#don’t get blackout drunk it’s not fun | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starlightkun · 8 months ago

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⏯ word count: 16.6k ⏯ warnings: general angst around not knowing what you’re doing with your life, the usual cursing ⏯ genre: fluff, suggestive/steamy but no actual smut, strangers to lovers, band au, punk drummer!sungchan, office worker!reader, not really badboy x good girl trope, more like sungchan has tattoos and reader is… a bit boring and hates her job. but she’s trying!, reader is having a quarter life crisis, ft. shotaro/eunseok/wonbin as sungchan’s bandmates, and nct dream 00 line as reader’s normal friends™ ⏯ author’s note: take a shot every time i say ‘tattoos’ in this fic, and you’ll die of alcohol poisoning! ⏯ sequel ⏯ now playing… quarter life – txt | NEED (ooo-eee) – løren | medicine – woz

── ⋆⋅♫⋅⋆ find more stories from backstage at venue:hell here!

“If you really want to do something brand new…” Sungchan took your receipt out of your hand, writing on the back of it with a pen that was on the counter. “Make this your thing for tomorrow.”

“You still haven’t told me what you do.”

“Live a little. And bring some friends, yeah? Don’t want you getting lonely in the mosh pit.”

“Y/N’s hit her quarter-life crisis,” Jaemin announced for you as the two of you joined your other friends at dinner.

You groaned and dropped your head in your hands, already regretting telling him your idea.

“24…” Renjun muttered to himself, then said louder, “Hey, life expectancy of 96, not bad.”

“So what is it?” Donghyuck grinned. “A tattoo? Nipple piercings? I can’t see any hair dye or choppy bangs done with kitchen scissors, so—”

“Don’t give her any ideas.” Jaemin shot him a disapproving look.

“So she doesn’t know what her quarter-life crisis is going to be yet? She’s… planning it out?” Jeno asked skeptically.

“No. She’s decided to do one spontaneous and/or new thing every day,” Jaemin explained your idea to the group.

“Oh. That’s not so bad.”

“So you’re in your manic pixie dream girl era… at 24,” Renjun nodded slowly.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, sitting up straighter as you went to defend yourself. “It’s not a… thing. I’m just tired of feeling like my whole life is filler, okay?”

“Main character syndrome,” Donghyuck declared.

“No, I’m not going to expect the entire world to revolve around me and call random people in public NPCs,” you retorted. “I just want something different in my life, alright? You know I’ve never even gotten drunk?”

“24 is not the time to start,” Renjun stated disapprovingly.

“Exactly, we’re not 19. Can’t get blackout and snap back the next day anymore.” Jaemin shook his head.

Donghyuck looked a bit miffed at Jaemin’s advice. “Speak for yourself.”

“I’ve barely been tipsy,” you pointed out.

“So you’ve always had a prefrontal cortex, unlike us. Congrats,” Jeno shrugged. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing?”

“I’m the boring friend, aren’t I?”

“Boring isn’t bad!” Donghyuck tried to reassure you.

“So I am,” you huffed, dropping your cheek into your palm.

“You’re plenty of fun, Y/N,” Jaemin promised, rubbing your arm soothingly.

“If we didn’t like you, and didn’t have fun with you, we wouldn’t hang out with you,” Jeno pointed out, actually sort of making you feel a little better.

“I’m fun like rotting in bed all day is fun.” You knew you were just pouting now, but you were finding it hard to shake your sullen feeling.

“Exactly!” Donghyuck said brightly.

“Shut up!” Jaemin hissed at him, and you heard a sudden yelp as you imagined that Jaemin had kicked your other friend under the table.

“Y/N, do what you need to do.” Renjun leaned forward across the table. “We’re your friends, so here’s the obligatory: don’t die, don’t get maimed, and if you do something illegal, don’t get arrested.”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you guys. I’m not even doing crazy things. Yesterday I walked home instead of taking the subway,” you informed them glumly.

“That’s new!” Jaemin cheered supportively, squeezing your shoulders.

“Yeah, whatever…”

Clutching your tote bag strap tighter to your body, you turned onto a street, trying to ignore the sun that was getting lower in the sky. Surely this way would lead towards your apartment. You’d lived in this city your whole life, you could walk from your work to your home, two places that you went to every single day.

There was a tall man outside one of the shops on this street, and you went to skirt around him on the sidewalk as he swept a few stray leaves and dirt out of a bookstore. Other than him, the street was fairly quiet, many of the stores having already closed up for the day.

“What are you doing?” The young man called out to you before you could fully pass him by.

You pivoted around on your heel, quickly looking around to see if there was anybody else that he could possibly be talking to. But it was definitely just you and him.

He looked about your age, wearing a cream pink long-sleeve button down presumably as part of the store uniform, though you weren’t sure if he really needed to have it buttoned all the way to the top button. It seemed a bit too warm out for that.

“Walking. Why?”

“This is the fourth time you’ve walked by here.” He did a sweeping point to the sidewalk in front of the shop, then leaned against the broom he had been cleaning with. “Wasn’t sure if you might have a particular destination in mind.”

“Fuck! I knew I was going in circles!”

“You’re lost.”

“Yeah, this isn’t my normal way home…”

“And your phone died?” He cocked his head curiously.

“No, I’m trying to get home without using my phone map,” you admitted, looking around for any familiar landmarks.

“Why? That’s what it’s for.”

“It’s… You’ll think it’s stupid. My friends did.”

He shrugged. “Probably. But why does that matter to you? I’m just some guy.”

“I’ve been doing something new every day. Just small things. But if I change enough little things, then everything will have changed.”

The guy was quiet for a beat, looking altogether unimpressed, then asked, “Where do you live?”

“Uh…”

“General area, see if I can give you directions from here.”

“Oh, uhm, if you can get me to the tea shop on Magnolia, I can get myself home from there.”

“Jade Gardens, I know it,” he nodded, then pointed left down the street, in the same direction that you had just come from. “That way, left onto North Oak, right onto Foxtail, another right onto Broad Street, it’ll eventually dead end into Magnolia, keep going until you see the tea shop.”

“Left onto North Oak, right onto Foxtail, right onto Broad,” you recited. “Got it, thank you!”

“Stay safe.” He waved you off, returning to sweeping without seeing if you had gone the way he’d pointed you.

It was Monday that you got lost and were given directions home by the questionably friendly but overall helpful bookstore worker, and the tea shop on Magnolia had been on your mind since. So on Thursday, you decided to stop by after work. You were running low on the green tea that you usually kept in stock at home, and thought that you might pick up something new for yourself.

Opening the door to Jade Gardens that Thursday, you were enveloped by the familiar aromatic smells wafting around the small shop. When you didn’t hear the usual kind voice of the owner, Mrs. Choi, greeting you, you peered around the aisle that you were in to look for her.

“Mrs. Choi?” You called out, also not hearing her TV show that she usually was watching behind the counter between helping customers. You were by the black teas anyway, so you didn’t mind wandering into the next aisle as you looked for any other sign of life in the shop.

“She’s not in,” a voice that was definitely not Mrs. Choi informed you right as you turned the corner into the beginning of the green teas. You could see enough of the man’s profile to recognize him as he stood by some of the shelves in the store. The worker from the bookstore. He was standing over an open cardboard box, a couple tins of tea in his hands.

“Uhm…” You trailed off, blinking at him as you weren’t sure exactly what to say. He placed the tins on the shelf.

“You think I’m stalking you, don’t you?” He said flatly, turning to show you the name badge on his longsleeve teal shirt. It was metallic gold, with the name SUNGCHAN engraved into it. “I work here too. For the past six months.”

“Oh, right.” You relaxed, flashing him a smile. As he went back to restocking and you went back to looking at the tea on the shelves that he wasn’t currently stocking, you commented lightly, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I work Tuesdays and Thursdays. You ever been here on a Tuesday or a Thursday?”

“No. I always come on Sundays.”

“There you go.” He had emptied the box of product he was restocking from, and carried it into the back. When he reemerged, he stopped behind the register, but engaged you in conversation again, “So is this your new thing for today? Coming on a Thursday instead of Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

“And? Is your whole life different yet?”

“I’ve only been doing this for two weeks…” You replied defensively, looking over at him from the two kinds of green tea that you were debating between.

“Have you done anything new yet?” Sungchan asked, arching an eyebrow.

“That’s the whole point—”

“From what I know, as some guy who doesn’t even know your name, is that you have walked home from work without using the maps on your phone—something you would have done anyway—and gone to a shop that you go to regularly, just on a different day of the week. Have you done anything that you’ve never done before at all?”

“My name is Y/N, by the way.” You bit the inside of your cheek, and grabbed your tea selection. “Ordering a drink I’ve never tried at my usual boba place doesn’t count, does it?”

“You already know the answer, Y/N.”

“The point isn’t to quit my job and travel the world and completely overhaul my life—”

“I thought it was to change everything?”

“If I change enough little things, then—”

“—everything will have changed.” “—everything will have changed.” The two of you finished at the same time, Sungchan putting more emphasis on ‘everything,’ a pointed look on his face.

“I just don’t get how everything is supposed to change by you coming to a tea shop on a different day one time, but still working the same job you hate,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“How do you know I hate my job?!” You retorted, bringing your selections up to the counter.

“If you loved it, you wouldn’t be in a crisis about changing your whole life.”

“Do you like your two jobs?”

“They’re fine.” He shrugged, ringing up your purchases.

You handed him your card. “Fine?”

“They’re just my day jobs.”

“And what’s your night job then?”

A smirk grew on his face as he bagged your tins of tea. “Nah.”

“‘Nah?’” You repeated incredulously.

“You’re not doing anything new. No point telling you.”

“If it’s stand-up, I don’t want to know,” you snorted.

“It’s not stand-up.”

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re giving me real stand-up energy right now,” you snipped, gesturing to his entire demeanor. “I’m really glad you haven’t told me, actually, because I can’t control my face when I’m told bad jokes.”

“I don’t do stand-up comedy,” he reiterated with the same calm, self-assured tone, handing you your bag of tea and receipt.

“Considering you’re refusing to tell me, I’m convinced it’s like, open mic nights. Tight fives, not even a full—”

“Not stand-up,” he said again. “But considering how badly you’re begging me to tell you—”

“Pretty sure you’re the one desperately trying to convince me you don’t do stand-up, but—”

“If you really want to do something brand new…” He took your receipt out of your hand, writing on the back of it with a pen that was on the counter. “Make this your thing for tomorrow.”

You accepted the receipt when he held it back out to you. “You still haven’t told me what you do.”

“Live a little. And bring some friends, yeah? Don’t want you getting lonely in the mosh pit.”

Your eyes scanned the address and time he had scrawled on your receipt. “Mosh pit?”

“We’re going to fucking die,” Donghyuck declared from beside you as soon as your group of friends entered the basement of the building that Sungchan had given you the address to. It was already packed with people, dark, and loud.

“Nobody drink anything!” Jaemin hissed, clutching onto your other arm. “Especially Y/N! Getting drunk is one thing, I don’t want getting roofied to be on your bucket list.”

“It’s not, Jaem,” you retorted. “Trust me.”

“Why the fuck are we here again?” Renjun yelled from behind you over the din of the crowd.

“Y/N met some hot guy��Ow!” Donghyuck had gotten cut off by you stomping on his foot.

“Sorry, it’s so crowded in here!” You glared at him. “I didn’t say anything about what he looked like. I needed something new to do for today, this seemed as good an option as any.”

“Okay, well, what the hell is this? Basement party?” Jeno asked, next to Renjun.

“I think it’s a concert?” You couldn’t see anything over the heads of the other people. “He said something about a mosh pit…”

They all exchanged a look.

“We’re going to fucking die,” Donghyuck repeated.

A roaring started up in the crowd, and you looked around in bewilderment to see what had gotten them all excited. In the far corner of the basement, it looked like a band was getting set up to play, two guitarists, a bassist, but it was the drummer that made you do a double take. You couldn’t be quite sure from the distance, the poor lighting, and the fact that the tank top he was wearing exposed two sleeves of tattoos along rather defined arms that you had never previously seen unclothed, but… that might just be Sungchan.

“We need to get closer,” you declared to your friends, yanking Jaemin along with you.

“What?!” Renjun yelped, following you nevertheless.

“Did you forget the part where he apparently said mosh pit?” Donghyuck scrambled after you.

“At least let Jeno be our human shield!” Jaemin pleaded with you.

“Thanks for volunteering me, Jaemin,” Jeno snorted, but willingly took the role, stepping in front of you to clear a path a bit easier than you had been doing on your own.

The five of you stuck out a bit, you noticed. You hadn’t exactly been given a dress code, nor a description of what to expect, so you did unfortunately stick out like a sore thumb among all the black, leather, and more black. It wasn’t that you were wearing a rainbow so much as you were clearly wearing something… uptight in comparison. Corporate. All you had was work clothes, and stuff to go to work dinners in. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to something even remotely like this. You’d done your best to dress down without wearing pajamas, but it was obvious that you were out of place.

Finally, you got close enough to the band to be able to make out the drummer’s face. He was looking down, making a final adjustment to his instrument, and when he looked back up, he pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. Definitely Sungchan. So this was his night job. Drummer. For just a second, his gaze flicked over the crowd, and you couldn’t be absolutely sure—after all, it was packed in there—but you swore he saw you for a second, surprise on his features for a moment before a cocky smirk overtook it.

One of the guitarists said something, they all had mics, you were pretty sure he was introducing the band or something, but this close to the speakers, all you could do was feel the words in your chest, not hear them with your ears. And when the music actually started, you felt like it was rearranging your brain matter. The crowd didn’t seem to really know the songs, as nobody sang along, but they were having fun nonetheless, dancing, jumping, and headbanging. As you got on your tiptoes to keep peering over Jeno’s shoulder at Sungchan, you found yourself bouncing along to the beat. Someone must have bumped into Renjun, as he stumbled into your back, and you let out a squeak and latched onto Jeno’s shoulders to avoid losing your balance.

“What is going on back there?” Jeno turned around.

You looked back at Renjun as well, who was now squeezing himself in between you and Donghyuck. Just behind and to the side of you, closer to the middle of the crowd, something was going on. Everyone was moving around a lot more, and… shoving each other?

“Mosh pit,” Renjun shook his head.

You kept your grip on Jeno’s shoulders, using them as leverage to stay on your tiptoes as you watched the performance. They had a lot of passion, you couldn’t deny that. You thought that maybe if you could actually parse out more of the melody and words being sung, you might even like their music.

Then it was over after what felt like less than a handful of songs. One of the guitarists seemed to thank the crowd briefly as Sungchan sat and spun one of his drumsticks mindlessly. And then they were done. The guitarists and bassist took their instruments with them as they disappeared into an adjoining room, and Sungchan stood up and took his sticks.

“They’re done, are we done?” Renjun requested.

“Sure, sure,” you agreed, having satiated your curiosity.

Back on the street, everyone let out a simultaneous breath of relief. Your lungs were happy to be inhaling fresh air again, and the sounds of the city streets at night felt quiet in comparison to that basement.

“My ears are ringing,” Jaemin groaned.

“Mine are bleeding,” Donghyuck scoffed.

“They weren’t that bad, Hyuck,” you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, which one was he?” He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Bookstore-slash-tea shop guy. Which one was he?”

“What?”

“He was in the band, wasn’t he? That’s why he invited you, that’s why you’re not agreeing with me right now. No way you actually liked that noise. So? Which one?”

“You’re annoying.”

“Bet he was the bassist,” Renjun took a crack at guessing. “Totally your type, Y/N.”

“I think it was the frontman, he would’ve been the only one shameless enough to beg for girls to come to their shows,” Jaemin retorted.

“Definitely not the drummer, did you see those tattoos? Our Y/N wouldn’t have gone to some random address that a guy like that gave her,” Jeno snickered.

“I’m not prejudiced, assholes,” you replied, a bit miffed when Jaemin and Renjun nodded their heads in agreement at Jeno’s assessment.

Jaemin gently reassured you, “No, of course not. You just… stick to what you know.”

“Says the four guys who were begging to leave. I thought I was supposed to be the boring friend?”

“There’s a difference between being fun and patently stupid,” Renjun snorted. “Going to a random address that some weird guy gives you falls into the second category.”

“I think it was the drummer,” Donghyuck announced, narrowing his eyes at you. “He invited you, didn’t he, Y/N?”

You poked your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “He was wearing longsleeves…”

“Knew it,” he grinned victoriously. “The other guitarist was blonde. Blondes aren’t your type.”

“So I’m predictable even when I’m trying to be unpredictable?” You groaned.

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re still getting food, right?” Jeno asked hopefully.

“Hell yeah,” Donghyuck threw an arm around your neck and shook you around. “On Y/N!”

You elbowed him in the side. “Yes to food, fuck no I’m not paying for you again Hyuck. Freeload off someone else.”

“It’s not freeloading, it’s compensation, for the damage that your boyfriend’s shitty band did to my eardrums.”

“I don’t even know him, you dick.” You shoved him off you this time, inadvertently directly into Renjun, who complained loudly at being collateral damage. “Sorry, Renjun.”

“Push him off a bridge next time, not into me,” he scoffed, straightening his clothes.

“You’ve got to stop letting him rile you up, Y/N,” Jaemin advised you, looping his arm with yours.

“Says the man who was literally threatening to run him over two days ago.”

On Monday, you walked down the street with a particular destination in mind this time. You pushed the door to the bookstore open, making the bell above it ring lightly. The inside smelled like old books and pine.

“Sorry, we’re actually about to…” Sungchan trailed off when he looked up from the register and spotted you.

“Are you closing? I can go,” you offered, already sheepishly backing up towards the exit again.

“No, you can stay. Just turn the closed sign around and flip the lock for me, will you?” He gestured to the door.

You did so, and took a few hesitant steps further into the shop as he went back to closing out the register. You were admittedly staring at him a little, trying to line up the visage of the tattooed drummer you’d seen at the show with the man in a cream pink button-up in front of you, no visible body art in sight. His hair was nicely parted and styled to show some of his forehead; he could even blend in at your office.

“Wasn’t expecting you to actually show up,” Sungchan said, pushing the drawer of the register closed.

You rolled your eyes. “Do I really seem like that much of a drag?”

“You’re wearing a pantsuit.”

“It’s a blazer and slacks! That’s not—” You looked down at your own clothes, cutting yourself off with a huff. “Point taken. From the man wearing a pink button-up.”

“Uniform.” He indicated to the shop around him generally. “I’d wear the short-sleeve option, but I have to look… how’d Mr. Kang put it? Respectable.”

“Mm, of course. I almost didn’t recognize you without the sleeves and with the… sleeves,” you finished awkwardly, trying not to picture his biceps right in that moment.

He chuckled, sitting down on a stool behind the counter. “So who was the guy?”

It took you a second to follow his leap in conversation, and even then, you didn’t quite stick the landing, only able to explain, “The guys were my friends. You told me to bring some, if you’ll recall.”

“I meant the one that you were hanging onto the whole time.”

“I didn’t realize you were watching me the whole time,” you teased, tilting your head.

“You picked a spot right in front of me. Couldn’t help but notice.”

“Jeno is my friend, as I just said. He’s sturdy, I was trying not to fall over.”

Sungchan looked at his phone. “Have you done your new thing for today?”

“By your standards? No.”

He stood up, grabbing a backpack from the ground to sling over his shoulder and jerked his head towards a narrow hallway behind him. “Come on.”

With the voice of Jaemin nagging you in the back of your mind, you followed him. At the end of the hallway was the back door of the bookstore, which led you into the alleyway between rows of shops. Sungchan locked up behind you, then dropped his bag at his feet and opened it.

“Where are we going?” You questioned.

“Food. You haven’t had dinner, have you?” He replied, starting to unbutton his shirt from the collar.

You failed to come up with an answer as he untucked it and slipped one arm out. “What are you doing?”

“Changing my shirt.” He stared back at you, the button up hanging off of one arm. You could see now that the tattoos extended onto his pecs as well. “Turn around if you want.”

Feeling like you were losing some kind of challenge, you turned your back to him, continuing your previous conversation instead. “No, I haven’t eaten.”

“Neither have I.” The zipper on the bag opened.

“But what if I’ve been to the place before?”

“I don’t think you have.” Zipped back up.

“If you told me the name—”

“Ready,” Sungchan declared, stepping up next to you. He was now in a dark shirt that had the logo of what you were sure was another band on it, and a worn leather jacket with an assortment of patches. He ran his fingers through his hair, intentionally shaking it out of the nice style from before and into a more natural, messy state. He took off down the alley, leaving you to follow after him.

“You’re not going to tell me the name of the place we’re going, are you?” You sighed.

“No.”

“What if I have allergies?”

“Do you?”

“…No.”

Sungchan turned down another street. “You left early. You missed the other bands.”

“Didn’t know there were other bands, and my friends were hungry.” You shrugged, opting not to tell him that your friends hated his music and had been begging you to leave. And that you didn’t put up a fight about going.

“Leaving after four songs to get food. Your friends sound lame.”

“They’re fun,” you immediately went to defend them. “I’m the boring one out of us. They’ve at least actually gotten drunk.”

The two of you had reached a crosswalk with the stop hand lit up. You stopped and pressed the button to wait for it to change. Sungchan paused just long enough to look both ways, then took your elbow in a loose grip and pulled you into the empty crosswalk.

“Let’s go.”

“What are you—”

“There’s nobody coming.” His hand slid down your arm to grab your hand as he walked backwards in front of you, gesturing widely with his other arm. “See? Not the end of the world.”

“I’m going to laugh if you trip over the curb behind you,” you informed him mildly, already eyeing the approaching sidewalk.

“If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.” He grinned.

“And you’ll break my fall.”

“Like in every good rom-com.”

“Are we making bets on if you’ll have a first- or second-degree concussion from hitting your head on the pavement?”

Sungchan turned around then, just in time to step up onto the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He smiled down at you smugly, and you made a small ‘hmph’ sound in the back of your throat. You noted that he didn’t let go of your hand as you kept walking. You didn’t shake him off.

“How far away is this place?” You checked the time on your phone. “I have work in the morning.”

“Not too far. I can’t be out late either. I have practice tonight.”

“You called the bookstore and the tea shop your day jobs, and the band is your night job…”

“Uh-huh.”

“We didn’t have to pay a cover or anything to get in on Friday. How much does your night job actually pay?”

“That one was for fun. And a twelve-pack,” he answered nonchalantly. “Where we are now, a gig is a gig.”

“They paid you in beer and exposure?” You summarized dryly.

“It was just a friend’s basement, not a real concert venue or anything.”

“Oh, underground. Literally.”

He snorted. “You’re hilarious.”

“I try.”

“Maybe you should do stand-up.”

“No thanks, my day job is paying me just fine.”

He clicked his tongue. “And yet you hate it.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“You’ve yet to tell me otherwise.”

You sighed, but unfortunately, you couldn’t outright disagree with him. The two of you turned onto another street, where you bumped up into the back of a line for a food truck. Sungchan stopped you there, letting go of your hand to reach into his jacket and pull out his wallet.

“You got cash on you?” He asked, flicking through the bills in his wallet.

“No, do I need some?” You only had your phone and your credit cards.

“They’re cash only,” he nodded towards the food truck. “It’s fine, I’ll pay.”

“Sungchan, you don’t have to,” you insisted. “We can just eat somewhere else.”

“My idea, you didn’t know, I’ll pay.” He shook his head. The line moved up then, and he urged you forward with a hand on the small of your back. “Unless you think I’m broke because I don’t have some office job that I hate like you.”

“I didn’t say that! But you did just tell me you recently got paid in beer and exposure.”

“And have two other jobs,” he reminded you.

You didn’t outright accept his offer, but didn’t argue anymore. Getting on your tiptoes, you tried to look for a menu over the other customers in line.

“What do they even have?”

“Changes every week. We’ll find out when we order.”

“What if you don’t like what they’re selling this week?”

“What do I keep telling you? Live a little.”

“Fine.” You dropped back down to flat feet with a sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “How do you know about this place?”

“Couple of my friends run it, when they’re not playing.”

“They’re in a band too?”

“Uh-huh. That’s why it’s only open once a week. They’re performing or rehearsing every other day.” The line moved up again.

“Why have a food truck then? Food trucks run on narrow margins, they can’t be making enough money to cover their living expenses if they only do it once a week.”

“It’s not their day job. Music is.” He pointed to a piece of paper that was taped onto the side of the truck, the handwriting so faded you could barely make it out. Sungchan told you what it said anyway, “All the profits go to a local women’s shelter. And a lot of their ingredients and other stuff is donations, makes the margins a little less narrow.”

When you looked up at him curiously, he simply added, “The most punk thing you can do is help people.”

The two of you were finally at the front of the line, and a man’s head popped into view at the window. With the t-shirt he had on, you could see the tattoos that seemed to cover every inch of skin from his knuckles to his neck, the ink looking well-settled. He had gauges in his ears, the jewelry a bright rainbow of colors, and you couldn’t even count how many other piercings he had in addition to those. He seemed older than yourself and Sungchan, maybe late thirties or even early forties if you had to guess, a few specks of grey peppering his stubble.

He flashed Sungchan a bright smile as soon as he recognized him, deep crow’s feet around his eyes. “Hey, Sungchan! How are you? Sorry we missed your set Friday, SooSoo was up all night with a fever.”

“Don’t worry about it. Is she feeling better?” Sungchan asked.

“Yep, fever finally broke at like three in the morning Saturday, back to her normal self by Sunday.”

“Good to hear.”

“Anyway, let’s get you some food. I’m sure you didn’t bring your girl all the way out here to hear about my sick baby,” the older man chuckled.

Sungchan just laughed along and put in your orders. When the man turned around to help the other worker, a woman, prepare the food, you looked up at him suspiciously.

“Hm?” He had apparently noticed your look. “Oh, sorry, he was talking about his daughter, Yeonsoo. She’s… oh probably six months old now? Real cute.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Here you go.” The man was back at the window, two paper baskets of food in hand.

Sungchan went to grab a few bills out of his wallet. “How much?”

“On the house.”

“Jay, come on. Seriously, man, how much?”

“I’m serious, no charge tonight.” Jay shook his head. “You’ve never brought a date. So say thank you, don’t keep her waiting, and stop holding up my line.”

Sungchan sighed, stuffing the bills he had already grabbed into the tip jar that was on the counter and taking the food. “Thanks, man.”

“Goodnight, you two!” Jay sent you off with a jovial wave. Before you got too far, you could’ve sworn you heard a woman’s voice ask from inside the truck, “Did you say Sungchan had a date with him?”

The drummer handed you a basket of food as you started a meandering pace down the sidewalk. You took a bite to avoid talking about what just happened, despite the fact that it was very much the only thing you were thinking about.

“Oh, that’s really good,” you said, unable to contain your tone of pleasant surprise.

“I wasn’t going to take you somewhere shit for your new thing,” he replied.

“So if I told you that I had already completed my new thing for today, we would’ve gone somewhere with bad food?”

“Well, no, because I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Oh, of course,” you scoffed.

“You probably would’ve counted going to see me at the bookstore as your something new, right?”

“I’ve never done that before. I don’t know how that doesn’t count.”

“You have talked to me at the bookstore before. When I gave you directions.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t on purpose. And I didn’t go into the store, and it wasn’t like, a real conversation.”

“Still doesn’t count.”

“And who assigned you to decide if something counts or not? This is my thing.”

“You’re the one listening to me. I’m just some guy, remember? You could’ve told me to fuck off at any point.” He took a big bite of his food, wiping at the stray crumbs around his mouth with the back of his hand. “So either you’re really easy to peer pressure—which I doubt, considering you’ve never even gotten drunk—or you actually kind of agree with me.”

You were silent, scowling down at your rather delicious food.

“Which is it? Want me to fuck off or am I maybe kinda right?”

“Why do you even care?” You questioned in lieu of an answer. “I’m just someone who you gave directions to one time. Why do you care if I actually change my whole life with my stupid little plan?”

“Who said I care?”

“Then what is all this?”

“I’m not trying to be your life coach, Y/N.” Sungchan shrugged, then his features split into a grin. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be along for the ride.”

You stared down at your feet as you thought about it, about how different Sungchan’s life was from yours just from the brief glimpses you’d gotten of it. Looking back up at him, you nodded. “I could probably use some help brainstorming new things…”

“Deal.”

“Hell no.”

Sungchan grabbed your arm before you could turn and walk away from him completely. When he’d texted you the address to meet at, you thought that surely the online maps listing hadn’t been updated recently, and it was actually a restaurant or concert venue, or any other litany of things. But no, you were in fact standing in front of a tattoo shop with Sungchan, as your something new for today.

