4R Leon in this, though he's a cocky little shit in the beginning and mellows out later. As inspo, I’ve had Ethel Cain’s Michelle Pfeiffer on repeat and you’ll see why in the story. Special thanks to AliBelleRosetta for your wonderful feedback!

AO3 Link

It had only been a few weeks since you’d joined the Stars Rebellion, the band you were currently in, thanks to the recommendation of a friend of a friend. You’d somehow coasted along through college, finally free of your parents’ clutches, and made a new life for yourself along the way. It was as if you could be who you really were, without any tied past or history holding you back, and you’d never felt more alive.

You were backstage, warming up before it was time to head out for your first performance. Chris had come over to give everyone a pep talk, while Leon tapped out a beat on the body of his pacific blue Fender guitar impatiently. Claire was nodding away to her brother’s words as she frowned at herself in the cosmetic mirror, the bright LED lights illuminating her flawless skin. You sat at the back, quietly keeping to yourself as you always do, ignoring the jitters in your hands. The adrenaline was kicking in now, you were used to it. Soon, you’d be a completely different person. It was as if once you were on stage, a match was struck and you were on fire.

For now, you contented yourself with recalling the events of how you ended up with this motley crue. It had been a warm, humid Thursday afternoon, when you were done with your classes for the day, and you made your way over to one of the rental practice rooms at the back of a second-hand record store just a little off campus. Your friend Jill had told you that another friend of hers was looking for a new vocalist for their band. Seeing how you’d been singing on and off with various student bands that never really had the drive to go anywhere, she hooked you up, stating that said friend, Claire, was the most determined person she’d ever met.

So here you were, knocking on the door of the shabby, makeshift rehearsal room, covered in countless band and anarchic motto stickers.

“Come on in!” A chirpy, high-pitched voice called out.

The door creaked on its hinges as you opened it by just a crack, enough for you to poke your head through.

“Aw, she’s a shy one,” a boy with floppy, blonde hair who was sitting at the corner, hunched over his guitar remarked. His tone had no hint of maliciousness in it, just pure curiosity.

“Shut it, Kennedy.” The lady, wearing a distinct red leather jacket that matched the color of her hair tied back in a springy ponytail, rolled her eyes before greeting you with a warm smile.

“Hey…” She stuck her hand out, as you cautiously entered the room, taking in the new faces around you. “I’m Claire. You must be Jill’s friend.”

You returned back a feeble smile as you shook her hand. “Yeah, uh, and the Stars Rebellion, huh?”

“That’s right,” a beefy guy with cropped, dark brown hair behind the drum kit piped up. “Our previous vocalist left,” he paused, with his brows furrowed as if he had been reminded of something unpleasant. “You know how it’s like these days.”

You nodded understandingly as he continued. “We’ve got a sweet gig in about two weeks, so we need a replacement fast. You heard our stuff?”

“Yeah, ’course.” Jill had sent you all the recordings and info you needed to prepare yourself for today.

“Great, so-”

“Whoa, hold up a second,” Claire interjected. “Older brothers,” she sighed. “You know what they’re like.” She pointed towards the drummer. “Speaking of which, that’s my very own one over there.”

“Chris, say hello,” she ordered.

“Hi,” his monotone greeting accosted you while he waved over with a drumstick in hand. His confident and no-nonsense persona struck you as someone who was the natural leader of the group.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s really a cuddly bear underneath,” she whispered loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Isn’t that right, Chris?”

He grunted in reply, still looking as stoic as ever, his square jawline unflinching, as if his sister’s words had no effect on him.

“Anyway, I guess you can already tell, I’m on bass.” She swayed her hips a little, gesturing towards the instrument that was strapped around her.

The blonde cleared his throat, seemingly irritated at being relegated to the position of the last person to be introduced.

“And that.” She pointed over to him. “Well, that’s just Leon.”

With a bold smirk, he cradled the guitar to his chest, as his fingers danced along the fretboard, unleashing a cool, intricate riff that spiraled through the air.

“Also a fucking show off,” Claire retorted.

You caught his gaze and the bright blue eyes that lured you in dangerously close, like you were Icarus flying towards the sun. He was one of those boys your father had warned you about. Handsome, charming, but the devil in disguise. You could still hear his stern words about perdition and hellfire booming in your ear. You closed your eyes before they hurt too much.

“So, erm, why don’t we start with the first track on our demo?” Claire’s voice snapped you out of your reverie.

Blinking your eyes open, you bowed your head slightly in response, before getting into position behind the mic. You can do this. A silent prayer reverberated through your head, as the opening chords played.

And just like it happened every time, that magical switch flipped, and you became someone else entirely different from yourself, yet it belonged to every part of you. As you bellowed, growled and sighed breathily into the mic like a rockstar on acid, you noticed a change in the air around you and how your future bandmates looked at you in awe. It felt like an electric current coursing through your veins. It felt like coming home.

You only needed to go through another two more songs, before they were completely floored and decided there and then that they wanted you in. The vibe between the four of you was great, there was no denying that. And you had already started throwing in some moves that were usually saved for performances with Leon, as all of you jammed together.

“That was fucking awesome!” Leon exclaimed, with Claire following suit. Even Chris was smiling widely.

“Yeah, that felt really good,” you panted, a little out of breath from the exertion.

All at once, Chris patted you on the back, cementing your entry. “Welcome to the family.” You felt your heart tug at the last word. Could you really belong here now?

“Nice to finally have another girl in the band!” Claire blurted out, as she pulled you in for a quick hug.

“Mm hm, very nice.” Leon gave you a cheeky wink, before Claire smacked the back of his head.

“Behave.”

“Oh, I will,” he snickered.

You shuddered, wondering how a silly remark like that could get you so riled up, as you chose to suppress whatever thoughts that came bubbling towards the surface. He was just one of those cocky bastards who would let fame get to their head, you discerned. Probably had a bunch of groupies lined up too. So you paid no more attention to him than needed.

A large, rough hand landed on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “You good?”

You shook yourself out of the daydream, coming back to reality backstage, as you eyed the imposing, broad figure in front of you. “Yeah, I’m ready. Thanks, Chris.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As you strode out onto the stage, the crowd clapped and whistled, though the reception seemed rather lukewarm. Perhaps most of them were waiting for the later bands, who also happened to be the more established ones, to play. It didn’t matter though. Your job was to get them hyped up, and you knew how to do it well.

Leon nodded at you, indicating that he’d start running through the beginning licks of the song on the setlist you’d all prepped. At the same time, he gave you an encouraging smile, which eased the tension a little. Even though you’d only got to know him a few weeks ago, you soon realized that your first impression of him wasn’t exactly the most accurate, and that despite being an insufferable prick, he had another side to him that was caring and gentle. He’d patiently helped you run through the songs with him, and even took a couple of your suggestions in improving them. He hung out with you outside of band practice, wanting to get to know you as a person, and trying to make you feel comfortable within the group. Most musicians had a stick up their ass and would’ve never given you the time of day. But he did. You’d even go as far as to call him a lovable asshole.

As the whirring of Leon’s guitar filled the space, you clenched your fist, pumping it above your head as you let out a low snarl into the mic, before belting out the lyrics, your voice raw and powerful as it soared over the riffs and the steady rhythm of the drum and bass. At a particularly heavy drop, you leaped into the air, before landing on your feet and tearing through the vocals as you rocked out with Leon at the front, playing off the energy you exchanged with each other.

It was infectious, like a feverish dream, and the crowd’s excitement grew. Among the sea of bodies pressed together, you could just about make out the look of enthusiasm on their faces, their eyes sparking with the thrill of the moment, as they jumped, moshed and cheered to the music. Time seemed to pass by so quickly, as one song flew into the other. In between, you made sure to introduce the band, thank the organizers and the audience themselves, coaxing more screams and shouts in unison as you teased them about hearing another song, what it was about, praising them on how great of a crowd they were, and with a sly wink, asking them if they could give you more. And they were more than happy to oblige.

In the final track, a devilish grin broke out across your face as you turned towards Chris and Claire, both of them laughing and shaking their heads as they knew what was coming next, before you faced the audience again. Tapping your foot in time to the beat, you murmured sultrily into the mic, “You wanna see me swallow this mic whole?”

The crowd went mental at the proposal as your velvety laughter rang out across the venue. “Come on, you can do better than that.” You pouted, licking your lips suggestively. “How much do you want it?”

Once the crowd roared, you nodded in approval and pulled the cord of the mic taut between your hands, making a grand show of it, as you tilted your head back, slowly inserting the head of the mic downwards into your mouth. As it went in, you bit at the bottom of the head, gripping it securely between your teeth, as you went hands free and a scream ripped through your throat at the climax of the song. 

Sweat and energy radiated from every pore, as your band members kicked into action. Leon jutted his hips out, launching into a fierce, breathtaking guitar solo, his fingers pressing and weaving in and out of the strings like a blinding lightning. Claire remained the grounding force in a whirlwind of melodies, keeping a consistent beat effortlessly, as her head swayed from side to side. Chris added to the wall of sound with each strike and rattle of the snare drum, quickening the pace as he worked in the bass drum pedal and clashes on the cymbals in perfect timing, his eyes laced in concentration on the controlled chaos unfolding before him.

To say you ended in a bright explosion of sound was an understatement. The four of you hugged each other tightly and bowed to a resounding chorus of cheers and hoots, stamping their feet for yet another encore. You saluted and waved at them, your final words spilling out into the mic in gratitude, “Thanks so much, we are the Stars Rebellion! Have a good night!”

As you headed off stage, Leon pounced behind you, pulling you flush against his chest in a sweaty hug as you gasped in surprise. His hair was in a mess, darkened and clinging to his forehead in damp tendrils. “Holy shit, you were a completely different person up there! Y’know, like Ian fucking Curtis or something?” 

He blabbered on nearly incoherently, name-dropping various famous lead singers. “Karen O, yeah? And Alice Glass…”

“God, just give her a break already,” Claire giggled as she shoved Leon off of you.

You stifled a laugh, your meek personality returning the more you moved away from the spotlight. “Yeah, I guess? Um, thanks.”

Leon paused, looking at you in disbelief as he shook his head. “Jeez, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Lady in streets, freak in the sheets,” he mumbled almost inaudibly as you choked on your saliva and coughed violently at his quip.

“Leon,” Chris warned, as Leon held his hands up in mock surrender. 

Turning towards you, Chris sighed wearily, “Sorry about that. You did good though.”

Before you had a chance to answer, an alluring, provocative voice interrupted. “You all did good out there.”

Spinning around, you came face-to-face with a stylishly dressed lady in a red, skintight catsuit and dark leather heeled boots. A sleek, black bob framed her face, highlighting her sharp features and high cheekbones. You noticed that she focused all her attention on Leon, even though she was addressing the group.

Leon’s eyes widened, her outfit clearly seemed to pique his interest, and you could feel Chris tense up behind you, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. At this, Claire whispered into your ear with a hint of venom, “That’s Ada, the bassist of Midnight Sun.”

Midnight Sun. That rang a bell. They were one of the more established bands in the scene, though you’d heard rumors about how haughty they could be and that they would stop at nothing to climb their way up.

“Oh, there you are.” A man with slicked-back blonde hair and dark sunglasses sauntered over coolly. If someone had told you that he was an extra from The Matrix, you would’ve believed them in a heartbeat. 

The look of disdain was prominent on his face as he glanced over at you and your bandmates. He clucked his tongue derisively. “Tell me, what is it like being the warm up crew?”

Leon was about to lash out, but Chris’ reflexes were faster, holding his shoulder in a vice-like grip. Leon huffed, as he shrugged Chris’ hand off, conceding to remaining cordial for now.

“Wesker, you’re on next!” A stagehand called out from afar.

The man tipped his head in response, before wrapping an arm around Ada’s shoulders, pulling her away from your group as he smirked. “Watch and learn, amateurs.”

“Bunch of douchebags,” Claire muttered as all of you made your way towards the dressing room to freshen up. 

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Leon peering over his shoulder another time at the lady in red.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Seriously? That’s what was written?” You groaned, chucking Leon’s phone to the side as both of you lay sprawled out on a picnic mat across a grassy hill which connected to a park. A couple of liquor and beer bottles littered your side. Clearly, this was more of a boozy brunch than an actual brunch at all. You should’ve known better than to trust Leon to prepare something substantial. However, whenever he was around you, it seemed like he would make an effort to control his drinking habits, at least to a point where he was only tipsy but not wasted each time.

Since the last gig, the band had received many other offers to play at various venues and Chris had been eager to accept them all, in the hopes of attracting a talent scout who would spot and sign you to a major label. You’d gone on stage a few more times, with each round bringing you new fans and followers, as well as getting hounded by music journalists. Claire seemed to have a word for everything and this was no exception. She described them as rats, and in particular, a man named Luis Sera proved to be the biggest one of them all.

You remembered his irritating voice which had a slight lilt to it, as he called out for you after one of your shows in the previous month. “Señorita… hey!”

He definitely had a flair for making a spectacle out of everything that he did, and soon you’d discover that he was also a master of exaggeration. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, mi amor.” He bowed his head dramatically, as he took your hand, bringing your knuckles to meet his lips.

In the end, your band had given him half an hour of your time, only for him to grossly alter whatever answers all of you had provided during the interview when the article was published. He had pitted the Stars Rebellion against Midnight Sun, when in your opinion, both bands sounded nothing like each other and he was just doing it to stir up sensationalist shit. In addition to that, he spent most of the article writing about your looks and sex appeal, as opposed to the actual music.

To be fair, that was part of your showmanship, but it seemed like yet another case of sexism in the industry, where other male vocalists weren’t subject to the same fate as you and the handful of frontwomen, who still cut their teeth and pushed forward.

“Great,” you whined, burying your face in your hands. “Now, not only have we become an even bigger rival of Midnight Sun, he’s got people wondering if I can actually sing at all!”

Leon seemed amused by your mini outburst, but was otherwise unruffled by the comments in the article. “That’s what journalists do.” He shrugged. “Create fucking bullshit and drama. What’s new?”

He turned over to face you, taking your hand in his and squeezing it briefly before letting it go. “You’re insanely talented, you know that. Don’t listen to them.”

You smiled at his affirmation. The past months had flown by in a blur, and along with it, your bond with Leon had strengthened. You were the very definition of fast friends, having discovered many similar interests and common topics of conversation between the two of you. Although he still made the occasional off-putting remark, and was a bit of an attention-seeker, especially among the ladies, you enjoyed the time spent with him. It felt like you could be yourself and could talk to each other about anything without judgment.

Judgment. That word aroused conflicting feelings within you. On the one hand, being on stage felt freeing and you could do so many things there that would’ve been considered shameful in any other public situation. It was as though you could ignore the judgment or were immune to it. Yet, when it was time to return to the ‘normal world’, judgment haunted you wherever you went.

“Got a question though.” Leon grinned, and you knew he was coming up with another one of his pesky jokes again. “Can you sing?”

