#flushed is such an ugly green near the end

[comicbookddr]

Serica in Flushed

[eddies-ashtray]

When The Rain Starts To Pour ⌂ Chapter 1: The One Where Eddie Hates Paul

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Pairing: Eddie x Fem!Reader

Chapter Preview: 

“You smoke?” You ask, pointing at the cigarette held delicately between his index and middle fingers. You’re feeling a little awkward for some reason. Maybe because you’re not used to Eddie being silent. 

Eddie sniffs, says, “Yeah. Trying to quit.” Then snuffs out the half-smoked stick by crushing it against the concrete. He knows the habit might bother you. It bothers the others as well; Nancy has called it a ‘cancer stick’, Steve has often taken to flushing his cigs in protest, and Robin simply informs him that it stinks. He also knows that you have your date with Paul tonight, and as much as he dislikes the guy, he doesn’t want you smelling of smoke for your date. 

“Hm,” You hum, coming up beside him and leaning over the wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You shiver and he has the urge to remove his leather jacket and wrap it around you. 

There’s a lull then, in which Eddie wonders why you might have come out here. From the sounds of your prior conversation with Robin, you need to start getting ready for your date soon. Why come out here just to stand around with him in the cold? 

CW: Brief discussion of financial struggles, vague talk of poor parental relationship (not necessarily abusive though), jealousy, loneliness, reader talks of being unhappy in her previous life circumstances, probably lots of bad jokes, poorly concealed Friends references, age gap (between reader and Paul), lots of tropes, non-canon compliant (duh—but also the upside-down does not exist), kinda pervy/douchey behaviour from Paul (nothing crazy though, just generally douchey).

 WC: 17.4k

 A/N: Ah! It’s finally here! I am so so so excited to share this first chapter with you after so long. I really hope it lives up to expectations. I just wanna note that while writing, I imagined the coffee shop and the apartments from Friends, so the decor and layout of each of those places are pretty much the exact same in my descriptions of them. Here’s a link to the apartments and coffee shop layouts if you’re interested. Also, I am going to do the best I can to make this era- and setting-appropriate, but keep in mind that I was not born in the 90s, nor am I from New York City (or the US in general), so there may be some inaccuracies. Anyway, enough of my rambling, happy reading!!

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Next Chapter [coming soon]

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“I’m so broke it’s not even funny! Like, seriously, look,” Robin exclaims before placing her mug of tea on the coffee table and proceeding to lean back awkwardly on the couch so she can turn her pockets out. They are indeed empty–a metaphorical sign of her poverty. 

Nancy clicks her tongue from her spot on a sage green chair next to the couch, reaching over to place a coaster under Robin’s steaming mug. 

It’s a relatively quiet Saturday afternoon at The Ugly Mug, only a couple other patrons milling about and occupying the various other seats around the small establishment. There’s a short woman with long, thin braids seated by the large front window and a stout man in a purple beanie sitting on one of the stools near the coffee bar. There’s also been the occasional patron coming in to pick up a to-go order–bringing in with them a rush of chilly November air–before rushing back out the dark wooden doors. 

“I’m fucking screwed. I can’t afford that big, stupid place alone,” Robin complains, retrieving her tea from the table after she’s tucked her pockets back into her jeans. 

“You could always get a second job,” Eddie offers from the opposite end of the couch, an oversized red mug half-full of very sugary coffee in hand. “Ya know, moonlight as a rockstar like some of the rest of us?” 

Robin rolls her eyes at his over-exaggeration and looks over at him as she replies, “Don’t you guys get, like, one gig per month?” 

“No…We get two gigs per month,” Eddie corrects like the disparity between her answer and his had been larger than it was. 

When he realizes that his correction wasn’t much of a correction, he adds, slightly more helpful this time, “But it’s better than just working in the restaurant. At least I get a little extra every month.” 

Robin sighs. “I guess…But it’d suck to double my exhaustion just to take another job I hate. At least your second job is something you love...I wish I could get, like, a raise or something,” She complains, head falling back against the couch in frustration. 

From beside her, Steve’s hand lands on her shoulder, placing his own mug of coffee on the table before doing so. “Why don’t you-”

“No,” She replies before he can finish. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” Steve defends and Robin lolls her head to the side to shoot him a deadpan stare. 