“Not for you, not for you,” he quickly reassured you. “I’m getting a new one. Have you ever been in a tattoo shop?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at the darkened windows apprehensively. “No…”

“I promise you’ll make it out alive,” he teased, to which you shot him an unamused glare. “Let’s go.”

Inside was surprisingly quiet. Rock music played over the speakers at a low volume, and there was already one artist set up with a client, the tattoo gun buzzing as she worked on a large piece on their calf. But really, you’d been in libraries that were louder. Sungchan guided you over to the front desk with a hand on your back, the man behind it already standing up to greet him.

“Sungchan, hey!” The guy beamed, reaching out to shake Sungchan’s free hand. He was younger, around your age, maybe a few years older, with a patchwork sleeve of dozens of colorful, bold tattoos along his arms.

“Hey, Johnny,” Sungchan shook his hand. “How are you?”

“Just got back from doing guest slots out of town, so I’m happy to get back in the groove of my usual shop.” Johnny’s twinkling eyes then focused on you. “And who’s this?”

“This is Y/N.” Sungchan seemed to smoothly sidestep mentioning who you were in relation to him. “You don’t mind if she hangs out during my appointment, right? One guest?”

“Not at all.” The artist then picked up a tablet from the counter. “Let me show you what I’ve got drawn up, hm?”

You peered around Sungchan curiously as they went over the design. It was a black and grey circle of flowers, leaves, thorns, and branches all interwoven together. A few birds hovered along the outside of it. In the corner of the canvas that the sketch was on, you could see the reference photos that Johnny had used, of an old porcelain plate that looked like it belonged in your grandmother’s china cabinet, not on a punk drummer's skin.

“It’s great, man. You nailed it,” Sungchan gave his approval.

“And for placement, you said your back, right?”

“Yeah, I was thinking left shoulder blade?” He shook off his jacket, grabbed the collar of his tank top and took it off in one go. Both him and Johnny moved around so Sungchan could see his own back in the full-length mirror propped up on a nearby wall.

“If you fill up the rest of your back in the future, you’ll have an odd hole in the middle of that shoulder from the center of this tattoo,” Johnny pointed out, tracing where the gap would be on Sungchan’s otherwise bare skin with his tablet stylus. “Unless you were to add something in the middle of this design later on. Depending on the size we do now, that might be difficult.”

“That’s a couple options. What else you think? Upper middle?”

“Yeah, centering it will look good, whether or not you fill the rest of your back, and even if you leave the middle of the ring empty,” Johnny agreed.

“Center it is then.”

“How big are you thinking?” Johnny held his hands up parallel to each other at the top of Sungchan’s spine. “This? A little bigger? I wouldn’t go any smaller or you’ll lose detail.”

“Bigger.”

Johnny moved his bottom hand down. “Hm?”

“Yeah, about that much?”

“I’ll print a couple sizes and we’ll see how it looks.”

As Johnny sat back at the desk to print out the stencils, you walked over to Sungchan, keeping your eyes on his face.

“Whose plate is that?” You asked curiously.

“How do you know I didn’t just find it on the internet and like the design?” He tilted his head.

“The cottagecore vibes really don’t match the rest of your work.”

He looked down at his own forearms and laughed. “Okay, fair. It’s my grandmother’s.”

“Hm.” You couldn’t help but smile fondly at the idea.

Johnny returned then with a couple different stencil sizes, and he and Sungchan went back to the mirror. After determining the size of the design, the area was prepped, and the stencil applied. You watched with interest as the design was transferred from the paper to Sungchan’s skin in purple ink.

“Go check that in the mirror,” Johnny instructed.

Sungchan stood back up from where he had laid down for the application, using a second mirror in his hand to look at it closer. He motioned with his head for you to join him. “What do you think? Is it centered?”

You got up from the stool that you had been given to walk over to the mirror as well, standing behind Sungchan to evaluate the placement of the stencil. “Stand up straight. And straighten out your shoulders, you know you slouch?”

Johnny snickered from his seat.

Squinting one eye closed, then the other, you finally gave a short nod. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“That’s the best you can hope for with her, Johnny,” Sungchan joked, returning to the padded table to lay down. “‘Fine.’”

You rolled your eyes, but took your seat on the side opposite from the tattoo artist anyway.

“High praise. Let’s do it,” Johnny grinned.

As Johnny got to work, you watched the first few strokes of his tattoo gun with interest, as the ink was deposited into Sungchan’s skin.

“You have any tattoos, Y/N?” Johnny asked, not looking up from his work.

“No,” you replied. Looking at Sungchan’s face next, which was mostly concealed by his arms and the pillow, he didn’t have any outward expression of pain. “Does it… hurt?”

The both of them chuckled, and you tried not to feel patronized, then Sungchan answered, “You ever been scratched by a cat?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s like that, but worse, and continuously.”

“Doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“It’s worse if you’re by bone,” Johnny added. “Or other sensitive areas.”

“Again, doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“An hour or so of unpleasantness in exchange for a lifetime of a cool tattoo,” Sungchan said in a tone of voice that made you think he would’ve shrugged if it weren’t for the tattoo gun currently on his upper back. “Easy trade-off if you ask me.”

“So how did you two meet?” Johnny’s voice didn’t carry any judgment, if anything he almost sounded amused.

“She came by the bookshop,” Sungchan answered simply. “You know, one of my day jobs.”

“Now that makes sense. No offense, Y/N, but you seem much more like a bookstore and coffee shops kind of girl than a basement mosh pit regular.”

You nodded slowly. “None taken… What you see is what you get with me.”

“Oh, she’s been trying new things,” Sungchan chuckled. “She’s been to a show.”

“And? What��d you think?” Johnny looked up at you eagerly.

You were a bit caught off-guard. Sungchan hadn’t even asked you if you liked his band’s performance. He’d commented on the fact that you’d showed up, who you were with, and that you left without seeing the other bands perform. But he never asked if you liked it.

“It was different for me,” you admitted. “Good different. I had fun.”

“Yeah, they’ve got a lot of heart, don’t they?” You could see the tug of Johnny’s smile at the corner of his mouth.

At the end of the appointment, Sungchan had one new tattoo and you were hungry. After paying Johnny and giving the artist your goodbyes, the two of you stepped back out onto the sidewalk in front of the tattoo parlor. It was dark out already, and you looked up at the moon, just past the streetlamp shining down on you.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Sungchan declared. “Dinner?”

“Sure,” you agreed. “But, I pick. I’ve already done my one new thing for today, and I’m craving fries.”

“Hard to argue with that.”

The place you had in mind was only a few blocks away from Johnny’s tattoo shop. As soon as you walked in, however, you wanted to turn back around. But you were craving fries and had already been spotted. Jeno perked up curiously from behind the counter, giving you a friendly wave. Honestly, you should’ve considered this as a possibility when you brought Sungchan into his place of work. You smiled back as you stepped up to the register.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted you brightly, clearly interested in who you had with you, but not outright asking as his gaze strayed over to Sungchan.

“Hey, Jeno,” you said. “I didn’t realize you were working tonight.”

“Coworker got sick, I picked up a shift,” he explained. “So what can I get you? Your usual?”

“Just the fries and milkshake.” You then pointed to Sungchan with your thumb. “And whatever he wants. I’m paying.”

“Y/N—” Sungchan was clearly about to argue.

“You got it last time. Kind of.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “And they take card here. So order.”

He held his hands up. “Alright, alright.”

Picking a table in the corner as far from the cash register as you could get, you waited for Jeno to call your order number out as usual. Except this time he brought the food right out to your table on a tray. You eyed him suspiciously as he walked over.

“Here’s your food,” he smiled brightly at the both of you, taking the food off the tray to set the individual items in front of you.

“Right, thanks, Jeno,” you said. When he was still standing there after he was done, you looked at him more pointedly, “I’m not tipping you again if that’s what you’re waiting for. Goodbye, Jeno.”

“Enjoy your meal!” He took off back behind the counter.

Sungchan watched him for a moment before turning back to his food. “He was at the show.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“Your sturdy friend.”

“Yup.” You grabbed your first fry.

“The show, that reminds me—” Sungchan stopped in the middle of his sentence, sandwich halfway up to his mouth. “Uh, I think your friend just took a picture of us.”

Your phone buzzed then, and you checked the notification from your lockscreen, letting out a deep sigh. “He definitely did.”

[jeno: attached image]

[jeno: ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️]

“Hold on, sorry,” you apologized as you unlocked your phone to properly open the message.

As soon as you started typing a scathing text about privacy, another text came through.

[jeno: FUCK WRONG GROUP CHAT]

[you: wtf do you assholes have a gc without me in it??]

You looked over at the register, shooting Jeno a glare as he was very obviously trying not to look at you. His entire face, ears, and neck were visibly pink from the other side of the restaurant.

[jeno: it was to plan your surprise party last year!]

[jaem: Y/N ON A DATE CONFIRMED???????]

[renjunnie: jeno you’re an idiot]

[hyuck: wait jeno take another picture of his face im trying to see smth]

A large group of teenagers entered then, and Jeno had to quickly put his phone away to take their orders.

Sungchan had been quietly eating his food the whole time, and raised an eyebrow as you put your phone down with a groan. “Everything alright?”

“Sorry about that…” You let out another sigh. “So what you were saying? The show?”

“Oh, I’m glad you liked the set.” He looked almost self-conscious as he spoke, a small smile on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “You hadn’t said anything about whether or not you actually liked the show, so I figured it might not have been your thing, you know? Or, you at least told Johnny you liked it…”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Didn’t want to seem like I was fishing for compliments.”

“I had fun,” you assured him, grabbing another fry. “I’m still surprised you could even see me. It was packed in there.”

“You were easy to spot,” he teased.

“You didn’t exactly give me a dress code.”

“If I did, would you have been able to dress for it?”

You pursed your lips as you thought for a moment, then relented, “…No.”

He shrugged off his jacket and offered you the garment. “Here, so you’ll blend in better next time.”

You accepted it, already giddy at the idea of a ‘next time.’ “Then how will you spot me?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

[jeno: attached image]

[jeno: no need to see his face, hyuck. its definitely the drummer from the basement]

[hyuck: fuckin knew it]

[jaem: are we SURE those are the same tattoos?? maybe y/n knows another guy with sleeves???]

[renjunnie: still the same gc, dumbasses]

[you: jeno don’t be a weirdo challenge FAILED]

[jeno: definitely the same guy, jaemin]

[you: im gonna get you fired lee jeno]

[jeno: my rent :( ]

[hyuck: y/n out here trying to SILENCE independent investigative journalists and whistleblowers i see 🫵]

[you: OR i was trying to eat in peace and meanwhile you guys are having your weekly ‘being the most obnoxious guy ever’ competition and somehow jeno is winning this time]

[jeno: :(( ]

[jaem: you were on a DATE with drummer guy and didnt tell us???]

[you: omfg because it wasn’t a date? im allowed to hang out with people who aren’t you four]

[jaem: no youre not?]

[hyuck: since when?]

[renjunnie: and since when do you know people who aren’t us lmao]

[you: im gonna block all of you]

[jeno: :'( ]

Thursday night and you were back in the basement. This time you didn’t bring any of your friends, not wanting to subject them to an experience that they clearly hadn’t enjoyed last time, and also to save yourself from having to explain why exactly you were back in the basement again and wearing Sungchan’s leather jacket. Due to the oppressive body heat around you, you just had it draped over your shoulders, but made sure to grab either side and hold it tight to not lose it as you maneuvered through the crowd. You unfortunately barely had time to run home and grab the jacket on your way here, as your boss kept your whole team late after hours today working on an urgent deadline. You were still wearing your work clothes; you didn’t trust yourself to change quickly without freaking out over what to wear and ending up missing Sungchan’s short set.

Just as you had wormed your way into a good enough spot towards the front and near the drumset, the band walked out from the adjoining room, waving to everyone. It was easy to spot Sungchan, not only because he was the tallest, but because he wasn’t even wearing a shirt this time, as opposed to the others, who were all wearing a tank top or t-shirt of some sort. His gaze was very clearly searching the crowd for something, and stopped as soon as it landed on you. You gave him a small wave, and he smiled back as he headed to his spot.

You weren’t sure if they had set up the speakers differently this time, if your ears were just used to the volume now, or if you were positioned better than before, but you could actually understand what the frontman was saying as he introduced the band.

“Hey! How is everyone?” His voice was cheerful, and you couldn’t help but laugh as the crowd cheered back. “First, uh, big thanks as always to our buddy Anton for having us. Second, if you don’t know us, that’s fine, nobody does.”

Everyone let out a unanimous round of chuckles, and the frontman was smiling too.

“Anyway, we are Roses for Eyes. I’m Shotaro, that’s Wonbin—” He pointed to the other guitarist, then the bassist, “—That’s Eunseok over there—” and finally Sungchan, “—And we’ve got Sungchan on the drums. And we’re supposed to be performing for you guys, not reading you our non-existent Wikipedia page. Here’s the first one, ‘Lonely as Mars,’ hope you all like it.”

From the first kick of the bass drum, you couldn’t take your eyes off Sungchan. The music reverberated through your chest, and this time you could hear their voices, and the words they were singing. They were good, you decided, and you liked it. But your focus never left the drummer. He had the same relaxed, easy-going smirk on his face as the last time he played, arms flexing with each hit of his sticks.

The set simultaneously felt like ten years and ten seconds. It was a blur, and before you knew it, Shotaro was once again speaking into the mic to give the crowd another thank you and goodnight. He, Eunseok, and Wonbin took their instruments with them. Sungchan tucked his drumsticks into the back pocket of his jeans as he stood up and followed his bandmates. With no friends urging you to leave, and what certainly seemed like an infinitely long list of reasons to stick around, you stayed put exactly where you were. Exactly where Sungchan knew you were.

The next band had just come out when you felt a hand grab your arm. Turning around, you knew who exactly that hand would belong to. Sungchan had found a shirt somewhere between performing and now, a tank top that didn’t cover much more than before. And despite him having just been performing a few moments ago, nobody in the crowd seemed to notice him, all their focus on the next act.

“You did good!” You had to shout over the music of the band currently performing.

He bent down to talk right into your ear. “It’s loud over here.”

You let him guide you to a corner further back from the crowd with an arm around your shoulders. There were a few other people back there, either smoking, making out, or both. You rested your back against the wall, looking up at Sungchan, who leaned over you with his hand on the wall next to your head. You opened your mouth, about to repeat what you had said out on the floor.

“Fuck, you look so hot in my jacket,” Sungchan groaned, sufficiently wiping all previous trains of thought from your brain. His fingers messed with the zipper teeth of one side, eyes scanning your whole frame.

“I feel a bit silly wearing it with the pantsuit, but I got hung up at work and didn’t want to be late…” You trailed off, noticing that his gaze was definitely now on your mouth. Tilting your head, you asked teasingly, “Sungchan, are you flirting with me?”

“Have been for like three weeks now, thanks for noticing.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t count this as my something new. I’ve been to one of your sets before, at this exact basement,” you sighed wistfully, latching onto his free arm and pulling him even closer to you.

“Mm, good point.” His hand grabbed your waist. “I think we can come up with something to do tonight that you haven’t done before.”

“I think I’ve got one.”

“Oh, here I thought I was the ideas guy?”

You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to yours. Sungchan let out another low sound against your lips, grip on your waist tightening as he pushed you back into the wall as hard as you were pulling him down with you. He dropped from leaning on his hand to his forearm, caging you in closer. Your hand that wasn’t tangled in his hair was shamelessly feeling up the muscles of his arm and shoulder. When he softly sank his teeth into your bottom lip, you couldn’t help but dig your fingernails into his tricep in surprise, pushing your hips up against his insistently.

“Fuck, Sungchan,” you panted against his mouth when he pulled back for a brief moment of air, his thigh now wedged between yours.

“God, you’re so—” He pressed his lips to yours again, hand at the small of your back to pull you as close to him as possible. If you thought you were warm before packed in the crowd, you were in a stifling heat now, pinned between Sungchan’s body and the wall. He broke the kiss, asking between deep breaths, “Can—Can I take you home?”

“What about the other bands?” You giggled, lips ghosting over his as you spoke.

“Fuck the other bands,” he replied immediately. “As soon I saw you out in the crowd wearing my jacket, could barely focus on the set because you looked so good.”

“Yes, Sungchan.” You kissed him again. “You can take me home.”

As soon as Sungchan’s front door was shut, he had you pressed up against it again. You pulled at his flimsy tank top as his tongue slipped past your lips. Finally, he gave in to your persistent hands and let you pull it off him.

“Honestly, don’t even know why you bother with shirts at this point,” you scoffed, throwing it off towards the side somewhere.

“With how much I’ve spent on tattoos? I agree,” he chuckled, cupping your cheek to pull your mouth to his again.

Still attached to each other, you’d only succeeded at getting Sungchan’s belt unbuckled by the time you made it to his bedroom. Before you could unbutton his pants, however, he stepped back from you, familiar teasing glint in his eyes.

“Well this isn’t very fair, don’t you think?” He gestured between his half-dressed state and your fully dressed self.

“I thought you liked me in your jacket?” You taunted, wrapping the garment tighter around yourself.

“Which is why you’ve got to let me take it off you.” He put his hands together in a pleading motion. “And the pantsuit…”

“Mm, alright.” You dropped your hands from the jacket.

He circled behind you, hovering close to remove his leather jacket from your shoulders, pressing kisses to your neck as he did so. With him no longer blocking the rest of his bedroom from your view, you couldn’t help but be a little surprised at the presence of one thing.

“You know, I was mentally prepared for you to not have a bedframe,” you commented as he took off your blazer next.

“You got mattress-on-the-ground vibes from me and still came home with me?” Sungchan asked incredulously, letting out a breathy laugh. His deft fingers started unbuttoning your blouse next. “I think I’m flattered? And you’ve got to raise your standards.”

You turned around to face him, feeling the smirk on your face as you replied, “Let’s see how high we can raise those standards, hm?”

“Is that a challenge or what?” Sungchan laughed again, wasting no time in attaching his lips and teeth to your neck, dropping your blouse off your shoulders and to the floor.

When the garish blaring of your work alarm came, you reached over to the right to blindly grab your phone off your nightstand. Instead, your hand hit what felt like someone’s face, and you jolted up in bed as they did as well, already swearing.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Sungchan was holding his eye. “What the hell was that for? That’s not my alarm.”

Blinking a couple times to orient yourself first, you then jerked over to grab your phone off the floor on your left side. Sungchan may have had a bedframe, but he did only have one nightstand. You quickly turned off your alarm and fell back onto the mattress. You weren’t going to be able to go back to sleep, having been sufficiently scared awake, but you needed a second to catch your breath.

“Work alarm…” You explained belatedly, in case that wasn’t apparent.

Sungchan made a grunt of acknowledgement, dropping his hand from his face as he laid back down as well. He rolled over towards you, slinging an arm around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. You stared up at his ceiling, feeling his warm breaths washing over the skin of your arm.

“Mars isn’t lonely,” you blurted out into his still-dark room.

“What?” He mumbled into your shoulder.

“It’s got two moons.”

Sungchan shifted around, propping his head up with his other hand to be able to talk. “Yes… Phobos and Deimos. Named for the Greek gods of fear and dread, respectively.”

“So to be lonely as Mars… with fear and dread as your only companions.”

“That was the idea, when we wrote it.” He brushed hair back from your face. “Don’t tell me the title of one of our songs kept you up all night.”

“No, was just kind of in the back of my mind.” You felt a sudden prickling along your skin as his hand fell to your arm, fingers playing with the sleeve hem of the t-shirt you were wearing—his. Sitting up out of his grasp, you pushed the covers off of you. “I have to get ready for work.”

Sungchan wordlessly watched you gather up your clothes from the floor and get dressed. When you went into the adjoining bathroom to check the tuck of your shirt into your pants and make other adjustments, he followed, leaning in the doorway with a troubled look on his face.

“Am I just something new, Y/N?” He asked bluntly, arms crossed over his chest.

“Am I just entertainment?” You immediately fired back, trying to smooth out a wrinkle that your blouse had acquired from sitting crumpled on the floor all night.

“What? Why would you think that?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“‘I don’t care. I just want to be along for the ride.’” You paraphrased what he said when he agreed to help you with your plan. “Am I just entertainment?”

His features softened. “No, you’re not entertainment.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shoulders falling as they lost the tension they’d just held. “No, Sungchan, you’re not just something new.”

He walked over to you with a wide grin on his face, cupping your cheek and pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss too, giving him one more peck before turning back to fixing your attire in the mirror. There was nothing you could do right now about the wrinkles, but you could at least attempt something with your hair.

Sungchan stepped behind you, resting his hands on your hips and pulling you back into him. He placed a few lazy kisses along your neck, murmuring, “I think the pantsuit is growing on me, actually.”

“Then why are you trying to take it off me?” You questioned, grabbing his hand that had been reaching for your blouse buttons again.

“Because I like what’s under it better.”

“Nice try. I have work.” You spun out of his arms, heading for his bedroom door.

Two steps into the hall, you knew something was wrong. There were other voices in Sungchan’s apartment, which stopped when they saw you. As soon as your eyes registered the three men in the living room, you skittered backwards back into Sungchan’s room again.

Practically slamming his door closed behind you, you didn’t let him get whatever surprised statement he had out of his mouth, as you hissed, “Sungchan! Why is your whole fucking band out there?”

“Probably because your work alarm woke them up too,” he laughed, which turned into a yawn as he stretched his arms over his head. “They’re not really early birds…”

“Why are they here?”

“They live here?”

In your rush to get into Sungchan’s bedroom last night, you had somehow missed any signs of three other people living here. You didn’t even hear them come home last night, and you weren’t exactly… quiet yourself. Definitely not three roommates quiet.

“Oh my god…” You sunk down against the door, shaking your head. “I’m just going to stay in here and die, I think.”

“I thought you had work?” Sungchan pointed out smugly.

“Ugh…” You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“Y/N, they’ve already seen you. Here, I’ll walk you out. Will that help?” He offered, pulling on a shirt and his leather jacket.

“Fine, I’m gonna be late if I stay any longer.”

He held a hand out to you, and you placed yours in it for him to pull you to your feet. “Let’s go.”

The chatter that had started up again in your absence died down as soon as the bedroom door opened. Sure enough, the other three members of Roses for Eyes were sprawled out across the living room exactly where you’d left them. Shotaro was sideways in an armchair, Switch in hand as his thumbs moved over the controls quickly. Eunseok was sleepily eating a bowl of cereal on the couch, while Wonbin didn’t actually look awake, slumped against Eunseok’s shoulder with his eyes closed.

“Morning, guys,” Sungchan nodded to them as you walked by, still ushering you to the door.

Eunseok wordlessly held his hand out palm-up towards the armchair, and you saw Shotaro smack a few bills down into it.

At the front door, you were just ready to leave. Patting Sungchan’s arm, you gave him a nod and hushed, “Bye.”

Turning to grab the door handle, you heard Sungchan’s voice, nowhere near the whisper yours was.

“Baby, you almost forgot—” Sungchan stopped you, grabbing your hand and spinning you back around.

The sudden pet name made your skin burn. “What is it, Sungchan? My phone?” You started patting your pockets.

He took off the leather jacket that he just put on, putting it squarely on your shoulders. “Oh, and—” He cradled your face with two hands, kissing you.

It was short, sweet, and made your knees feel like jelly. When he’d pulled away, still holding your face, you whispered in the small space between you, “I’m going to be late.”

“Have a good day at work.” He smiled, letting you go and opening the door for you.

With a sigh, Eunseok gave the money back to Shotaro.

You weren’t late that morning, thankfully, but your mind was still in the stratosphere as you bustled around the breakroom making yourself coffee. You’d left Sungchan’s jacket hanging off the back of your chair; it wasn’t exactly in dress code for your office.

“Morning, Y/N,” Renjun said through a yawn, shuffling into the breakroom as well. He paused as he seemed to be taking in your clothes. “Am I crazy or did you wear that yesterday?”

“The only thing worse than an outfit repeater is an outfit remember-er,” you jested back.

“No, I mean like…” He got closer, rubbing his eyes as he peered at your blouse. “You didn’t wash them. They’re all wrinkled and—You got laid.”

“Or I need to do laundry.”

He pointed to your neck. “Hickey.”

“Damn, you caught me breaking my undying vow of chastity—oh wait,” you retorted sarcastically.

He held his hands up. “Hey, no slut-shaming here. Love that for you. One question?”

“What?”

“Was it drummer guy?”

You looked around the breakroom as you stirred sugar into your coffee. “…Yes.”

Renjun chuckled and grabbed a coffee mug. “Something new every day…”

“Why can’t you just get the food delivered?” You complained, pulling Sungchan’s blankets tighter around you as the bed grew cold without him in there with you.

He hopped on one foot as he pulled a shoe on. “Because the delivery charge is as much as the food is, baby. And it’s just around the block.”

You huffed dramatically, watching him start searching the sheets for his phone. He secured it in his hand victoriously, tucking it in his back pocket.

“You could come with me, you know,” he pointed out, mischievous hands already reaching for the covers and pulling them down, revealing your bare legs to the cold air conditioning. “But you’d have to put pants on.”

You yanked the blankets back over you. “I’ll wait.”

He snickered, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Be back in a few.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sighed, kissing him again.

He dropped one more peck to your forehead before standing up straight and heading out, shutting his door behind him. You snuggled back under the covers, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders as you tried to enjoy the fleeting warmth left over as you scrolled on your phone. Sungchan had only been gone for a few minutes when you heard the front door open again. You perked up with interest. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be back soon. Then there were a couple light knocks on the bedroom door. Not Sungchan. One of his bandmates must have come home.

You scrambled to throw the sheets off you and grab a pair of your shorts from Sungchan’s floor, putting your legs through them as you stumbled towards the door. Opening it just enough to peer out, you saw Wonbin on the other side, a plastic grocery bag in his hand. He didn’t seem surprised to see you at all.

“…Hi?” You greeted him hesitantly. You had been seeing Sungchan for a couple weeks now, and had caught glimpses of his roommates around his apartment, but had yet to say much more than the occasional ‘morning’ or ‘night’ or ‘hey’ in passing.

Wonbin held up the plastic bag. “Can you help me dye my hair?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” You looked down at what you were wearing, one of Sungchan’s black t-shirts. “What color? Should I change? Like, is it bleach?”

“Black. That’s fine.” He turned around, walking back down the hall.

You followed him as he opened another one of the doors, this one leading to a bathroom. As he prepped the dye, you read the pamphlet of instructions carefully.

“I’ll do the mixing,” he interrupted your deep focus. “I just can’t see the back of my head.”

“Oh. Okay.” You set the directions down on the counter next to the bottles. “I’ve never done this before… Don’t want to ruin your hair.”

He shrugged, handing you a pair of gloves. “If you miss a spot, we’ll just do it again.”

After Wonbin mixed up the dye, he sat on the edge of the tub for you to stand over him and start applying it to his hair. As you worked the dark dye into his blonde hair, you watched his soft waves straighten out.

“I liked the blonde curls,” you commented, moving onto the next section.

“Me too.” He flicked through his music library on his phone. “Time for something new, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” you smiled to yourself, adding more dye.

“What music do you like?”

“Oh, put on whatever you want. I’m trying to broaden my horizons.”

He wordlessly selected a song, a soft guitar melody coming through the speakers. It was so different from the music that you’d heard them perform, your hands slowed as you listened thoughtfully.

“Is that why you’re dating Sungchan?” Wonbin’s question caught you off-guard.

“What?” You parted his hair, double-checking that you had gotten every bit of blonde in that section.

“You’re broadening your horizons.” He picked at his nail polish that was already chipped. “Is that why you’re dating Sungchan?”

“Something like that.” Satisfied that you had fully saturated that area, you went to the next one. “I also just like him.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? Because we’re so different?”

“No, because he’s lame.”

You laughed right as you had started squeezing more dye out, missing his head as the liquid dripped right down the back of his neck instead. Wonbin hissed in surprise, shoulders jumping.

“Oh! Sorry!” You were still laughing as you grabbed the end of the towel that was around his shoulders, wiping at the stray hair dye.

Shotaro came home soon after that, joining the two of you in the bathroom, hopping up on the bathroom counter to watch you apply the hair dye. He showed off his new nose ring that he just got, and tsked when he saw Wonbin’s chipped nail polish.