You whacked his chest as he howled with laughter. “Alright, come on, look. We’ll do it together, ok?” He whipped out his phone again, tapping on his music playlist. “I just wanna hear you sing something softer, please?”

Sighing in exasperation, you gave in to his curiosity, clearing your throat as you exposed the falsetto that you’d been hiding all this while in the city you’d run off to for college. Leon joined you on the backing vocals as you flowed through the song together, while you tried to ignore his gaze which lowered at your lips, seemingly entranced by what he was listening to. A blush crept up along your neck as the song ended.

“Didn’t realize you had that side to you,” he muttered in astonishment. “Where did you-”

“Church choir,” you uttered abruptly, hoping he wouldn’t press further.

“Oh.” That seemed to surprise him even more. “Didn’t take you as the religious kind.”

“I’m not.” You swallowed thickly, looking away.

“Your parents-”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” you hissed through gritted teeth, a little harsher than intended.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to-” He cut himself off, before sharing about his background instead. “My parents were kind of shitheads too. Well, mostly my old man.” There was another pause, as he shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Liked the bottle a bit too much.”

“I’m sorry.” You placed your hand over his, as he brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

“Don’t be. The band’s our family now.” He shifted himself up to his elbows, kicking mud off his boots. “Anyway, we don’t have to talk about your folks if you want.”

You softened up at this, realizing that he still had your best interests at heart, though a part of you felt like divulging what you had kept to yourself for so long. “It’s embarrassing,” you began. “Singing like that, kinda reminds me of the past I wanted to leave behind.”

Twiddling your fingers anxiously, you continued. “My parents were very into that whole religious thing. You could say it was almost cult-like,” you laughed nervously. “It wasn’t what I wanted to be, so I got out of it.”

Frowning, you pursed your lips as a vague memory of leaving your hometown amid a heated argument and tears came to mind. “Haven’t spoken to them in years. Probably disowned by them by now.”

“Their loss,” he replied sharply, staring you dead in the eye.

It wasn’t something you had expected to slip out of Leon’s mouth, but he had articulated it so transparently. You raised an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“You could’ve been a great televangelist,” he joked, and you chuckled along with him, finding humor in the otherwise unpleasant subject.

“It’s too bad, isn’t it?” You took a swig of the vodka bottle he offered you, wincing as the smooth liquid burned its way down your throat. “You know, when I’m up there performing, it feels like I can be whoever I want to be.”

“You can be whoever you want with me,” he spoke softly. You tried to search for any disingenuity in his eyes, but found none. “I like you all the same.”

“I like you too,” you professed, only to contort your face in horror a split second later, as you realized the implications of what you had just said. “Uh, I mean, not like that,” you sputtered helplessly. “You know, like-”

He rolled his eyes and snickered. “C’mere.” Tugging at your hand, he pulled you in close, giving you a solid hug. 

Gingerly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling deeply and relaxing in his embrace. Both of you carried a mild scent of alcohol, but you didn’t care. You were just happy to find a like-minded soul who saw you for who you were, as you did with him.

A random thought popped up in your head that you wanted to run by him that instant. It gnawed at your chest, waiting to escape. “Leon?”

“Mm?” You could feel him nuzzling your neck and wondered if he had gone past being tipsy.

“What do you think about writing a softer song? Like something more emotive,” you explained.

He still didn’t let you go. “I think that sounds great,” he murmured into your ear. “We’ll write it together.”

“Just you and me, us against the world,” he added wistfully.

You wondered what had gotten into him, but the idea of working on this creative project together felt right to you. Like a link in the thread of fate that was meant to happen.

“Us against the world,” you repeated, sealing your fate, as you felt his smile against your skin.

━━━━━━━━━━━

On a hot, sunny afternoon, you were grabbing milkshakes with Claire, before heading over to the skatepark, where another friend of hers, Steve, was trying out a couple of new tricks. He had a slender build and spiky red hair, with a punk aesthetic. In other words, the perfect skater boy. You were pretty sure he had a crush on Claire, but she seemed to be either oblivious or ignored it outright. Whenever he landed a cool trick, he’d look over at Claire for approval, only for her to give him a friendly thumbs up. 

While you sat by the benches, Claire turned towards you, wiggling her eyebrows as she commented, “You and Leon have been hanging out a lot together lately.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to appear nonchalant about it, as you sipped on your milkshake guardedly.

Truth be told, the increasing amount of time spent with Leon was causing certain inconvenient feelings to grow within you. You lied to yourself, claiming you saw him as nothing more than a friend. Falling for a lovable asshole was out of the question, especially one who might break your heart. Yet, the day where both of you drank in the park, accepting each other in ways you never thought possible, constantly replayed in your mind. Then there was the song you were working on together, the late-night calls, and the pick-me-ups for days when either of you needed support. He would drop everything to help you, and you were there when he sought comfort.

Each time you saw him flirting with one of the female fans or exchanging coy looks with Ada, you died a little inside. He was just a horny 23-year-old guy chasing after anyone with legs - at least, that's what you tried to convince yourself. So, you stayed silent about the whole affair, holding back how you really felt about him, in order to preserve your friendship.

“Anything going on between you two?” Claire asked casually.

What else could you expect from a final-year Communications major? Of course, she would have picked up on how weird you’ve been acting lately.

Still, you continued fighting a losing battle. “We’re just friends,” you asserted, poking absentmindedly at the leftover froth and cream in your drink with the straw.

She wasn’t having it though. “The question is, do you want it to stay that way?” Checkmate. You could almost see her gloating at you as you froze.

You shook your head, sighing defeatedly. “It doesn’t matter, he’s into other girls anyway.”

“Have you told him?” Crap, she got you there again.

You just gave her a noncommittal shrug.

“Look, I’m gonna level with you.” She set her drink down with an air of determination, as if she meant business. “In all my sad years of knowing that loser, he’s never behaved this way with a girl like you. Maybe he just needs a little push to see that.” Folding her arms, she cocked her head to the side. “You should tell him.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You sucked up the rest of your drink until there was nothing more than the bubbly, gurgling sound of air and drops of fluid. With a mischievous twist of your mouth, you added, “By the way, you should probably tell Steve you’re not interested.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

When you had finally plucked up the courage to try and tell Leon about your true feelings, things didn’t go exactly as planned. For starters, he had been rather distracted about the upcoming music festival that your band would be participating in and specifically, a promo event that was tied to it. It was all he wanted to talk about, so you couldn’t get a word in.

“It’ll be the perfect opportunity to get noticed,” he pleaded. “You have to go!”

“I’m not- I don’t do very well in these types of social situations,” you argued. “You know that.”

“Excuses,” he huffed dismissively. “It’s gonna be fun, come on.”

“Chris and Claire will be there with you,” you countered again.

Placing his hands on your shoulders, he declared, “No, I want you.”

Although you knew he didn’t mean it any other way, your cheeks flushed as you turned your head away, heart throbbing at the innocuous statement he had just uttered.

“I’ll be there beside you, the whole time,” he promised. “Please, just come along?”

Biting your lip, you weighed your options, even though your emotions had already gotten the better of you, and you had made your decision regardless of what he might say. “You swear?”

“Cross my heart.”

Unfortunately, you wish you had never agreed to him in the first place, because 24 hours later, you were singing an entirely different tune.

Leon had picked you up and headed over to the event with you as arranged. It was held at a swanky members-only club with a lot of pomp, ass-kissing and too much champagne. You felt completely out of place there, but tagged along like a lost puppy behind Leon, who was reveling in the publicity and getting to know who’s who. A number of the other festival bands were there, but you weren’t particularly close to them beyond a courteous ‘Hello’. You fiddled with the cocktail that Leon had got you, praying that the Redfield siblings would show up sometime soon.

At some point, Leon caught your attention, every so often looking over his shoulder for something, or someone. “I, uh, I need to head to the restroom.”

You nodded in puzzlement, wondering why he seemed so shifty all of a sudden.

“Cool, um, I’ll make it quick.” He gave you a sheepish smile and a wink before heading off hurriedly.

He looked even apologetic? You shrugged off that thought, nursing the lone drink in your hands as you thumbed the fabric of your silvery playsuit. After a while, you checked the time on your phone. A good ten minutes had passed, but he hadn’t returned. Weird, did something happen to him?

As you continued waiting, it started to dawn on you how oppressive and suffocating the atmosphere was. It reminded you of the times when you were surrounded by the rest of the community you’d grown up with in church, scrutinizing your every move. Cold sweat formed on your palms as your breathing grew rapid and shallow. A sense of dread developed within you as your vision narrowed.

Oh god, oh god, not here, no… You latched onto the wall for support, trying to apply the tactics you usually used to calm yourself down.

“Hey there!” Claire’s upbeat voice pierced through the downward spiral you had nearly been consumed by. “Where’s Leon?”

“Um, he went to the rest-”

“What the fuck.” Claire’s jaw dropped wide open and when you followed her line of sight, you understood why.

From afar, you spotted Leon and Ada in tow, sneakily heading out of the restrooms. Bold red lipstick was smudged across Leon’s face as he wiped away at it furiously, and his pants remained unzipped, like an afterthought. Ada combed through her ruffled hair with her fingers, adjusting the bottom of her figure-hugging dress. There were no guesses as to what had occurred there. Your mouth ran dry.

“That fucking-” Claire growled. “Ugh, I’m gonna wring his neck!”

“Claire, it’s okay.” You tried to placate her, but your voice was quivering.

She turned towards you, eyeing you sympathetically as she rubbed your back. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “Well, Chris is getting some drinks. Let’s go join him?”

You accepted, making your way towards the refreshments table, still mulling over what you had just seen. As you picked up a glass of sparkling wine, Claire relayed the entire scenario over to Chris, who just shook his head disapprovingly.

A few moments later, Leon had stumbled upon your group. “Where’ve you been? I was looking all over for you!” He barked, visibly frustrated at your disappearance.

Claire scoffed, and without another word, bumped against his shoulder as she brushed past him. Chris followed suit, without the bumping, though he made a face at Leon as he chugged down his beer. They expected you to come along, but you hung back, giving Leon one more chance to redeem himself.

“What’s up with those two?” he muttered in annoyance.

You held his gaze impassively. “What took you so long?”

“Is this a trick question or what?” He couldn’t look you in the eyes as he tried to evade your quizzing.

But you didn’t let up, not budging from your place until you had an answer.

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “There was a queue, okay?”

A rush of disappointment and heartache surged through you. The least he could’ve done was to be honest with you, but he hadn’t even managed that. He was lying directly to your face, which currently felt as if it had been given a tight slap in humiliation. With whatever dignity you had left, you excused yourself from the table, heading over to the Redfield siblings, as Leon looked on in incredulity and disbelief.

You spent the rest of the evening with Chris and Claire, who were mostly interested in the free food and drink, and knew a couple of the chiller, more down-to-earth musicians on a personal level. In an unexpected turnaround of events, you were actually having fun chatting with people who appeared to be on the same wavelength as you and making wisecracks about corporate functions like these.

In fact, it served as a fairly effective distraction from the boy you were pretending didn’t exist. He lurked around like a shadow, leaning against the walls in the corridors and the sides of the rooms. You saw him everywhere, hovering just within reach. Scowling moodily at you and your newfound friends, he tossed back a never ending supply of alcoholic drinks. You suspected he was on the verge of getting sloshed by now, and although a part of you was concerned about his well-being, you didn’t want to play the role of a babysitter, at least not for tonight.

Towards the end of the night, Chris and Claire had decided to take their leave and you would too, after getting some fresh air by the pool. However, this proved to be a mistake, as the minute you were left alone, you heard heavy footsteps shuffling up next to you. You felt a pit in your stomach, knowing well who it was before even facing the culprit.

“What did I do wrong?” Leon was slurring his words, and his eyes were glassy and bloodshot. The stench of alcohol on him was overwhelming.

Wrinkling your nose, you backed away, stating plainly, “You’re drunk, just take a cab home.”

“Don’t-” He grabbed your arm, attempting to steady himself. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“Leon,” you warned.

“What happened to us against the world, huh?” he retorted.

“Did you think about that when you ditched me to fuck around?” The accusation tumbled out of your mouth before you had a chance to rein it in.

His grip on you loosened, as guilt flashed across his eyes. “That- I, it wasn’t-”

“You’ve always been a bit of an asshole,” you interjected. “But a loveable one, who was also sweet and kind.” Tears started to collect at the corners of your eyes. “Now, you’re just completely horrible,” you spat, with a look of disgust plastered across your face.

Leon’s face contorted in anguish as he tightened his hold on your arm again. “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t like you like this,” you admitted, trying to break free from his grasp, as tears started to roll down your cheeks.

He tried to reach out with his other hand and caress your face, but you pushed it away. “Let go,” you demanded.

However, it seemed as if he couldn’t comprehend why you wanted to be as far away from him as possible. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “Can’t we just sort this-”

Then, something in you snapped. All the times when you had finally had enough and set your boundaries in the past, burning bridges along the way, came to a head. “No!” you yelled, shoving him off you, as he fell backwards and landed into the pool with a loud splash.

Some of the spectators laughed and jeered, as he floundered around mostly in shock, while you stormed off the site.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The next band practice session was awkward to say the least. You were running a few minutes late and when you’d reached, you could hear the shouting from outside the door to the studio.

“... sleeping with the enemy!”

“How is Ada an enemy?”

“You’re always messing things up for us!”

“Okay, break it up you two.”

Expelling a hefty sigh, you swung the door open, and the room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. You could feel their gaze on you as you placed your bag in the corner before getting to your usual position behind the mic, making sure to avoid any eye contact with Leon. The festival was coming up in the next month, and on top of that, you still had a smaller gig to play in between then. The last thing you wanted was for personal issues to get in the way of professionalism, so you buried your emotions deep within the abyss.

“Hey, um, you, uh-” Leon croaked out, trying to get your attention, but you ignored him, turning instead towards Claire.

“Sorry I’m late, shall we get started?”

Despite regarding you with a look of concern, she obliged and Chris counted off before all of you jammed to the opening song.

It continued on like this, where you gave Leon the cold shoulder. You had stopped hanging out with him and only communicated when necessary. He didn’t realize how much he would miss your company until it was gone. Things felt duller and emptier without you. Whenever he wanted to share his joys, sorrows and just the mundane things that were happening in his life, he’d try to call you, only for it to go unanswered. He left you countless voice messages, each more desperate than the last one, ranging from a mixture of hurt, blame and grief. It had only been a little over two weeks, but he was starved and alone, without the person he could truly count on. The song you had been working on together remained unfinished.

During the smaller gig you were playing at, you rocked out with Chris and Claire near the back, instead of vibing with Leon at the front. Maybe you were being petty with the way you were treating Leon, but he hadn’t given you a proper apology since the incident. The chemistry and connection between the two of you on stage was lost. Nonetheless, you gave the performance your all, and the fans went wild, so much so that when you crowd surfed, you ended up with shredded leggings and a bloody mouth. A random fan tried to grope you, but security intervened and you were dragged back up on stage by Leon, whose eyes were clouded with worry and apprehension. However, the adrenaline numbed the pain and you finished the gig on a high note, leaving the crowd buzzing with exhilaration and the sound of thunderous applause. It was a confidence booster and a great way to warm up for the festival gig.

Backstage, Claire helped you with cleaning the cut on your lip, as you reassured her that you were fine and such injuries were inevitable when you threw yourself headfirst into the crowd. She made you promise not to pull that stunt again, at least for the foreseeable future, before leaving you to finish up.

Just as you were heading out to regroup, an older, bearded man with neatly styled, graying hair and donning a snazzy waistcoat approached you.

“Brian Irons.” 

He held out a sleek, matte finish card with a crisp white background, his name in bold, black font in the center. Below, in smaller, elegant sans-serif type, were the record label he managed and his contact details. A thin, silver border surrounded the edges of the card adding a touch of sophistication. You took it from him, rapt by the design.

“Shall we speak somewhere in private?” he offered, beckoning towards one of the empty dressing rooms towards the end of the hallway.

In your elation and unwillingness to turn down such a timely opportunity, you jumped the gun, accepting his request immediately without waiting for your bandmates. Instead, you messaged them the details and informed them you would join them soon after.

“Amazing show,” he complimented. “You really are quite stunning.”

“Thanks, um, Mr. Irons.” You shifted your weight between both feet nervously, unsure of how to respond. Something in the way he looked at you made you seem like a prey caught in a bear’s trap and his words felt loaded.

“For you, it’s Brian, honey.” His lecherous tone sent shivers down your spine.

“Brian,” you echoed, slowly backing away to put some distance between you and the man.

“So, you kids wanna get signed, huh? Stars Rebellion, wasn’t it?” He advanced towards you with deliberate, measured steps, as if he were playing with his food at the dinner table.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, regretting the decision you had made earlier and the direction this conversation seemed to be steering in.

“Well, I can certainly help with that…” 

Your back was flat against the wall now, as he sidled up to you, eliminating any space between you as he caged you in with his body. His breath felt hot and heavy against your cheek, and reeked of coffee and cigarettes. As his hand rode up your thigh, you closed your eyes, holding your breath as a nauseating wave crashed over you and you tried not to puke.

“The fuck’s going on here?” A sharp, biting voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Brian pulled away and you saw Leon by the doorway of the dressing room seething with fury and a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, easy there, kid. Just getting acquainted, that’s all.” Brian tried to laugh it off as a joke, but Leon wasn’t having any of it.

“Get away from her,” he ordered, his steely demeanor unrelenting. “Now.”

Brian backed off, but came up to Leon threateningly. “Talking back to me like that?” he sneered. “I’ll make sure you’re ruined, punk.”

Leon took a step closer, issuing an unspoken challenge. “Yeah? Go ahead, sue me.”

At this, Brian cocked his fist back before taking a swing at Leon. Leon ducked to avoid the blow, shoving him aside as he unleashed a quick jab which connected with Brian’s nose. Brian fell to the ground, whimpering in pain while covering his face with both hands. Blood trickled down, staining his shirt as he cowered before Leon.

“Touch her again and I swear to god I’ll kill you,” Leon hollered. “You hear me?”

Brian nodded furiously as Leon walked briskly across the room, wrapping his arm around your shoulder before leading you out with him. Once you were at a safe distance, he cupped your face in his palms, examining you for any further signs of injuries.

“You okay? Did he hurt you?”

You didn’t respond, instead you clung to him in a tight embrace as your body trembled uncontrollably. He held you against his chest, resting his chin on your head as he stroked your hair soothingly. Both of you stayed there for a while, locked in each other's arms, until he suggested, “Let’s get you home.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

When Leon had informed Chris and Claire about the events that had transpired, they vowed to keep a closer watch on you and each other. There was now an agreement that if the whole band could not be present at a meeting, then at least two people at the minimum should be there.

Your band had upped the intensity of the practice sessions, as the date of the festival loomed nearer. However, when Jill spontaneously announced that she was organizing a house party at her place, all of you jumped at the invitation, seeing it as a way to let off some steam.

At the moment, you and Leon were in this weird, intermediary state of being not quite friends, yet not quite on opposing ends either. It seemed as if it was eating away at him inside, since the minute he saw you at Jill’s place, he weaved through the throng of familiar faces and approached you, asking if you were ready to talk about the elephant in the room. It wasn’t possible to keep ignoring him forever and you were tired of all the arguments and drama that had occurred lately. So, you decided to let him into your life again, or maybe just a foot in the door for now.

In one of the quieter rooms of the house, you sat beside Leon as he initiated an apology for the first time for his prior actions. “I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry, I really am.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I was a complete dick-”

“Yeah, you were,” you replied testily. “I panicked, when you, um, took your time.”

“What? Shit.” He looked down at his hands in shame, balling them into fists. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t want that to happen to you.” 

Clenching his jaw, you saw him drown in a sense of self-loathing. “God, I keep fucking things up. Please-” He took your hands in his, squeezing them as if he were proposing. “I’ll make it up to you, just give me another chance to prove it.”

“I missed you,” he whispered. “A lot.” It was as if a dam had broken, and he couldn't stop himself from pouring out all his admissions. “You weren’t talking to me, you weren’t returning my calls…”

“Whenever something stupid came up, all I could think about was how much I wanted to tell you about it.” His eyes glazed over, as if he were recalling a distant memory. “Guess I kinda took you for granted.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you made yet another decision against your better judgment. Although you had no guarantee that he would not repeat the same mistake, you placed your trust in him again, hoping that this time he would treat you as you deserved. 

“Okay.” You nodded, offering a weak smile. “We’ll try again.”

You yelped as he suddenly gathered you into a snug embrace, grinning widely from ear to ear. “I got you back,” he murmured into your ear.

“Don’t make me regret it,” you teased half-jokingly.

“Guys, get your free shit! Oh-” 

You and Leon quickly disentangled yourselves from each other as you saw Jill staring with her mouth hanging open. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No!” Both of you exclaimed in unison.

Jill rolled her eyes, her face etched with doubt, though she didn’t probe further. “Anyway, downstairs! First come, first served.” She jerked her thumb in the direction behind her, before trudging off to the next room.

“You wanna?” Leon gave you a knowing smile.

“Hell, sure, why not?” You shrugged, once again erupting in laughter with the boy you wanted to cuddle with and strangle at the same time.

So, that was how both of you ended up lying next to each other, strung out on a mattress facing the window. You knew the drill. Jill’s housemates were creative types whose generosity knew no bounds. House parties with them involved usually meant a certain supply of free drugs, which people could choose to engage in recreationally. You figured you were being very rock’n’roll by doing it, but sometimes you enjoyed how open they made you feel, like you could loosen up and forget about the things bothering you.

As usual, you and Leon had taken the same pills as before, both of you agreeing to take care of each other throughout the duration of the high. He held your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, as you giggled over a topic you had been discussing.

“Ready to watch the curtain breathing contest?” he chuckled.

“There.” You pointed in front of you, indicating that the shades were now moving on their own, like ripples in the tide.

“Atta girl.”

It felt nice like this, laying beside him. You could talk to him about anything in the world and he’d listen intently to you. That’s when you thought it was a good idea to make your confession. 

“I’ve liked you for a while now,” you gulped, your heart constricting though the urge to reveal your secret was stronger. “As in, more than a friend.”

He angled his head towards you, gazing at your expression with an affectionate smile. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Leon Scott Kennedy, asking me why-?” you snorted, clamping your free hand over your mouth as you struggled to hold in your cackles. As if he wasn’t aware he had a reputation for sleeping around with no strings attached. “I didn’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost.”

He tutted and sighed. “You wouldn’t have been. It’s different… with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re one of the few people who’d tell me exactly as it is, you care to listen,” he explained. “It just feels right, being with you, and… I trust you.”

You were reluctant to take what he had said at face value, after all both of you were tripping. As if sensing your hesitance, he professed, “I like you too, a lot.”

Still, a part of you denied it. “You’re just saying that.”

He groaned in vexation. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

Narrowing his eyes at you, he huffed in defeat, “Look, ask me again tomorrow when we’re sober, okay? Pretty sure I’ll say the exact same thing.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “You better not try anything right now though, ’cause I bite.” Baring your teeth, you snarled at him playfully.

“Uh huh.” He burst out laughing. “You’re kinda high off your face, aren’t you?”

“Just a little.” You winked.

“Alright, let’s try to get some sleep,” he grunted, shifting to his side as he extended his arms towards you like an invitation. “No funny business,” he promised.

You relented, nestling yourself into his arms with your back against his chest. He dipped his nose into your hair, breathing in the peace of the moment. Closing your eyes, you drifted off to sleep, your bodies spooned together in perfect symmetry.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The first rays of the morning light filtered in through the curtains, as you awoke to the collective chirps of the dawn chorus. You squinted, pressing a palm over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun, as you stretched yourself out against Leon’s sleeping body and yawned groggily. He stirred a bit from your movement, but easily fell back into slumber, snoring deeply. You remembered everything you had disclosed to him the night before and it scared you. What if he didn’t feel the same way when he woke up? What if it had all been a mistake? How would you be able to look him in the eye now? You felt anxiety rising in your chest.

Stealthily, you lifted his arm off you, creeping out of the bed and making your escape before you had to face the consequences of your actions. Grabbing your stuff, you snuck out of the room, tiptoeing so no one noticed you exiting the front door of the house.

It was about an hour later when Leon woke up, confused to find you missing from the mattress with him. Though in your rush, you had accidentally left behind your notebook, which you carried around with you everywhere to jot down inspiration for song lyrics. Picking up the chestnut brown, leatherbound journal, curiosity got the better of him as he flipped it open to the page you had bookmarked.

As he skimmed across the words you had scribbled down in your off-beat, cursive handwriting, he gradually realized that they were the draft lyrics to the song you had been previously working on together with him, before the temporary break in your friendship. He re-read the text again to catch the meaning between the lines. It was then that it struck him, you had essentially composed a love letter from within, expressing the depth of your feelings and yearning for him. It made his heart ache that you had been keeping this from him the whole time and he had been blind to it all.

Tapping your name on his mobile screen, he called you right away, but it went straight to voicemail. Fuck. What were you afraid of? He thought he had been clear in how he felt about you last night, but it seemed like you had gone into hiding again. 

Showing up at your place directly after this may cause you to retreat even further, but he was determined to win you over somehow. A plan began to hatch in his mind, as he drove home with your book in the passenger seat. Despite his exhaustion from the party, he set out to work on the music for the lyrics you had written, spending the rest of the day and even pulling an all-nighter to finish it.

After about a dozen energy drinks and cups of coffee, he marched up unannounced to the door of your dormitory, where you shared a room with another final-year student from your class, rapping on it several times for good measure. Your roommate opened the door, but her expression gave everything away before she had the chance to concoct any sort of tall tale. She could never really keep a poker face.

Placing his arm against the door to prevent it from closing on him, he called out your name. You appeared in his view then timidly, mumbling to your roommate that you would handle it. She packed up a few things and left, giving you and Leon some privacy.

“Your book.” He passed it over to you, before setting his guitar case down by your bed. “Open it.”

You glanced briefly at him in mild bewilderment, but did as he asked. It flopped open to a page with a deep crease in the center, naturally showing how frequently that section had been revisited. You gasped when you saw a bunch of chord notes written below the lyrics you had penned down from earlier. Your complexion turned a light shade of scarlet upon realizing that Leon had discovered your innermost thoughts, but there was no awkwardness in his behavior towards you, he was calm and collected.

Unzipping the case, he took out his acoustic guitar and perched himself on the edge of your bed. Resting the instrument on his thigh, he grasped its neck, tilting it slightly as he strummed a couple of opening chords.

“I pieced together the melody for this. Maybe you can join in when you’re comfortable,” he suggested.

It seemed he had memorized the entire song by heart, as he didn’t need your notebook for guidance. His mellow, honeyed voice cascaded through the room as he serenaded you with the song both of you had crafted, albeit separately. Now, you were coming together to bring it to life.

Seating yourself next to him, you harmonized with his vocals, pouring the entirety of your emotions and every moment of longing you had built up within you into the music, until the final note trailed off. Throughout it all, Leon had observed you closely, captivated by the raw, unfiltered quality of your voice and the vulnerability you displayed in your delivery of the lyrics.

His gaze lowered from your eyes to your mouth, as he leaned in, brushing his lips gently against yours, kissing you tenderly. Bringing his hand to your cheek, he caressed it, coaxing soft sighs and moans which he returned as you reciprocated the kiss. Panting as he came up for air, he traced your bottom lip with his thumb, feeling every dip and groove, as if mesmerized by its outline and shape. He didn’t need to utter a single word for you to understand that his feelings for you mirrored those you had confessed in the song.

Closing the distance, he pressed into your lips again, this time more fervently, as the kisses grew in intensity. His nose nudged against yours and you felt his warm breath tickling your skin, as he grasped the back of your neck, taking you deeper, breathing every essence of you in. Clutching his shoulders, you parted your lips slightly as he licked along the entrance, allowing his tongue to meet yours, twirling around it as saliva coated your lips, forming a glistening string between the two of you when you pulled away.

Grazing his knuckles delicately across your cheek, he asked, “Do you believe me now?”

You smiled, claiming his lips with your own in response.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The next time you performed the song live was at the festival, where thousands had gathered to watch the impressive lineup of bands. Chris and Claire had fallen in love with it when you and Leon had showed it to them, and were keen to expand the band’s range into something that delved into the territory of rock ballads.

All four of you wondered how it would be received by the audience, as it was rather different from the punk rock style your band was known for. Even so, you were psyched to finally showcase it to the public.

It was the song you ended with on your setlist, and the one which created such a poignant, special atmosphere, that it became a memory you would treasure forever. The hall fell into hushed anticipation as Leon plucked his guitar strings under the soft glow of the stage lights. Each note resonated deeply, minimalistic and stripped back, which added to the earnesty of the music.

Your voice opened the duet, intimate and haunting, as the melody unfolded like a story being told, rich with longing and a melancholic beauty that ached. The audience stood there entranced, as a soulful rhythm built up with the entry of the bass guitar and drums, adding another layer to the sound.

Leon moved towards you, sharing your mic as he sang his part, cementing a bond between you. Locking eyes with you, he pressed his forehead against yours, mingling sweat and tears as you both continued singing into the same mic, your heartfelt lyrics heavy with emotion. Some of the older people in the crowd sparked their lighters, while the younger ones whipped out their mobile phones, swaying them in time to the music, until everything was awash in a sea of flickering lights.

Your lips and Leon’s were barely touching as the last notes lingered in the air. His faint breath fanned across your mouth, as he swept his fingertips along your jawline, resting them under your chin. The space was thick with palpable tension, and your stomach fluttered just as it had the first time he had kissed you. Like a magnetic pull which he could not resist, he placed his lips over yours, kissing you again and again. It was as if the world had paused, just for the two of you. 