“We’re gonna have to redo that, Wonbin,” the frontman shook his head. “After Y/N’s done with your hair.”

“Once it’s applied, it’s got to sit for thirty minutes,” you recalled the instructions. “Will that be long enough?”

“Plenty.”

You were a little more than halfway done with Wonbin’s hair when Sungchan finally got back.

“Wonbin? Taro? You guys here?” He called out into the apartment. “Y/N’s here too by the—”

He’d poked his head into the bathroom then, brown paper bag of food in hand. You gave him a wave with your hair dye-covered, gloved hand.

“Hi, Sungchan,” you smiled. “That was more than a few minutes.”

“Clearly,” he gestured to the scene in front of him. “I leave you for like twelve minutes and my bandmates adopt you.”

“We can eat once I finish applying Wonbin’s hair dye.”

“Sure.”

“What’d you get?” Shotaro leaned over towards the bag with interest.

“Only four extra crab rangoons. Fight over them however you want.” Sungchan pulled out a smaller bag from within the takeout bag.

Wonbin and Shotaro locked eyes.

“None for Eunseok?” Shotaro proposed.

Wonbin nodded minutely, as much as he could with some of his hair still in your hands. The front door slammed closed then, and they both groaned.

“I smell chemicals!” Eunseok yelled out. “What is it this time, Wonbin? Purple? Red? Both?”

The bassist appeared in the doorway behind Sungchan, peeking over his shoulder at everyone. “Oh hey, Y/N.”

“Hi, Eunseok.” You nodded to him, applying more dye.

“Shotaro, are those crab rangoons you’re hiding behind your back?”

A random Sunday afternoon found you at Sungchan’s apartment, as you seemed to be most days now. If you weren’t at work, at one of his gigs, or with your own friends, it was a safe bet that you could be found there.

He opened the door for you, pecking your cheek in greeting, “Hi, baby.”

“I know what we’re doing today,” you blurted out, before you could lose your nerve. “My something new.”

He tilted his head curiously. “And? What is it?”

You took a deep breath. “I’m going to get my ears pierced. Second lobe piercings, I already have the first done. I’ve been wanting to do it for like forever, but I just… haven’t. It’s allowed at my work, I checked the employee handbook, and asked someone from HR on Friday to be extra sure.”

Sungchan beamed at you. “Hell yeah. We can use Shotaro’s piercer, unless you’ve already looked someone up?”

“Whoever Shotaro goes to will be fine.”

Wonbin was taking a nap on the couch in the afternoon sunlight, and you walked past him to get to the hall where Shotaro and Eunseok’s rooms were. Shotaro’s door was ajar already, and Sungchan pushed it open the rest of the way. The frontman was laid out on his bed upside down, his feet kicked up on the wall as he lazily plucked out a melody on an acoustic guitar. Eunseok was in there too, scrawling away at a notebook at the guitarist’s desk.

“Who do you go to for your piercings?” Sungchan didn’t give either of them so much as a hello.

Shotaro craned his neck to look over at the two of you. “Huh? Oh, uh, Sid, at Black Cat in downtown. Why? What are you getting?”

“Not for me,” Sungchan informed him happily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Eunseok’s head snapped up from where he had been focused on his notebook, and Shotaro set his instrument aside to roll over and fully face you.

“Y/N?!” Shotaro’s jaw dropped in delight. “What are you getting?”

“Ah, just my second lobes…” you muttered self-consciously, hands instinctively feeling at the jewelry that you already had in your existing piercings. You pushed further into Sungchan’s side to hide your face from them, especially when the bassist muttered a ‘woah’ at this revelation.

“Sid taking walk-ins today?” Sungchan asked.

“She should be. You know what? I’ll call her right now.” Shotaro eagerly brought out his phone.

After he confirmed that Sid was, in fact, taking walk-ins, Sungchan went to get changed as Eunseok and Shotaro put shoes on as well, ushering you towards the front door. All the commotion woke Wonbin up, as he sleepily lifted his head up and rubbed one of his eyes, watching the four of you.

“Where are you guys going?” Wonbin squinted against the sun.

“Y/N’s getting pierced!” Shotaro announced brightly.

“I’m coming.”

At Black Cat, which you learned was a tattoo and piercing shop, you met with Sid, a young woman who was no older than you, and told her what you wanted. She nodded, looking at your ears for just a second.

“Easy. How old were you when you got the first ones done?” She asked, pulling out a tray of jewelry from under the counter she was standing behind.

“Thirteen maybe? I know it was done with one of those piercing guns…” You admitted sheepishly.

“We don’t use those here.” She shook her head. “Injures the tissue too much. I’ll be using a needle, should take like half a second on each side. I’ll explain everything back at the station where I can show you all the tools.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll give you a minute to pick your jewelry while I prep the station.” With that, she walked towards the back of the shop.

Everyone huddled around while you browsed through the options, seeming to have their own input. You finally settled on a pair of studs with small diamonds in them, not too outlandish; you’d be able to easily match them with the rest of your jewelry and any outfits you wore to work easily while the piercings healed.

“You nervous?” Sungchan murmured, rubbing your back as Shotaro and Wonbin wandered over towards the other end of the clear case of jewelry, looking at industrial piercings. Eunseok flipped through a book of flash tattoo options.

You shook your head. “No. Excited.”

“So you’re not gonna need to hold my hand?”

“I didn’t say that…”

As Sid walked back over, the others crowded around you excitedly again.

“Do you all really need to be here? It’s not that big of a deal…” You muttered, a bit embarrassed at how hyped they were over you just getting a couple ear piercings.

“I’m with Y/N on this one. Only you can come back.” She pointed at Sungchan. “The rest of you will have to wait up front.”

Sitting on the padded chair at Sid’s station, she walked you through each step and the tools she’d be using first, then marked where the piercings would go on your ears.

“Check the placement.” She handed you a handheld mirror.

You appraised them, then looked up at Sungchan. “What do you think? Even?”

“Sit up straight. And straighten out your shoulders, did you know you slouch?” He teased, grabbing your shoulders and straightening them out for you.

You glared up at him, but fixed your posture nevertheless.

“They look good, baby,” he approved, squeezing your arm.

Sungchan stood off to your side, holding your hand as Sid got ready on the on the first ear.

“Alright. One, two—” At the pinch, you squeezed Sungchan’s hand tighter, face screwing up in surprise.

She moved to the other side. “Next. One, two—” Pinch. “All done.”

“Wooh!” The other three cheered from up front, pumping their fists and jumping up and down.

“Fuck yeah, Y/N!” Eunseok yelled out.

“Baby’s first body mod!” Shotaro pretended to wipe a tear from under his eye. “They grow up so fast…”

“So pretty, baby,” Sungchan kissed your cheek, a wide grin on his face when he pulled back. He wiped at the single actual tear that had spilled over from your own eye. “So proud of you.”

Your face hurt from how much you were smiling, more than your ears did.

“Y/N!” Jaemin stood up from the table as soon as he saw you, pulling you in for a hug. The two of you were meeting up on your respective lunch breaks at a café equidistant from your workplaces.

“Hi Jaem—Ow!” You hissed as his head bumped into your ear.

“What? What’s wrong?” He pulled back, clearly worried.

“It’s nothing, sorry.” You cradled the wounded ear, giving him a reassuring smile. “I finally got my second lobes done the other day and they’re still tender.”

“Let me see!”

You tucked your hair behind your ears to show off the small diamonds. “Just some studs…”

“Cool. They look good.” He was still smiling as the two of you sat down. “What made you want to do that?”

“I’ve been talking about it for a while.”

“Yeah, I know. What made you finally get them?”

“Something spontaneous or new every day, remember?”

“Well, I’m happy you finally did it. Seems your little quarter life crisis is actually working, huh?”

“Sungchan’s been helping me,” you acknowledged, watching his face carefully.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “The drummer guy?”

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing him...” You sat forward, lacing your hands together in front of you on the table. “Speaking of—Dinner tomorrow, I figured I could bring him? You guys could all meet?”

Jaemin rubbed the back of his neck, tone turning remorseful. “Damn, Y/N, I wish you’d told me sooner. I already made the reservation for five people.”

“You can’t call back and change it to six?”

“Limited space.”

“There’s not a lot of five-person tables. Wouldn’t they be putting us at one that seats six anyway?”

“If I change it, we’ll be bumped to the bottom of the list again.”

“Oh. That’s alright, another time,” you acquiesced as your waiter came over, handing you menus.

“Another time,” your friend agreed.

You were in the ‘green room’ of Anton’s basement, which was actually the laundry alcove that had a few chairs set up for the acts to sit and wait before they went on. All of Roses for Eyes were back there, chatting as the time for their set to start got closer.

“You know what I’m craving?” Sungchan hummed in your ear.

“What is that?” You turned to look at him out of the corner of your vision from your current position on his lap.

“Fries from that place where your sturdy friend works.”

“He has a name,” you laughed, pinching his forearm. “Do you want to go get some after this? They’re open late.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“After the day I had at work, I’ve earned a milkshake,” you sighed, leaning back against him.

Sungchan wrapped his arms around your waist, and you could hear the frown in his voice as he asked, “What happened, baby?”

“You’re about to go on, I’ll tell you later,” you promised. “Just my boss—”

“Yo! Roses!” Anton poked his head into the room just then. “Two minutes! Let’s go!”

You got up from Sungchan’s lap as the others started grabbing their instruments. “I should go grab a spot.”

“Okay…” He cupped your cheek to bring your mouth to his. “See you in a minute, baby.”

“See you.”

You picked your way through the crowd until you found a group of familiar faces: Anton, and two more regulars and friends of Roses for Eyes, Sohee and Seunghan. When the band still hadn’t come out after a few minutes, you got on your tiptoes to look over the crowd towards the green room.

“Wonder what’s keeping them?” You mused, dropping back onto flat feet again.

“Oh, Jay and Hayoung popped in there right after you left,” Anton explained. “Said they wanted to talk to them.”

“I thought they already left,” Seunghan commented.

“No, their tour starts in a couple weeks, I think,” Sohee explained. “Or at least, the tickets I have aren’t until next month.”

“Is that for the Venue:Hell show?”

“Yeah, are you going?”

“Waiting to get paid then I’ll buy my ticket.”

“Anton and I have an extra,” Sohee offered. “He was going to bring that girl he was seeing, but we all know how that worked out.”

“No need to rub it in my face,” Anton grumbled as the other two simultaneously snickered and tried to comfort him. He then turned to you. “Where’d Sungchan find you, anyway?”

“Oh, uh, I got lost and asked him for directions at the bookstore he works at,” you answered, knowing that wasn’t going to help your friend very much.

“You’re useless to me.”

You laughed and patted his back. “I’m sorry, Anton. Maybe instead of trying to find someone the same way Sungchan and I met, you should just try meeting different people. Sungchan could tell that I wasn’t into this kind of stuff at all when we met, and still tried anyway.”

“Alright, got any pantsuit-wearing friends you can set me up with?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It was then that Roses for Eyes finally started walking out, Sungchan at the front. They seemed to be even more energetic than usual during their set, and you could feel it radiate out through the whole room. You couldn’t stop jumping, dancing, and singing along to the songs that you had finally learned the lyrics to.

When they were done, Shotaro gave their usual thank-you and goodbye before leaving. By the time the next act was starting their first song, Roses for Eyes had joined the rest of you in the crowd.

“You guys did so good!” You praised them, squeezing Shotaro’s forearm as you wrapped your other arm around Sungchan’s waist. “Like, I think that was like the best set I’ve ever seen!”

“Thanks, baby,” Sungchan laughed breathlessly, kissing your temple and pulling you even closer with an arm around your shoulders. “You looked like you were having a good time.”

“She’s right, you guys had a lot of energy up there,” Seunghan complimented them as well.

“What did Hayoung and Jay want, by the way?” Anton asked. “They kept you guys for a while.”

The band exchanged uncertain looks, Eunseok, Wonbin, and Shotaro looking to Sungchan as if waiting for his cue.

He shrugged and squeezed your shoulder. “Just dropping by before they go on tour, you know?”

The rest of Roses for Eyes declined accompanying you and Sungchan for your midnight snack, so it was just the two of you squished into the same side of a booth, Sungchan taking sips from your milkshake as you stole fries from his plate.

“Tell me about work,” he prompted you, nudging your leg with his.

“Oh, God, it was just… long,” you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Felt like it would never end. My boss put off starting his part of this project until literally the day before our deadline to send it to the VP, which meant I had to rush to finalize everything. Meanwhile, he was breathing down my neck the whole time about the deadline! Like! Dude, I fucking know! We wouldn’t be cutting it so close if he had done his part earlier!”

“That’s really inconsiderate.” Sungchan frowned, rubbing your back. “I’m sorry, baby, that sounds really stressful.”

“But we got it submitted, so that’s all that matters, I guess,” you sighed. “You were right, Sungchan. I hate my job.”

His hand stilled on your back, just resting there as you sat in the wake of your admission.

“You remember my friends from the food truck?” He asked, abruptly changing topics.

“Yeah, Jay and Hayoung.”

“Well, we actually got an offer to open for their band on tour,” he told you, voice pitching up with excitement. That must’ve been what they were discussing before their set tonight. “It’ll be for a couple months.”

“Oh… congrats. I know this is big for you guys. Have fun.” You smiled, trying to hide the sudden emptiness inside you as you tried to imagine what your days would look like without Sungchan or the rest of his bandmates for two whole months. “When do you leave?”

“Next Saturday. Their original opener dropped out, it was last-minute.”

“Oh. I’ll see you when you get back, then.” You then paused, your mind suddenly changing directions and racing with other thoughts of why he might want to be telling you this. He was a drummer in a band going on their first tour, maybe he’d want the full rockstar experience. “Unless this was something else…”

His eyes widened as he shook his head fervently. “I’m not—I mean, I won’t ask you to wait for me if you want to get on with your life while I’m gone, but I would wait for you.”

“Why not?” You furrowed your brow thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Why wouldn’t you ask me to wait for you? You want me to ask you to wait, but you won’t ask me.”

“Because I’m about to ask you for something even bigger than to wait two months for me to come back.” He grabbed your hand, holding it tight.

“What…?”

“Come with me.”

“What?!” You blinked, for a moment unsure that you had even heard him right.

“On tour. Come with me,” he repeated, as sincere, eager, and genuine as he was in everything.

You immediately stammered out, “Sungchan, I’d have to quit my job—”

“And then when we get back, you can find one that you actually like.”

“If I can even get one.”

“This is exactly what you’ve been trying to do, Y/N. Something new every day.” He was sandwiching your hand between both of his now. “Please, just think about it?”

“Alright, what are you moping about?” Renjun asked, pushing an already-opened beer into your hand as he walked by.

The five of you were over at Jeno and Jaemin’s place for a movie, pizza, and beer night, and the first movie hadn’t even been started yet. As usual, you were an open book to your friends.

“Sungchan’s band is going on tour. For two months,” you told them glumly before bringing the bottle to your lips. “They leave Saturday.”

“They have enough fans to do that?” Donghyuck snorted, picking up a slice of pizza.

“They’re opening for another band.”

“Aw, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Y/N,” Jaemin went to comfort you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You tapped a fingernail against the glass bottle in your hands. “He asked me to go with him.”

“Does he think you can just quit your job for two months and come back and your boss will rehire you?” Renjun retorted. “This guy lives another world, sounds like you dodged a bullet.”

“You’re considering it.” Donghyuck pointed at you knowingly. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have brought up that he asked you until after he was long gone.”

You were quiet, looking down at your slice of pizza.

“Are you?” Jeno asked.

“I mean, I’ve been trying to do something different every day—”

“Woahwoahwoah! Seriously?!” Renjun cut you off, waving his hands wildly.

“I have enough in my savings to cover my rent and stuff while I’m gone, plus a few months after I get back while I look for a new job—”

“Holy shit you’re like, serious about this,” Jeno breathed out, blinking in surprise.

Jaemin took over, “When we joked about you having a quarter life crisis, we didn’t mean for you to actually do something like quit your job and go run off to join your punk boyfriend that you barely know on his dirtbag boyband’s tour for months.”

“We kind of figured you seeing this guy was already pushing your limits…” Renjun added.

“Gee, thanks.” You rolled your eyes. “You thought I was—What? Getting it out of my system? Then I’d settle down with a guy who’s as boring as I am?”

“When you phrase it like that—”

“You guys don’t even know Sungchan.” You cut Jaemin off, getting to your feet to face them all as your skin pricked with anger.

“Do you? You’ve been seeing him for like a month.” Jaemin gestured to you pointedly.

“Three. But thanks for proving my point so well,” you snapped. “You haven’t even tried to get to know him! You don’t like his music, fine, I wouldn’t expect you to go back to a show. But you haven’t invited him anywhere and you somehow always have an excuse when I invite you guys to something with him. None of you have even really met him. Not even Jeno from that one time, so don’t try to start that.”

They all seemed to be at a loss for words, looking at each other as if waiting for someone else to say the right thing.

“Y/N, come on…” Jaemin tried again, but trailed off at your furious glare.

“I’m going,” you declared, grabbing your phone from the coffee table. “Unless any of you plan on getting your heads out of your asses in the next five seconds.”

They were quiet again, and you took that as your answer, storming out of the apartment.

“Oh hey.” Eunseok’s face held mild surprise when he opened the door for you. “Sungchan said you weren’t coming over today.”

“Is he here?” You were still agitated from what just happened with your friends.

“In his room.” The bassist stepped back to let you in.

You passed by Wonbin and Shotaro in the living room, a game paused on their TV. They gave you greetings as you walked by, and you tossed a hello back over your shoulder. Sungchan’s door opened before you even got to it, confusion on his features when he saw you there.

“Hey, I thought I heard your voice.” He watched you as you stomped past him into his room. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, baby, but I thought you were hanging out with your friends tonight. What are you doing here?”

“I’m pissed at them.”

“What happened?” He sat down on his bed as you paced angrily in front of him.

“I was trying to tell them about the tour.” You gestured between the two of you. “You know, bouncing ideas off them or whatever. My mind was pretty much made up, I just needed to talk it through. And they couldn’t even be happy for you, or actually listen to me! They just called you a dirtbag and patronized me like a dumb child. Apparently, they’ve just been waiting for me to dump you and settle down with some boring guy that’s better for someone boring like me! They’ve been refusing to meet you, I mean, I can’t believe they think they somehow know anything about if you’re good for me or not.”

Sungchan had been listening patiently while you ranted, and when it seemed like you had come to a stopping point, he asked, “They really said all that?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Pretty much?” He repeated knowingly.

You put your hands on your hips. “They called you guys a dirtbag boyband. And said I was ‘pushing my limits’ by seeing you.”

“‘Dirtbag boyband,’” Sungchan repeated with a laugh. “Yeah, I like that.”

“Of course you think it’s funny.”

“That part? Yeah, I do,” he snickered, holding a hand out towards you. When you had reluctantly put yours in it, he pulled you closer, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “The part where they’re being super judgmental and treating you like you can’t make your own decisions? No, I don’t think that’s funny.”

You took a deep breath, already beginning to calm down a little as he continued working soothing circles into your skin.

“You said your mind was made up? Mostly?” Sungchan asked tentatively, eyes focused on your intertwined hands.

“I want to go with you,” you said, watching his head snap up to look at you, his face hopeful. “On the tour. I fucking hate my job and I love you.”

Sungchan’s eyes went wide as he gazed up at you. Then he was yanking you down into his arms, and you let out an embarrassing ‘eep!’ as you threw your arms around his shoulders, trying to find some stability in your sudden change in orientation. He held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You could feel his smile against your skin.

“I love you too,” he murmured, pulling back to cup your cheek. He was grinning. “I love you.”

Your skin got warmer as you realized exactly what you’d said, but you couldn’t take it back now. You’d said it, you meant it, it was true, and you wanted to say it again.

“I love you.” You repeated, feeling a smile creep across your face.

Sungchan leaned up to kiss you, cradling the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pressed even closer to him.

Your phone started buzzing relentlessly in your back pocket then, and you let out an annoyed groan into Sungchan’s mouth. You broke apart just enough to pull out your phone and look at the screen, fully intending on declining the call. Then you saw the caller ID and paused.

“Who is it?” Sungchan asked, kissing along your jaw.

“Jeno.” You continued staring at the screen.

He drew back. “You should answer it.”

“Sungchan—”

“Just see what he wants. Might be important.”

You sighed, and hit the accept button. “What?”

“You picked up! Great!” Jeno sounded genuinely shocked. “Uhm, will you come back?”

“So you guys can continue belittling my life choices? Pass.”

“No, no, so we can all talk. Actually talk this time.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you sized up your options: staying here with Sungchan, or going back to that unpleasant atmosphere. Seemed like a pretty obvious choice to you.

“Jaemin will apologize,” Jeno added. “He wants to apologize, uh, to you.”

“Why didn’t he call me then?” You asked dryly.

“He didn’t think you’d pick up if he called.”

“I wasn’t going to pick up your call either,” you informed him. “Sungchan said I should hear you out.”

“Oh. You’re with him right now.”

“I’ll come back,” you stated. “But I’m bringing Sungchan.”

You would be feeling awkward right now if you weren’t so pissed off. As soon as Jaemin had opened the door and you saw his face, you just got pissed off all over again. The only thing keeping you here and mostly civil was Sungchan.

“This is Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, and Jaemin,” you blandly pointed out all your friends for Sungchan’s sake.

“Hi, Sungchan, dirtbag boyfriend,” Sungchan introduced himself with a broad smile, making the first move to shake all their hands.

Jaemin looked at you incredulously. “Y/N, you told him—”

“They’re your words, Jaemin. Now eat. them.” You said through gritted teeth, arms crossed over your chest firmly.

“I didn’t call you a dirtbag,” Jaemin tried to explain himself to Sungchan.

“Just his band,” Renjun pointed out helpfully.

“I thought it was funny,” Sungchan told him with a chuckle, stepping back to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Y/N, not so much.”

“Well, she has no sense of humor, as I’m sure you know,” Donghyuck teased.

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t introduce you guys for you to all pick on me.”

“I think you’ve got a great sense of humor, baby,” your boyfriend reassured you, squeezing your arm.

“So do you have like, a tour bus or something?” Jaemin asked.

“We’ve got a van,” Sungchan told them proudly. “We won’t be sleeping in it or anything, we’ll get hotels.”

“How many tattoos do you have?” Donghyuck flopped back into his armchair.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jaemin rounded on him.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just curious.”

“I’ve lost count,” Sungchan answered candidly.

“Cool.”

“Y/N mentioned you worked at a bookstore and a tea shop as well,” Jeno said. “Are they cool with you uh, going so suddenly?”

“I’m a part-timer. My bosses at both places knew what I actually wanted to do when I started,” he explained. “If they still have a spot for me when we get back, that’d be nice, but I don’t expect it.”

“So, are you going to be quitting tomorrow, Y/N?” Renjun’s voice held no judgment, just curiosity.

You nodded. “Yeah. I fucking hate that place.”

“Good. I could tell.”

“When do you guys leave? This week?” Jeno asked.

“Saturday,” Sungchan confirmed. “We’ll be popping back over here in a few weeks for a show at Venue:Hell, though.”

“Are there tickets… left?” Jaemin rubbed the back of his neck. “To the show in town?”

“You want to go?” You blurted out, a little dumbfounded.

“Totally, man.” Sungchan was absolutely beaming. “I’ll get you guys some.”

Donghyuck raised his beer to him before tipping it back. “Hell yeah.”

Later that night, tucked under Sungchan’s covers and curled up in his arms, your fingertips traced the lines of his tattoos as you were slowly lulled closer and closer to sleep.

“Thank you, Sungchan,” you said aloud into the darkness.

“Mm? For what, baby?” He questioned sleepily, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“For not giving up on me. Even if you were just tagging along for the ride at the beginning, I would’ve just given up on my stupid little idea to cure my quarter life crisis if I didn’t have someone else doing it with me,” you admitted.

“Thank you for not telling me to fuck off when you had every right to,” he chuckled, tangling his legs with yours. “I love you, baby.”

You turned your head to kiss his hair. “I love you too, Sungchan.”

⏯ sequel

⤷ au masterlist | blog masterlist

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thenickgirl · 6 months ago

Text

my wishes for the triplets 21st:

drinking w justin (i know he been waiting for this day)

they get drunk asf maybe not blackout bc i want them safe obvi

lowkey want nick to get into a fight but that’s just my own personal fantasy idkidkidk don’t cancel me 🥴

strip clubs

matt winning in the casino

chris somehow ending up in the dj booth at the club

threesomes for matt and chris or just hooking up with a baddie

nick going to a gay club

FLIGHTS FLIGHTS FLIGHTS FLIGHTS ALL NIGHT

nick getting his back blown to the gods by someone’s rich uncle

they have a fun safe night with their friends

justin documenting the whole thing

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #a speaks

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jxwl4k · 1 month ago

Note

hii could i request one where katsuki takes care of drunk reader after picking her up from a girls night out? (i hope that makes sense, thank you!!)

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ my hero in the moonlight .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by @qyuin

⤿ bakugou picking up a drunk yn from her girl’s night out.

The neon glow of the bar sign lit up Katsuki’s scowling face as he pulled up to the curb. His phone buzzed again in the cup holder, Mina’s name flashing on the screen. With a frustrated sigh, he grabbed it and answered.

“What now?” he barked, already stepping out of the car.

“Bakugou, thank god! YN’s fine, but there’s no way she’s getting home on her own,” Mina explained hurriedly over the background noise of chatter and upbeat music. “She’s not blackout drunk, but she’s… let’s just say she’s in her happy place. Can you come get her?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m already here,” he muttered before hanging up and stuffing his phone in his pocket.

The bar was lively, filled with groups of people laughing and dancing, but Katsuki barely noticed. His sharp eyes immediately found you by the entrance, perched on a stool, swaying lightly as you sipped from a glass Mina had probably forced you to stick to—likely water, knowing her.

“Bakugou!” Mina called out, waving him over. She looked a little too smug for his liking, but he brushed it off.

He stomped over, crossing his arms. “Where’s her stuff?”

Mina handed him your bag and jacket, her grin widening. “Here. Oh, and just so you know, she’s been asking for you all night. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Tch. Whatever,” he muttered, shifting his focus to you. “Oi, YN, let’s go.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and your face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Katsuki!” you exclaimed, stumbling off the stool to greet him.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, rolling his eyes but steadying you with a firm grip on your arm. “Time to go home.”

“But I’m having so much fun,” you whined, though you let him guide you toward the exit.

“You’ll have fun tomorrow—after you sleep off whatever the hell you drank tonight,” he shot back.

You pouted but obediently followed, leaning against him slightly as he led you outside. Mina trailed behind, clearly amused.

“She’s all yours now,” Mina teased, handing him your phone. “Good luck, lover boy.”

Katsuki glared at her. “Get lost, raccoon eyes.”

Once you were in his car, you leaned back in the seat, fiddling with the seatbelt as Katsuki got in on the driver’s side. He leaned over to buckle you in properly when you couldn’t figure it out, his face dangerously close to yours.

“You smell nice,” you mumbled, making him freeze.

“Shut up,” he muttered, his face heating up as he clicked the seatbelt into place.

The drive home was relatively quiet, save for the occasional hum from you as you admired the city lights outside.

“Katsuki,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What?” he asked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re my hero,” you murmured with a soft smile.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t puke in my car.”

When he finally parked outside his apartment, you were half-asleep. Katsuki sighed, got out, and walked over to your side to open the door.

“Come on, lightweight,” he said, helping you out of the car. You clung to him as he locked the car and guided you upstairs.

Inside, he set your bag down on the couch before leading you to the bathroom. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the closed toilet seat.

You plopped down without complaint, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he rummaged through the cabinet for some makeup remover wipes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“You’re so… cute when you’re annoyed,” you said with a giggle.

“Damn drunk,” he muttered under his breath, though his cheeks were definitely pink now.

He crouched in front of you, holding your chin gently as he wiped away your makeup. His touch was surprisingly tender, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he worked.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and you obeyed without hesitation.

“Thanks, Katsuki,” you whispered as he wiped off the last bit of mascara.

“Yeah, whatever. Someone’s gotta take care of you,” he said, tossing the used wipes in the trash.

Next, he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and handed it to you. “Drink. All of it.”

You took the glass, sipping slowly as he sat down beside you on the couch. Once you were finished, he grabbed a blanket and draped it over your shoulders.

“You’re the best,” you mumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t get used to it,” he said, though he didn’t move away.

As you drifted off to sleep against him, Katsuki let out a soft sigh. He reached up to brush a strand of hair out of your face, his expression softening.

“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, but there was no bite to the word—only affection.

The sun peeked through the curtains, painting the room with warm light as you stirred awake. Your head throbbed slightly, and the events of the night before were a blur. The smell of something savory wafted through the air, making your stomach grumble.

Blinking your eyes open, you realized you were lying on a couch—Katsuki’s couch, judging by the familiar scent of caramel and spice clinging to the blanket draped over you.

“Katsuki?” you called out groggily, your voice raspy from sleep.

“’Bout time you woke up, dumbass,” his gruff voice came from the kitchen. You sat up slowly, holding your head as you turned to see him standing over the stove, a spatula in hand.

“Did you… cook?” you asked, your voice laced with surprise.

He rolled his eyes, plating what looked like an omelet and toast. “What, you think I was gonna let you starve after you had enough drinks to knock out a pro hero?” He walked over and set the plate on the coffee table in front of you.

You blinked at the food, then at him, your cheeks warming. “Thank you, Katsuki.”

“Tch. Eat it before it gets cold,” he grumbled, plopping down on the couch beside you with his own plate.

As you dug into the food, the silence was comfortable, save for the occasional clink of utensils. You could feel his gaze flicker toward you every so often, though he quickly looked away whenever you caught him.

After finishing breakfast, you leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “That was really good,” you admitted, glancing at him with a soft smile.

“Course it was,” he said smugly, though his ears turned faintly pink. “You should be thanking me for saving your sorry ass last night too.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh god, I must’ve been so embarrassing.”

He let out a sharp laugh. “You kept calling me your hero and told me I smelled nice about five times. Yeah, you were embarrassing.”

Your face burned as you peeked at him through your fingers. “Katsuki!”

“What? It’s not like you don’t say dumb stuff when you’re sober too,” he teased, smirking now.

You grabbed a throw pillow and smacked him with it, though your laughter betrayed your mock anger. He easily caught the pillow, his grin widening.

“Don’t push your luck, princess,” he warned playfully, though his tone held none of its usual bite.

Once the teasing subsided, Katsuki leaned back against the couch, his expression softening as he looked at you. “You good now?” he asked, his voice quieter.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Thanks for taking care of me, Katsuki. Really.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, looking away as he scratched the back of his neck. “Can’t exactly trust anyone else to do it right.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“Katsuki,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his hand. “You’re my hero… sober or not.”

He froze for a moment before letting out a huff, his hand flipping over to hold yours. “Idiot,” he said, but the slight upward curve of his lips gave him away.

As the two of you sat there in the morning light, the world outside seemed to fade away. And for once, Katsuki didn’t feel the need to rush back to anything—being here with you was enough.

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saveyourblood · 2 months ago

Text

Roll the Dice (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.” You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?” “Give someone a lap dance.” The one where you're best friends with Buck and Eddie, the three of you are drunk, and the topic of lap dances comes up.

Word Count: 2.4k Prompt (from @happyhauntt): buddie and reader are hanging out and drinking maybe and maybe they're watching magic mike as a joke or they had a call to a strip club earlier that day and buck asks reader who they think would give a better lapdance, buck or eddie, reader bluescreens and they both give a demonstration. A/N: This was such a fun write! Thanks for letting me steal your idea, Ollie! You can find their work on AO3 too. :^) Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays everyone! Warnings: Spice (not smut), drinking, mentions of vomiting

It started with beer.

Well, it started with the boys drinking beer.

You’ve never been a big fan of beer. You’ll occasionally indulge in something on tap at a fancy bar, but other than that, it isn’t your drink. And that cheap shit that Buck buys at the corner store? Absolutely not.

So, it started with the boys drinking beer and you drinking a canned cocktail.

See, Buck may have bad taste, but he has a good heart. He always has a 6-pack of cheap beer in his fridge, but since you started coming over, you notice he always has a 12-pack of ready-to-drink canned cocktails. You know he doesn’t drink them; he buys them for you.

You really don’t drink that much, in terms of both frequency and amount. It takes a singular drink for you to feel a nice buzz, and really, that’s all you need. You’ve never had the desire to get blackout drunk, and more than three drinks gives you a raging headache in the morning.

You were only going to have one, maybe two drinks, just like you usually do.

But then Eddie found the fucking tequila.

“Where’d you even get that?” you giggle. You'd be embarrassed by the sound if you were even a little bit sober. Thankfully, you’re halfway through your second can, and any sense of embarrassment is filled by the warm pool of alcohol in your stomach.

“Maddie made margaritas the night I moved in,” Buck says, raising his beer bottle to his lips.

The boys are both on their third beers, but between the lower alcohol content and their stronger tolerances, they aren’t as drunk as you are. Hopefully, the tequila will even the score.

“Where did she buy it?” Eddie laughs as he inspects the bottle.

It’s cheap: you can tell that much by looking at it. It’s a 1.75 liter plastic bottle — not exactly top shelf. You expected nothing less from Maddie, since she doesn’t strike you as a girl who sips high-end tequila. No, she’s more like the girl who makes way too strong margaritas and bullies her brother into taking shots in the kitchen.

Buck shrugs. “Grocery store, probably.”

Eddie starts looking through the cabinets. “You got a blender?”

Buck snorts. “I have shot glasses.”

“I’m not doing shots,” you laugh. “Tequila shots and I have… a bad relationship.”

Eddie gives you a look. “What type of relationship?”

“Whatever type ends in me throwing up in someone’s sink.”

Buck tips his head back and cackles. “You did that?! You?!”

“I just graduated from the Academy and went out with some classmates to celebrate,” you explain, cheeks flushing as you smile. “It started with bar hopping and ended with tequila shots at someone’s house.”

“Sounds like it actually ended with you throwing up in someone’s sink,” Eddie points out.

“And you’re trying to make it happen again!” You accuse as Eddie continues scouring the kitchen. “Shame on you, Diaz!”

“Hey, it would be nice to see the most professional member of the 118 get a little crazy,” Buck says.

You snort again. “I’m the most professional member of the 118?”

“Professional isn’t the right word,” Eddie says, finally finding a cocktail shaker.

“Formal?” Buck proposes, looking to the other man.

Eddie hums in consideration as he fills the shaker with ice, leaving the tequila on the island. “Classy?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, that’s not it either.”

Eddie sets the shaker, now filled with ice, on the island. He then opens the fridge door and comes back with lime juice. “Proper?”

“Proper,” Buck agrees, leaning his hip on the island. His body is turned towards Eddie, watching him as he pours the ingredients into the shaker.

“Proper,” you echo, your lips wrapping around the word as you say it. “How exactly am I proper?”

“I don’t know,” Buck says after taking another sip. “Just… the way you carry yourself, I guess.”

“How specific.”

Buck flicks a beer cap, previously sitting on the island, at you. You try to catch it, but it slides off the table before you can catch it. You flip him off.

“Not so proper anymore,” Eddie remarks.

The tequila takes you by the hand and leads the three of you into Buck’s living room. You’re on your second margarita on the rocks, courtesy of Edmundo Diaz. The boys decide to take two shots each, back to back, and simply watching them kind of made you sick.

“You are so full of shit!” you yell.

You don’t know much at this moment, other than the fact that you’re completely and entirely drunk. Not wasted, not blackout. You’re in that sweet spot where you’re sober enough to know that you’re being obnoxious but too intoxicated to care. As someone who normally presents as ‘proper’ (apparently), it’s a combination akin to fire and kerosene — absolutely ruthless.

“I am not!” Buck laughs.

Buck claims he’s never had a lap dance, and you don’t believe him for a second.

You’re not entirely sure how you got on this topic. It definitely didn’t start like this, that you’re almost entirely most likely probably sure of. It had something to do with the ‘old partners’ discussion. Or maybe the ‘craziest night out’ swapping of stories. It’s hard to tell — you’ve cycled through several topics tonight, and you’ll be lucky to remember half of them.

“Eddie, do you believe him?”

Eddie chuckles as he raises his hands. “I’m staying out of this one.”

Like you or Buck would let that happen.

“What about you, hotshot?” Buck asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You ever had a lap dance?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow slightly, almost like he’s sizing up Buck. It makes the alcohol in your belly burn a little warmer.

“Once,” Eddie eventually answers.

You turn your head to the side like a curious dog. “Oh?”

“Do tell,” Buck says, leaning forward.

“It was at my shitty excuse of a bachelor party,” Eddie explains, taking a sip of his fourth beer. “One of my friends in Texas insisted. We went out to a strip club, he paid for it, and… that’s it.”

“He paid for it,” you echo. “What a gentleman.”

Sitting in the armchair, Eddie gently kicks your leg on the coffee table. You giggle, pulling both your legs back onto the couch. Buck, at the other end of the couch, puts his feet in your lap.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he observes. “Have you?”

You snort. “Have I ever had a lap dance?”

“Or given one.”

You press into the nailbed on one of Buck’s toes using your thumb. He yelps and pulls his legs back.

“Half an hour ago, you were calling me ‘proper.’ Now, you’re asking if I’ve given someone a lap dance,” you recall. You turn to Eddie. “Can you believe him?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie says as he shakes his head. “...Have you, though?”

Buck cackles as you kick Eddie’s leg.

“I’ve never given anyone a lap dance,” you answer loudly. “I almost got one, though.”

Both the boys raise their eyebrows.

“Do you remember that call we went on a few months back? To a male strip club?”

“Yeahhh,” Buck says. At some point, he replaced his beer bottle with the tequila bottle, which he’s now cradling like a baby. “What was that place called? Thirsty?”

“Just Thirst, I think,” Eddie remarks. “The one where a dancer rolled his ankle, right?”

You nod. “One of his buddies offered me a dance for being such a great first responder.”

Buck smiles and takes a swig of the tequila, wincing as it goes down. You nudge his knee, then pull your fingers towards yourself, gesturing for the bottle. Buck’s smile looks a little more cocky, but he hands the bottle over anyways.

“You didn’t accept, huh?”

You sip a little more of the tequila than you should. You can’t help it — it goes down so easily, leaving nothing but fuzzy warmth in its wake. You’ll regret it tomorrow, but for now, you’re basking in it. “Not really my thing.”

“Not even for the story?” Eddie asks.

“You don’t get to be the ‘proper’ one by doing something ‘for the story,’” you counter.

Eddie makes a face of contemplation as he reaches for the bottle. “Fair.”

“You are really hung up on that word,” Buck notes.

“It was… surprising, that’s all,” you chuckle.

Buck makes a humming noise, rubbing his lips in thought. “I could do it.”

You and Eddie share a look. Eddie is the first to test the waters. “Do what?”

“Give someone a lap dance.”

You can feel your face get hot. You swallow the lump that suddenly took residence in your throat.

Meanwhile, Eddie laughs. “You’ve never gotten a lap dance, but you think you can give one?”

Buck shrugs, leaning one elbow on his knee. “Why not? I’ve seen Magic Mike.”

“You’ve seen Magic Mike but never gotten a lap dance,” Eddie continues after taking a swig of liquor. “That makes sense.”

You reach for the bottle, which Eddie grants you. You take a long drink, gulping a few times. Pulling the bottle back, you use your thumb to wipe your bottom lip. “Do your worst, Buckley.”

He turns his head to stare at you. He huffs out a laugh, looking at you the whole time. “What?”

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” you continue, leaning back in the couch. You prop one arm on the back and the other on the armrest, the tequila bottle hitting the end table in the process. “You’ve never given a lap dance, I’ve never gotten one. We’ll pop each other’s cherries.”

You’d never say any of this sober. Shit, you’d never say any of this two drinks in. You’re in so much deeper than that now; between the margs and the sips, you’ve had at least 6 shots. You can practically feel the alcohol in your blood. It’s hot, thick, and wanting.

You're 100% throwing up in Buck's sink tomorrow.

You blink, and Buck is on top of you. His hands press into the back of the couch, holding his weight so he can be face-to-face with you. If the booze in your veins is hot, then his breath on your lips is fucking scalding.

He lifts his hips and brings them back down in a rippling motion: he’s grinding on you. You giggle, high-pitched and shameless. You move your hands to cover your mouth. You can’t wrap your head around the idea that this is actually happening.

Buck sits up straighter in your lap. He’s careful to keep his weight on his knees, which are on either side of your legs. He puffs his chest before rolling his shoulders forward and his ass backwards on your thighs in a fluid motion. You can feel the friction of his pants on your bare legs. You thank your past self for choosing to wear shorts.

He gently takes your wrists, moving your hands from your mouth to his chest. He’s fully clothed, so you’re dragging your hands down his sweater. Still, you can feel the rippling of his muscles under his shirt. You throw your head back in laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it, but you know the burning in your stomach is no longer entirely thanks to the liquor.

“Not bad,” Eddie critiques from his seat.

You laugh harder.

“What, you can do better?” Buck challenges.

Eddie narrows his eyes again before smirking. He pushes himself out of the chair, shooing Buck away with his hand.

Buck raises his hands in surrender, turning on one knee before flopping on the couch beside you.

“This isn’t happening,” you laugh, shaking your head like you’re trying to wake yourself up from a dream.

You’ve had a crush on both of them since the first time you saw them. How could you not? They are completely and utterly gorgeous men. When you realized how funny and caring they both are, it just sealed the deal. You never, in your wildest imagination, pictured yourself in a situation like this with either of them, let alone both of them.

Not that you’re complaining, of course.

Eddie takes Buck’s place, only he’s towering over you since he’s standing instead of sitting. He puts his hands on your sides, trailing down to your thighs. You shudder under his touch, hoping it isn’t noticeable. The way the corner of his mouth turns up tells you that it’s definitely noticeable.

Eddie’s hands reach your knees, which he loops his fingers under. In a swift motion, he pulls your legs up and presses his body against yours. You yelp in surprise and wrap your legs around his back, somehow pulling him closer.

His hands move to your back, and he picks you up. You yelp again, astonished by the ease he can lift you. You shouldn’t be so shocked, considering his career. When his grasp moves from your back to your ass, though, he’s no longer Firefighter Diaz; he’s Eddie, the man you have a crush on. And the man who’s currently holding your ass.

Eddie turns on his heel and carefully lays you on Buck’s coffee table, which makes you cackle again. Your laughter dies in your throat when Eddie places himself over you again. Your chests are touching, as are your noses.

You look into Eddie’s eyes, and it’s as if you can suddenly read his mind. “Dancers aren’t supposed to kiss the clientele.”

Eddie smiles again. It’s the kind where only one corner of his mouth curls up, and his lips shift to the side. “Good thing I’m not a dancer.”

His lips meet yours, and it’s nothing but heat. He tastes like a mix of cheap beer and tequila, and if you weren’t already, you could get drunk off of it. Your tongues meet and separate like lovers on a dance floor. When you’re out of breath, you wonder if you could suck the air out of his lungs, just to keep you connected to him for a little longer.

Eddie pulls away first, his chest heaving desperately for air.

“You lose,” Buck remarks.

“How did I lose?”

“It was a competition?” you interject.

“It’s called a lap dance,” Buck points out. “That wasn’t in her lap.”

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. They eventually settle on your mouth. “Eh, I think I won.”

#911 abc #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 show #911 on abc #911 reader insert #evan buckley/reader #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diaz x reader #Buddie x reader #buddie x reader #i can write

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b14augrana · 6 months ago

Text

Strobe Light

The only thing a few drinks fail to make you forget is her face

Alexia Putellas x reader

masterlist

Warnings: mentions of drinking / alcohol, party setting, romantic angst, short one shot

A/N: kind of a shit blurb i wrote ages ago that i wanted to get out of my drafts 👎 i think i was listening to the last minute of tumblr girls on repeat bc i had written that on the doc so … thats the vibe!

Oh, Ibiza.

It’s the most popular party location to the point where it’s hardly anything special anymore, but you still find yourself excited by it. Ending up on the floor of someone’s house who you don’t even know the name of, your first thoughts being the memories of the night before… what a high. You were addicted to that, the aftermath of getting shitfaced and only having enough capacity in your mind to worry about where your phone is, not what Alexia Putellas is doing right now.

You hated the people — watching them grind against each other and retreat to bedrooms if not crash on the sofa and make out right there, it was distasteful and you hated it. You hated alcohol, but you also hated the fact that Alexia wasn’t around to talk you out of having a few drinks, so you drank it out of spite. Among all these hundreds of people, you hated how you felt more alone than ever.

People would make the assumption that you attended these parties to find a girl to take home, but they looked all the same to you, hence your appeal in none of them, because Alexia was unlike anyone you had ever seen with her hazel eyes and lonesome dimple on her right cheek, the one that was barely there. Nobody else had that Alexia-ness that made you mourn her absence every time you went to these parties, and you knew that no matter how much you drank and partied, she’d always be your first thought of comfort the morning after.

You two had dated for a year, give or take a month. You were relentless in your pursuit of fun, whereas she was infatuated with football and refused to put anything above it, which was understandable, because she was good at it. She called it off in her apartment, saying that she couldn’t risk her career for a lifestyle you wanted to live, and you complied with it instead of making an effort to do something to keep you two together — it was your biggest mistake yet, and a decision that never fails to keep you up at night, because maybe if you had tried a little harder, she would’ve been beside you on these restless nights.

You thought you were absolutely hammered when you recognised her face in the sea of bodies, staring at you with narrowed eyes as if she was trying to determine whether it was really you she was spotting. Brushing it off, you considered it another instance of your mind fucking with you, and that made you put down the plastic red cup in your hand, abandoning it on some surface for another drunk to pick up.

Alexia was there, but she couldn’t tell herself why. Why was she in someone’s expansive Ibiza backyard without a reason?

She never liked big parties, such as the ones hosted in Ibiza. Her teammates appreciated them a bit more than her, but she wasn’t her teammates. She rarely ever got drunk unless she was in a Barcelona based nightclub, celebrating another trophy, but even then she never got blackout drunk.

None of that even mattered, because either way she was still standing among sweaty bodies on an island off the coast of Spain, the music sure to give her a headache sooner or later and the strobe lights hurting her eyes that were locked onto one uninterested face.

There was something else to the bored expression you had; almost like you were caught in an epiphany that this wasn’t enough to fill the void you gained when she left. Your face was plagued by disgust, your stare blank and fixated on nothing specific. She noticed all of this.

Alexia knew that you were only here to relive the oddly comforting morning-after sensation. She didn’t know that you craved it so much because ever since she left, she was all you thought about amidst a heavy hangover, and if you pretended hard enough, she was right beside you with her arms wrapped around your frame and her chest pressed to your back. Waking up post-party was almost like travelling back in time to the happiest period of your life — being Alexia’s girlfriend. It was the closest you thought you’d ever get to her again.

You felt like you were ebbing in and out of consciousness, the music fading into nothingness before coming back louder than ever, and your legs were giving in underneath the weight of your entire upper body. Shoulders and knees grazed against your own, nudging you around the crowd, and you could barely remember who’s property you were at, but you looked up and it became apparent to you that the Alexia in front of you wasn’t a hallucination and she was really there, reaching out to you and pulling you out of the crowd.

The reason she was there became apparent to Alexia as she led you to an empty guest room that wasn’t plagued by the smell of sweat and sex (she quickly learned that was rather hard to come across). She locked the door behind you two so there would be no chance of a lustful couple stumbling into the room while she laid you down.

You groaned as you made contact with the mattress, as moving your body at all had become a difficult task. She sat down beside you, turning on the lamp perched atop the bedside table, and she inspected your face; your cheeks bore hints of red and tired eyes squinted to adjust to the light as they settled on her own concerned-looking face. There wasn’t a feeling in the world that could sum up what she felt looking at you.

“Ale,” you mumbled, and she met your gaze. “Lay down. Give me this one night, at least,” you finished, rolling onto your side. Your back faced her, and she didn’t respond for a minute. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, and she was glad you couldn’t see the inconclusive look on her face.

All you felt was shuffling behind you before the mattress dipped and the presence of her body could be sensed behind you. There was a notable distance between you two that she worked hard to maintain throughout the night, because she didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be close to you.

She should’ve been in Barcelona, training and focusing on the matches ahead. After all, that was the entire reason you two had ended things, yet…

She was here.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas #woso #woso community #woso angst #woso imagines #woso x reader #woso blurbs #woso one shot #fc barcelona femeni #fcb femení #fcb femení x reader #fcbfemeni #fc barcelona #fc barcelona x reader #barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #woso imagine

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turcott3 · 8 months ago

Text

the set up

cole caufield x fem! reader

warnings?: alcohol, cursing, kissing, smut, unprotected sex, public sex

masterlist

“truth.” you spoke aloud. you were at emma’s bachelorette party, one day before the rehearsal and you were all drunk playing truth or dare like teenagers.

“i know you have a crush on one of the players, who is it?” she asks inquisitively.

“well i’ve always had a little crush on caufield.” you reply with a shrug and a light smile on your face.

“oh really?” emma giggles.

“yeah, i mean he’s just so happy all the time and he’s really handsome, how could i not like him?” you reply taking another sip of your drink.

“i mean yall would be cute honestly.” she continues, texting someone quickly on her phone.

“who ya texting?” steph asks her next to you.

“just brendan, making sure he’s not blackout drunk, you know.” she laughs, knowing the boys were also having their party today.

“oh also, i’ll have your bridesmaid and groomsmen pairings done in the morning.” emma speaks up shutting her phone off. the rest of the night was spent partying, thinking in the back of your mind that you had just admitted your crush on cole to your best friend.

“hello?” you groaned into the phone, a call from emma waking you up.

“did you see my text?”

“no i just woke up, i need ibuprofen before i stare at a bright screen.” you laugh lightly.

“oh did i wake you? i’m so sorry.”

“no no it’s fine, i needed to get up, ill read it in a sec.” you reply.

“okay thanks, see you in a few hours y/n!” she says.

“bye love.” you reply, ending the call and getting up, digging for your pills. you popped two before opening your phone back up to read her text. as you ran across your name you almost choked on your drink.

“cole?” you question starkly, eventually leading to a sigh.

“of course i’m with him.” you groan, now feeling pressure to look flawless to maybe impress him. you knew that you’d found him attractive for a while but you had zero clue how he felt toward you.

after many hours of getting ready and making sure your rehearsal dress was perfectly wrinkle-less, you finally were able to leave your hotel room and make your way to the rehearsal venue.

“y/n!” emma yells as you step through the door, running up to hug you.

“hope you enjoy your pairing, yall two are sitting over there for dinner.” she winks pulling away.

“you’re stressing me girl.” you laugh nervously, sitting at the small two top table by yourself. much to your demise, you didn’t get much time to prepare as cole walked into the room a mere 5 minutes later, finding his way to his seat.

“how’ve you been? i haven’t seen you in a while.” cole asks smiling.

“oh i’ve been great, how about you?” you ask, picking at your manicure.

“better now that i’m here.” he replies, turning to face the couple as they were about to speak, a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“hey guys so, before we get to eating dinner i just wanted to go over like the order of how everything’s gonna go just so we’re all prepared for tomorrow. and i won’t be mad that it’s not perfect, it’s not supposed to be. but if we don’t have any fun whatsoever, then we’ve failed our mission of being ‘the gallaghers’ so let’s hope we can do that at least.” emma spoke loudly amongst the room. she spoke for a few minutes just running through the order of how everyone is gonna walk out, you and cole being the third “couple”.

“and one last thing, i’m not making you guys sit at separate tables, i sat you with your pairing just because i didn’t like how it looked on the seating chart so, basically you’re attached at the hip all night. sorry.” she laughs, you knew she was particular in not wanting the wedding to be old school and formal.

“you think you got that all down?” you ask, trying to make it seem like you weren’t anxious, and it was starting to work. your nerves were beginning to ease as your anxiety seemed to remember that cole wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“i think i do. and we’re about to practice so that’ll be the test.”

“i’m nervous for tomorrow though.”

“whys that?” he asks, taking a bite of the plate that was sat in front of him.

“what if i like trip on my dress or like sneeze. i’m just scared ill ruin it.” you admit.

“it’ll be fine, you’re just over thinking it.” he replies and you nod knowing he’s right.

“that reception is gonna make it worth it though.” you giggle.

“oh absolutely, that’s gonna be the best part.” he replies

“and you’ll dance with me right?” he asks, with a hopeful smile on his face.

“oh um,” you pause finishing the sip you were about to take, “yeah of course i will.”

“great, i was hoping you would.”

you’d spent a vast majority of the night getting to know cole, which you loved doing. he’s an easy going guy who’s very sweet and respectful, which you adored. you went to bed tonight pondering on what the day would bring the two of you. you could feel the flirting between the two of you all evening.

the next morning, you woke up feeling refreshed. you went over the details of the wedding in your head over and over until you didn’t miss a word. you grabbed onto your garment and makeup bag and fled the room, rushing to be by your best friends side as she got ready for her big day.

“so you nervous?” you ask.

“girl no, i already know im saying yes.” she laughs as she sits in the chair being dolled up by her make up artist.

“oh that’s good.” you replied unpacking your things beginning to get yourself ready with the girls. the time came quickly. it seemed like minutes passed by between the time you finished your hair to the time you were stood with the guy you’ve had a crush on for a year.

“you okay? you’re fidgety.” cole asks quietly.

“oh uh, yeah i’m okay. just nervous.” you say, his hand then softly rubbing up and down your back.

“don’t be nervous, you’re gonna be great. if you trip ill catch you. i’m here.” he replies reassuringly as you flash him a weak smile.

“thank you.”

“of course, and you look beautiful by the way.” he says before locking arms with you, prepared to walk down the aisle. you made it down without any trips and appreciated cole going the extra mile to help you up a couple of stairs. you all stood on your respective sides, admiring the couple between you, sharing occasional glances with cole from across the altar. selfishly, you couldn’t stop thinking about him and how kind he was to you just moments prior.

the reception started about 30 minutes ago and you’re already 3 wine glasses deep with cole. you’d been dancing for a while and finally made your way back to the table, still littered with the others. you both had grown to be decently drunk and were getting touchy with cole, which is something you wouldn’t DARE to have done about 45 minutes ago.

“cole is need to pee, will you come with me and hold my dress?” you ask, sporting proud puppy dog eyes.

“yes, come on.” he replies standing up reaching his hand out to you, you found your way to the, luckily, single stall restroom. you locked the door quickly and turn to face him.

“i actually don’t have to pee.”

“i know.”

“you do?”

“yes, you’ve been making it obvious.” he giggles.

“what do you mean obvio-“ you start and are cut off by his lips harshly on yours, but in a way you enjoy. it was a quick change in environment, the fun had subsided and all you wanted to know was how he felt buried deep inside you. you felt yourself grow wet at his hands grazing down your back and onto your ass. his lips trailed to your neck, nipping and sucking on the skin before returning back to your lips after a long moment.

“i don’t wanna ruin your make u-“ he starts.

“shut up and fuck me caufield.” you reply interrupting him, a skill you’d both acquired in the last two minutes. cutting him off. a look of shock briefly flashes across his face before a smirk takes over.

“are you sure?” he asks, his hands placed on your waist.

“what do you mean? did you not hear me?”

“no i mean are you sure you wanna do it here?”

“yes, i want you right fucking now cole, and maybe again later when you’re staying in my room with me.” you reply and he smirks, turning you around and bending you over the sink. he assists you in pulling the short train on youryour long skirt over your ass, pushing your soaked lace thong to the side.

“so wet already?” he asks dragging a quick finger through your soaked core.

“mhm.” you reply biting your lip. you looked down at his pants in the mirror as he quickly unbuttoned his dress pants, rubbing himself hard very quickly. you bit your lip as you watched him line his hard cock up with your entrance.

“nuh uh, eyes up here.” he says using his hand to push your chin back up, locking eyes with him as he ran his leaning tip through your wet folds.

“cole we have to be fast.” you complain, as if you weren’t enjoying the teasing. a sigh of relief left your mouth as he buried himself deep inside you, his tip brushing your g-spot instantly, your eyes rolling back.

“oh fuck.” you whimper, realizing you are in a very public place and have to make sure you keep your voice down. you mentally acknowledge the fact that you have no choice but to be fast in this moment, wanting to get the job done quickly. in thinking, you fucked yourself back onto him, colliding in the middle.

“god fuck-“ he grunts, placing his hands firmly on your ass cheeks, thrusting quickly, letting the fabric of your dress muffle the sound of your skin clapping.

“you’re so tight y/n.” he says, almost speeding up his already decent pace.