Singing this way no longer reminded you of punishment and shame, but rather of the connection you and Leon had. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he led you off-stage, past the phenomenal reaction of the crowd and the fist bumps shared between Chris and Claire.

Ada came around not only to congratulate him, but also to test the waters and seize the opportunity to flirt. Despite that, he held onto you tightly, maintaining a suitable distance from the woman he had previously been infatuated with, yet feeling nothing deeper compared to what he felt for you. It took him more than half a year, an explosive fallout and a few weeks of your absence to realize that. She smirked and shook her head, walking away as Wesker continued to ignore you.

Some things never change, yet some things had.

“How about some time alone?” he proposed. “Just us.”

Us. It was always meant to be about us.

You nuzzled your nose gently with his. “Yeah, just us.”

[repulsiveliquidation]

Arsenal’s Number 6

Leah Williamson x Reader, Part 3 of Fore! (double update today, wow)

Part 1 | Part 2

Leah’s ACL has healed and it’s her first game back. (let us pretend she’s back, eh?)

word count : 2k

warnings : fluff with smut at the end.

“Leah you’re going to be late!”

“I know! Just can’t fucking find my fucking–oh there it is.”

You’re holding up her kit bag, having had to put it away yesterday since she dumped it at the front door and didn’t clean it. You had cleared out her smelly training kit and cleaned her shoes, dusting out the grass at the bottom and replenishing it with all her essentials. It was where it went; in the cupboard by the door but she refused to put it in there so she never knew where it was when you picked up after her.

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya, pretty girl.”

“You’d be a mess, baby. A hot, fucking, mess. Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

//

“Your missus coming to the game Sunday?” asked McCabe in the changing room. They were packing up to go home, Jonas had let the girls know that the trainers had cleared Leah for her first game back since her ACL on Sunday against Brighton. Screams and cheers filled the room, all the girls glad to have Leah back on the pitch. She hadn’t stopped smiling, glad to finally be back where she belongs. But Katie’s question makes her smile fall.

“She’s probably going to be busy. She has students.”

“Bullshit Leah, Y/N knows how much this means to you.”

“I’ll maybe only be playing a couple minutes, there’s no point.”

“Leah, what’s this about?”

“Can we just drop it, please?”

Everyone leaves her alone at her request, squeezing her shoulder as they filter out. She had been waiting for this day to come and now that it’s here she’s terrified. Doubt fills her mind as she fears that she will make mistakes and cost the team. She’s scared that once she’s back she won’t be the same as she was before. She’s scared that Arsenal won’t want her if she isn’t back to 100% fitness. She’s scared that you’ll be disappointed and leave. You can’t leave. It would kill her more than never playing football again. She starts to hyperventilate, the room spinning as she tries to catch her breath. She’s desperately clutching her chest when she feels familiar hands grab hers and pull her into a firm chest. She’s shaking, the smell of you filling her nostrils.

“Easy baby, it’s okay. You’re safe, Leah. It’s just me, I’ve got you.”

It takes a few more minutes for her breathing to regulate and for her to stop shaking. You wipe her tears away and hold her face. You smile softly and kiss her, which makes her melt into your touch. Fresh tears prickle at her eyes as you pull her to sit in your lap.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

She takes a while to answer you, trying her best to calm herself. You rub her back and don’t rush her, softly cooing at her as she is finally able to catch her breath.

“Please don’t leave me.” She says quietly, looking up at you with sad eyes. You cup her cheeks and look down at her, face full of concern.

“What’s given you that idea, darling?” you ask her, wiping her tears away. She’s puffy and has snot running down her face, yet you can’t find a flaw on her face.

“They cleared me to play on Sunday.”

“That’s great news, love. What’s making you upset then?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh Leah, even if you didn’t play I would be so proud of you.”

“You’re too important to me to be a disappointment.”

“I will be proud of you no matter what. That’s my job. Other than being the world’s best girlfriend. You’re my world in this equation, which makes me the best girlfriend. Who’s the real winner here?”

“Me, obviously.”

“There’s my cheeky girl, I’ve missed her.”

“I love you.”

It takes you by surprise, the love in her eyes is almost replaced with pain till you grab her face and kiss her searingly.

“I love you too, Leah.”

//

You’re making dinner, a sad, bland chicken burger for Leah (she drools which is unbelievable) and a nice steak for yourself. She asked for a couple bites of your steak which you feed her but politely decline a bite of her chicken burger (honestly, not even a little spice, Lee?) 

You’re both sharing a bottle of wine with an Arsenal game on the tv when Leah suddenly muted the tv. She never missed one moment of a game and it took you by surprise.

“You can say no.”

“You really need to stop saying that. Anything you want I will make happen baby.”

“I-I want you there on Sunday.”

“I was going to be.”

“No, not as another face in the crowd. As in like there in the family section with a family pass around your neck. With my name on your back.”

“Nothing would make me happier. Well, maybe marrying you could come close second, we’ll see.”

You laugh at your own joke and miss the look or pure adoration on Leah’s face. She wants to make that happen, she knew in that moment that she was marrying you one day.

//

“Subbing in for the first time since April, Arsenal’s Number 6, Leah Williamson!” you heard the announcer say. There was only 5 minutes left in the game but proud didn’t even begin to express how you were feeling. Seeing her waiting by the sidelines, she caught your eye as you were sat in the family section with Amanda. “I love you,” you mouthed as she did the same at the same time. You had tears in your eyes, watching her smiling, so happy to be back on the pitch. She’s getting a standing ovation, the gooners happy to have their beloved captain back.

It was just a little tester of her headspace, gauging her readiness to be back on the pitch. She played flawlessly; she was back to being a force to be reckoned with. When the final whistle blew, Arsenal walked away with a win (a/n MANIFESTING), the girls from both teams congratulating her on her return. She was positively buzzing, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

You were nervously waiting in the changing room for her, Amanda wanting to see her on the pitch instead. She finally walked in, still grinning as wide as she could. She ran over to you, hugging you and spinning you around.

“You did it baby!”

“All thanks to you, pretty girl.”

You kissed her hard, the whole room cheering and teasing the both of you. You didn’t care, the both of you in a world or your own. She took a shower and got changed before you walked out to her car, hand in hand swinging happily. The whole drive home was filled with comfortable silence; you held her hand that was in your lap and softly rubbed her arm. She leaned over and kissed you at traffic lights, hand rubbing your thigh teasingly. You knew what she was insinuating and gave into her.

“You did so well baby, I’m so proud of you.”

“You look so hot with my name on your back.”

“Mrs. Y/N Williamson does have a nice ring to it.”

“We’re making that happen one day, pretty girl. Right now, I want to ravish you.”

//

You stumbled into the house, hands pulling clothes off each other impatiently. Riley was confused but totally stole Leah’s training shirt to bite on. You didn’t care, all you could think about was Leah. She picked you up like you weighed nothing, walking to your bedroom and locking the door. She threw you onto the bed, eyes dark with desire. Her lips were on yours instantly, kissing you dizzying hard. She crawled onto the bed slowly, pinning your arms above your head as she sucked noisily at your neck. You whined, core aching for her touch.

She ripped your undergarments off, mouth latching onto your breast. She bit and sucked, a growl leaving the back of her throat. She switched breasts, hands kneading them hard. You cried out in pain and pleasure, her grunts becoming more and more impatient sounding. “Fuck, turn over.” You obey her, arching your back more as she spanks your ass. She straddles your thighs, biting all over your back and taking off the rest of her clothes. She hisses when her clit grazes your thigh, grabbing your ass and spreading it roughly. She groans, leaning in and eating you out. You squeal and whine, hand reaching back to cradle her head the best you can. She man-handles you to perch your ass up, burying her face between your legs to lick and suck at you the best she can. She growls into your folds, slurping your sweet nectar like a hungry bear. You can only cry out her name and grip the sheets, her mouth assaulting you exactly how you like.

She suddenly stops and lays back, legs opening for you. “Come here,” she says with authority and you swoon at her demanding tone. You make no protest, settling yourself between her legs and wait for further instruction. “Make me cum,” she says with that same force, you can only oblige and lean in to slurp at her soaking folds.

The tone of authority in her voice and that signature focused face was more than enough to make your pussy throb with a need like no other. You obediently slurp and suckle on her folds, her hands making a home in your hair as she practically rode your face. You whine and slip your tongue into her, alongside two fingers. She yelps and moans your name, begging you for release. It only makes you work harder, tongue-fucking her as your nose buries itself in her clit. She screams your name and cums, legs trembling so violently. She smiles dopily, pulling you up and kissing you hard. You taste each other on your lips, both moaning into each other’s mouths.

“Want the strap, pretty girl?”

“Fuck yes, Leah.”

“Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

“Want you to fuck me, Leah. Please.”

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You gonna be a good girl for me, Y/N?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl.”

“On all fours.”

You listen, pulling yourself up into that position. She pulls out the strap and puts it on, lubing it up a little before getting back on the bed behind you. She lines herself up and pushes in slowly, feeling resistance she kisses down your back, spanking your ass a few times before thrusting shallowly. You open up for her, moaning her name loudly as she now begins to really pound into you. Her hands have an iron grip on your hips, pulling you back onto her cock. She moans like she can feel it, loving the look of your ass slapping against her hips.

“Fuck, r-right there Leah!”

“Yeah? You want my cock right there, darling?”

“Y-Yes! Fuck, please!”

She pounds into you harder, angling her hips up to hit your spot. She spanks your ass a few more times before you curse and beg for her to let you cum.

“Please Leah!”

“Come on my cock baby, there’s a good girl.”

You come hard, legs trembling and chest heaving. She fucks you through it, lips muttering profanities at you as you come down from your high. She pulls out and kisses you, taking off the strap and maneuvering you into her arms.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for coming out to watch me today.”

“I don’t think I’ll be missing a game anytime soon, Lee.”

[webslingingslasher]

I think about Trouble waking frat!peter up cause she injured herself going to the toilet in the middle of the night…

Smth like peter hears a loud bang and it startles him waking him up and like 10 seconds later while half asleep he hears a whine and sniffles

“Peterrr!”

And he suddenly becomes aware that you haven’t been next to him and jumps out of bed across the room.

peter notices you're gone when he woke up slightly, just enough to roll over and reach an arm out. you both started the night with cuddles and separated through the night, he's the one usually tugging you back to him.

when he met empty air he didn't think anything of it, you were either in the bathroom or getting water. there wasn't much else to do in the middle of the night.

peter shifts more towards the middle of the bed, when you returned you'd be forced to cuddle him. smacking his lips, he nuzzled into his pillow. it smelled like you.

he tried to fall back to sleep but he got an achy feeling, suddenly the hair on the back of his neck raised. peter sat up in bed, feeling wide awake, every sense ringing with alarm.

peter jumps when he hears a banging sound, eyes staring at this bathroom entry. he waits a second, then hears a few sniffles. a watery voice rings out for him.

'peter?'

he's up from the bed in a second, 'yeah, baby?'

'i hurt myself.'

peter walks straight in, you didn't shut the door but he was respecting your privacy, until he heard that.

'lights.' you shut your eyes to prepare for the harsh change.

you're clutching your knee, he can see scraped skin and dots of blood. peter frowns, crouching to replace your hands with his own. his eyes look around, you tripped on a towel he left out, his heart clenches with guilt.

'just the knee?' you nod with a whimper, the skid before you hit the ground scared you more than the actual fall itself. your knee burned but it wasn't unbearable, just a sting, the threat of sheets resting over the cut was more painful.

'i'm sorry, baby, i should've put the towel in the hamper.'

you shake your head, 'it's okay, just scared me.' peter presses a kiss to your forehead before picking you up in a bridal carry. you clutch his arm at the sudden movement, only slightly amazed by his strength.

peter kisses your cheek when he sets you down on the counter, his head hangs to kiss your shoulder. moving in silence to grab his first aid kit and hydrogen peroxide.

he tsks looking at the damage, damp cotton ball in hand he cleans your wound; looking defeated when it bubbles.

'i am so, so sorry, baby.'

you know he is, he's calling you baby. he only does that when he wants to soften you up, or when he's feeling guilty. you pull at his wrist, 'i'm alright, petey. it's nothing worth beating yourself up over.'

'it shouldn't have happened.'

rolling your eyes, you gripped his shoulder, he felt warm and cuddly.

'hey, you know why people call 'em accidents?'

peter's smoothing a bandaid over the scrape, 'cause they're accidents.'

'exactly. all i need is from you is to kiss my boo-boo and let me be the little spoon.'

peter leaned down to kiss your bandaid, pressing kisses up your leg until he reached your pajama shorts.

'anything you want, trouble.'

[0vergrowngraveyard]

am i insane or is starline’s plan actually coming together?

surge and kit are being propped up as heroes and praised, meanwhile this situation sonic and tails are in is going to get them in trouble with the restoration. even if they reveal clutch and mimic by the end of this arc, they still worked with eggman. sonic is using eggman’s tech. it’s not even that it’ll be viewed as a betrayal, that is a betrayal

if things keep going the way they’re going, sonic and tails are be seen as, at worst, traitors to the restoration while surge and kit are heroes, meaning that the latter are one step closer to replacing the brothers when it comes to public image

surge and kit didn’t even have to kill them, just leave them to their own devices and sonic and tails will fuck up their own reputations ahshdhdjdjs (they do have good intentions in this case, but still-)

am i looking way too much into this? yea probably lol but that’s what i do. idek if any of this makes sense

[in1-nutshell]

Silver Aid the sparkling (long version)

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Slight Famialal, Cybertronian (techno organic) reader

TFA

“WHERE IS SHE!?”

“I THOUGHT SHE WAS IN THE ROOM!”

“SHE’S JUST A SPARKLING, SHE COULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN TOO FAR!”

“HOW DID SHE EVEN GET OUT OF THERE!?”

A few hours before the incident…

“Megatron are you sure this is… wise? We don’t know its full extent; it could be dangerous.”

“That’s why we are testing it.”

“I know the reason Megatron…”

Megatron looked over at Silver Aid.

She had made her way to his side with one servo clutching her med kit. Her optics scrunched a bit in concern and curiosity. Probably wondering who she was going to fix up once this ‘experiment’ was done.

The Decepticons had recently uncovered a ‘relic’ of sorts. It emitted a high energy level, possibly enough to power the spacebridge for longer periods of time. If this worked, more supplies and troops could be sent through the bridge.

“Everything will be fine.”

“You don’t know that Megatron, its dangerous to gamble with relics.”

“It’s a gamble we must take.”

Silver just sighs and closes her optics.

Megatron let a small smile on his face and gently pulled her to his side. He smiled more seeing her fight a growing smile on her face.

“You’ll see my dear. Everything will turn out right.”

Silver Aid huffed a bit giving him that small smile.

“LORD MEGATRON!”

Megatron and Silver Aid jumped apart at the sound of Lugnut’s voice.

Megatron sighed, while Silver Aid giggled a bit at his dismay.

Lugnut walked in front of the pair and bowed a bit to Megatron.

“Lord Megatron! The device is ready for testing!”