“oh my god cole, that’s it right there.” you whisper, tears forming in your eyes as you collapsed further over the sink. gently, he wrapped his arm around your chest pulling you up, deepening the angle of his thrusts, hitting your g-spot right on the head with each thrust.

“fucking god, i’m gonna cum.” you whine, a tear slipping from your eye.

“come on baby, cum for me. i will too yeah?” he asks with eyebrows raised in the mirror and you nod as the knot unravels in your stomach, shockwaves shooting through your body rapidly as he filled you to the brim with his milky climax, fucking you all the way through both of your highs.

“i can’t believe we just did that.” you sighed out, catching your breath.

“me either.” he chuckles behind you, pulling out slowly.

“oh fuck, here, stay right there.” he says observing the mess he made between your legs. he grabs a few sheets of toilet paper, carefully wiping you clean, tossing them in the toilet and pulling your panties back over your core.

“my eyes.” you groan looking in the mirror.

“let me see.” he replies and you turn around. he licks his fingers to fix the smudges under your eyes and around your lips, dabbing the sweat off your forehead with a paper towel.

“do i look okay?” you ask, pulling the dress back down.

“just as gorgeous as before.” he replies, readjusting his pants, making sure everything’s in straight.

“okay you ready?” he asks holding onto the door knob.

“wait hold on, can i ask you something?”

“yeah of course.”

“will you come stay with me tonight? like in my room?” you ask boldly, the buzz beginning to wear off.

“if that’s okay, yes of course i will.”

“it’s more then okay.” you smile lightly, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

“good, then i can fuck you right.” he mumbles on your lips, kissing you again.

“woah fuck y/n i’m sorry.” he says as you pull away.

“what what’s wrong?” you reply nervously and he turns you by your hips to the mirror, using his hand to turn your head to the side, exposing the dark hickey he left on your neck.

“honestly, it’s fine, really.”

“are you sure?”

“yes cole it’s fine, and besides you’ll be littered in them tomorrow morning.” you wink, kissing him one last time as you turn the doorknob. he grabs your short dress train of the floor, carrying it as you walked out of the bathroom. you hear a chuckle a few feet away from you, realizing nick was standing there and definitely watched the two of you enter the bathroom.

“emma!” you shout as cole lets go of your dress, taking your hand as you jogged over toward her.

“we’ve been looking for you.” emma replies with a smirk on her face.

“oh uh, i just had to go to the bathroom and there was a line.”

“yep mhm, a line.” she laughs, turning your chin to the side, high fiving her husband.

“what?” you ask.

“bitch, what do you mean what? yall just fucked in true bathroom at my wedding and now you’re holding hands. oh brendan we have outdone ourselves.”

“what?”

“girl, i put you with him so that THIS would happen. nick was our spy, great help.”

“you wanted us to fuck at your we-“

“well that isn’t EXACTLY what we had in mind, i was thinking like a kiss during a slow dance on the floor but this? this is fucking gold.” she laughs hugging you, as you stood confused as ever.

“so this was a set up?” you scoff.

“well, yes.” brendon pokes in.

“thanks gally.” cole laughs, a soft hand wrapping around your hip.

“now yall go have fun.” emma says waving the two of you off.

“what a night.” you sigh, collapsing into your bed, cole right beside you.

“yes for real, we really got set up.”

“i’m not mad about it.” you reply.

“me either, i’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.”

“why didn’t you, i’ve had a crush on you for like a year.” you laugh.

“yeah well, now we fucked in a bathroom at a wedding, i’d say that is quite the stride.” he smiles widely at you.

“i’m fucking exhausted. i would totally love to stay up and fuck all night but i feel like maybe we should sleep it off and then maybeeeeeeee fuck all morning?” you giggle.

“whatever you want baby.” he smiles, his thumb grazing over your cheek lightly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips

“god you make it so hard not to just wanna fuck you like a damn bunny right fucking now.” you say and he busts out laughing.

“let’s go to sleep, come on love.” he says tucking the two of you under the covers.

“we can fuck like bunnies in the morning okay?”

“okay.” you pout, poking your bottom lip out.

“goodnight pretty girl.” he says softly.

“good night pretty boy.” you smile as he presses a light kiss to your nose.

#cole caufield #cole caufield imagine #cole caufield smut #cole caufield x reader #montreal canadiens #nhl #nhl imagine #turcs’ talk

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shotmrmiller · 5 months ago

Note

the possibilities for bullying a girl into an inescapable marriage are endless … soap finding a girl from a catholic family, getting her into bed, then ‘accidentally’ letting it slip to her family and nodding along when her mother is like ‘you have to marry him it’s the only way to save yourself from sin’

price in vegas getting blackout drunk with some sweet thin he met at the casino bar, and both of them waking up in the morning with rings. so what if price wasn’t really that drunk? reader doesn’t need to know that.

ghost who convinces you to marry him for the benefits so he gets better housing and you get his health insurance. you think it’s purely transactional, so imagine your surprise when he starts expecting you to perform your other spousal duties and threatens to kill the guy you were gonna go on a date with.

gaz who agrees to be your fake boyfriend for a family dinner, so you don’t have to suffer through another round of ‘what do you mean you’re still single? when am i getting grandbabies?’ only to realize your mistake too late when you catch him in the kitchen with your mother, promising her she’s getting grandbabies soon.

soap's just looking at her mom like he hadn't a clue that it was that serious for "catholics" and he'll do right by them both and take her hand in marriage as if he doesn't have a crucifix around his neck that gleams against coarse hair and pale scars. as if he doesn't remember his ma giving him sharp twists to the ear because he'd made them late for sunday mass again. ofc not. and if he knows certain prayers, he'd learned for his future wife. obviously.

price is def the type to befriend the loud, drunken girl on vacation in some party city he'd just finished a job in. buys her drink after drink because she'd said she can hold her own. unsurprisingly, she was all talk no walk. she calls him handsome once, threads her fingers into his greying hair and his first stop is the nearest jewelry store. he doesn't touch the new mrs. price as she sleeps off the alcohol, he wants her awake for what he's got planned. (ghost ofc hears of his new wife and sends him a congrats text)

ghost gets signed up on tinder by soap against his knowledge will and when soap matches him with some girl only looking for fun, simon decides he's gonna give her more than that and if she's the type to try to kick him out the morning after, he's calling price to forge her signature onto a marriage certificate. (price eventually meets her and he's just like "shouldntve fed him, love. should've known he wouldn't leave." rip a girl just tryna have some sex)

kyle tells her that he needs a gf for the weekend because there's a wedding, soaps wedding actually, and she agrees. (every time she corrects him to his plus one he simply repeats himself.) he immediately goes back on his promise, "i won't even touch ya," cuz his hand is constantly roaming south, he sits her on his lap whether she wants it or not, and during the slow dancing he's prying her mouth open with his for, "just one kiss." if he fucks her in the groom's dressing room during the dinner, no he didn't. (he needs his hands on her, no one believes that they're dating:(

#quickly who's winning the who can get their wife pregnant first bet???

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blackholesun321 · 3 months ago

Text

Shanks Doesn’t Have A Dream! And I Can Prove It!

Ok, y’all, can I talk my shit again? Because I have thoughts and feels about our good old one-armed favorite disaster of a party pirate, Akagami (Red-Haired) Shanks. I’m going to be completely honest: I may have had this rant before, but I can’t find it, and no one else has this take. I need to talk about my vision of him that I’m like 60/40 percent sure is correct canon-wise and would explain so many of his—let’s call them quirks.

I think one of Oda’s beliefs and the teachings that One Piece has so blatantly told us about, such as personal freedom, charting your own destiny, and making your own adventure along the way, are a reflection of Shanks’ character as someone who never got that chance and never would. That, to me, makes him one of the saddest characters in One Piece.

Let me cook here. I’m not going to cite anything because I don’t want to, and I do that enough already in college, so we’re running on trust me: I’ve read the manga and watched a lot of theory videos. So lock in because this is gonna be long.

Anyways, back to my thesis. Shanks is a character of contradictions. He was the youngest person to ever become a Yonko (but then Luffy came in), probably one of the strongest men of his generation. He regularly fought the world’s strongest swordsman for fun. He has a crew whose members each have over a million bounties on their own and are so physically or politically strong that they can stop a war in its tracks just by waltzing in and saying "stop." Not only that, he stopped Kaido in his tracks and made him turn around. His father was the Pirate King and claimed him as his successor; he could even be tied to the Celestial Dragons. He’s charismatic, and when things need to get done, he gets down to business.

On the other hand, he’s also a goofy guy who regularly gets blackout drunk, has a horrible sense of pant style, parties his life away, and thinks bullying kids is the height of comedy. He cares about his kid to the point that he forgets to be a responsible Yonko but also wants to fight him for the One Piece. He seems so blasé about everything but is obviously, in the background, making connections and being all sneaky about something; he has plans but also didn’t decide to go after the One Piece until after his prime. He’s been stagnant but moving and shaking around the world, all for some big ideal, some big plan, something huge.

It is my stance, idea, theory, if you will, that all this makes sense if you look at it from the viewpoint that nothing—not the planning, not stealing the fruit, not the power growth, or making his way to Yonko status, not building his crew, even the hurry-up-and-wait—he’s been doing all these years, his whole life? Is because he’s hasn’t made a single decision for himself since Gol D. Roger died.

Outrageous! You cry! Shanks, a man who supposedly spouts on about being free and charting your own course and being a pirate? Is none of those things? Impossible, you will say. I will ask you how you got into my house and to please leave. But aside from the pirate bit, yes, and I can prove this. Calm my chili-baby’s and listen.

Yes, Shanks had his life taken from his adventure, his destiny set and marked right before the Loguetown execution. It is my belief that all this can be laid at the feet of—drumroll, please—Gol D. Roger himself!

Gasp! Crying! Fainting in the audience! I know, what a twist. Let me explain. In a flashback, we see Roger talking about Ace. It was Roger’s belief that Ace (his child) would be the savior of the world, the new Joy Boy, destined to destroy the World Government with what they learned from the Poneglyphs and Laugh Tale. He believed their generation was too early and that the next would usher in the new world. Ace would be his true successor. A little narcissistic, but a man like Roger probably couldn’t help but be. Not just that but it probably felt prophetic he found Laugh Tale of course that had to mean something?He was also dying as it was and put things in place for Ace to survive. He told Garp where he was so Garp could take him away with Rouge—a safety net, that sure was useful. Once she ya know, died.

With the understanding that the next generation would usher in the new age, Roger took aside a thirteen-year-old Shanks and revealed everything. He told him about the birth of the new Joy Boy, everything about Laugh Tale, and how he believed his son would usher in this age. I believe he gave Shanks this purpose: to pass on the straw hat to his son and help him become a man strong enough to fight the World Government. I think little traumatized Shanks, who is about to lose his father and has had the weight of the world put on his shoulders, takes it to heart and buries everything he is to fulfill his captain's last wish. And that’s horrible. I’ll get into the psychological implications later, but holy shit, Roger, what the fuck? He’s thirteen! And about to watch you die!

But yeah, doesn’t this make sense? Why the hell when Buggy wanted to go after the One Piece, did Shanks hold back and say they should wait, losing his brother because he has a secret his captain entrusted him with. Why the hell did they know about the Gum Gum Fruit and were searching for it? Why did Shanks spend so long on a little island like Fousha in the East Blue? Not only was he looking for the fruit, but he was also looking for Ace! (And maybe Rouge.)

Why has he been making all these connections but doing jack shit with them? Why did he become a Yonko but claim no territory for fucking years on end and do nothing really with his status? Why does he rely on such a small crew of such powerful individuals? Why does he party his life away, seem almost aimless, and not start to go after the One Piece until Luffy reaches Gear 5?

Because he’s the one to pass on the legacy; he’s the placeholder, a cog in the proverbial machine that is fate. He made sure Joy Boy would exist. And now that the dominoes have been placed and are falling fast, he’s going to challenge Luffy and make sure he’s strong enough to fight for it—strong enough to take on the World Government, the Celestial Dragons, and Imu—and then hand him a big red button to help do it afterward. That button will be all the sneaky shit he’s been doing in the background.

He’s been the bridge between his captain and this new age. Sure, it was too early, but his influence rippled out through the people he trusted and touched in his life. The same way Rayleigh trained Luffy, knowing what he was preparing him for in the next part of his journey, waiting years for him to arrive at Sabaody.

And all that needed to happen was the dreams, adventures, and sacrifices of a young boy. It’s almost poetic—a son for a son (or sun, in this case). My therapist says I make light of dark shit so I don’t have to emotionally feel the pain.

And now we get into the sad portion of today’s episode. Prepare the tissues because this is why I think Shanks is one of the saddest characters in One Piece.

Because think about it: Shanks’s life was charted for him; his adventure and future were stolen, decided with the reveal of Laugh Tale and all the secrets around it—everything, all so the next generation could one day rise up and bring a new dawn. Shanks never got to have a dream because it was stolen from him. He’s a walking, talking empty automaton, fulfilling his captain's dying promise made by a grieving thirteen-year-old.

He is dreamless, and for a man who is, in some sense, the freest in the world—can go anywhere, can do anything, is powerful enough to stop wars—he’s still trapped, chained to a future he can only wait for.

I don’t think he knows who he is outside of this. I don’t think he thinks he’ll live beyond it. (Which like I will fucking cry because this is gonna be kinda true.) I don’t even want to call it an ambition. Duty, maybe. Damned promise, more likely. And it’s ruined every relationship outside of it he’s ever had. Aside from one—

(Don’t even get me started on him and Mihawk and miscommunication, failed expectations, and Mihawk being the epitome of everything Shanks isn’t. With his dream chasing to the ends of the world, ending up unfulfilled and alone. Finding companionship and what he thought were similar drives in each other, but once Shanks lost his arm and his hat, he realized Shanks was never fighting for something he wanted. And it broke him a little; it broke their relationship—one of the only relationships Shanks chose for himself, with nothing to do with his mission.

And Buggy—he gave up his brother, was forced to leave him alone, and couldn’t say anything, couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t destroy his dream. And he couldn’t even be selfish enough to make him stay. Like, oh my God, the drama.)

Doomed yaoi aside, the only thing and person I think that messed up his perfectly made plans is Luffy.

Sweet baby Luffy wasn’t so sweet before the Red Force arrived. In the manga, it is mentioned that he was an angry, bitter child, lashing out almost like Ace to a degree. But Shanks, by just being kind, by being good, and by reaching out and teasing this little ball of anger, transforms him, saves him in a way. He gives him a drive, a dream, and a morality to live by. He gives him everything he never got—everything stripped from him. Shanks turns him into the type of person a special kind of Devil Fruit might call out to and get eaten by.

Nika chose Luffy because Shanks saved him by just being good and kind, giving this kid something beyond his anger and bitterness. Shanks gave Luffy the idea of freedom, and in return, he allowed Shanks’s perfectly clear mission to shatter. I think this Shanks makes the first real decision in his life: he goes, "Fuck, well, we’re backing this horse now," and Luffy becomes his child—not his captain's, but his future to bet on and help grow.

And I fucking love that. Luffy saves him just as he saved Luffy, in a way. And that’s his kid, his successor, more than it ever was for Roger. I will die on this hill. (If you want, you can even look at it as Shanks finally choosing a dream all his own and it’s Luffy.)

Will Oda see it this way? Probably not. He has a habit of brushing off stuff like this; I think he’ll make Shanks’s character into a noble man dedicated to stopping the World Government and not even think about the implications of tying all that to him at such a young age. But I do think Shanks expects to die when Luffy comes to fight; I think he wants to, just how Mihawk wants to die from Zoro’s blades. Because what is there beyond this? (And again, parallels!)

And I believe he will live! (Not Mihawk—he's gonna die.) Shanks will live, and symbolically, Luffy will free him from this self-imposed duty, this promise made by a child. Shanks will have made, even unwittingly, the thing that would free him, allowing him to move forward in a world where all the purposes he needs to find are his own.

And holy shit, that’s a lot for him, but then Blackbeard will happen, and he’ll die only having known freedom for a short while. Luffy will cry and create a new dawn, and it won’t be for nothing—except it will be for everything to Shanks.

In conclusion, Shanks doesn’t have a dream of his own. He never had a dream; if he did, it was squashed out of him in order to fulfill a promise set by his father, Gol D. Roger.

He loses his brother, loses his control over his destiny, and as his father sets such things into motion, Ace, Roger’s child, will become the new Joy Boy.

He makes a connection with someone outside of that mission and purpose, and in doing so, creates the opportunity for his own freedom and his own choice in Luffy.

Later down the line, Nika/Luffy will eventually free him in the same way he created his own freedom back then, giving him a new choice going forward. They will free him from the mission that was placed on his shoulders as a thirteen-year-old child, and afterwards, he will consequently be killed by Blackbeard, and everything will be horrible, and we will all cry. The end.

I hope everyone enjoyed this thesis on Shanks. Feel free to use it and steal it to your hearts content. I would love to write more if anyone has any questions or things they want to ask; I will be opening up my ask box for questions. I would love to go into more detail on his relationship with Luffy, his rivalry with Blackbeard, and how that ties into all of this, as well as his relationship with Mihawk (fuck man the parallels!!) or maybe Buggy. (Which I have less on it’s just really tragic.)

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moody-alcoholic · 4 months ago

Text

These Violent Delights

Chapter 9 - Nothing Stays the Same

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 8.2k words. Why can things never stay the same, the omega just wants to be happy.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting), use of weapons, Non-consensual drugging, blood, descriptions of wounds, horrible military inaccuracies, angst, nightmares, memory blackouts, gaslighting.

AN: This story arc is definitely one of the most fun I have ever written. Chapter's might come out a little quicker since I'm having so much fun writing. (No promises check HERE for updates)

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Enjoy <3

You wake before the sun is up. You would have to get used to early mornings again after you spent the last week getting as much rest as possible. The sun is just peeking through the clouds as you finish dressing and tiptoe through the barracks. As soon as you make it outside you take in a deep breath of pine filled air as you cross the green over to the lab. As you expected, Dr. Miller is the only one here this early. His head pops up from the desk as soon as you walk in.

“Good morning.” He smiles as you walk over to him.

“Good morning.” You smile at him sitting down on a stool next to him as he types something on a laptop.

“What are we doing today?” you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Nothing too serious. Drink this,” he says, handing you a plastic cup filled with what looks like water.

“What is it?” you ask. He looks up at you quickly, you can smell his alpha now.

“If I tell you it could change the results. I’ll tell you after you’ve drunk it.” He smiles. You smile at him, swallowing your nerves. You bring it to your lips and drink it down as he watches you. It doesn’t taste of anything. Maybe it’s just water. You think you can taste salt but maybe that’s just your mind trying too hard. You put the empty cup down on the table. He smiles again, turning back to the laptop.

“So John is your alpha now?” he asks. Your mouth suddenly goes dry.

“Yeah,” you say, smacking your lips together.

“What about Professor Hale?”

You’re hit with a wave of dizziness. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You cough, looking at Dr. Miller. He turns looking at you. Your body feels heavy. Adrenaline kicks in and you stand up off the stool.

What’s happening?

He gets up off his stool too as your vision goes blurry. Your body collapses to the ground.

“It’s a mild sedative, you won’t remember any of this,” he says as he bends down in front of you, his words echoing in your ears.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” he sighs. Then everything goes black.

You jump awake. You’re laid in the bed in the exam room. Your head is spinning, and you don’t remember what happened. There’s a pain at the back of your neck. Your hand goes to feel the familiar indent of John’s mark. You’re alone, the pale yellow walls being lit up with shades of red.

What happened?

You came here to see Dr. Miller.

What happened?

You get up making your way to the door. When it opens and you head to the stairs. You can only smell alpha in the air. It has to be Dr. Miller. You grip the banister as you walk down the steps. You can see the top of his head as you reach the bottom and he turns to look at you.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he calls, smiling at you. “I went to take some blood and you passed out.”

You look at him, confused, as you make it to the bottom.

“I’ve never seen you drop so fast. Have you been eating properly?” he asks as he comes over to you. You try to remember the last meal you had.

“Pork something,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck.

“The canteen hasn't had the nicest food lately,” he says smiling. You look up at him. He was taking your blood and you passed out. He's looking at you with a concerned look on his face.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You can lay down for a few more minutes if you want?”

You shake your head. You need to get back to the barracks before anyone notices you’re gone.

“Take it easy,” he calls after you as you leave the lab. Your hand drops from your neck as you see the sun rising over the top of the trees. You take in a deep breath, and the cool morning air fills your lungs. You can smell the pine, the wet ground. Your head feels fuzzy.

What the hell happened?

Dr. Piper wakes you up by shaking your shoulder. She's smiling at you as you blink awake.

“It’s almost noon, thought you might want to eat.”

You nod, swinging your legs out the bed.

“What’s that?” you ask, looking at a pile of something on your desk. Dr. Piper looks around.

“Simon got you some books. He and John managed to pull some strings so you would have something to do while they’re away.”

“While they’re away?” you ask standing up.

“Yes, I’ll let John explain,” she says, leading you out of the room. You make it into the common room. John is sitting at the table but you can’t see anyone else.

“‘Afternoon,” he says, smiling as you sit next to him at the table.

“Tea?” Dr. Piper asks. You shake your head, and John already has a mug in his hands. You both look up at her and she seems to take that as her cue to leave. John puts his hand on your thigh under the table as he waits until the door closes and he’s sure the doctor is gone before talking.

“We have to go away. For a mission. It shouldn’t take us long, a few days at the most,” he says. You look up at him.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says

“You’re a soldier,” you say, swallowing away the lump in your throat.

“Yeah, but it’s better if you don’t know.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” You feel sick again. The thought of John or anyone in your pack getting hurt makes a knot form in your stomach. You want John to say something. You want him to tell you it’s all going to be okay. He doesn’t say anything though, and it feels like the seconds are dragging on.

“We may be soldiers but we’re special forces. Counter-terrorism. We stop the worst of the worst people,” he says. You look up at him waiting for him to continue. You remember what Dr. Miller said that one time: ‘They will kill for you, they have killed for you.’

“You kill the bad guys,” you say, forcing a smile.

“Exactly, you don’t need to worry. We’re experts,” he says.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“A few days. 2 at the most.”

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me where,” you say, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. You want him to know you’re okay with this. It’s just a part of their life you need to accept.

“California. That’s all I can tell you,” he says, and you smile. You get the feeling he wasn’t supposed to tell you even that. Who would you tell though, Dr. Piper? She probably already knows. Dr. Miller? What’s he going to do?

“Bring me a souvenir?” You smile at him, trying to keep the mood light. He smiles.

“Thank you for the books,” you say. He squeezes your thigh.

“It was Simon who suggested it actually, made the boys take a trip to a charity shop. I’m sorry if you’ve read some of them already.

“It’s fine honestly, thank you.” You’re grateful for something to do other than watching TV.

“When we come back would you be interested in helping with some more training?” he asks. You nod. You like being helpful, especially if you can help them. His hand leaves your leg, and he gets up.

“Lunch?” he asks. You nod, following him out.

Ghost walks towards the top of the hill backing up on the house they were due to raid. Soap was by his side. Price and Gaz were on the other side of the building with SWAT.

“Hill’s a pain in the ass,” Soap pants as they make it to the overview point.

“You need to workout more,” Ghost sighs, getting into position laying down and setting up his sniper. Soap lays next to him pulling out some binoculars.

“Nice house, could you imagine something like that LT?”

Ghost sighs looking down at the massive house with the immaculately mowed garden. There’s a pool and gazebo. Why have a pool when you live less than a kilometer from the beach.

“Bravo-2 in position,” Ghost says over the radio, ignoring Soap’s comments.

“A mansion with a pool, a nice big lawn, surrounded by greenery,” Soap says. The light is low in the sky. It’s still early morning. The best time to catch this guy.

“Get in position, Soap,” he says without looking over at him. He hears Soap sigh shuffling down the hill to drop behind the wall surrounding the garden. Ghost’s watching the house for signs of life. His job is to watch their backs to make sure there are no surprises.

“Bravo-1 in position. Any movement?” Price’s voice comes in Ghost’s ear. He looks through his scope checking the windows again.

“Negative,” he responds as he sees Soap jump the wall.

“Remember boys, as soon as the place is clear we’ll send in the locals,” Laswell’s voice states over the comms. They didn’t need to be here for this. Ghost and Price knew that. This could have easily been done by the local constabulary. Or even Shadow Company. Shepherd is doing this on purpose to get them off the base.

It felt wrong leaving the omega alone with the threat of Professor Hale hanging over them. Price had spoken with Dr. Montgomery though. She wasn’t a soldier but she was willing to protect the omega with her life and that’s all they needed. The sound of dogs barking pulls Ghost’s attention to the backdoor.

“Shite, no one said anything about a dog,” Soap says, moving away from the back door. There are lights coming on in the house now.

“Got movement, upstairs,” Ghost relays. Shit, they’ve been caught.

“Watcher, call in the troops we’re going in hot,” Price says as Ghost starts to put his rifle away. “Ghost, Soap, take the back door.”

Ghost’s not even paying attention as he puts the rifle down, sliding down the hill and jumping the wall to meet with Soap. The dogs are barking again as downstairs lights are being turned on.

“Bravo-2, we’ve got movement here.”

“Remember, there are civilians inside with the mark,” Price says.

“The mark is a male, 40, is to be considered armed and dangerous,” Laswell says.

“Copy,” Ghost replies as he stacks up on the door with Soap. Price starts a countdown as Ghost can hear the man inside trying to wrangle the dogs. The countdown stops and on zero Soap kicks the door in.

Everything happens fast: there’s shouting, banging, voices of people from different parts of the house. Soap has a man in the kitchen on his stomach, hands behind his back in zipties. As Ghost makes it through the massive kitchen and dining room to a door, he spies Price and the rest of the officers fanning out. Soap comes up beside him.

“Where do you reckon the dogs are?” he asks as Ghost scans the adjoining room.

“Garage by the sound of it,” he replies. That's good that they’re out of the way for now.

“We’ve got one civilian in the kitchen,” Soap relays over the radio. There's a steady stream of information coming through the radio now. Price and Gaz finish securing the ground floor before meeting with Ghost and Soap in the living room. Police and SWAT were moving around the house securing the civilians. No sign of their main man though.

“LT wanna clear the garage?” Soap shouts. Ghost turns to nod at him. He walks back through the kitchen and SWAT are talking to the man Soap tied up earlier. Ghost gets a good look at him as he passes, following Soap to a door. Definitely not the mark, too young, not tall enough.

Soap stacks up on one side of the door while Ghost takes the other, moving his weapon to fit more comfortably in his hands.

“I hate shooting dogs,” Soap says.

“Don’t. I'll do it then,” Ghost says.

“You’re a cold bastard sometimes you know,” Soap says, tipping his head. Ghost rolls his eyes pressing down on the door handle as he pushes it open. He scans with his weapon and there are 2 cars in the massive garage. He walks in with Soap behind him, there very well could be someone in here.

They still haven't found the mark and there are no signs of the dogs. Ghost and Soap split, with Ghost walking behind the cars and Soap walking in front of them. They walk in sync, slow as they scan each corner.

It’s when they’re standing between the cars that someone springs out. Ghost doesn’t have much time to determine if it’s a threat or not. He sees the weapon in his hands. Soap is shouting at him over the hood of the car. Shots ring out, and the man drops.

“Contact, garage,” Ghost shouts as he hears people rushing in. He looks over at Soap. He can smell the blood in the air, he can smell pain.

“Johnny!” Simon calls for his attention as they walk round to check the body. Ghost watches him looking for where Soap is injured. There’s the body of the man, blood pooling from his head.

“Watcher, target eliminated,” Ghost says as he watches Soap lower his weapon, his hand pressing on his shoulder. Now he can see the blood.

“Good job boys, sending exfil, we’ll leave the clean up to the locals,” Laswell says in his ear.

“Ghost what’s the sitrep?” Price asks.

“Mark down, Soap’s hit,” Ghost says, letting his weapon swing down going over to him.

“I’m good LT, it’s just a scratch.”

“Yeah, I’ll be the judge of that,” Ghost says, half dragging him out of the garage and back into the building. He pushes him down on the first available seat. Soap is still protesting when Gaz comes round the corner.

“What’d ya do Soap?” he asks as Ghost pulls his sleeve up. He’s been shot through the shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks.

“I’m fine LT, don’t need you fussing,” Soap says as he looks up at Ghost. A shoulder shot could take him out the field for weeks. Ghost starts pressing bandages into the wound as Soap winces.

“Holy shit,” Gaz says looking at the back of his shoulder where the exit wound should be. “It was through and through right?” Gaz looks up at Ghost who looks confused, he moves to see what Gaz is looking at. It’s definitely through and through but the bleeding has stopped. The exit wounds indicate the bullet shattered but the smaller wounds are healing up before their very eyes. Ghost takes the bandage off the entrance wound. It’s stopped bleeding already.

“What is it?” Soap asks, trying to look, but Ghost grabs his arms, keeping him in place.

“It’s healing already,” Gaz says.

“How do you feel?” Ghost asks him. Soap stands up moving his shoulder.

“Fine, we’re super soldiers, remember,” Soap says playfully, nudging Ghost. Price walks round the corner taking the scene in for a second.

“You solid?” he asks Soap who nods at him. “Gaz, Soap go help SWAT out front. Try not to piss them off before exfil gets here.” He sighs watching Soap pull the skin around his wound.

“Don’t play with it, it’ll get infected,” Gaz says, swatting his hand away and placing a bandage over it.

“We’re fucking super soldiers mate, a little infection isn’t going to slow me,” Soap says. Ghost shakes his head. He must still have adrenaline running through his system. Price looks up at Ghost moving so Gaz and Soap can leave. Price nods him back to the garage which has been opened out to the garden now. He can see officers and SWAT doing their thing, a tent has been set up with a table and a laptop. Vans are being driven into the driveway.

Price walks down the steps to look over at the body while Ghost follows him, but something catches his eyes and before he reaches Price, he picks up a piece of paper. His stomach sinks. Now that Soap is not in the room, he can smell the familiar smell of blood and death. There’s something else there too. Beta.

“Look at this,” Ghost says, taking a step and handing the paper to Price. He reads the same thing Ghost read a few seconds earlier.

“Omega initiative. Shit.” He looks back at the body, they both do. Ghost killed him. He had a weapon in his hand, and he shot Soap.

“Whoever doesn’t go back to work for Hale has a death sentence,” Ghost says as a matter of fact putting the pieces together.

“Not necessarily, our orders were to take him alive,” Price corrects him. “Back to Graves.”

“Back to Hale,” Ghost says. Price sighs, turning to him he folds the paper up putting it in one of his vest pockets.

“Seems like Hale’s doing a bit of a recruitment drive.”

“What are you reading?” Dr. Miller asks as you sit on the stool reading the last few pages of the chapter.

“Moby-Dick.” You show him the cover, smiling.

“Here, smell this one,” he says, pressing a q-tip under your nose. You wince at the strong smell.

“Smells like chemicals,” you say, turning the page. He sighs writing something down.

“Try this one,” he says with a new q-tip and a new smell. You breathe it in. It’s not as strong.

“Smells like beta,” you say. He sighs again and writes something else down.

“Stronger or weaker than the last one?”

“Weaker,” you say, unsure.

“How’s it going?” you ask. He seems frustrated about something.

“The scents are either too strong or not strong enough to mask anything.” You watch as he dips a clean q-tip in another clear liquid. He sniffs it then holds it under your nose.

“Smells sweet, like apple pie,” you say. It’s the smell of your mother. Or at least the smell you used to think was what your mother smelt like. You put the book down, marking your page. It makes you sad. Your head is starting to spin after smelling so many different things.

“Smells like sadness.” You sigh.

“I’m sure your pack will be back soon. It’s been 2 days,” he says. You nod, standing up. You don’t want to do this anymore.

“One more, come on,” he says, reaching out and lightly pulling your arm. You sigh, turning back to him, letting him push the q-tip under your nose. You breathe it in.

“Alpha,” you say. He nods, smiling.

“You should get some rest. You did good today,” he says. You nod, gripping the book and heading back to the barracks. You hate being in the barracks when your pack’s not around. It just feels empty. You walk in to see Dr. Piper making coffee. Almost as soon as they had left, she had moved a coffee machine in.

“Hey, where have you been so early?” she asks, stirring a cup of something.

“Dr. Miller needed my help for the scent blocker.” She looks confused for a second as she sits at the table.

“Do you help him a lot?” she asks. You shrug. You’re tired now.

“Not really, I just wish it wasn’t so early,” you say, sitting down opposite her.

“I’ll have a word with him. You should get a good night's rest,” she says, sipping on her coffee. “How have you been sleeping? Have the nightmares been getting better?”

You nod. They haven’t been as bad. It feels like everything gets worse when your pack’s not around though. You miss them.

“When do you think they’ll be back?” you ask.

“Well, actually Kate told me they should be back tonight. I didn't want to tell you because they still might get held up,” she says. You look up at her smiling. It makes you feel warm thinking about the fact they could be back tonight.

You’re too excited to take a nap now. You smile at her, almost skipping down to your room. You look at the sun rising over the trees, the pile of books and the scent of nature in the air makes you happy. Happier than you’ve been in years.

You curl up in your nest, feeling the warm bubble inside you get stronger. You end up in your nest with a stack of books. You manage to make it through Moby-Dick before you start feeling sleepy. Your mind wanders to your pack wondering what they’re doing as you find yourself dozing off a few pages into your next book.

You’re back in the lab. You’re laying in a bed. It’s a hospital bed. You can’t smell anything in the air, but you know where you are. You’re back in the bunker, the horrible dark place. The door opens and you expect the Professor to walk in. Instead it’s Dr. Miller. You don’t relax though.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as you try to move but you can't. You're tied down. He doesn’t say anything, going over to a table and picking something up. You try to move and as you can’t, panic rises in you. You feel sick as you see him turn round. He’s holding a scalpel in his hand. The door opens again and it is Graves, the man who went into your personal space, who ordered your nest destroyed. You stare at him wide eyes, confused as you look back over at Dr. Miller.

“What’s happening?” you ask, panic rising in your voice as you try to move but you can’t. You’re pinned down too tightly.

“It didn't have to be like this,” Dr. Miller says, pulling a surgical mask over his face.

“No, please,” you plead as he nods at Graves whose hands land on your face, pulling your head to the side uncomfortably. The back of your neck is exposed as you can feel Dr. Miller touch your mark. You plead for him to stop, but he doesn’t say anything. You scream as his scalpel makes contact with your skin. Everything goes blurry as tears stream down your face. You’re fighting with Graves’ grip as best as you can, trying to move your head. There’s more pain now, another cut and everything goes black.

You wake screaming. Your hand flies to the back of your neck. You can feel your mark, the indents John’s teeth left. You’re shaking, panting, it feels like you can’t breathe, your nails digging into your hand. You hear commotion as your door is flung open. Dr. Piper is there. She rushes over, her cool hands finding your face forcing you to look at her as you rub the back of your neck.

“You’re okay, it’s just a dream,” she says. You’re not listening to her. You smell alpha in the air, and looking behind her you can see Johnny in the doorway. They’re back. You look down at Dr. Piper, trying to take deep breaths but it just comes out as sobs.

She pulls you into her arms as you let your hand drop from the back of your neck. You close your eyes breathing in her calming scent. She’s shushing you, rubbing your back. You open your eyes, blinking the tears away looking over at the doorway. John is there now, standing in the doorway outside the threshold of your space.

“John,” you breathe. Dr. Piper lets you go as John steps into the room. She turns to look and gets up.

“Hey,” he says, kneeling down by you. Your nest is a mess. You must have been thrashing around in your sleep. You don’t wait, throwing yourself in his arms almost knocking him over. You see Dr. Piper leave, pulling the door closed and shooing the others away. You need this time now with your alpha. You close your eyes breathing in his scent, letting it fill your lungs. He’s back and he’s safe.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, gripping him tighter like this is a dream too and he’s going to vanish at any second.

“We’ve only been gone 2 days, not even 48 hours.” You can hear the smile in his voice as his hands run over you. You break away from the hug.

“What was the dream about?” he asks.

“The bunker, Graves was there,” the memory is fading. There was someone else too, but you can’t remember who. The Professor, probably.

“You’re never going back there. We destroyed it, remember,” he says, smiling at you. You nod. You know the place is gone. It’s not gone in your mind though.

“Want to lie down in my bed?” he asks, and you nod. You do, you want to be near him. You support yourself on him as he helps you off the floor. He holds his hand out and you take it letting him wrap his arm around you.

“You know Graves is never going to be coming in here again. You’re safe here,” he says. You can see in the common room. Johnny and Kyle poke their heads round the corner and you smile at them. John presses you into his room, and the place is messier than you’ve ever seen it. A bag half unpacked is in the middle of the room, and there’s an open laptop and weapons on the desk. They make your breath catch in your throat. You walk over and sit on the bed.

“Did you kill anyone?” you ask as he pulls your chin up to look at him. He shakes his head. You can smell the lie in the air.

“You don’t have to lie,” you say, swallowing. He looks at you like he’s deciding what to do, letting out a sigh and coming to sit next to you on the bed.

“You told me you wouldn’t worry,” he says.

“I didn’t worry. I just missed you,” you say as he strokes your thigh.

“Lay down,” he instructs. You follow his instructions, laying on the side of the bed pressed up against the wall. He lays next to you and you turn your body to the side so you can look at him.

“So, we have this mission. One guy, suspected to be smuggling and selling large quantities of pharmaceuticals to private buyers. We work with the local police and SWAT but Commander Graves wants him brought in alive. Unfortunately, he managed to get a weapon and took a shot at John-”

“Johnny got shot?” you gasp, propping yourself up in the bad. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you. Someone in your pack got hurt.

“He’s fine,” John says, his hand resting on your shoulder pushing you back down on the bed. Your eyes dart to the door. You saw him in your room, and he did look fine. Maybe he is fine. Your heart still aches for him though, the image of him being injured is swimming around in your head.

“John’s fine but Simon shot the guy and unfortunately he died. The police secured the house and found the evidence they needed to arrest the other members of the family then we came back,” he finishes explaining. You swallow hard. You knew they were doing horrible things, they’re soldiers.

“Does that happen a lot? Getting shot?” you ask scooting closer to him.

“No, we don’t make a habit out of it.” He smiles, his fingers coming to brush hair out of your face. You close your eyes relaxing into the pillow.

“Dr. Montgomery told me you’ve been helping Dr. Miller?” You nod. “You should get some rest. I’ll wake you up for dinner?” he asks, you nod again. You still feel tired, all the scenting this morning must have really taken it out of you. He leans over and kisses you on the forehead as you get under the covers. He gets up, takes his laptop and leaves the room. You smile rolling over to his side of the bed. His pillows have his scent. You relax, breathing it in, closing your eyes. They’re back and they’re safe. It’s not getting easier though, each time they go away.

You wake to shouting. John isn’t in the bed, and something is going on in the common room. Your body feels stiff, and you can already tell you’ve been asleep for way more than a few hours.

“Fuck off!” That’s Johnny, you can hear his accent cutting thick through the air.

“Shepherd wanted me to deliver the message personally.” It’s Graves. You swallow, opening the door to the hall. You can see John and Simon standing there both with their arms crossed. Johnny is the one who looks back and sees you. He walks up stopping in front of you. You try to look around him, his hand lands on your shoulder.

“What's going on?” you ask.

“‘Hey sleepyhead, how ‘bout you go back to bed for a bit,” he says smiling at you. You can see it’s getting dark out. You must have slept for a good few hours.

“Is that her?” you hear Graves call. You freeze, reaching out and gripping Johnny’s arm. John said he would never be back.

“Time to go Graves. Don’t you have a base to take care of?” John says.

“You have until the morning,” he says. You swallow hard looking up at Johnny. You can smell him projecting a calming scent. You wonder if he and Kyle have had time to practice. Or maybe they are just naturals. You hear a door close and let go of Johnny’s arm. He smiles, putting his arm around your shoulders, and you stop, nudging it off.

“You were shot Johnny,” you say. He smiles, putting it back round you and continuing to walk you into the common room.

“Super soldier remember, thanks to that drug of yours.” Simon is still standing with his arms crossed watching Graves walk across the green back towards the main building. John is sitting down at the table with Kyle sipping tea.

“Sorry we woke you,” Kyle says looking at you sympathetically. You look at John. He looks tired. You feel sad all of a sudden, like you want to reach out and hug him. He looks up at you and meets your eye-line for a second. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Did you get into trouble?” you ask

“No,” it’s Simon’s voice that speaks up. So harsh in the air you almost jump. John pushes his chair out getting up with his cup of tea. You feel bad, like you’ve done something wrong. You watch as he disappears into his office without saying a word.

“Sit down, lass,” Johnny says, placing a cup of tea down in front of you. For someone who doesn't drink it, Johnny somehow manages to make the best tea. You nod, sitting down. Simon finally moves. He walks behind you knocking on John’s office. He doesn’t wait for a response though before going in.

“What did Graves want?” you ask. Johnny and Kyle look at each other then back at you.

“‘Nothing you need to worry about,” Johnny smiles. You try to ignore the yearning to know more. You wish they wouldn’t be so secretive. You wish they would tell you what they were doing. No, you don’t deserve that information , you remind yourself. You’re not a soldier, just an omega . It only feels like it’s been a few seconds of awkward silence before John and Simon walk back out into the common room. You sip your tea as John sits at the table opposite you.

“Professor Hale has requested to have contact with you.” You freeze at his words. The tea suddenly tastes horrible in your mouth. You want to spit it out instead you swallow it down letting it burn your throat.

“You can say no, but he wants you to know the option is there.” It feels like John is looking into your soul, his eyes harsh as he tries to read your reaction. The Professor has always been such a constant in your life. You think back to what Dr. Miller said. Maybe he did love you? Maybe this was his way of saying sorry? Or maybe he’ll let you stay with your pack, watch you from a distance, and then spring when you least expect it. It makes you feel sick.

“I—” You start but the words catch in your throat. What if this was a test, some weird fucked up experiment. You look up at John. Simon is standing behind him with his arms crossed. You trust them, there’s no way this is a test. Does Dr. Piper know? What would she say? She worked with him for years. Maybe she would like to communicate with him again. You close your eyes, sighing.

“I don’t want to see him,” you say, looking down at your tea, gripping it harder like you’re about to be told you don’t have a choice. You feel guilty. It doesn’t feel real. It’s like it’s the end of a massive part of your life. If you never see him again, will you ever forgive yourself? A hand rests on the top of your back, and you look up seeing Kyle smile down at you. You look over at John. He’s watching you, and you can’t tell if he looks disappointed or not. Simon’s still standing behind him with his arms crossed. You can never tell what he’s thinking.

“If you ever change your mind.”

You shake your head.

“He’s been the only other constant in my life. He did love me. I feel like I should give him the benefit of the doubt.” You look back down.

“You don’t owe him anything,” John says. You don’t know if you believe him or not. The last time you saw the Professor, he was breaking your ankle for trying to leave. Kyle's hand runs across your back.

“He tortured you. You spent your whole life being hurt. He doesn’t deserve the right to even ask. You never have to see him again. You shouldn’t see him again,” Simon says, his voice is sharp in the air. You look up at him. You’ve come to learn that Simon’s not the most talkative person but he means everything he says.

“He’s right,” Kyle says. “You have no reason to talk to him.”

You look down at your mug. You feel the tears coming, your eyes welling up as you try to stop them, squeezing your eyes shut. You have to be strong, you don’t get to cry for him. Simon’s right and Kyle is right. You never have to see him again. When you open your eyes everything is blurry. You swallow the lump in your throat away.

You don’t know what happens but the next thing you know Kyle’s hand has left your back and everyone is walking out of the building. John stays seated. You bring your sleeve up to wipe your eyes. You try to hide it but you’re not doing the best job. John waits until the building is empty before getting up and sitting in the seat next to you. He turns your chair to face him slightly. You let go of your cup, as you turn to look at him. His hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him. He leans down and kisses your forehead.

“Simon’s right, Professor Hale doesn’t deserve the right to even ask you. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t even be asking,” he says, his thumb stroking your cheek. He brushes one of your tears away.

“I feel guilty,” you admit. You want to look down but John’s hand on your face won’t let you. John nods.

“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about.” His thumb brushes your cheek. You nod. He stands up, offering you his hand. You take it and he leads you to the sofa. You sit down and you sit next to him. He spreads his arm over the back of the sofa and you smile at him as you lean up against him. He reaches over to pick up the remote.

“More of the screaming women?” he asks, flicking through the channel as smile.

“You pick,” you say, snuggling up against him more.

“John?” He hums rubbing your arm. “Are you going to kill the Professor?” There’s silence. You don’t know why you were expecting a quick answer. You don’t know if you’re going to like the answer.

“I would kill him. If I had to.” You look up at him. He smiles at you.

“Do you ever regret it? Killing anyone?”

“From time to time, sometimes people get mixed up in all sorts of things.”

“How do you do it?”

“The good outweighs the bad.” He squeezes you tighter. “You don’t need to worry about that kind of stuff.” You sigh, stretching your arm across his stomach. You let yourself relax. You don’t know how you would feel if the Professor was to die. Maybe you would feel relief, or maybe you would feel even more guilty.

John starts talking about what’s happening on the TV but you’re only half paying attention, your mind preoccupied with the Professor. It doesn’t feel like you’ve been laid there for very long when the door to the building opens. John turns and you sit up to see who’s walked in.

“Johnny’s shoulder’s playing up. Si’s taken him to see the doc,” Kyle says as he sticks his head in the door.

“Dr. Piper?” you ask as you sit up, a lump forming in your stomach. John said he was fine. Kyle nods and John gets up off the sofa. You follow him as he walks out of the building. All of you take a quick walk across the green to the lab. When you get in, a few scientists look over at you all. You see Dr. Miller who smiles at you.

“She’s upstairs if you’re looking for her,” he says. John thanks him and you make your way up to the medical room. When you walk in, Simon is leaned up against the wall on the far side of the room, his arms crossed. Johnny is sat on the edge of the bed with his shirt off. Dr. Piper’s taking the bandage off his shoulder. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you see him topless. He’s fitter than John is, and hairier too which you didn’t expect. He winks as you and you look away trying not to feel embarrassed.

“It’s healed fine. You say it’s still painful?” she asks, pressing down on and around where the scar is.

“It healed that quickly?” John asks, shocked crossing his arms as he leans in to look.

“Yeah, one of the wonders of the drug,” she says, smiling. “If it still hurts tomorrow we’ll do an x-ray but it’s most likely your bones just taking a little longer to heal. I’ll get you a sling.” She heads through the door in the room. You peek your head in seeing a bed and some storage.

“Physical wounds and broken bones will repair themselves relatively quickly, most of the time within 24-48 hours, as long as you’re in good health. Blood is a big factor too. Lose too much of it and you will not be able to repair yourself,” Dr. Piper says as she hands Johnny his shirt back. He pulls it on.

“What about getting sick?” Kyle asks.

“You have a stronger immune system but you can still get sick, also of course the healthier you are the better it works,” Dr. Piper says.

“Okay so we don’t have to worry about getting shot in the field,” Johnny chuckles.

“Well if you get shot in the head or the heart, you’ll still probably be dead. Trauma is still trauma,” Dr. Piper says, helping him secure the sling.

“I can show you,” you say looking round the room. They look at you confused for a few seconds. You walk over to a tray and pick up a scalpel.

“Woah, wait!” They all start to protest as you bring the blade to your lower arm.

“It’s okay, the Professor used to make me do it all the time,” you say, shrugging.

“Stop!” John’s voice is harsh in the air as you look at him waiting for what he will say next. “You don’t have to hurt yourself to show us.” You look up at Dr. Piper who shrugs. You move putting the scalpel back down. You feel the collective sigh in the room as you look around them.

“Okay, so we still need to continue to treat injuries seriously,” John says to everyone. Johnny jumps down off the bed.

“If you want I can look into maybe making something that can speed up the wound healing process? Professor Hale was pretty close to a breakthrough before you rescued the omega,” Dr. Piper says as she walks around everyone, opening the door to back out to the lab.

“Sure, if you think you can,” John says as everyone piles out. You smile at Dr. Piper as you pass her.

“You should all get some food before the mess closes,” John says, stopping at the top of the steps.

“What about you?” you ask him. Now that you think of it, when does he ever get time to eat? You’ve only seen him eat a few times.

“I’ll catch up, just have to have a word with Dr. Montgomery first,” he says, placing his hand on the small of your back and gently pressing you to the steps. You sigh following Kyle down the steps. The lab is empty. Most of the scientists will have gone for breaks since it is almost midday. Kyle waits for you, holding the door open as you all exit.

“So did Professor Hale make you hurt yourself a lot?” he asks as you walk next to Kyle across the grass.

“It’s the best way to prove to people it works. He would have people come and I got to show off for them.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well like, he would have these people called ‘investors’ I think, and I would get to dress nice and get out of my room for the day. He would show them around the lab and they would meet all the scientists, and then they would meet me. I would show them the ‘miracles’ of the formula,” you explain as you make it to the mess.

“Do you remember any of them?” It’s Simon ahead of you who asks the question. You shake your head.

“They were always men, always in such nice clothes. I never knew their names. He would always just call them ‘investor,’” you say, picking up a tray. Simon hums and you follow him and Johnny piling your plate with food and two pudding cups.

“Dr. Piper might know,” you say. Simon nods. You want to be helpful, but a lot of the time when it comes to what happened in the bunker, it can get blurry. You’re never quite sure where the real memories start. Besides, thinking about them upsets you. It’s enough that you have nightmares, you don’t need to worry about it during the day too. You follow Kyle to a table sitting down in front of Simon. You’re so caught up in your thoughts you don’t even realise Simon has pulled the bottom of his mask up.

You think back to a few days ago when you saw the top of his head and his blonde hair. You’re trying to piece the two together to imagine what his whole face might look like. You’re staring at him, gawking at him as he chews on his food. His head tips to the side as he looks at you, and you watch him swallow as his fork comes back up to his mouth.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says. You immediately feel heat come to your cheeks, looking back down at your tray. Your hands fiddle with the lid on your pudding cup as you let the wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“Be nice LT,” Johnny hisses under his breath, nudging him. You feel like you’ve invaded his privacy. Maybe you should apologize. You look back up at him as you pick up your spoon. You don’t know what to say, so you just spoon some pudding in your mouth. As soon as it hits your tongue it tastes bitter. You almost want to spit it out but you swallow it, frowning as you look at the cup.

“Not good?” Johnny asks. You look at the flavor, butterscotch. You don’t think you’ve ever tried that one before.

“I don’t think I like butterscotch,” you say, putting your spoon down. Johnny reaches over picking up the unopened one.

“That’s not possible.” Johnny smiles at you. You smile back picking up your fork. Guess it serves you right for skipping straight to dessert. You eat your food listening to Johnny and Kyle talk, but you can’t help your eyes wondering to Simon every now and then. You really want to see him smile. You wish you could see him without the mask. Maybe you will, if he’s getting more comfortable around you. At one point he turns and your eyes meet his, you smile at him but instead he ignores you, turning back to listen into the conversation between Johnny and Kyle.

You spend most of the meal just pushing food around the plate. You’re distracted by something you can’t quite put your finger on. You’re not hungry, just tired. You want to crawl into your nest with a book and sleep. You’ve been sleeping in there more than in your bed. It’s not comfortable sleeping on the floor but you feel like that you have less nightmares when you’re safe in your nest compared to in your bed.

You excuse yourself from the table, ignoring Kyle’s comments that you’ve hardly eaten anything. When you make it outside, the dark clouds make the air feel electric. Maybe there’s a storm coming. You can hear the distant rumbles as you make your way across the green to the barracks. The lights are off. John must not be back yet. You turn the one in the common room on then walk to your room.

Your nest is still a mess from earlier. You pull the duvet and pillows off your bed and bend down fixing it. You stack all the pillows back up, laying blankets over them as you arrange everything around. You keep going till it feels right again. You go over to the books on the table. You don’t know what you want to read. You pick up ‘ The Secret Garden’ if not just for the pretty cover. You take it over to your nest climbing in and leaning up against the wall.

You hear Johnny, Kyle and Simon coming back from the mess a few pages into the book. You hear their voices in the common room, the sound of doors opening and closing. You smile, letting yourself relax, and you read until you fall asleep.

When John makes it back to the barracks Johnny and Kyle are laid out on the sofa. Simon is sat at the table with a mug in his hand. John stands in the doorway as everyone turns to look at him. Simon meets his eye line, John tips his head gesturing outside.

‘Follow me.’

Simon gets up immediately leaving the table as John steps back outside. He walks away from the building to the wall round the edge of the base. He waits a few seconds before speaking.

“The labs have been bugged,” John says.

“Think it’s Graves?” Simon asks. John sighs.

“Don’t know, she only found it yesterday.”

“Mic? Camera?”

“Microphone,” he replies.

“Think there's more?” Simon asks.

“Think so, why only plant one.”

“What do you want to do?”

“If it is Graves, I don’t want him to know we’re on to him. It could be something else though.” John sighs scratching his chin.

“Who? Shepherd?”

“I don’t know. If the lab is bugged though there’s a chance the barracks are too.”

“Want to search it?”

“I want to do it without raising suspicion, from Graves, Shepherd, anyone.”

“What about Soap and Gaz?” Simon asks as they make it back towards the barracks.

“No, let's keep it between us, until we have proof or know who’s doing it. Dr. Montgomery is going to keep an eye out. She’ll let me know if she finds anything,” John says, stopping at the door to the barracks. Kyle and Johnny are still sitting on the sofa as they both walk in.

“Hey LT, Kyle found the football!” Johnny says enthusiastically.

“Manchester United, that's the good one right?” Johnny smiles. Simon sighs going back over to the table to get his cup of tea.

“Just keep it down,” John says, going to his office.

“It’s the first match of the league Cap, wanna watch?” Kyle calls. He does but he shakes his head, he has work to do. He watches Simon take his tea over to the sofa chair. He looks down the hall seeing your bedroom door closed, and he takes in a long breath. He can smell you in the air, strawberries. He smiles and walks into his office.

next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

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lostintransist · 13 days ago

Text

Tears of Dreams and Memories | AU

For anyone who needed a happy ending instead of my gut punch of an original, I apparently can be "bullied" by my friends into "fixing" my issues.

After a close call with some creeps, you are put forth by Ghost as the liaison for the 141. A friendship blooms with the whole team and leads to a work visa and a job opportunity with the 141. A job turns into a live-in situation with Simon and a betting pool as to when one of you will crack and finally confess.

AO3 | Original | Original on AO3

Special shout out to an IRL friend and @demothers-empty-blog for helping me get past my slump on this one.

You shouldn’t be running down the halls of the base. You know you shouldn’t be running. But fuck all if they weren’t right on your heels. The men had come back on base drunk and the creepy ones had searched you out. You choked down the sobs that threatened to escape. If you could just get far enough away you might be ab—

You slam into something hard. You had taken the corner fast, a hand still behind you on the wall to help you pivot. You look up, and up, and up. A hard skull mask stares down at you. Blackout paint hides everything beyond the whites of his eyes.

Maniacal laughter starts up from behind you. You can’t stop the flinch that wracks your body. Shifting your aim for the pocket of space between the man and the wall, your socks shift ever so slightly against the inside of your boots. His hand shoots out, grasping your arm before you pass him.

“Wait.”

The tone reeked of a command. No one gave commands on a base like this unless they knew they had the authority to back up the demand. The thump of steps against the thin carpet have you letting out a high-pitched keen and pulling against the bear paw holding you in place.

“Please, please, please let me go.” You barely understand the words tripping off your tongue.

Barbed wire is wrapped around your spine, it pulls tight when two men appear at the end of the hall.

“Ho ho! You found her! Our friend here owes us a good time tonight for bailing on drinks off base.” The blond sways only in his eyes, shifting over your breasts and ass.

The man with the black hair just leers, it’s almost worse.

The man holding you makes no move to let you go or tell off the men who followed you over half of the base for their ‘fun’. A change in the air occurs, a pin of a grenade hitting the dirt.

The hand on your arm tightens. The British accent surprises you, the base had been briefed that a unit on loan from the UK would be joining them for a few months. The line repeated to every man and woman below a certain rank is to leave them alone and if you have any questions submit them to the liaisons.

“Get back to your rooms, you have two seconds to get out of my sight or I will be having a chat with your base commander in the morning.”

They gape at skull man, their drunk minds stumbling trying to catch up.

“What?” The blond questions.

“One.”

Both men start to back up, and the menace in that single word tightens around your throat. You escaped two predators only to land with a stronger one.