Megatron nods.

The three walked behind the safety tape. Megatron moved slightly in front of Silver Aid, who swatted his servos in response.

“Its fine Megatron, or are you going to admit I was right about this being slightly dangerous?”

Oh, Primus she was smirking at him!

Taunting him!

He was not going to lose this round.

The warlord turned to Starscream and Blitzwing who were at the side of the device.

“Proceed with the activation.”

Starscream grumbled under his breath before starting up the machine. He and Blitzwing soon flew to the group on the safe side of the safety tape. The team waited in anticipation for the device to start working.

The device started glowing and whirling with life. Bits of sparks flew, but otherwise remained steady. According to the levels in data pad, the energy it was putting out was increasing rapidly. Soon enough the levels were starting to go above the estimated levels.

Silver Aid tugged at Starscream’s servo and pointed at the increasing levels with a worried look. If anyone here was going to agree with the danger of the surge in power levels, it was going to be Starscream.

Starscream’s optics widen and went to tell Megatron.

BOOM!

The entire group was thrown back from the explosion.

Megatron and Starscream were thrown on their backs; Blitzwing landed on his chassis with Lugnut landing on his wings; Silver Aid had been thrown on her side a few feet farther than the rest.

Silver Aid rubbed the side of her helm groaning.

“Sound off, anyone offline?”

Muffled yelling was heard from underneath Lugnut causing Starscream to wince a bit.

“I think Blitzwing will if Lugnut doesn’t get off of him.”

Lugnut quickly rolled off the Triple changer, his cursing much more audible now.

Megatron slowly sat up popping one of his back struts turning to her.

“Are you alright?”

Silver gave him a smile before it was replaced by a frightened one.

No one had noticed the stray energy beam that had been produced from the explosion. Neither did they realize the beam heading straight towards Silver Aid before it was too late.

Megatron got up and reached out to her.

“SILVER!”

“MEGA--!”

BOOM!

The Decepticons were once again thrown back from the smaller explosion. Once the ringing stopped in his audials, Megatron stood up looking back where Silver Aid had once been. In her place was a bunch of rubble and some pieces of equipment.

“Silver Aid!”

Megatron sprinted to the rubble and immediately started digging through.

Blitzwing, Lugnut and Starscream soon came to his side and started digging.

Starscream muttered under his breath as he continued to dig.

“I swear if you offline and leave me here with them…”

He swore in his mind he was going to personally offline her if she was terminated by a measly blast! The Second in Command’s servos started to shake the more time passed and not a single sign of life was found.

Blitzwing, for once, had settled on one face to concentrate on the digging.

Hot Head was screaming and wanted to blast the rocks so he could find her. An idea that Icy heavily argued against doing.

Random was strangely quiet.

Icy was the most composed and just kept on digging.

Lugnut was getting even more anxious the time went on. He knew as well as the others that Silver Aid was not as durable as they were, curse her softer organic side! He should have done something! Strika would have!

Megatron looked emotionless as he dug.

Inside, however, kept on playing the fearful look on her face before the blast hit her chassis.

Why did these things happen to her!?

What else did the universe want to punish her for?

What did she ever do to offend it!?

He needed to get her out as quickly as he could… she didn’t like cramped spaces.

His digits brushed something warm, the warlord didn’t hesitate to pull it upward.

Megatron was not expecting to be holding… a sparkling?

The sparkling with a familiar color scheme…

The other Decepticons had the same dumbfounded look on their faces.

“What… the… f—”

THWACK!

“Hey!”

“You never swear in front of a sparkling! That’s a new low even for you Starscream.”

Starscream rubbed his helm glaring at Blitzwing.

“Just you wait until I—”

“Enough.”

Megatron stood up with the sparkling in his servo. The little one just blinked while looking around curiously.

“We need to figure out how… this happened. And as soon as possible.”

Lugnut steps up and gently pokes the sparkling on her tummy, a little giggle escaped from her.

“And who should be in charge of watching her?”

Megatron paused thinking about Lugut’s question before he looked down again at the sparkling.

She blinked again.

“Eeta?”

No one knew what that was. Must have been sparkling gibberish.

“Nel?”

Yes, just sparkling gibberish. Megatron shook his helm.

“Everyone will take turns in watching her. In the meantime,”

Megatron walked over to his habsuite and emerged with a crib.

All the Decepticons gave him mixed looks.

“Is that—”

Megatron cut off Blitzwing.

“Silver Aid wanted to try building contraptions out of the left-over scrap that wasn’t safe to have in the base.”

“Sure…”

Megatron carefully puts her down.

She whined a bit before finding a coloring data pad in the crib.

“Decepticons, move out and find that cure!”

Blitzwing and Lugnut waved a bit at the sparkling before leaving.

Starscream shrugged but did eventually leave with a little smile on his face.

Now it was just Megatron and Silver Aid.

“Oppy?”

Megatron looked down at her.

“What?”

“Oppy?”

“I don’t understand…”

The sparkling made an annoyed sound and sat down with her coloring data pad.

Megatron sighed and sat down.

This was going to be a long day…

It had been a couple hours and the babysitting system the cons had was going exceptionally well… until they completely forgot to tell the other it was their turn to watch Silver Aid.

Silver Aid just looked around bored.

The nice bots that were around earlier were nowhere to be found, o one wanted to play and still no sign of Oppy!

…Maybe Oppy, Nel, and Eeta were in trouble!

They were always in trouble when she wasn’t with them. That was the only explanation to why they weren’t with her!

She had to find them!

Good for her, Silver had quickly learned this new webbing thingy was stretchy and strong, maybe if she hit it o those rocks over there…

With one go, the little sparkling was flying across the room and landed a bit roughly on the damp floor.

Wobbly, she stood up and began to walk around until she found an exit.

At the opening, Silver Aid saw a bunch of lights in the sky

Colors red and blue.

Just like Oppy’s colors!

That’s where Oppy must be!

Carefully Silver Aid started making her way down the entrance and followed the pretty colors in the sky.

It was a couple minutes later before all four mech suddenly appeared in the same room.

“Lord Megatron? I thought you were watching Silver Aid?”

“No, was it not your turn Lugnut?”

“No, I thought it was Blitzwing.”

“No, it was Starscreams turn.”

“No, it was Megatron’s turn.”

There was a silence before they all ran to the crib to find it empty.

 “WHERE IS SHE!?”

“I THOUGHT SHE WAS IN THE ROOM!”

“SHE’S JUST A SPARKLING, SHE COULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN TOO FAR!”

“HOW DID SHE EVEN GET OUT OF THERE!?”

[silky-nereid]

☘ love like a broken pot || DARK CONTENT

yandere! crime lord x second hand in charge! reader/you

tw : minor & major injuries, manipulation, degradation of self-worth, intimidation and implied murder.

Yandere! Crime Lord who found you when you were nothing; a mere husk covered in scars from a previous crime lord that had been too rough with you and he took it as a challenge to rebuild you; a better you. 

Yandere! Crime lord who is not well-liked in the underworld because he’s known for taking disposable men that were traitors or new people that had either defied death under his wings because the other families would’ve killed them already.

Yandere! Crime lord who isn’t afraid of causing harm to you or to others that are teetering on the edge of betrayal because he’ll purposely step on past wounds of the crew for his benefit. 

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, wearing plastic gloves stained with various mixtures of colors on the once white tank top. Your stained hands applied the tin foil strips to the newly dyed pieces of hair. 

“You’re my favorite,” he said. “You know this, don’t you? You can talk, I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“I.. I know.” Your hands finished folding the last piece of tinfoil on his hair. “But what happened to Ja—“ 

“He betrayed me, he betrayed us,” he explained. “After that stunt he decided to take a swim. Don’t even mention those who betrayed us.”

Yandere! Crime lord who often dyes his hair strange colors and never lets you choose the colors because he has a dartboard to help him choose his dyes but you often have to go and buy the dyes for him.

Yandere! Crime lord who often patches your wounds that you got from missions that he sends you on and enjoys it when you bring back trophies for him to show that you complete the mission. 

Yandere! Crime lord who likes it more when you bring him simple trophies from the mission like a bloodied golden tooth, a switchblade that he eyed; the way it twirled in the hands of the person that didn’t deserve it, golden cufflinks that he could wear or rings that he could add to his fishbowl that he has; enjoys the weddings rings because they are pairs. 

He finished washing his hands, seeing you closing the trunk. Blood remained on your cheek, turning to him. His hand pulled you by the collar of your shirt, eyes stared into your very being; he could break you if he wanted too.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he threatened. “Too sloppy to be exact, next I’ll have the cops at my door because of your sloppiness. Do I need to get Marcus to do your job?“ 

“I’m not getting sloppy,” you confessed. “Just have too much on my plate.”

He let go of your collar, eyeing you up and down and a simple smile carved on his lips. 

Yandere! Crime lord who purposely little by little stops giving you the attention that you as you were slowly getting replaced by someone better than you but still keeps an eye on you somehow; has your schedule written somewhere. 

Yandere! Crime lord who enjoys seeing you wallow in your misery and how you’re discarded ever so quickly by other caporegrimes because you were chipping away at your own patience. 

Yandere! Crime lord who fails to notice the planted bugs inside of his gentleman’s lounge because he’s too busy answering the phone in the miniature barber shop. 

Your eyes looked at the ruins of the gentlemen's club and the hands that caused it. You didn’t mean it, didn’t you? You turned around seeing his long shadow on the floor, covering your hunched form and flipping the golden lighter open and close; eyes that threatened to burn your skin. 

“I didn’t give you an order to cause this.” He gestured to the blood trail that was smeared into the miniature barbershop. “Clean this up.” 

He went from behind the bar, disappearing for a moment and pulling a first aid kit. He walked towards you, handing you the first aid and his hand caressed your lower cheek and neck. Your eyes watered, hands trembling desperately clutching his sleeves and staining the sleeves with someone’s blood; it hurts…

“Why did you betray me?” He asked. 

He twisted the blade further causing a gasp escaping your lips. 

“Just to think I was going to let you finally go to a normal life,” he berated. “But you couldn’t keep your lips shut, singing like a canary to the police.” 

He pushed you away, watching you stumble around. He sat down next to your hunched wounded form, blood formed a small puddle around you and his hand tightly gripped your chin and turned it to face him. 

“You must not be feeling the pain.” He pressed on one of the many open wounds. “There you go.” 

Your blurred eyes watched them pull him away, the ringing in your ears continued. Unfamiliar warm hands that pulled you up onto emergency gurney and looking up at the dusk sky; seeing the colors fade into each other. You looked over to him while he was seemingly being handcuffed, placed into the cop car but he never broke eye contact.

[braesideautorepair]

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[musings-of-a-rose]

Hi, congratulations on 1000 followers, you really have no idea how much your writing helps me, thank you.

Can I request 15, 16 and 45 from the Fluff Prompt List? with Frankie? thank you, again <3

I'm Right Here

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 1k+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I hadn’t intended to be the one writing for my 1k followers, purely because I have a lot going on (I’m good - it’s just life!) and I knew I wouldn’t have the time to dedicate to writing a ton of prompts. But I wanted to write this one! Initially, I saw something very angsty with these prompts, but considering you chose them off the fluffy list, I decided to stick with a fluffy theme.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

“You’re hurt. Please, just let me help you.”

Frankie shakes his head, immediately groaning and rubbing his temples.

“I’m o-”

“Don’t you dare say ok. That guy got a few good hits in.”

Frankie cracks open an eye to glare at you. “I won that fight.”

“Ok, Benny. You may have won but that doesn’t mean you aren’t hurt.”

“I can do it mysel- fuck!!” Frankie tries to stand from the couch but slumps back, hand clutching at his side. 

“I’m right here, you stubborn ass. Let me help you.”

Frankie sighs, finally giving in, shoulders slumping back, wincing at the motion. “Ok. You win.”

You pull out a small first aid kit, grateful that you had one stashed in your bathroom. Your hand comes up to gently hold his chin, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin as you dab at the gash on his cheek. His eyes are on your face, as if he’s taking you in. 

“Why did you fight that guy?”

Frankie is silent a moment. “He was a jerk.”

You chuckle. “I’m not debating that but why fight him? He was twice your size. You’re a skilled fighter which is the only reason you’re walking away from this with a handful of injuries. What did he say?”

Frankie’s eyes don’t quite meet yours, looking away. He shifts nervously where he sits. “He- he was just saying jerk things.”

“Frankie?”

“Don’t worry about it. Ouch!” You had dabbed a bit of rubbing alcohol on his cut, making sure it was disinfected from the other man’s rings that had gouged into his skin.

“It’s not like you to just fight a guy, Frankie.”

“Look, just-” He moves his face from your grip “-forget IT HOLY SHIT WARN A GUY!”

You had cut him off by placing ice on his bruised ribs, causing Frankie to nearly jump out of his skin. Laughing, you move your hand and replace it with his to hold the ice in place. 

“Don’t be a baby. It’s just ice.”

“It’s fucking cold.”

“That’s what will help the bruising. But don’t change the subject.” You fix him with a look and his eyes soften.

“I-I don’t want to say.”

“Frankie, I’m a big girl. I can take it. What did he say?”

Frankie’s eyes meet yours. “When you turned him down, he said a bunch of terrible shit about you. I’m not going to repeat it.”

“So, wait…did you beat that guy up to..defend me?”

Frankie nods, looking down at his hand that was holding the ice. “Yeah. I wasn’t gonna let him talk shit about you.”

“Oh Frankie. Why would you do that? I mean, I appreciate it but it’s not worth you getting hurt over it.”

“Is it not obvious?” He’s speaking to me but his eyes remain on his hands.

“Isn’t what obvious?”

He’s silent now, obviously nervous about whatever he wants to say.

“Frankie, look at me.” He sighs, bringing his deep eyes up to mine. 

“We’ve known eachother since what, the 3rd grade? You yelled at Timothy Mattheson when he pulled on my braids? We’ve been best friends since then. You can tell me any-”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I- you’re what?”

He sighs, nodding slightly. “I’m in love with you.”

“But..for how long?”

“Since the third grade when I yelled at Timothy Matteson.”

Tears well up in your eyes. You had had a crush on Frankie since then too, but you’d always told yourself it was one sided. There was no way that Frankie liked you in that same way and you were too terrified to lose him as a friend to ever ask.

“Look, you don’t have to feel the same way about me. It’s ok. But could…could you just…hold me? For just a moment. Before you break my heart?”

As if I could ever hurt you.

“If I hold you, I’m never letting you go.”

Frankie’s eyes snap to mine, a slight glimmer of hope in them. “What?”

“I love you, Francisco Morales. And I have ever since we met.”

Frankie throws his ice pack on the couch, wincing as he sits up, his hands coming up to hold your cheeks. He hesitates only briefly, his eyes studying yours before he pulls you in, lips gently brushing against yours. Losing yourself in the kiss, you reach forward blindly to grab at his shirt, but your fingers poke at his bruised ribs and he breaks the kiss to swear.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok.” He lets out a breath of pain. “I want to kiss you so bad but maybe we should wait for this-” he gestures to his ribs which are turning a dark, angry purple color “-to heal a bit?”

“I think that’s fair.”

Frankie beckons you to him, cuddling you up on his opposite side. You swear you can feel him practically purring with happiness and you’re sure he feels the same from you. 

-------

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[dreamstate4you]

Hobie

-Medical student reader x Hobie Brown.

-fluff and slight angst

-1.2k words

(Pt 2)

Today's day was an exhausting one. You sat besides the sofa, too tired to even move an inch as your eyes were locked onto the pages of papers Infront of you. You had written the first part of your medical exam today and some genius of a professor decided to make everyone write the second paper on the next day.

In the midst of your inner debate, on whether to be a good student and study like you are supposed too or just take a leap of faith and just wing the second paper( the first one did count more so if you do well on the first one it's basically a pass) you heard a knock on your window.

At first you thought the knock was a pigeon who knocked it's own lights because of it's 'lack to see windows' ,but the knock returned again. This time it was a bit harder and it came accompanied my a familiar voice you knew too well ,Hobie's voice.

You rushed to the window. Hoping over the stacks of paper that once took away your ability to even move a finger.

You uncapped the lock on your window to indeed find out that it was your beloved boyfriend ,Hobie...who didn't look too good.

His mask was torn revealing the lower part of his face. He was clutching his side as he looked to even be struggling to support his own weight. It wasn't unfamiliar for Hobie to do this, to show up injured in your dorm room completely bruised. You once questioned him why he doesn't just go seek medical help at a proper hospital, but he insisted that he only trusts you and hates hospitals.

You stepped aside. Helping support some of his weight as he crawl-walked into your dormitory. "I swear it's just a scratch ,love. Don't worry bout' me!" Hobie groaned roughly as he tossed his mask aside.

Hobie groaned his way next to where your pile of papers were placed. He sat besides them not wanting to sit on the sofa in fear of getting it dirty. You didn't say anything as you walked to the bathroom cabin and took out the medical kit. Walking back to see him lean his body onto the sofa.

"So what was it this time?" You asked getting him a glass of water to go along with the pain-killer pills. Gently lifting his head to wipe the blood that was dried up in his face.

It proves to be difficult as he kept staring at your eyes ,not even answering your question. You shyly glanced at him before quickly focusing back on his wound. Raising your eyebrows in a manner that told him to answer you were waiting for answer.

Hobie's attention was broken by the slight sting of his wound. "Nothing much, just a run-in with a villain of the week." He lets out a small Chuckle,but is quickly replaced with a soft sound of 'ouch' as you rubbed an ointment on his wound.

You remain silent not understanding how he finds his state amusing. You moved away from his face and payed attention to his side. It wasn't a deep cut, it just needed a bit of cleaning and some time to rest then he would be back to his healthy self.

Hobie noticed your silence, his smug smile quickly faded as he noticed the look of concern on your face."Hey, babe, don't stress. It's just a few scratches. I've had worse you know." He spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine affection trying to smooth out your worry. "And I've got you to fix me up, don't I? You're my secret weapon."

You sighed as you took a bandage and gently placed it on his side wound.

"I know, I know, but it's the third time you come to me with an injury this week!" You slightly raised his voice. You didn't mean to, the frustration and worry for his well being were just building up. "You have been really reckless this week."

Hobie looks at you with a mixture of guilt and affection in his eyes. He reaches out to take your hand, his grip gentle yet firm. "I'm sorry, love. I don't mean to worry you, but you know how it is out there. We're fighting for something, for a better world and sometimes, things get a bit messy." He pauses for a moment, his gaze locked with yours. "I promise, I'll be more careful. I don't like seeing you upset."

He brought your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. "You mean the world to me, and I don't want to cause you any unnecessary worry."

His words brought you a momentary of relief. He was a superhero after all. You just had to put your trust in him.

"Hey how about we go skating." You proposed an idea to him. It was something the two of you enjoyed doing ...well you enjoyed skating. He was just bad at it but hobie enjoyed watching you have fun. "You can't join me. You'll just sit on the bench and watch my skate."

Skateboarding was one of your many hobbies, a favorite one because it was how you met Hobie. A skating trick gone wrong had you spiraling down the street, bumping into him with his guitar that you unfortunately broke.

"You're not just saying' that to get out of your study work." Hobie eyes the stacks of papers that were sides the two of no.

"No." You replied with a mischievous smile. Looking hobie In the eyes as his face also formed an amused grin.

You and Hobie ended up going to a small park that was east of your university. When you both got to the park, the first thing you did was show him a new trick you learned.

"Okay now watch." You held the board close so it would not roll of.

"I'm watching." He was sitting on the grass. His legs crossed and holding your small backpack between them.

You chuckled at his response. "No watch the board, not me."

"I am."

"No , you're not." You playfully argued back at him.

"How could i not when you're so beautiful ." He complimented you. His eyes not breaking contact with you.

"Hobie-" you were about to sat something, but we're inturpted by his watch ringing.

Hobie's face scrunched up in a mix of annoyance and curiosity as he hears his watch ringing. He looks at you apologetically before checking his watch and answering the call. You could not make out what was being said on the other side of the call.

"Alright, I'll be there in a bit. Just finishing up something with Y/N. Yeah, I got it. Catch you later, man." He ends the call and looks at you, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Sorry, love. Duty calls. Miguel needs some backup for . . . some Spider-Punk business. You know how it is." He stood up and dusted his pants. He was still holding your bag in his hands. He took off his jacket and laid it on the ground before placing your bag on top of it, afraid of getting it dirty.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise. But for now, duty calls." He gently kissed your cheek. Looking at you apologetically one last time before he rushed of to a close location away from preying eyes to open his portal watch.

And you were left alone in the park. You sighed as you held your skateboard close to you and looked at the sun which was starting to set.

One more lap until I go back to studying.

[naomis-daydream]

ex-factor // modern au!officer!izogie

summary: exes who can’t let each other go, based on ‘ex-factor’ by lauryn hill. izogie gets hurt and calls the one person she needs to feel better, but also the same person she should stay away from.

warnings: mentions of injuries (blood, cuts, changing bandages), past relationship, suggestive language.

a/n: i have been neglecting my girl, so i present a treat for u. this is my first angst so lower them expectations pls… those who were asking for izogie content here u go, show her love <3

✧

it could all be so simple, but you’d rather make it hard. loving you is like a battle, and we both end up with scars. tell me who i have to be to get some reciprocity. cause no one loves you more than me, and no one ever will.

she shouldn’t have called you, she knew that. she should’ve left you alone, let you move on. though, a part of her hoped you’d answer. that you’d sigh, complain about the hour or nature of the call before inevitably caving, but you didn’t. you didn’t do your usual game of answering on the last ring just to keep her on her toes. you didn’t let it go to voicemail before sending a text saying you were too busy or too tired, but not enough to ignore her. you didn’t do anything, and that surprised izogie, maybe even hurt her, but it didn’t stop her.

it didn’t stop her from ignoring the alarms in her head telling her to turn around. it didn’t stop her from pushing the lift button and knocking weakly on door. and it certainly didn’t stop the small smile that crept up her lips as the barrier opened to reveal you.

your tired expression dropped slightly, being replaced by one caused annoyance rather than interrupted slumber. your cardigan fell off one shoulder as you rubbed your eyes while sighing. “what are you doing here, izogie?”

she looked down at you, forearm pressed against the doorframe while the other clutched her abdomen. “when you say my name like that, it almost makes me think you don’t wanna see me,” she laughs gently, immediately groaning lowly after.

this draws you to look down to her midriff, seeing her applying pressure to the area that was an increasingly growing deep red stain on her gray Police Academy shirt. your eyes widen quickly as you open the door entirely to guide her her in, locking it behind you as she leans against the island. “what happened?” you ask hurriedly, walking briskly to grab your emergency kit.

she smacks her teeth, shaking her head. “you worry too much.”

“yeah? you show up battered and broken in the middle of the night too much, so i think i’m well within reason.”

you crouch down, avoiding her eyes watching you as you took out supplies. she stays silent for a moment, unsure if she should attempt to make conversation. it’s been longer than usual since the two of you have spoken, much less been in such close proximity.

“it’s just a graze.” she says finally.

you look up, soaking a wash cloth with water as she continues. “the bullet. it only grazed my skin, didn’t puncture enough to go through.”

“but enough to cause so much bleeding,” you say, reaching to clean the blood from her stomach as she instinctively held up a side of her shirt.

this wasn’t her first time coming here, maybe not her last. the two of you did the whole will they, won’t they dance for nearly two years during your friendship. the tension between you was palpable, and it didn’t help that you got along so well too.

she got all parts of you—the late nights, early mornings, and countless hangouts in between. stolen kisses on hands and foreheads, hugs that lasted a bit too long to be platonic, and roaming hands when one thinks no one else is looking. she would tease and flirt shamelessly, often leaving you with a racing heart and an ache between your thighs.

until one day she didn’t. one day she went all the way. it was heavenly, her giving you so many parts of her. only it was never all of her, and you were okay with that—with waiting. relationships take time, which you understood, but after a year of being together, she still wasn’t ready. she wasn’t ready to introduce you to family, tell you more about her life before moving from her home country, talk about moving in together. she also wasn’t ready to tell you why she was so hesitant, so stubborn with you, hellbent on locking you out.

so, you had to let her go.

“why didn’t you go to the hospital?” you ask, breaking the deafening silence that filled the room. “they could help you a lot more than i can,” you say, gaze glued to your hands applying disinfectant to your wound.

“i’m sure they could, but you’ve always had better bedside service,” she replies, wincing shortly when you press into her stomach. you raise a brow in warning, continuing to clean her injuries.

there was a reason you hadn’t answered her calls, hadn’t replied to her texts. you broke up over four months ago, yet every time she called, you came, and if you didn’t, she’d come to you. the cycle was unhealthy, you knew that, but so is the insatiable drug they call love.

izogie knew that you’d come too, because that’s what you do for those you love. a part of her felt bad for preying upon a vulnerable piece of your heart, the piece that’d she carved herself into, but the other craved being around you, because only you could make her feel better. though lately, you’d been pulling away. the leftover love you held for her was fading, because in your heart you both knew that she wouldn’t change, and that this cycle would repeat until one of you let go.

you finished disinfecting the wound, applying anti-inflammatory healing ointment before wrapping gauze around her torso. once you finished, you looked up at her, finding her eyes already on you. her mouth parted to allow her tongue to wipe over he bottom lip.

“this position is awfully familiar, no?”

you blinked up at her before rubbing your hands over your thighs as you stood. looking around you wrapped your cardigan around yourself. “well, you’re all patched up, so…i don’t see any reason for you to stay.”

“not one?” she asks, head turning as you washed your hands beside her.

you kept your eyes on the suds forming on your hands. “not a good one.” you clarify.

she hums quietly as you dry your hands, turning to face the island as you put away the kit. “you don’t worry about me anymore.” she states instead the usual question. “what if i need assistance changing my bandages?”

“then you go to the hospital, izogie. not show up at my place well after midnight expecting me to fix you.” your reply comes out tired, and you are, so you’re finally letting her know.

“yet you always do, don’t you?” her words come out more bitter than she intends. you shut the closet door, turning to her.

“maybe that’s the problem.”

her face softens, brows that were previously knit relaxing in your presence. you exhale, trying to find the words that have been struggling to come to light for weeks.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you say, motioning between the two of you. “this back and forth, running ‘round in circles thing with you. i did when we were friends, i did it when we were together, but i can’t do it now.”

izogie’s head drops, palms tightening into fists atop the counter as she listens. “i’ve given you so much, and i’ve been fine with hardly anything in return, but i deserve better than that.”

your voice is soft and timid as you speak, fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the hem of your sleeve as your eyes begin to shine. you look down to prevent izogie from seeing her effect on you, but she already has. her heart falters seeing you cry, especially knowing she’s the cause. “so, i need you to go,” you say, sniffing as you look up, as a tear falls down your cheek, “i need you to let me go.”

the taller woman bites the inside of her cheek, an attempt to get that pain to mask the one she felt in her chest. she hated seeing you cry, and would often tell off anybody who did so much as look at you wrong, but this time, she needed to take a long look in the mirror. look at the woman who made the love of her life struggle to hold on to the pieces of herself in her own home.

so she walks around the counter, going to stand directly in front of you as she takes you in, trying to cement the moment to memory. you don’t want to look at her, because you risk breaking the fragile boundary you’ve been trying to create. it isn’t until she shakily whispers, “please, look at me,” that you slowly lift your eyes to hers. her irises are swimming with emotions you know all to well; regret, uncertainty, acceptance.

her lower lip trembles. you frown, wanting to ease her pain, but you know that’s impossible without hurting yourself in the long run. she wraps strong arms around your waist as she pulls you into her. hesitantly, you curl your arms up her shoulder blades, both of you relaxing into the other’s touch. izogie tucks her chin into your neck, closing her eyes as your hands press into her. you feel damp droplets prick onto your skin through the wool of your top as her arms get impossibly tighter around you, wanting you closer.

you stay there. every word left unsaid or actions left undone being released in the moment, being freed.

you’re the first to pull away, hands sliding down her back, trailing down her forearms and to her hands. you breathe deeply as you look up at her, tear-stained cheeks glistening under the warm light.

she keeps her eyes on you as she walks backwards, holding onto your hand until her arms can no longer reach. you fold your arms around your middle, watching her as she grabs the knob, giving you one last look. you close your eyes, looking down to your sock-clad feet, only looking up once you hear the door shut.

gone, you think, which is good. it should stay that way.

right?

i keep lettin’ you back in. how can i explain myself? as painful as this thing has been, i just can’t be with no one else. see i know what we’ve got to do. you let go, and i’ll let go too. cause no one’s hurt me more than you, and no one ever will.

✧

taglist: @princessmel-1995 @gonesgone

[dariaslookalike]

Needing Miller pt 5.

Summary: It's a shit hole of a world that you're living in, and it gets even shittier when you're ambushed in your sleep. It's a slippery slope that leads you from being tucked cozily in your sleeping bag to joining the raiding group lead by the most infuriating (and intimidating) man you've ever met. You need to survive, above all else- either in this group (without smacking its leader over the head), or in the world alone after somehow escaping. Easier said than done, when your mind loses all sense of focus, tactics and skills the second that Joel Miller rolls up his sleeves and shows his godforsaken forearms.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: woohoo update lol. hopefully another update by end of may but im just a girl and this world (completing assignments that i was given two months to do) is too hard :'3. no beta readers so soz for any mistakes

Next Chapter:

Masterlist

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You don’t talk to Joel for two weeks. Not one word. 

It eats him up inside, and you relish in that knowledge. He’s stubborn but you’re worse. He still makes you walk beside him as the group traverses through the city, trying to minimise whatever conspiracy he thinks might occur with Tommy. You simply nod and walk beside him like a soldier led to the firing line.