“Tw—”

The soldiers take off, the threat finally processes past the alcohol. You pinwheel your arm as their boots disappear behind the corner. You break free of the grip on your arm and start forward away from this new evil. One step is all you can take before arms wrap tight around your chest. He caught your arms too, fingers dangling by your thighs.

All the fight in your body leaves, and your brain decides that there is no escape. Your head rolls forward, you don’t even have the energy to blink.

When your position changes your mind starts recording new memories. Looking around you find yourself on a chair in the kitchen connected to the mess hall. The beast of a man stands in front of you slowly adding hot water to a cup. Your breaths pick up speed, fingers curling on the edge of the chair.

Skull face turns and drops a knee in front of you. He looms close but doesn’t touch any part of you.

“None of that now, I am not here to hurt you. We are just having some tea and then I will walk you to your room.” He speaks with a slow tone as if coaxing a feral cat from beneath a car.

You can’t tell where his accent is from, England for sure but not the common one associated with the country in your mind.

“I..I…I don’t..don’t…like tea.” You stutter at him.

You see his brows draw down despite the mask.

“Well, I will give you a warm cup to hold while I drink my tea then.” His voice is as deep as it should be with the breadth of his shoulders.

He stays on his knee, looking you over until at some point known only to him, he stands. He removes the tea bag from both cups. He adds a splash of milk to both cups and an ungodly amount of sugar. He gives both a quick mix and hands you one. He pops a hip on the stainless steel counter. He’s so damn tall he has his left foot flat on the floor and still comfortably sit on the counter his right foot swaying slightly.

“Can you even,” deep shuddering breath, “call that tea with how much sugar is in it?”

“Can’t call it anything if you don’t try it,” he slips a finger below his mask lifting it enough to fit the mug to his mouth. He wears gloves too.

Once the mask cleared the edge of his jaw you slam your head down. You stare at the tea, the milk slowly swirling into the water. You turn away and take a sip. The idea of milk and water as a drink still didn’t compute but the sugar masked any issues you might have had.

You sip at the drink finishing only about half when the sounds of movement bring your head back to the scary man in the room with you. His hand is stretched out to you. Glancing up and down it you slowly place your cup in his hand. You don’t feel so adrift after the quiet company.

You stand, awkwardly holding your elbows while he rinses the cups and spoon, leaving them in the empty sink. When he turns back to you he motions with his fingers for you to head out of the kitchen. You do as instructed. He picks up the chair on his way out. You hold open the swinging door, manners ingrained from childhood. He nods his thanks, tucking the chair just so below the table.

You don’t move until he looks at you. You let the door swing shut and begin to lead the way back to your room. Once you clear the doors of the mess hall he falls into step with you. You walk the brightly lit halls, walls dotted with darkness for windows. He remains a steady presence at your side until you stop in front of a door that looks exactly like the others.

“Thank you for your help,” you stare at your boots, curling your toes inside them.

“Lock your door tonight.”

With that final command, he turns and walks away. You don’t know where the UK team is staying but it is nowhere near the dorms you slept in. You do as instructed, locking the door behind you after you confirm that your roommate is already in bed, snoring lightly. Sleep comes slowly, a skull mask haunting you behind your eyelids.

✮✮✮

Price stares down at his tea, blinking slowly. He sat in an empty officer’s room. The base commander was courting the 141. He had yet to come out with the goal of this collaboration. He wonders absently if the tip of a flask would make the morning meetings easier to handle.

A file is slapped down on the table in front of him. Ghost sits down, a seat between them.

“I want this one.”

Price blinks at the file, his cup, and then finally his lieutenant.

“It is too early for this. Speak clearly. What do you want?”

In lieu of answering Ghost reaches over and flips open the folder. It’s a personnel file. A neutral-faced woman stares out at him from the small photo.

“I am not helping you get a girlfriend, Ghost.”

His joke doesn’t land. Ghost snatches the mug of tea from his hand.

“Don’t be crass, I hate the team the base commander has given us to work with. I want this one.”

“You want a soldier right out basic who knows next to nothing about this base and has probably never even met the commander to be our new point of contact?” Price can’t keep the exasperation out of his voice.

Ghost slurps at the tea. Price sighs and massages right above his eyebrows. This would be a hard sell to the base commander.

“I’ll see what I can do, now get the fuck out of my face. I don’t want to see you until lunch.”

✮✮✮

The wrinkles on the base commander’s face absorbed light like a black hole. Price stood before the man’s desk, face neutral.

“You want to change from the team of our hand-chosen soldiers to accommodate any need you have on base for a baby? Am I understanding that right?” He flipped through the file Ghost had dropped on the table just this morning.

“My lieutenant has a tendency to eat anyone he doesn’t tolerate.”

“He eats people?” the commander cut in.

“I have no confirmation of if he actually eats people, commander, only that he will chew through any team you give him until they all beg for reassignment. To avoid that strain on your teams I am asking that you give us this one soldier who has been requested.” Price lays the facts out reasonably, tone hinting that the commander would be an idiot to ignore this request.

“How did they even meet? We have strict orders for most of our people to not interact with your team at all,” he tossed down the file on this desk.

“I tend not to ask questions that will only result in a dead-eyed stare. He won’t tell me even if I asked, I’ve learned to roll with what he gives me.”

The commander steeples his fingers, elbows resting on the arms of his office chair. Price noted the power move but was more concerned about what the mess hall would be serving for lunch. He wondered if he could put in a request for a clam chowder, the warm creamy soup would hit the spot.

“Alright, I will reassign your current team and give you this one soldier. The paperwork should be done by dinner. I will have her also move to your section as she will need to be on hand for your team.” The commander leaned back in his chair, “Is there anything else your team needs right now, Captain Price?”

“No sir, everything has been satisfactory. I have a few things to finish up, I will see you at the 1100 meeting.” Price extracts himself from the commander’s office, closing the door behind him.

Soap pushed off the wall falling into step.

“So we getting a new aide? Because Ghost requested one?” He groused. “Ghost who would have bit the aide from the last base if it didn’t mean removing his mask?”

Price smirked, “In all fairness that man was an areshole.”

“Aye he was, but why the request?” Soap pushed open the door they had come to. They were near the training grounds.

“Don’t know Soap. Why don’t we find out?” Price aimed for someone who looked to be in charge.

✮✮✮

You pause, looking around. You were almost sure that someone had just called for you. You look around and see a man waving you down from the edge of the training area. You check that you are clear to cross before jogging over.

“Good, come with me.”

You follow. When you finally slow you are presented to two men. They had to be members of the 141 with skull face. One man, taller than you but not by much kept a trimmed beard, crow’s feet around his eyes. The other man towered over you, almost as tall as skull face, the mohawk added several inches to his height.

“This the recruit you were looking for?” The man who walked you over pointed a thumb in your direction.

“Think so,” the bearded man said. He stuck out his hand, “Nice to meet you, you can call me Price.”

You shake his hand, twice up and down with firm pressure. You had to learn to ‘shake like a man’.

Mohawk man sticks out his hand next, “Soap.”

You shake his hand and nod, turning back to the man who walked you over.

“Is that all, sir? All of us low-ranking members have standing orders to not speak to any of the 141,” you infuse your words with an ‘I’m just doing my job’ tone.

Soap snorts out a laugh, covering it poorly with a cough into his fist.

The man before you stutters before Price jumps in.

“Thank you, that will be all.” He can’t help but smile as you nod and turn on your heel heading back to your task.

As you are walking away you hear Soap’s comment.

“I can see why ‘e wants her, much more spunk there than anywhere else on this base.”

✮✮✮

The news comes down the line of your reassignment to become the sole attendant of the 141. You scarf down dinner, they wanted you presented to the team at 1800. You speed walk to your room, the clock showing a measly twenty minutes to pack your life up to move halfway across base.

You make it, squeaking through the door exactly the time you were requested. The base commander stands, hands tucked in one another behind his low back. He stands looking out the window over a group of training soldiers.

He ignores your presence for a moment before turning towards you.

“Ah, come in. We have a few things to discuss before I introduce you to the team. One question before we start, do you know why you were requested to be our liaison?”

You answer honestly, “Sir, I have not even a singular idea as to why.”

He hums, “We need this to go well. We need to borrow from the 141 from time to time and can only do that if they agree. Your job is to do whatever is needed to secure their agreement.”

Your stomach turns sour at the word choice, do whatever is needed. The military is no different than a pimp, only difference is one gets cheers and free meals at IHOP.

“Of course, sir, I will do my best.”

“Good, now here is what you need to know…”

The meeting takes another twenty minutes; your brain a bit fried when you lift your bag to follow the commander.

You take stock of the nicer flooring and art as you enter the building just beside the commanders. He lived on base since his wife passed nearly a year ago. You enter a room, you would still call it a living room despite all the time in the military.

Soap and a man you haven’t seen sit on the couch intently focused on their game of Mario Kart. They raced along the Rainbow Road. Price and skull face sat at a table near the wall. Price worked away on a laptop and skull face held an e-reader. A fifth man reclined in a chair near Soap, clearly asleep. Feet spread wide, head tipped across the back of the chair, an arm thrown over his eyes.

“This is where you will be staying. Captain Price will be in charge of you until they leave in a few months time. I will leave the introductions of the team to him.” The commander claps a hand on your shoulder, knocking you forward a step.

Price looks up at the motion, pulling a small headphone from his ear.

“Ah, Commander. Thank you for delivering our new aide, we will take good care of her.” He stood, striding over and offering a hand again.

You shake it again, focused on the retreating sounds of the commander. Once the door clicks behind him you feel the tension release slightly from your shoulders.

“Welcome, let’s get you introduced to everyone and then get you settled.” Price smiled at you warmly, the crow’s feet showing it to be a common state for him. “You’ve met Soap, next to him is Gaz.”

Neither man acknowledges their name, too focused on the game. They are on their third lap, neck, and neck for the lead. Gaz drops back slightly and throws a blue shell, effectively taking first. Soap jumps to his feet, shouting.

“You feckin’ cheatin’ son of a whore! Not even Mother Mary will save you after this!” His accent came out thick in his anger.

Gaz just laughed as he crossed the finish line. Soap rolled in at fifth. With their outburst done Price continues his introductions.

“The sleeping man is Roach, he doesn’t speak much so don’t worry if he doesn’t respond to you. And then we have our L.T., Ghost,” Price gestures to the masked man.

You can’t stop the words. They escape, your brain slowing down the embarrassment to exacerbate the stress.

“Ghosts don’t have bones.” Such a matter-of-fact tone. Fuck a duck, why are you like this?

Ghost stands. You swallow hard. He clears the space between you in three long strides. Mother-fucking giant of a man.

“What?”

He asks as if he hadn’t heard, not as if he were offended.

You roll your lips between your teeth, answering a bit louder despite his now closer position.

“Ghosts don’t have bones, so your mask is a bit of a silly choice.”

Every man awake busts into laughter except Ghost. You glance over and Gaz is hanging off Soap, struggling to breathe. Soap is curled forward hugging his stomach. Price smothers a chuckle next to you.

You look back at Ghost, his eyes squint slightly at you. You give an awkward smile.

“L.T. how has no one ever thought about that before?” Gaz is out of breath and falls back into laughter after his question.

Ghost blinks once at you.

“Follow me, I will show you to your room.”

You wince at his back, throwing a glance at Price.

“You’ll be okay, he won’t hold it against you,” the laughter in his voice didn’t reassure you.

You scurry after the man you insulted by accident, wincing at every sound you make. The only sound Ghost makes is the slight swish of his pants as they cross with each step. He leads you down a short hall, turning right at the first choice. There are two doors down this short hall. He taps the second one.

“This is your room. Mine is next door.”

“I am really sorry, I didn’t mean to make a joke of your mask,” you stumble over your words.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a funny thought and the men will take to you easier after the joke,” he replies evenly.

You wince again and look at the door.

“Is there anything I need to handle tonight?”

“No, other than we have a nightly debrief at 2000 in the main room.”

You blow out a short breath. “Okay, I can do that.”

Stepping into the room you are surprised at the single bed, dresser, and desk. Still all military issue but nicer. You drop your bag on the bed, looking over the space. You hadn’t truly been alone since you signed up, this might be an adjustment.

Turning back to the door you startle, Ghost is still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes on you.

“Can I help you with something, lieutenant?” you ask, curious as to why he is still standing in the doorway.

“No. Feel free to join us when you are ready.” He turns away, the sound of his steps quickly fading.

You sit down on the chair at the desk. You put your head in your hands, elbows propped on your knees. How the hell did you end up here? Last night you were running for your life and now you are helping court a specialty group from the UK for the base commander. The only person from the team you spoke to last night had been Ghost. Did he have something to do with this change?

You eventually join the team back in the main room. The 2000 debrief had just been a fancy way of saying they all have a cup of tea before bed. Roach pulled out a deck of cards and you soon found yourself in a game of poker you would lose. You laugh more at the table with these men than you had in all the months you had been in the military. You fell asleep that night a soft smile on your face, the door locked tight.

✮✮✮

The months passed quickly, you became texting buddies with everyone on the team beyond Ghost. He watched you. You noticed but ignored it. He happened to be a grown man and if he had something to say he would have to buck up and use his words.

Roach comes alive through your text conversations, he is full of observations and quirky sayings. He is your favorite texting buddy.

As the time for the 141 to return come crept closer without a hard yes or no from Price about working with the base in the future the commander crept further up your ass. After a particularly unhelpful meeting where the commander ended up yelling at you, you stormed into your room. Throwing yourself face down on your bed, muttering curses.

“Can I help you?”

Your eyes blow wide in the darkness created by your face being compressed into the mattress.

Shit. Fuck. Dammit. You had missed your door and landed on Ghost’s bed. You pushed up from the mattress on your hands and one knee. The other foot already searched for the ground.

“Nope, sorry Ghost. I just had a bad meeting and missed my door,” you can’t help the blush overtaking your face.

One foot on the floor you pull your torso up, ready to turn and race out of the room once your second foot touches the carpet.

“Pause.”

You freeze finally looking up to see Ghost working at his desk. He has a soft balaclava on today, still a skull painted on but much more inviting than the hard mask. He has no darkening makeup on today, you can see dark brows and light, fair skin of England showing through the hole in the mask. You devour the peek into him.

“Sit,” he turns from you pulling open a drawer of his desk.

You shift to do as you are told. He has never been unkind to you, just the opposite actually. The two men who chased you across the base had been reassigned across the country shortly after you joined the team. Neither of you said it out loud but you know that only Ghost had been aware of what happened.

He spins his chair back towards you. He holds out his e-reader. This thing goes everywhere with him. Ghost could be called a voracious reader. You glance between the small device and his face, not touching the offering.

“Pick anything you like, feel free to stay until you feel better.”

You reach forward, fingers slow to grasp. Once you have a firm grip he lets go and turns back to his work. Starting the device a book opens halfway through. You back out to the main page and scroll through the options.

Several of the titles garner a raised brow.

“Didn’t take you for a smut reader, Ghost.”

The only response is a creaking of the chair as he shifts. Your lips twitch with a smile. You choose a title vaguely familiar and start from the beginning. You read sitting on Ghost’s bed until the nightly debrief. The next day you find yourself knocking at his closed door. You’re just going to ask to borrow his reader until you can finish the story.

When he opens the door what could be called a smile reaches his eyes. The edges of them shift together the barest hint.

“It’s on the bed, right where you left off.”

Bashfulness overcomes you, forcing your gaze to swing down to your boots. You slip past him, sitting against the wall feet dangling off the bed. Once the story has well and truly sucked you in you reach down and remove your boots, eyes not leaving the words as they thud to the floor. Ghost doesn’t say a single word as you end up stretching across his bed feet swinging through the air.

A knock at the door jolts you out of the story. Price’s voice comes after a knock slightly farther away.

“Debrief will be a bit late today, 2030.”

You lock eyes with Ghost, remaining silent. As Price’s footsteps walk away you flip to a sitting position and shove your toes back into your boots. You set the reader down, focused on getting the ties just right. Once they feel tight enough you stand.

“Thanks for letting me read, I guess I will come back when you have a moment you can spare it.” You can’t keep your fingers from digging into your pockets. You can’t believe you rolled yourself all over his bed while reading.

“You are welcome any time. If you are close why don’t you take it tonight and return it in the morning?” his head tilts ever so slightly.

“Really?” Your brows rise as does your voice with the question. “If you don’t mind. I can finish the book after debrief and return it before lights out.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he raised a brow as a challenge.

“I’m not saying you do,” you glare at him. “Confirming your level of seriousness is not doubting you.”

“If you say so.”

You stick your tongue out at him.

“Careful with that thing, some could take it as an invitation.” He turns back to his desk as you gape at him.

Did Ghost flirt with you?

You snap up the e-reader, holding it close to your chest as you leave the room. You let the door hang ajar, knowing it bothers him.

You wander into the main room, tucking the small tablet into your side pocket. Setting the kettle to boil you prepare a cup for each man, dropping a preferred tea bag in each. As everyone settles in around the table you finish adding milk and sugar to mugs and passing them out. Ghost sits last.

“Sugar with tea for you,” you place the cup down in front of him and take the seat to his right.

Soap chuckled, “Go’ta say L.T. she’s got you pegged.”

“Too bad we can’t throw her in our luggage for when we head home,” Gaz chimed in.

Price leaned back in his chair, “Well now there’s a thought. How long do you have left?”

You finish your sip of hot chocolate, “Only about a year, but I am not planning on re-upping.”

“Wanna come work for the 141?” Price lifts a brow at you.

“Put that offer in writing so I can get a visa and absolutely,” you grin. With how much Price griped about paperwork you doubted he would follow through on getting you a work visa.

He glared at you, “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Have you known me to do anything less?” you challenge.

“Do the paperwork Price, or I will.” Ghost dropped the statement like a smoking gun to a criminal case.

You smirk down into your cup, taking a sip to avoid a comment. Ghost hates paperwork more than Price and is so meticulous with it because he hates when he has to redo the ‘fucking devil’s work’.

The men leave the table as their tea is finished, rinsing the mugs before settling into the final activity of the night. You stay at the table and pull out the e-reader. The book sucks you back in.

“Is that Ghost’s reader?” Soap’s shocked voice rips you from the climax of the story.

“What? Uh, yeah.” You settle back into the battle, your main character taking a knife to the ribs.

“Did he let you borrow it or…” he lets the question hang, a noose swinging in the wind.

Irritated, you put the tablet down. Turning to look at Soap you reply.

“Of course he let me borrow it. I’ve been using it for a few days.”

Soap’s brows shoot up his forehead, nearly touching his mohawk.

“Really? Well, that’s an interesting development.”

“I guess? Now my character just got stabbed so if there is nothing else I am going to finish this before lights out so I can return it.” You turn back to the table and get absorbed back into reading.

You return the reader to Ghost before bed and only use it in behind the safety of his door until they leave.

✮✮✮

The anticipation of pain has never once made the pain hurt less.

They are leaving, your friends are heading home to the UK. Price is the one who sat you down and gave you the dates. Two days, in two days you would walk them to their plane and have to move on like you didn’t find family in some of the scariest men you have ever met. You hold it together until you get out of his sight.

Tears slip down your cheeks, a silent testament of the love that has grown for them. You slip into Ghost’s room. He should be out right now, off training with Roach. He isn’t.

Asleep with his boots on, Ghost is sprawled out across his bed. One hand dangles out over the edge. You sit against the bed, his arm draping over your shoulder. You hold his large hand in both of yours. You know he is probably awake, but he does you the kindness of staying still. He isn’t wearing his gloves today. Ghost had many healed scrapes and scars to explore. You let your fingers drift over his hand, bumping over every ridge.

You sniff as tears continue to flow down your cheeks, splattering against your shirt. It’s hard for you to believe that you can love these wacky guys to the point of pain at their departure. You slid right into the dynamic of the crew as if they had held a place for you. Cutting off arguments between the 141 and everyone else had become your primary job. You could talk down any member from retaliatory action for both minor and major slights. You toed the lines between both Price and the base commander to find common enough ground for their agreement to be settled. You still didn’t know why they were here, only that an agreement had been reached with you as a go-between more often than not. Now they were leaving. Leaving you behind. Knowing they have jobs waiting for them, for missions to be completed doesn’t ease the ache in your chest.

You stay like that, fingertips drifting over the skin of his hand until the storm in your chest has petered out and the only signs it ravaged your soul are the tracks on your cheeks and the tears drying on your shirt.

You sniff once, sliding your fingers to fit between his.

“I know you’re probably awake, but thank you for letting me use you for comfort.” You squeeze his fingers once before standing.

Scooting out and away from the bed you take care to not look at him. This private comfort you stole from his sleeping form could only be that, private. Seeing his eyes would shatter the flimsy barrier to your heart and you couldn’t afford to lose any more of that worn organ to men across the sea. Your fingers stayed locked with his as you stood, reaching, touching until at last the kiss of his fingerprints whispered their goodbyes.

You close the door softly behind you, heading for the bathroom. Standing before the mirror with the bright white light illuminating your blotchy face you tuck away your pain to deal with in the dark. You scrub your face with cool water and redo your hair. When a soldier with a job looks back at you instead of a woman losing her family you leave the bathroom.

✮✮✮

Two days later you say your goodbyes. Your number is entered into so many new phones and you are repeatedly asked which secure platform you will use to chat with them all. Their flight is scheduled to leave at 0320, at midnight you are scouring the rooms they used confirming everyone has packed everything.

Ghost finds you ass in the air while your hand stretches for a book Gaz had been missing for three weeks. It had fallen between his bed and the wall. When you snag it you pull back triumphant. You see his legs first, glancing all the way up at his face.

“Oh, hi, Ghost. I am just checking everyone got everything before you all leave,” you smile up at him.

He doesn’t respond, just offering a hand down to you. You take it gratefully, pulling yourself up. Taking a step back you look him over. He is wearing his soft balaclava today, he tends to wear them when he needs to be more comfortable than scary.

“All ready to go home? I bet you are going to be glad for an overcast day and a good cuppa,” the happiness in your voice isn’t faked. Ghost has complained to you a few times about the terrible tea here.

“Ready to be home, not looking forward to the flight.” He looks you over scouring your face, his gaze scrapes like steel wool over your nerves. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

The husky tone of his voice catches you off guard enough that you comply without thought. Gaz’s book is lifted from your hands, leaving them empty.

As you stand you hear the buzzing of the bright light above you, the sound of Velcro opening, and the quiet sounds of breaths, both yours and Ghosts. The fingers on your cheek are a surprise, the callouses marking your skin as they trail from your jaw to your eye.

You push your face into the touch, savoring the contact. His thumb brushes against your lips. You flick the tip of your tongue against it, tasting the ridges unique to that finger. He slides away from your mouth, thumb and fingers curling around your jaw and tipping your face up. He kisses you then. Riots start inside your body. Part of you yearns to open your eyes, devour him, touch the breadth of his flesh. The other, stronger part of you screws your eyes shut tighter, taking the gift as it is given and demanding nothing more.

He kisses as if he bottles his kindness and doles it out only for you. The press of his lips against yours will keep you going. He pulls back ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you in a year dove, stay safe,” he says the words against your lips, pressing them together once more. He puts something in your hands as he steps away, his fingers still on your face.

You keep your eyes closed, waiting for some sign it would be safe to open them again. His thumb taps your jaw before drifting away.

“Open your eyes already you silly bird,” the smile in his voice is unmistakable. His fingers slip away as your eyes open.

This mask is down again, you smirk up at him.

“Why am I a silly bird for respecting boundaries you big oaf? If you wanted me to see your face you wouldn’t have asked me to close my eyes.”

He shrugs, “Didn’t think you would let me kiss you if you saw it coming.”

You can’t stop the full belly laugh that erupts out of you. “I don’t know how to respond to that!”

Shaking your head you look down and pause. Your head snaps up.

“You’re giving me your e-reader? Why?” your brows draw together as you look at him.

He shrugs again, shoulders shifting just enough to indicate he didn’t have a real reason to share.

“It’s still logged in, feel free to buy any book that piques your interest.” His hands lift to your face, cupping your cheeks.

Your eyes flutter closed at the contact. His forehead connects with yours, his warm breath kissing your face as it filters through the mask.

“Don’t die before I get there okay?” You open your eyes, staring straight into his. This close you can see the variations of brown striping through them.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll do my best.” He sounds sincere.

You give in to the urge to hug him. He hesitates before returning the gesture. You stand with him, listening to his heartbeat until you have soaked in the pressure of his presence. You pull back first, wiping at your eyes.

“Let’s get you to your ride, Price will come looking for you soon.”

You grab Gaz’s book, tuck the e-reader in a side pocket, and walk with Ghost to the hanger. The silence between you is comfortable and tinged with the moments you have shared in silence before.

As you get close you wave the book at Gaz who jogs over.

“Where did you find it? I looked everywhere,” he takes the book gratefully.

“Everywhere but under your bed obviously.”

Ghost snorts, walking past you to join Price near the gangplank of the plane. You’ve said all your goodbyes at this point. You only stay to see them off. Everyone but Ghost gives you a hug or a pat on the back as they board the plane. You wave until the door shuts and watch until the dim lights of the wings are swallowed by the darkness.

You blow out a breath and speak into the darkness.

“One year, you can make it one more year.”

✮✮✮

Six months in you can tell things are getting bad for them. It takes longer and longer for replies to come into your messages and when Soap is willing to share what’s happening it is summed up in a single word.

Mole.

They go dark for another three months. Your days are filled with a background of worry and a foreground of doing what you are told.

Ghost is the one who breaks the silence.

>Your paperwork is through, your visa should arrive soon.

The cheer you give in the mess hall has every eye on you. Pinching your lips between your teeth you clean up your tray and slip outside.

>Anything special I should do after it arrives?

His reply comes quick.

>Pack.

You laugh. Some would miss the dry wit with which he pokes at you. You miss him, them.

>I have a few months left before I am out. Should I fly into Heathrow?

>Yes. Send Price your flight details and someone will come get you.

You send a kissy face emoji in response, imagining the eye roll that this would incite.

The final three months slip by like water. Your off time is filled with nailing down travel details and fighting with Price via email over the contract he sent you. He set up a fair contract, but he wanted you on his team so why not ask for a few extra vacation days?

✮✮✮

Soap is the one to pick you up when your flight lands. You drag your achy bones through customs, the clash of accents all around you weighing on your brain.

You set your bags down to hug him. He laughs.

“Miss me bonnie lass?”

You mumble your reply into his chest.

“I’m not anyone’s ‘bonnie lass’.” You nearly match his accent on the words.

“I donne believe you, but tis good to see you back. Let’s get you to HQ.” He looks down at your bags, “This all you have?”

You ignore the prick of judgment the question causes in you. There is nothing wrong with a transatlantic move that only has you bring a carry-on and a backpack.

“That’s it, I pack pretty light. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He gives you a heavy side-eye.

“Never said there was.”

Conversation falls back into familiar territory as Soap fights his way out of the airport, car inching forward until they are at last out of the city. You don’t fight the pull of your eyelids to meet in sleep as Soap sings along to the radio. A hand on your shoulder wakes you. Soap smirks at you from the other seat.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty.”

You roll your eyes and focus beyond the windshield at an old barn. You glance at Soap, confused.

He chuckles as he replies, “England is old, we have to reuse what we can.”

“Alright, whatever you say.” You step out of the car, feeling odd to be leaving the left side as a passenger.

You leave your bags in the car. Soap wanted to introduce you to the full team before showing you to the shared flat you would be living in until you could secure your own lodgings.

He is talking about the area, waving his arms this way, and that pointing out the range and the picnic tables. He pulls open a person-sized door beside the massive barn doors.

“We’re home!” Soap calls into the large building.

You step through the door with a shiver, as if someone walked over your grave.

The building might have once been a barn, but industrial beams now held the roof aloft. To the right of the wide-open space a set of stairs led to a second level. A few small doors were scattered around the walls that did not hold the door you came through. The main space held a few long tables bracketed by chairs. Beyond them appeared to be an elevated platform where you could imagine staged fights occurred.

A stream of unfamiliar faces appears and greets you, all rising from the table where books and mugs lay scattered along the surface. Thankfully everyone returns to their task when done speaking with you. Roach catches your eye, he pulls you into a spinning hug.

You let out a squealing laugh as you pat at his shoulders.

“Put me down, Roach!”

He does settle your feet on the ground, hands settling on your waist as he bumps his forehead to yours.

Welcome home friend.

“I’m glad to see you again.” To break the tension, you ruffle his bright blond hair. Roach scrunches his nose and squeezes his hands once before stepping back.

Soap propels you deeper into the building with a hand on your back.