You walk along an abandoned highway, large cement dividers down the centre and overgrown shrubbery covering the furthest lanes. The lanes are cracked, and rubbles juts out from where the barriers had crumbled under the onslaught of bombing and mayhem in the outbreak. There is no movement, or the bustle of never ending traffic, or incessant honking of horns that you recall. The chime of songbirds and whistle of the wind has replaced them. Now, it is simply quiet, and still.

You walk through the empty husks of cars, feeling only the pang of your blistered feet in your shoes. The skin tears and weeps against your shoes, and you feel it split further again, staining the worn, holey material of your socks. Every so often someone from the group will run towards you, and you tense, bracing yourself for a deadly grapple. Your knife is always within reach of your hand, but like a scornful lover, each time you touch it you are reminded of its shortcomings; reminded of the blade digging into a shoulder, tearing through your cheek, useless and flimsy in your palm. Instead they veer around you, talking to Joel and pointing back to cars that hadn’t yet been picked over. The cars offer little value outside of small finds- a matchbook that hadn’t moulded yet, a first aid kit only half open next to a too-small corpse, and to your delight, a heavy winter jacket. 

Joel takes the jacket from the man who had found it, not so quite snatching but not asking either. The man doesn’t look surprised, or even offended, and his eyes flick to yours before he turns and follows his path back. 

Joel turns to you, eyes boring into yours when he raises his hand, the jacket clutched in his fingers. 

You reach forward and take it, trying not to brush against his fingers, or worse, look at the sheer size of his fucking hands in comparison to yours. You shake the jacket out before quickly putting it over your thin hoodie, which has seen better days. Dark black material and lined on the inside, it instantly breaks off the chill wind that had been ripping through you and you zip it up. This winter hadn’t started with blizzards or ice, but still your breath plumed in front of you in soft clouds.

Joel scoffs. “No ‘thank you’?”

You tilt your head at him and stare, but your mouth remains in a thin line. 

He rolls his jaw, and glares at you, stepping closer to put distance between the both of you and the rest of the group. They’re still picking over the cars, certain that this area hadn’t been combed over properly by others. You see the dark mop of Tommy’s hair poking out from a faded blue sedan, but he’s simply scavenging.

Joel leans over you and you try not to startle when you realise how close he had gotten. He glares down at you, scowling. 

“You’re not gonna be able to ignore me forever.”

Your eyebrows draw in and your gaze hardens with what you hope he reads as Bite me Miller . 

He reads you loud and clear, and scoffs, shaking his head. You try to keep your gaze angry, and stubborn, instead of taking him in now that he’s standing so close to you. You try not to memorise the way his tan jacket sits on his broad shoulders, or how his beard has grown longer, or the crease in between in brow as he glares at you, or the rise and fall of his chest as he thrums with annoyance. You try not to.

“Let it go, Dollface.” He spits, a wolfish flash of his teeth. “Get over yourself.”

You say nothing, and he stares at you for a second too long as if he really thought that pathetic attempt would break your vow of silence. He turns, storming off down the highway.

He tries again two days later, when you sit beside Tommy at the fire. The group has settled for the week in a dishevelled restaurant, and you warm your hands at a flaming pile of broken chairs and table legs. Earlier, when you had pointed at a scurrying rat, two of the men had grinned. Now, a skewer of fat rodents roasts atop the flames, and Tommy laughs at you when you scrunch your nose up. 

“Drumstick or wing?” He asks, elbowing you in the side and pointing at the rats.

You wretch, even if your mouth waters. “Surprise me. I’d rather not know what I’m eating.”

Tommy laughs, raising a hand to scratch at the stubble that was growing across his face. “Not exactly ‘finger licking good’ but damn it’ll do.”

You laugh in agreement but the moment of hunger is quickly forgotten when Joel comes to stand beside you. You look up at him, and quickly wipe off any trace of a smile. 

“Clean your knife and come to the back.” His words are gruff and short, and he doesn’t stay to tower over you, instead turning on his heel and striding out of the swinging staff door to the back of the kitchen.

You glance at Tommy, but he shrugs. “No clue. Better do as the boss says.”

You roll your eyes, but push yourself to your feet, ignoring the curious stares of the group. You untuck your knife from your jeans and wipe it down with your shirt- there’s nothing else to be done. 

The door swings behind you, and the kitchen is a lot less impressive then you’d imagined. Dusty, and very much stained, stainless steel countertops and stoves, and littered rubbish that seemed to be present everywhere in the abandoned city. 

Ryan leans against a countertop and offers you a small nod of his head. You open your mouth to speak but quickly close it when you see Joel, leaning against the large mirrored wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

You get an unsettling feeling in your gut, twisting and rolling around within you. It tells you that the both of them are crazy and are going to stick you on a skewer to roast beside the rats, but Ryan pats the countertop beside him. “C’mon. I’ll take out your stitches.”

You only remember your cheek then. The pain and swelling were a faded noise in the background of your body, and it no longer bled or weeped through the dressing bandaged to your face. Your tongue instinctively touches the inner side of the wound, feeling the jagged flesh and thread that was sewn through. 

You nod, and walk over to Ryan, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter. Your legs dangle over the edge and looking down, you remember your knife. Oh.

You look back to Ryan, who waits expectantly and you hesitantly offer it to him. He takes it, thanking you quietly and moving closer. 

“It’ll feel weird when I pull them out, but it shouldn’t hurt.”

You nod and he reaches to you, peeling back the tape and taking off the dressing, but you can’t find it in you to watch as he works. Instead your eyes wander off.

They land on Joel, and you curse internally. He wasn’t just casually leaning against the wall, he had picked the one spot in the room that would be directly in front of you.

So, if you wouldn’t speak to him, he would force you to at least look at him. 

He looks straight at you, his dark eyes almost black in the dim kitchen. His hand grips his bicep, the fingers taut over the muscle. You almost want to laugh with how desperately he is trying to be impassive and brooding, but instead you just hold his gaze. You force yourself to not wince or flinch as Ryan brings your knife to your face and notches the tip under the knotted thread.

“Healed up well.” He murmurs beside you, but he is focused on his task at hand. You barely even register blinking as he cuts each stitch meticulously, and pulls the thread through your cheek. There’s a slight dribble of blood, but no torrential flow.

Ryan huffs out a sigh, and you flick your gaze to him. He smiles, and you can imagine him now, working in some hospital, all white coat and combed hair, as he says “Alright, all done. Just don’t mess with it, and it’ll be fine.”

Your lips tug up and you dip your head in thanks. He doesn’t wait for a flowery response, and instead claps his hands together, turning and walking out of the kitchen. You look back at Joel, and his head is tilted, still observing you.

Something coils and tightens deep within you, spurred on by the silence and tension stretching between the both of you. You grab your knife and push yourself off the countertop, standing.

“You look good without the patch, Dollface.” 

His voice is quiet, and you wouldn’t have been sure that he had even spoken if it weren’t for tighter, tenser grip on his bicep. Your traitorous eyes dip down to his lips, and like a tonne of bricks, the memory of him against you, his hands on you, his lips on yours, is slammed into you. He knows what you’re thinking about, based on the slight tilt of his head and how his own gaze drops for a fraction of a second, before coming back to your eyes.

He notices the shift in you as well, when you not only recall the memory of the kiss, but afterwards. Recalling his regret, his embarrassment. Recalling how repulsive you must be to him that only a near death experience could overload his brain with so many endorphins to make him think that kissing you even resembled a good idea. 

Your gaze breaks from his to over his shoulder, and you lock eyes with yourself. A dark jagged scar runs down your right cheek, from the apple to an inch above your jaw. Terry’s last words were a promise to make you ugly, to scar you so everyone else would see it. You flush with shame and hatred, and something makes the back of your neck burn when you think of Joel, and his stubbled beard speckled with your blood.

Joel was trying to bait you. Trying to anger you, trying to rile you up and get you to break your petty silent treatment by yelling and screaming at him. 

You stare at the scar, at the red hue, at the path it carves down your face. And you force yourself to breathe, to not curse yourself, to not cuss out Terry’s ghost in Hell, to not cry and give in to the misery that this wound had given you. 

You drag your gaze back to Joel, and his eyes are still on you. Still watching. 

“I mean it.” His voice is rumbling, echoing quietly off the steel. “You’re beautiful.”

Baiting you. Lying to you. Trying to get a rise out of you. 

Bite me Miller .

You turn and push past the kitchen doors, returning to the fire to sit beside Tommy and the charring rats. 

You don’t speak to him for another three weeks. It allows for a lot of inner contemplation as you walk beside him in silence. 

You decide to stay, for now, or at least until you figure out what else you could do, where else you could go, who else you could be. No longer were you waiting for Ryan to free you from your stitches or for your cheek to heal past the stage susceptible to infection. Now, you were here of your own accord, and this was wholly new, uncharted territory to walk through.

But… this was a good arrangement, and it benefitted you. You got food, warmth, a somewhat trusting eye over your shoulder as you slept, and all you had to do was follow whatever instructions were barked at you- and so far it was nothing. Just weeks of distancing yourself from the area of the city that had grown infected, weeks of stocking up for the winter. 

Some of the men had been sent elsewhere by Joel. He had ordered them while you were trying, and failing, to fall asleep in a corner. Even still, he had kept his voice low, his words hushed. Days later, the men returned with dried splatters of blood on their clothes, but with new supplies. They don’t leer at you, or really acknowledge your presence at all, but the sight of them, with split knuckles and worn faces sent a disturbing chill down your spine. You didn’t want to ask where, or who they were from. So far, Joel hadn’t instructed you to do anything except walk beside him.

You had to admit, to the small (or very large) petty part of you, that this situation benefitted you more than just addressing your basic needs. It gives you ample opportunities for great personal satisfaction each time you annoy Joel.

You like to believe your silence is driving him insane by the time the group moves again, never settling in one exact spot in the city. You live for it, for the stupid scowl on his face, for the roll of his eyes, for the muttering as he near-sulks beside you.

He’s clearly more annoyed after hearing you talk to Tommy for the past week. After you had gotten your stitches out and returned to the fire, Tommy had whistled, low and loud.

“Damn, Dollface.” He said, and you didn’t find the same mocking that Joel had. “Looking good.”

Not beautiful , simply good. It reminded you of the rat skewers, and shitty, long gone KFC slogans. You rolled your eyes. “That’s the best you can do? ‘Looking good’?”

He laughed, leaning in close to you again. “I’m a simple man- I say it how it is.”

You try not to compare him to his brother, who speaks even less and means even more.

Joel hadn’t returned to sit by the fire, or ominously brood right next to you like you thought he might. You don’t see him at all that night, not after what he said to you in the back kitchen or rather what you didn’t say to him. Only when you tried to sleep, doing so fitfully and waking up still tired and worn in the early morning, did you see him. He sat by Ryan on the only remaining dining table left, hunched over with his palms clasped between his knees. But he watched, dark eyes trained on you like a hunter to prey. You didn’t shake his focus even after you had sluggishly escaped your sleeping bag. 

Now, still being forced to buddy up with him as you travel, you don’t say a word. You tug the hood of your flimsy hoodie up, and zip your new jacket up all the way, shoving your hands deep in the pockets. 

You turn your head slightly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. His gaze stays trained ahead, but you can feel his attention on you once more. 

“How much longer?”

His voice is hushed, and nearly ripped away from you by the wind, but you still catch his words. You turn to him, faking confusion with furrowed brows. He steps closer, filling the space between the both of you, casting a glance behind him to the group. They’re too preoccupied by their own chattering teeth to pay attention to the two of you. 

He looks down at you, his face stony. “How much longer are you gonna keep this up?”

You look up at him with your most innocent doe eyes. Keep what up?

His jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he hisses. “How much longer are you gonna keep being a brat?”

You pout out your bottom lip just to sell it, and he scoffs, shaking his head as looks out to the street in front of you. 

“You wanna act like a brat ,” He growls, gaze dark. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

That godforsaken feeling in your stomach, that you had fought and wrangled and just about killed with your own bare hands, teeth, and sheer willpower, comes to life at his words. You swallow at the pulse that jumps from your neck to right between your legs. 

You roll your eyes at him. 

Do your worst is what you say with a cocky tilt of your head. 

Please do your worst is what that feeling between your legs begs.

He steps closer, and you instinctively step back slightly, keeping distance. He doesn’t let you go far, stepping with you until he’s looking down his nose at you, sneering. 

“No more of this bullshit. You’re in this group. You’re in my group.”  

His tones bites, and his words sting. You weren’t dead because of him. You had food because of him. You were part of this group because of him.

You were still here, even when you could have left. Even when you could have thanked Ryan for pulling out your stitches, and waltzed off on your own. You could have pretended you didn’t owe a debt, or some level of twisted subordination and gratitude to Joel before. Now? You were stuck with this insufferably moody man, and he was your boss. Leader. Protector. Dickhead who had kissed you unforgettably and then wanted you to forget it. All of the above. 

And you were pissing him off. 

“You’re with me from now on.” He says, voice harsher than before, and your attention snaps back to him. You thought he was going to kick you out, or pull rank and tell you to respect him. Not whatever he said.

He sees your wide-blown look and scoffs, nodding his head. 

“Not just travel. Morning, day and night, you’re gonna stick with me until you can realise I’m doing you a fucking favour .” He bites. “‘M not gonna have you turning my fucking crew against me ’cause of your pissy attitude.”

You are fuming with anger. Just because you talked to Tommy and not him, just because you tried having one friend in this miserable, testosterone cluster fuck raiding group, Joel would say you’re trying to turn them against him? 

You bite your tongue. Literally. You have to clamp your teeth down, and you bite harder when he continues. 

“C’mon.” He barks, jerking his head towards the road.

You follow like a soldier, staying by his side, and keeping your head held high. You just chant to yourself silently. Boss. Leader. Protector. Dickhead. Dickhead. Dickhead.

He stays true to his word. 

He doesn’t let you slow down pace, even when your feet bleed and parts of your shoe literally give out. Instead, he just looks at you, and in response to your silence, tells you to hurry up. Behind you, the group trudges along. Tommy veers closer to you, but with one foreboding glare from Joel, he rolls his eyes and backs off. Even his own brother wasn’t willing to piss him off more when he was this moody.

The city still sprawls ahead, and as the sun begins to set you assume you’ll continue travelling through the night, and you groan to yourself silently. Joel, persistent to prove you wrong, turns into a rundown pub on a corner as night falls. 

You follow behind him wearily, and tempted to let the group trail him in first. He senses your hesitation somehow, and glares at you over his shoulder. 

“Get going, Dollface.”

Your thumb flicks over your knife and you’re tempted to stab him, and show him just how bratty you can be. You resist however, and settle for holding it in your palm as you enter the pub. Wooden bar stools, tables and chairs collapsed in a pile in the furthest corner, as if the group had been here before and tidied up. The bar itself is empty, and the back wall mirror shattered. It is, thankfully, empty and you scan around the room, settling your pack and sleeping bag down against a wall. Satisfied, you slip your knife back into your jeans.

Joel doesn’t hide the fact that he watches you. When you turn to him, he doesn’t look away, and instead raises an eyebrow. 

Tommy smiles at you across the room, and your eyes flick to him, lips involuntarily tugging up.

Your gaze flicks back to Joel, but his face remains stony. He jerks his head to a staircase, like you’re an obedient dog waiting on his command. 

You tuck your tail between your legs and follow him. 

The group’s eyes trail after you as you pass through them. Only Tommy steps into your path, and his hand grabs your elbow, stopping you. 

“You all good, Dollface?”

His eyebrows are drawn tight together, and the beard he’s been growing in the winter makes him look older, more serious. He leans in closer, aware of the ears and eyes pinned to you as his voice lowers. 

“He’s my brother, I know but…you say the word, and I’m beside you.”

You nod your head, swallowing and looking away from his eyes. “Thanks.”

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it again and his hand retreats from your arm. You offer him a thin lipped smile, and then you step around him, to Joel who looks like he wants to murder you. 

Joel doesn’t say anything, and instead turns, striding up the rickety and splintered staircase. 

You glare daggers into his stupidly broad back, into the shoulder you want to scratch up, into the scalp you want to tug at. Dickhead, dickhead, dickhead, dickhead, dickhead. 

You barely reach the landing by the time he’s pushing open a door. He stills scans the room, ever hypervigilant of some unknown threat. 

Your eyes widen at the room. Specifically at the bedroom, where a faded, mildew smelling bed sits in the middle, surrounded by splintered, but intact drawers and a wardrobe. What the fuck?

You turn to him, nearly opening your mouth to say exactly so, but then in a split second his forearm is lodged against your throat and your back is slammed to the wall. 

You garble out some sound in shock, and he reers his head in, sneering with his canines showing. 

“What the fuck are you doing with Tommy?”

You sputter a bit more, and kick out at him, spearing your knee into his groin. He shifts his hips, and you land a blow against his sturdy thigh instead. He applies more pressure to your throat, not enough that you even get dizzy, but with enough power that you can’t break out of his hold. 

“Speak.” He growls, eyes dark. “Enough with the silent treatment bullshit, answer my question.”

Your hand grips your knife and you yank it out of your jeans, angling it into the soft part of his stomach. He feels the edge of the blade, and he seethes. 

“I fucking dare you. See what happens.”

Your other hand reaches up, and he shifts, bracing for the impact of your fist to his face. Instead you tap against his forearm, scowling at him the best you can while he nearly crushes your windpipe. 

His eyes flick back to yours and you can see he wants to keep you pinned, angry and fuming with you. A gentle reminder by the sharp tip of your knife has him growling, but he eases the pressure against you. 

“Speak. Now.”

You glare at him, but as much as you would like to gut him like a fish, you know that wouldn’t stop him from cracking your head open against the brick. You had been treading water since day one- while Tommy was your friend, Joel was everything but that. You weren’t going to push him to show you, again, just why everyone bowed their heads to him. 

“Nothing’s fucking happening with Tommy.” You spit, the first words you’ve spoken to him in weeks. 

“Yeah?” He leans in closer, mere inches away from you. “Tell me why there’s talk he wants out. Only since you’ve been here, buddying up to him.”

You don’t hide your confusion. In some part, you thought Joel was implying a relationship between you and his brother. But now, you’re completely lost. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Miller.”

He sneers. “You hate me. Not hard to assume you’d try and make my brother do the same.”

You try your best to look down your nose at him, even with his forearm still pinned to your throat. “I’m pissed off with you Miller. I’m not trying to turn your brother against you.”

He stares into your eyes for a moment, the dark brown hard and unyielding beneath his brow.  

“That’s it? You’re just being a fucking brat?”

You swallow, the movement painful against his forearm. You dig the tip of your blade into his gut, reminding him of its presence. He doesn't flinch, and simply stares at you, waiting for your response.

"There's no conspiring or fucking crazy conspiracy, Miller. I just didn't want to talk to you."

He clenches his jaw, his tongue running along his teeth. His eyes dart down to your cheek, and follow your scar to your lips, where his gaze lingers.

You expect it to soften him, to wipe away the brutal anger radiating off him. Instead, the pressure is back against your windpipe and he growls.

“I told you to let it go. Get over yourself. We kissed.”

"Exactly."

He rolls his eyes. "You've been ignoring me for weeks because we kissed? Jesus, Dollface you're in for a real fucking shock- that meant nothing."

You swallow, glaring at him. Willing yourself to not let tears well up. He continues.

"This isn't some fairytale- I'm not sure what kinda bedtime stories you got told growing up, but there's no happy ending out here. That died the day of the goddamn outbreak." His gaze is thunderous.  

"Fuck. You." Like you hadn’t lived through the fucking outbreak too- like you were some stupid schoolgirl, with a sickening crush on him.

"Brat. ” He spits.

Dickhead. Dickhead. Dickhead.

"Just cause you think you can walk around, doing what you want, doesn't mean you can, Miller." You seethe, anger flooding out of you. "You might not give a damn, but I do."

"Why?! It was a kiss!" He barks. "So what? It’s not like you’ve never-

Like a rabbit trying to hide its wounded paw from a lion, you flinch back. A mistake that shows your hand more than hides it. His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, all his anger and ire disappears, and it’s only your shared breathing to be heard, heavy and heaving.

“Oh.” He says.

Oh. Oh is his simple response to realising he was your first kiss. Oh is his one-worded response to realising that he had told you it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened. Oh is what keeps ricocheting off the walls of your skull, over and over, as you watch in real time just how quickly he realises how much of a mistake it really was.

“Oh.” You whisper back to him.  

He stares at you, his mouth open slightly. You press your lips together, draw your eyebrows in, making sure you do not shed one goddamned tear in front of this man. 

His eyes dip down to your lips. “That was- I was your…” He trails off. 

You can’t even nod your head, afraid the movement will break the careful strain you have on yourself. You just stare back at him. 

His forearm is still at your throat. Your knife is still at his stomach. And yet, he leans in closer, breath fanning over yours, his gaze still pinned to your lips. 

“No.”

That word breaks his focus, and his gaze snaps to yours. 

“No, Miller. I’m not doing this with you. I’m not gonna be your little chew toy, waiting around until you decide to play with me again.” You shake your head, but there’s no anger or even sadness. You just find yourself hollow. “Fine. I’m over it, I’ll stop being shitty to you, whatever- but we’re not doing this. Ever.”

You draw back your knife, and in his quiet shock, you shove his arm off you, basically throwing yourself through the door. You pause on the flight of stairs, clinging to the damaged railing. He doesn’t follow you down, and you allow yourself this moment to suck in a heaving breath. 

One breath. That is all you will commit to being upset over Miller. 

You swallow, raising your head. No tears fall, and you won’t let them. Boss. Leader. Protector. Dickhead. He didn’t want to be your lover, he wanted to pick you up when he wanted and shove you to the side when he was bored. That was fine by you- like he said it was just a kiss, nothing more. You’d see where this raiding group led you, and that was it; you were not going to allow yourself to get your heart involved with him, you were not going to allow yourself to get hurt from a man who clearly didn’t want the same as you.

You don’t kick the staircase wall, as much as you want to. You set your shoulders back, and you step down each step, willing assurance into your feet.

You take your expected position, sitting beside your pack and sleeping bag. You join in a poker game, where you bet on dusty bottle caps and placemats. You observe the group, trying to memorise the faces and laughs and scowls as much as you can, rather than focus the thoughts flurrying around your mind. Tommy picks up on your mood, but he doesn’t say anything; instead, jabbing you in the ribs at certain jokes and trying to peer over your shoulder to see your deck.

You expect Joel to not come back downstairs, to instead sulk in that room all night.

Everyone else does too, because they nearly snap their necks in shock when the stairs creak. You force your gaze to stay pinned to the faded cards in your hand, to not look at him, to give him that satisfaction. 

The tension is thick in the air, and some of the men try to start conversation back up again. Their words are hushed though, letting them still give some attention to the drama unfolding in front of them. 

“Dollface.” 

You grind your teeth as you clench your draw, dragging your gaze over everyone and back towards the stairwell. 

He tilts his head to the stairs behind him, his hair messy and ruffled like he’d spent the past few hours running his hands through it. The offer isn’t as demanding as before, and something in his eyes is softer; even if his shoulders are still set back, even if he doesn’t beg in front of the group.

You pass your hand of cards to Tommy, who whistles loudly, displaying them to the group who erupts in a clamour of disbelief at how you were dealt them. You use the moment of eruption to walk up to Joel. He doesn’t lead you up the staircase, so you brush past him and walk up them.

When you get to the landing you realise you should’ve let him lead you, because now you’re unsure what door to go into. You don’t worry long however, when he catches up to you and pushes open the bedroom door once more.

You hesitate by the landing, and he looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Attacking me again, so soon?” You glare at him. 

He doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but rather seems to be looking above for something to give him strength. 

“Don’t push it.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, and his eyes track the movement. “Miller, I’m doing my best to…” You lick your lips, trying to figure out how to say the words. “Respect you. As whatever boss you are to me now. But right now, I don’t want to be near you.”

“As your boss ,” He says, clearly trying to hold back anger. “Get in. Now.”

Dickhead. Dickhead. Dickhead .

Your knife was still in your jeans. This time, you were ready for any lunge or grab from him. 

You nod, stepping into the room and he closes the door behind you. You put distance between the two of you, and he notices as you walk across the room, leaning against a broken radiator and boarded up window. Now, with no light streaming in at all, the room is dark, lit only by a candle atop a dress, and he is a shadowy figure across from you. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. You think he must look a lot more intimidating, and stupidly attractive, when he does that compared to when you did. 

“So what, Miller?” You break the silence, glaring at him. “We count down from three and see who can kill the other first?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No.”

“So…”

“I meant what I said earlier.”

“What part? That I’m a fucking brat?”

“Yeah, that part too Dollface.” His eyes darken, and the muscle in his forearm flexes. Your hands itch to throw your blade and see how far it will sink between his eyes. He sighs. “I said you were with me from now on. Mornin’, day an’ night.”

Your gaze breaks from his and you look around the room, suddenly caged. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“You can sleep on the bed or the floor or hell, the goddamn closet. I don’t give a shit.”

“Downstairs.” You bite out. 

“No.” He shakes his head, glaring at you. “I trust you enough that I’m not throwing your ass to the curb.”

“But not enough to stay by Tommy?”

He nods. “Right on the money, sweetheart.”

You want to rip his teeth out when he calls you that, and a glimmer in his eyes tells you that he knows. 

“After everything,” You jerk your head to the side of the door, where only hours ago he had you pinned. “You wanna play BFFs?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. Partners.” He stares at you, holding you still with his gaze, his Southern accent rolling out between you. “We’re out tomorrow. You need to learn how to work in this group- I need to keep an eye on you. It’ll work for us both.”

“Highly doubt it.” You snap.

“Yeah, well if you drop the attitude you won’t have to worry about a hair on your pretty head.” He spits. 

You both stare at each other, clenching your jaws, fuming. 

“You know what you’re signing yourself up for?” You hiss. “You might think you’re punishing me- but it’s you who’s stuck with me .”

“Quit being a goddamn brat and I wouldn’t have to punish you.” He steps forward, sneering.

“Eat shit, Miller.”

His eyes dart down to your neck, and he looks like he’s contemplating strangling you or trying to throttle you. Instead, he takes three heavy breaths, and jerks his head to the bed. 

“It’s late. You wanna argue, leave it for the mornin’.”

And with that he sits on the edge of the bed, and begins unlacing his heavy boots. He kicks them off, and in a fluid motion, reaches down and tugs his shirt off. You freeze, and wonder if you actually died, and this was a state of hellish purgatory, meant to punish you on loop, for eternity. Your eyes are glued to him. His broad fucking shoulders- what kind of workout could he even do to look like that, and run on a halfarsed can of soup every few days? He’s not well defined, but his muscles flex with each movement, drawing your eyes to his biceps. His stomach is softer, a trail of hair leading down to his jeans. His jeans. His jeans, which his hands are atop right now, unzipping. 

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, Dollface.”

“Fuck off.” You roll your eyes, snapping your gaze away to stare at a part of the cracked wall and feeling the heat radiating off your cheeks. “It’s the middle of winter, Miller. Are you some kind of pervert?”

You don’t look back to him, but you can hear his exhale as he moves, and the shuffle of fabric. “I run hot.”

If anything, you shiver. When a few more seconds of silence have passed, you feel safer in looking over and not being attacked by the sight of his bare neck. 

He’s under the thick covers of the bed, and you bite back a coo. He looks younger, softer- not a man who would hate you, swear at you, and keep you beside him because he thinks you’ll corrupt all that he loves. 

He huffs. “Like I said. Bed, floor, closet, I don’t care.”

Your sleeping back was downstair, but when was the last time you actually slept on a mattress? 

You don’t move. 

“What if I stab you in your sleep?”

“What I stab you in yours?” He rolls his eyes. 

You chew his words for a moment before you sigh. “No stabbing, from either of us. Deal?”

Joel scoffs, clearly thinking an agreement would be pointless and looks towards the ceiling but when you glare at him, he sighs. 

“Deal.”

You nod, and step closer to the bed. You shuck off your winter jacket, still keep your hoodie tight around you. You keep your knife tucked into your pants, but you’re content to not sleep with it in your hands. You kick off your boots, a lot less gracefully than he had, and you hear him cover a chuckle with a cough. You can’t look at him as you step closer, lifting up the blanket and getting into bed. You tug the blanket up to your chin, instantly warmer and sink in the mattress. It smells like mothballs and dust, but no springs jut out at you and it doesn’t collapse; at this point, it was like sleeping on a cloud.

Neither of you say anything or even move for at least three minutes. You flinch when he finally does, but he simply raises himself on his elbow to lean over, blowing the candle out and washing the room completely in darkness.

“Go near me and you’ll wish I stabbed you, Miller.”

He huffs, and you can imagine him rolling his eyes in the dark. “No worries, Dollface.”

Silence wraps around the two of you once more.

“I sleep talk.” You whisper to him.

“I know.”

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes trying to see the shape of his face in the dark. “What do you mean, ‘you know’?”

The sheets shuffle, and you can imagine him shrugging. “Not like everyone has their own room.”

Once more, quiet falls, and once more you break it. “What about you?”

“What about me?” His voice is lower, more groggy already. 

“Do you sleep talk? Or are you just one of those serial snorers? Or-”

“This isn’t a sleepover.” He snaps. “We’re not playing 21 questions. Go to sleep.”

You stick your tongue out at him in the dark.

You’re not as restless as you thought you might be. Instead, once you’ve successfully blocked out the fact that you’ve nearly stabbed Joel, told him you wanted nothing from him, and are now sleeping in the same bed as him, it’s easier to fall asleep. 

Considering the fact that you hadn’t been in a real bed in months, and with the chilled winter air seeping throughout the shambling pub, the thick blanket and soft pillow were simply lulling you into a deep sleep.