“Where is everyone else?” You glance at his profile, catching sight of a new bump along the ridge of his nose. “That’s new.”

He glances at you, “Price and Ghost will be in their offices, Gaz could be anywhere. And what’s new?”

You press a finger to his face. “This.”

Soap goes a tiny bit cross-eyed looking at the point you touched.

“Rookie caught me slacking.” He looks up and smiles at you. “Ready to see everyone else?”

“Lead on my lovely guide,” you gesture to the hallway before you.

The hallway must lead to a back building, though it sloped downward slightly. Several minutes pass with Soap pointing out bathrooms and kitchens and even your small office next to Price’s. He doesn’t knock as he pops the door open. Kyle is standing, finger-pointing at something on a desk while Price sits peering down at the same. Both men look up, dour expressions melting away when they catch sight of you.

“You made it!” Kyle pulls you into a tight hug that you happily return. “How was your flight?”

“My flights?” You emphasize the s on your last word as you step around Kyle to give Price a half hug along his shoulders. “All four of them were fine, some longer than others though.”

“Soap get you settled in yet?” Price asks as his arm snakes around you in return.

“Not yet, Cap. Figured she would want to say hello to everyone before I drop her off at the roulette flat,” Soap answers for you. You take the opportunity to step back into your own space.

“Roulette flat?” You glance between the three of them as they fight down smirks.

“We keep a flat for new transfers or men in hot waters with their birds who can’t go home. You’re welcome to stay there until you can secure lodgings you prefer.” Price shifts “Have you seen everyone?”

Shaking your head you reply, “Not yet. Still looking for Ghost.”

“Mmm, probably down in the shooting range. If you follow this hallway to the end you will find the range.” John pointed away from the direction you had already come from. “Soap would take you but I need his opinion on something.”

Taking the gentle dismissal you smile and nod, secretly grateful to be able to see Ghost without an audience. Pulling the door shut quietly you let gravity guide your steps further into the earth and this odd base John headed.

A thick metal door, wires encased in the single glass window near the top sat at the end of the long hall. The push bar chills your fingers as you step into the cool concrete room. Six little stalls, open above and below a rib-high counter lined the room. Ghost stood in the fourth one down, feet braced wide as he looked down at the shelf.

To avoid startling him you said something before the door shut fully.

“Hey there stranger.”

His shoulders stiffen as he turns, you watch his muscles relax as he takes in the sight of you. Searching him for changes you let the silence settle between you. He does the same.

You can’t bridge the gap. When tension layers the silence Ghost breaks it.

“How were your flights?”

“Long, my ass hurts from sitting,” you answer honestly.

Ghost nods. His thumbs settle in the top of his pockets.

“Misse—”

The door slams into you, flinging you forward as you fight to catch your balance.

“Bonnie? Aye, why are ye standing behind the door?” Soap looks at you around the door he threw into your back, perplexed.

“Because I like being assaulted with metal sheets,” you deadpanned.

Ghost let out a huff of a laugh. You shoot a glance at him.

“Ready to go lass?” Soap’s question pulls your gaze back to him.

“Where is she staying?” Ghost must not have meant to ask; his fingers tighten at his pants.

“Roulette flat,” Soap replies, happy to answer his L.T.

Ghost nods once and turns back to his shooting range. A series of metal clicks tell you he is readying another round.

You follow Soap from the room, eyes lingering on those broad shoulders until the door separates you. Several muffled bangs follow you to the surface.

✮✮✮

Roulette Flat lived up to its name. You had a new flatmate near every week; the time you came home to find a young member of the 141 having sex in your borrowed bed was the day you threw yourself into the chair opposite Price’s desk.

“I can’t keep living like this John!” You press the heels of your palms into your eyes as if that would wipe the vision of ass you had caught when trying to drop your bag after work.

You had fled the flat and spent the evening taking up a booth at the pub searching for a new flat. Nothing close enough had worked out when you sent off inquiries. Everyone had replied that any roommate positions had been filled or the landlord ‘conveniently’ had another call coming in when they heard your accent.

“My food getting eaten is annoying, but I can deal with that but this?” You sit forward arm flinging wide, “In my bed?!”

John looks sympathetic as you express your frustrations.

“What’s in your bed?” Ghost’s voice surprises you.

Glancing at him towering over you, you let out a huff and leaned back in the chair, defeated. He is wearing of soft balaclava sans eye black.

“Rookies having sex in the bed I am using at the flat.”

“You haven’t found a flat in the month you have been here?” One brow creeps up.

“No, by the time I get a response from any listing the spot is filled.” Frustrated you press hard on your cheekbones before rubbing out the pain.

John and Ghost had been having a silent conversation over your head. You can tell by the way Ghost sighs and folds his arms across his chest and John looks at him expectantly.

“I…Have a spare room.” Ghost drops his shoulders, forcing a face of calm, “If you wouldn’t mind staying with me.”

Smiling softly up at him you think over the offer.

“How about this, you give me a month. If, in a month, you still actually want to offer and not be bullied into it by Cap and I haven’t found a flat I will take you up on your offer.”

Ghost lets out a puff of air through his nose as he uncrosses his arms.

“Wanna go down to the range?” He tips his head to indicate the shooting range.

A deep sadness washes over you. It must show in your face from the way Ghost tightens slightly.

“I would love to do that, and if you aren’t busy tomorrow evening I would be happy to practice with you. Gaz, Soap, and Roach all asked me out for a drink tonight when I rolled in this morning. I would invite you, but I know you already told Soap you didn’t want to go out tonight.” The idea of missing time with him tugs your heart in your chest. You lock eyes with Ghost, warming in the subtle shades of brown in his irises.

Neither of you had found time or the gumption to start a conversation about how things were left a year ago. Frankly, you were worried and slightly devastated that he might not want to explore what might be between you.

John reminds you that you are in his office by a loud clearing of his throat.

Heat flashes through your chest as you snap your gaze to him.

“Much as I love these chats, was there anything either of you needed me for?”

“No,” you stand, pushing up from the chair. “I came by to bitch. Sorry.”

Ghost shakes his head. Both of you head for the door.

John watches the two of you leave his office, leaving a breath of space between bodies. When you clear the frame, you turn and look up with a smile for Ghost. It melts the poor bastard. He reaches out too slow, skeleton gloves barely miss catching your hand as you head for your own office.

Leaning forward John lets the creak of his office chair tell his lieutenant that he saw. Ghost steps back inside and shuts the door, leaning his head on the wood as his body curls around the hand still on the knob.

“Talking to her would resolve this tension for you, Simon,” John interlaces his fingers and rests his chin atop his touching thumbs.

By way of response, Simon slams his head repeatedly. A sharp whistle from John causes him to pause.

“Whatever messages you’ve been trying to send are being missed. If she moves in, then she will at least be close enough to let you have more than one chance at telling her.”

“You are more meddlesome than a matchmaking grandmother John,” Ghost growled to the door.

“Be that as it may, with the pace at which you are moving one of the rookies will try and put moves on her before you can say her name out loud,” John observed.

The hinges creaked under the force of Simon containing his emotions.

“Confirm shooting with her for tomorrow night. I will make that an order if it means you get out of my office and find yourself in hers.”

“Order it,” Simon growled.

John’s brows lifted but he gave the order. Simon moved the door as if its presence holding back the traffic from the hall had offended his entire bloodline. The knock from down the hall drifted followed by your surprised greeting.

God his lieutenant needed a kick in the ass sometimes. John saw how you watched Simon, the simmering feelings went both ways. Now if only someone would shift.

✮✮✮

Roach enjoyed spending time with you. The brightness you brought to the conversations and the way you always included him despite his low likelihood of responding left him feeling treasured. You had slipped away to grab another round of drinks for the table.

“Ah fuck,” Gaz pushed away roughly from the table. “Up, we need to save her.”

Soap and Roach stood, finding you quickly. You were in the face of a man, red in the face, who loomed over you. Your shouts could be heard across the bar.

“You wanna touch women? Real fucking classy of you. No. Don’t look at her. Look at me, the loud American who can happily kick your ass.”

Gaz is the first one able to cross the room and loop an arm around your waist, tugging you away from the confrontation.

They were nearly clear of the door when the man spat a nasty comment about one of the guys and you were gone. They forgot sometimes, that while you might not be SAS, you were a trained soldier. Two body shots, a forehead to the bigot’s nose, and a blow to his knee and he went down like a tree felled.

Spitting on the man who lay moaning on the ground you tossed £20 on the counter before stalking out of the pub muttering to yourself about assholes who needed to learn to keep their hands to themselves and pick up a fucking book.

Roach, Soap, and Gaz all shared a look before following you out the door.

Soap threw an arm over your shoulder as you stomped down the sidewalk.

“I don’t remember you being this feisty when we were in the States lass.”

“That? I had to do something while waiting out my last year. Used that time to work on standing up for women, and myself, more. I started taking more classes about, well everything really. Languages, more sparring, anything they would approve me for to keep me busy while you all dealt with your mole situation.” That brought your feet to a stop. “You did take care of that didn’t you?”

Roach nodded. He had been on that mission with Price, put down a few people who were telling tales that didn’t belong to them.

“Good. Can’t have someone hurt my guys,” you nodded firmly before setting off down the lane again.

“Your guys?” Gaz nudged you in the ribs with his elbow and a wink.

You roll your eyes and bump him back.

“You know what I mean.”

They did, they all knew. Claiming those in your care happened to everyone.

✮✮✮

You don’t wait at the door after knocking. Price had confirmed Ghost would be in his office filling out a shitload of paperwork he had been ignoring. The desk is facing the door, Ghost glancing up from his computer as you slam the door behind you.

No chairs other than the one he is using exist in the space. You sit on the floor with a huff, back against the wall nearest to him. Elbows on knees you focus on breathing and not murdering.

“Is your offer still open?”

The chair creaks as he turns to peer down at you.

“Yes.”

“Good. If it wasn’t I was going to end up playing Russian roulette when I got to the flat.”

“What happened?”

“My underwear have gone missing,” you force the words past clenched teeth. “I had to wash the pair I am wearing in the sink and go commando while they dried.”

He didn’t prevent the show of true emotion from flickering across his face. You caught the tail end of it as you glanced up at him. You might end up with more than you bargained for by letting that problem into the light.

“Would tonight after work be okay then? I need to pop by a shop and get new underwear,” you rest your head in your hands, utterly exhausted.

“I’ll get a bed there by tonight for you.”

He hesitates before resting a hand on your head.

“I bought that long romance series I have seen you slowly renting from the library,” his words are quiet.

His gloves catch on your hair as you look up at him.

“Why?”

A shrug drops his hand from you. He turns back to his computer.

“That’s all I get Lieutenant? A shrug?” You needle.

The side eye he gives you would have scared the recruits. You knew better. He would never hurt you. You send a wink up at him, smirking as he turns back to his computer.

✮✮✮

John took you to a pub for your employee check-in. You had been living with Ghost for nearly a month now. It worked out better than you expected. Ghost kept a clean space and there is a running list of groceries needed that you take turns picking up. On days when the timing allows you to ride into work with him you play DJ. He has a decent playlist on his cracked ancient phone.

You had asked about the phone once when you had been poking around his music.

“Why is your phone so old?”

“Still works,” he didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“Yeah, but it’s so old they don’t even make this charger anymore!” You pointed to the butt of the phone, “And it still has an aux port!”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“Red light,” you threw out as you glanced up before going back to your perusal of his artists.

Ghost had a hard time anticipating drivers, especially when they were directly ahead of him. You joked that he needed glasses or contacts in front of Soap who immediately took great pleasure in telling you how looking through Ghost’s scope left him with a headache behind the eye he used. The man in question had glared at both of you before stalking off. If he started to use cheater glasses at home and the text size on his Kindle shrunk there was no use mentioning it.

“Still liking the job?” John questions as the waiter drops both drinks on the table.

“Loving it actually. It got a lot easier when I got out of the roulette flat. I was this close,” you hold your fingers apart to the point of a single piece of paper making it through the space, “To killing someone.”

“You moved in with Ghost right?” John takes a sip of his beer, the foam clinging to his mustache.

You nod as you take a sip of your cocktail, “He’s been leagues better as a roommate. No real difference than when you were all back on the base with me.”

A boisterous group of young men draw your attention to the front door. Clocking the way they scope out the room and find the pretty young women and sidle up to the bar around them.

“Any complaints about the work then? Do you think you’re ready to be thrown on rotation for on-site management if we need it?”

John is looking at you but you can’t tear your eyes from the scene before you. One guy is getting all up in the space of a woman who is clearly uncomfortable. She excuses herself from the bar. The monster drops something in her drink smirking to himself as it sinks to the bottom of the glass.

Cutting your eyes back to John you ignore his previous questions.

“Did Ghost ever tell you how we met?”

Confused by the jump in conversation his brows pull together but he replies.

“No.”

“He saved me the night before the transfer from two would-be rapists on base. I took the year I had to wait for my service to be over to practice being bold. There is a man at the bar who put something in a woman’s drink. I need you to watch for a confused woman and tell her what happened. I am going to try and get a picture of his ID and if I have to drink her beer drop me off with Ghost. I should have anywhere from ten to thirty minutes until it takes full effect.”

Standing you don’t give him a chance to argue about your plan.

Simon stands from the couch due to the knock at his door. Checking the peephole he is concerned to see you draped over John’s shoulder. Unlocking the door he pulls it open. John hefts you in, you stumble further into his side giggling as you do.

“The hell happened John? Thought you were going for a quick drink,” Simon grabs your other arm and helps settle you into the couch you had insisted they needed.

“It was supposed to be!” John snaps at him.

“Hi Si,” you coo up at him.

“How do you know my name?” He growls down at you. He should be kinder, you are off your ass drunk.

“I don’t know your name,” you look up at him and put your fingers to your chest in an affronted manner, “The credit card company does. I put the mail on your bed.”

That makes more sense. Those fucking vultures could find him anywhere he moved for longer than three months. He had seen the offer on his pillow and had already shredded it.

“The fuck happened John? She knows her limits,” Simon growled at his captain.

“She saw a woman’s drink get spiked and ended up drinking it in a bid to get a picture of the rapist’s ID.” John crossed his arms, feet wide as he stared down at you. You blanched and went slightly green. Before either man could react you had spewed the contents of your stomach across the rug you had bought to go with the couch.

“Simon,” your voice came out small between coughs, “I don’t feel so good.”

He doesn’t think. Scooping you up from the couch, leaving your puddle of sick where it lay.

“John, grab a sweater from the hook. We are taking her to the hospital,” his words come out harshly from his tight throat.

A captain gave orders, but he also knew when to follow them. He grabbed one of Simon’s hoodies and locked the knob as he followed Simon’s long steps.

“I’ll drive,” John unlocks his car from the fob once it is in sight.

Simon sits in the back seat, clicking you and himself in. He holds you: when the nurse checks you out, when they draw blood, when you fall asleep wrapped in his hoodie an IV in your arm pumping you with fluids. He holds on tighter when you wake up with a soft smile and words of thanks for him.

“Thanks, Simon. I knew you would take care of me.”

“Why did you do that?” His jaw quivers behind his black medical mask.

“You saved me when we met, I figured that the least I could do is save someone else,” the soft doe eyes you point up at him will be his undoing.

He rests his chin on the top of your head before your eyes undo more of the stitches holding his soul in place.

✮✮✮

Simon, as he let you call him off the job, made the worst jokes when grocery shopping. As you were perusing the wine aisle he leaned over the bar of the cart staring at you. When you finally glanced at him like you knew he had been waiting for he hit you with a pun.

“Grape deal on wine today.”

The deadpan delivery causes your lips to quirk even as you fight it down.

“This is not helping me choose a box to take home.”

“Dill with it. We also need pickles.”

That one caused you to laugh out loud.

“Come one big guy, we still have half a store to get through,” You smile as you wave him on, grabbing a boxed wine that wasn’t terrible the last time you tried it.

He loomed behind you, even as he curled over the cart.

“Hey.”

Looking from the eggs you find Simon pointing a thumb to the butter section.

“Butter believe these prices are getting out of hand.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes.

“Butter believe your puns are getting worse.”

“Butter believe you’ll put up with them anyways,” he shot back.

“Oh, will I?” You lift a brow at him as you settle the eggs in the cart.

“You love them,” he winked at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s call it unless you plan on selling a leg at check out.”

Simon follows you to check out, paying despite your instance to split the cost, and takes the bulk of the groceries on the way home.

✮✮✮

Roach wouldn’t mention the bet, which is exactly why Gaz brought it up.

Dropping onto the couch next to Gary who played Tetris on an old gaming console Gaz waited.

When Roach finally lifted a brow Gaz launched into his story.

“Johnny and I have a bet going on how long it is going to take for Ghost to make a move on our little liaison. Want in?”

Switching his console for a phone Gary sent money to Gaz with the note ‘Ghost won’t make a move’.

Staring at the phone Gaz hummed as he mulled over the thought.

“You think she is going to make a move?”

Roach shrugged before signing.

I know Ghost won’t make a move, that man doesn’t move unless he is sure.

“And can’t really be sure of someone’s feelings unless they say. I see your point. Johnny said it would take six months and I said it would take nine and a half months. Anyone else I should ask?” Gaz added Roach’s vote to the note app where he kept a running tally of amounts and guesses.

You ask John yet?

“Should I?” Gaz quirked a brow.

Man’s a gossip.

“I’ll go ask him now then. And this should go without saying but I don’t want to run laps until I vomit so keep this to yourself.”

Roach mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. Gaz pushed on his head as both men laughed.

✮✮✮

When one year slipped by it started to look more and more likely that Roach would be correct.

After the second year tripped into the third everyone got their money back and the bet wasn’t mentioned again.

Everyone watched though, waiting for the seismic shift that would be visible from space.

Instead, the relationship changed by degrees; the frog being boiled when no one was watching.

✮✮✮

Simon poked your skincare bottles from his seat on the toilet. You had been telling him about your day when you stepped into the bathroom not pausing in your story.

Whack.

He glared up at you for smacking his hand.

“Keep touching my shit and I will make you wear it,” you send him a hard side-eyed glare as your fingers work the bubbles of your soap over your face.

Johnny had pissed him off today and the wanker had ducked out before Simon could force him to the training mat for a few rounds. He poked the bottle, the petty need satisfied as the small bottle fell with a sound.

You watch him for the count of seven before turning and rinsing both your hands and your face. Drying both you grab a package from the other side of the sink and bracket one of his knees. Unsure of your plan Simon watches as you peel it open and pull out what looks like a wet wipe. A cloying floral scent fills the room. Even through the mask, the scent is too much, Simon closes his eyes and scrunches his nose. That is when you strike.

A solid grip on his balaclava at the top of his head and one hard tug and his face is free. Exposed. Ugly.

Without a word you set about running the wet wipe over his face as if you hadn’t upended his world. The hand not wiping him holds his chin, tilting him to and fro. The firm pressure keeps him tethered to the reality of the bathroom.

“Damn Si, you need to wash your masks and your face more,” you mutter as you reach for a second wipe.

He searches your face, looking for fear, disgust, hate, anything more than concentration pulling at your brows as you study him.

“Close your eyes, this will take a bit since your eye black is ridiculously hard to get off sometimes.”

He does as requested, savoring the simple touches of your hands. You are gentle around his eyes. Each swipe of your fingers wipes away the darkness from his eyes and a bit from his soul.

Slowly, so slowly he wraps his large hands around your thighs, the give of the flesh before your muscles resistance solid and real under his fingers. He would remember this feeling as he palmed himself late in the night, thinking of you.

His breath caught when your lips brushed the bridge of his nose. Broken so many times it would take a surgeon and a miracle to straighten it out. His father had broken it first; he had been blackout drunk and mean that night. He had been mean every night. His mother set the bone as Simon had cried begging her to leave his father. The other times didn’t matter so much, men who died after they got one shot in.

Leaving his eyes closed Simon soaked up your ministrations, pretending each touch is filled with love and not only companionship.

✮✮✮

It was a known fact around the building that if you couldn’t find Ghost that he would be in the Liaison’s office. Some of the newer recruits whispered they must be together for how often they could be found on late nights sharing a blanket. Each used an armrest as a pillow and would wake the other to stumble home to their shared flat.

A new recruit who went by the name, Stevens, had the gumption, or the ignorance, to ask the liaison in the kitchen, in front of Ghost, if she was dating anyone.

“You got a man, Ms. Liaison?” Stevens swaggered over to the counter where you were preparing your lunch before turning and leaning against it.

You reply without looking up from your sandwich.

“Pretty sure I’ve got fifty-two of them right now.”

He leans into your vision, brow lifted.

“No, like a boyfriend.”

“Oh!” You laugh at your misunderstanding. You had counted the number of men you were in charge of in the group. “No. No boyfriend for me.”

Stevens glanced at Ghost who crumpled his canned drink, fluids spilling over his fist.

“Would you want to hit a pub tonight?”

“Mmm, I’d have to check my schedule to see what time I’m free. Can I get back to you?” You smile up at him. “Where can I find you later?”

Dragging his eyes from the promised death in Ghost’s face he smiled at you.

“I’ll be in the training room about three,” Stevens smiled brightly at you before pushing off the counter and sauntering from the room.

Three o’clock found you nearly getting run over by Stevens as he ran laps around the gym.

He holds onto both your shoulders as he slows down, mumbling breathless apologies.

Ghost’s voice ricochets off the wall behind you as he shouts

“Stevens! Keep running.”

The man winces and pounds his feet against the ground as he rounds the room again.

Understanding washes over you. Simon had seen Stevens ask you to the pub and had taken some kind of offense from it.

Stalking over to Simon you see a wince in his eyes as he catches sight of your face.

Years of living with the man informed your next decision. Reaching up you pinched his bottom lip between two fingers. The soft fabric of his mask did not stop you from pulling down from his towering height to be eye level with you.

Glaring hard into the brown of his irises you raise your voice.

“Stevens, get out of here and be in my office at six.”

Light disappears from behind Simon’s gaze as Stevens scurries from the room.

“He only wants to fuck you.” He struggled to speak around your hold on his lip.

“I’m glad someone wants to, I am really tired of finding orgasms alone in my room.”

Any emotion you could have divined from his face is wiped away at your words.

God if you weren’t so scared of losing the easy connection you had with him you would kiss him right now.

Simon lifts a hand slowly to your hand still holding his lip, pulling it away before gently letting your hand rest at your side. Without a word, he walks away—taking your bleeding heart with him.

✮✮✮

“John?”

He gives a hum of a response, not dragging his eyes away from the dense email on his screen.

“Do you think Simon would get the message that I would like to be more than friends if I climbed into his bed tonight?”

The words before his eyes stop looking like anything he can read.

Slowly lifting his fingers to the bridge of his nose he pinches, hoping to head off a migraine this conversation will most assuredly cause. He had watched the two of you dance around each other for years now. He had hoped that when you took Simon up on his offer of living together that something would have shifted. If anything the two idiots seemed to retreat further into their corners.

“I am not qualified to give you an answer on that.” He ends his sentence with a sigh.

Looking up John is startled to find tears in your eyes. Oh damn. You were serious.

Settling back in his chair John folds his arms across his chest.

“Simon is cautious by nature, approach him like you would a street cat. He trusts you right?”

You shift foot to foot, before nodding once.

“If he were a street cat I could feed him, and give him ear scritches, but he shies away from anything more.”

“Scooping him up and carrying him inside would be the answer now, but Simon has at least three stone on you. Is there something you can do to get him to sit still long enough to have a conversation?”

Whatever skitters through your head is something he doesn’t want to know.

“Yeah, I guess there is something I could do.”

“Alright. Now was there an actual work reason you came to my office?”

“Oh! Yes,” you pass him the file from your hand and launch back into safer topics.

✮✮✮

Stevens appeared in your office at six as requested.

“Why did you invite me out, Stevens?” You swivel side to side in your chair, staring at your keyboard.

“Well, everyone said you were Ghost’s girl, but you wouldn’t have said yes to a date in front of him if you were,” he shrugged as if that logic explained the rift that had opened in your soul.

Sucking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out you feel a plan form in your mind. Your fingers crack when you release them from the tight grip they had on the sleeves of your shirt.

Flicking your gaze up you pin Stevens to the wall with it.

“I am not a girl first off. I am a grown woman. Second, who I am to anyone is my decision to make, not yours. I am rescinding my offer to join you. Now get out of my office and don’t pull shit like this again,” you stand pulling your things together to head to the flat you shared with Simon.

✮✮✮

You found him there, on the couch like his boots had betrayed him and stolen the floor beneath them. One arm thrown over his eyes as his head rested on the back of the couch. Slipping off your shoes and setting down your work bag you walk across the floor, avoiding the creaky spots.

Simon doesn’t say anything when you touch his thigh, but his breathing doesn’t change so you know he is awake.

A singular fortifying breath is all you allow yourself before you set your left knee into the cushion next to his hip and swing your right leg to his other side. When your body moves funny you sit hard on him, hands on his chest for balance.

“Oof.”

Beyond the involuntary sound, Simon remains exactly as before. Sliding a finger below the collar of his shirt you edge up the bottom of his face mask. Your other hand joining in you work it up, gently folding and lifting.

“I thought you were going out with Stevens.” His voice rumbles through you from the bottom up.

“You said he only wanted to sleep with me, so why does it matter?” You keep your tone light, and unassuming as you fold the mask another time, exposing his Adam’s apple. It bobs as you trace a finger over it.

“Why are you here?” The whisper belied the harshness of his words.

“This is my home. Should I go somewhere else?”

The arm not across his eyes shifts, hand settling on the thickness of your hip, holding you in place.

“Home?”

You fold the mask over his lips now, watching as the scar pulls taut at the word.

“Yes. It has my bed, my clothes, the man that I love. What else would I call it but home?”

He stills, a statue of flesh.

“Please,” his voice breaks on the word. “I won’t survive this being a dream.”

The glacial pace lets you see the tears catching in his lower lashes as first one eye and then the other is revealed. His free hand settles on your other hip, the width of his palm firm against you.

He watches you as if a goddess had dropped into his lap, the answer to his prayers.

“Simon.” You cup his cheeks as the ache in your chest escapes in your tone. “Do good things only happen to you in your dreams?”

He closes his eyes tight as if waiting for a blow.

“No, only bad ones do.”

“Let me,” you kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Make this,” trailing kisses down the shape of it.

“The exception,” angling his face up you put your lips on his.

Eternities could have passed in the seconds it takes for him to crumble beneath you, meeting you with the strength of a drowning man.

✮✮✮

Everyone could tell something had shifted. Simon no longer glared at men who talked to their liaison, and you wore a soft smile even focused and ignoring the chaos that drifted past your door.

“I’m proud of you L.T.” Johnny slapped him on the back.

Simon glared at his friend.

“The fuck for?”

Johnny pointed with his chin to where you stood laughing at the punching bag with Gaz.

“Letting yourself be loved.”

Twisting Simon fired off a punch to Johnny’s stomach. The Scot laughed as he danced back, avoiding the hit.

He tsked at Simon, “Careful now or I will have to tell the missus you’re being mean to me.”

Flipping his friend off Simon made his way across the room to you.

Hmm. The missus. That had a nice ring to it.

You relaxed into the hand Simon settled on your back, smiling up at him with a love to eclipse the sun.

He would have never allowed love to grow in him, but it grew around him until a neat little home housed his heart and sheltered it from the storm.

Your place in his home, his bed, his heart told him that however this story ended it would be happier than how it began.

Bonus scene:

Gaz stopped next to Ghost, noticing the hand placement on the lovely little liaison.

“So L.T. she finally make a move on you?”

Ghost glances down at him before fixing his gaze on the distant wall.

“Yes, I did,” you reply.

Cupping his hands around his mouth Gaz yelled to Johnny across the room.

“Looks like Roach won the pot!”

“Canne fookin’ believe it!” The Scottish accent came out thick from the man as he cursed at the floor.

A chill ran up Gaz’s spine as he caught sight of the glower from his lieutenant.

“Give them at least a head start yeah?” You smile up at Ghost.

“Three.”

Gaz takes off running, pulling Johnny along as they tear through the base looking for somewhere to hide from their incensed commanding officer.

“Hey, Simon?”

He turns from glaring out the door his sergeants bolted through to looking at you.

The crook of your finger has him leaning closer until you rub your nose against his.

“Happy hunting.”

He cuffs out a laugh, before bumping your forehead with his own and striding after some men who needed a reminder of what he could do.

Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ao3 author #au #but this time make it happy

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