“I am not putting an ad in the newspaper,” She states plainly. 

“It’s a strategy! How else would you find a roommate?” 

“I agree with Robin,” Nancy pipes up from Robin’s other side. “It’s not safe, Steve. There’s so many freaks out there; you don’t know who you’re inviting into your home.”

“I live with a freak and I’m fine,” Steve jokes. 

“Hey!” Eddie exclaims, mildly offended, and slaps Steve on the arm halfheartedly. “It’s been six years, Harrington, when are you gonna stop calling me that?”

“How about never!” Steve bites back childishly. All too quickly their civilized conversation about Robin’s living situation devolves into an immature argument between two grown men. It’s almost surprising how they manage to live together and not tear each other’s heads off. Despite their silly arguments though, they surprisingly get along quite well–most of the time. 

“Hey! Can we get back on topic, please?” Nancy interrupts, mildly anxious about the eyes of the other patrons on them. Normally, she wouldn’t let others’ judgment get to her; she’s aware that she hangs around a pretty rowdy group of adults, but it’s so quiet in here today and she’d like to keep it that way. 

“Actually, I’m perfectly content right in the middle of this. I could use a distraction,” Robin says, settling into the couch beside the two bickering men.

Sighing contentedly, Robin gets comfortable and shuts her eyes, the soft light of the café causing the back of her eyelids to glow a soft orange. The boys’ bickering continues to her right as Nancy reaches over from her left to squeeze her hand in reassurance. Robin opens her eyes again to turn to her and gives her a tight-lipped smile. 

“I need a roommate,” she concludes, tone solemn. Nancy’s lips part, about to impart some advice when-

The small golden bell above the door tinkles its charming chime as it opens, and in rushes the late November bite, and a frazzled-looking young woman. As she enters the space, she makes such a commotion that Robin startles and turns to take a look at who’s causing the ruckus. The others turn to the door as well (including Steve and Eddie whose bickering has now ceased altogether due to the interruption). 

In her tow is one large suitcase, in her hand is a large black trash bag (the plastic material stretching into a grey colour in some areas), and on her back is a large backpack (stuffed so full that the biggest pocket isn’t even zipped all the way). 

It must have begun to rain at some point during their hours’ long stay at the coffee shop because the woman appears to be quite damp without an umbrella or hood on her jacket. 

Finally, Robin's eyes land on the woman’s face. In a shock, she realizes that she recognizes her. However, seeing as none of her friends are acquainted with the woman, they’re rather occupied by the seemingly magical appearance of this person who looks to be in need of a place to stay at the exact moment that Robin expressed her need for a roommate. The four of them gawk at the woman with the luggage for a moment until someone can’t help himself and must break the silence to acknowledge the absurdity of the situation. 

“And I want to be rich and famous!” Eddie exclaims, gesturing widely to the door. Unfortunately, his wish does not manifest as Robin’s had. 

Robin passes her tea to Steve, who takes it without question as she stands from her spot on the couch, passing Nancy as she rounds it. The woman is at the counter now, though as Robin nears her, the woman is not ordering a coffee or any other warm beverage. 

“Excuse me? Do you know-” You begin, but before you can finish asking the café employee about your friend's whereabouts, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder. 

 “Y/N?” 

Immediately, you recognize her voice and turn around. Many summers and phone calls throughout your childhood and teen years had familiarized you with it. 

Once you’re face-to-face, relief releases the tension you’d been holding in your shoulders. After over 12 hours of driving across the country (maybe more, you stopped keeping track at some point), countless times getting lost (your sense of direction completely failing you, even with the aid of a map and any living soul you came across), many pit stops at dank, shady rest stops, and a lot of fast food later, you’re just happy to see a familiar face. 

“Robin! Thank God! I went to your apartment-” you begin, eager to recount the story of your travels. 

“My apartment?” Robin asks, confused that you’d known her address. 

“-but you weren’t there! And I almost left to look for you myself, but then your neighbour saw me knocking and told me I could probably find you here-”

“My neighbour?”

“-and I thought, ‘It’s worth a shot,’, so I dragged all my shit back down the stairs and through the stupid rain and you’re here! But, come to think of it, I don’t even know why I brought all this stuff up with me instead of just leaving it in the car. Like, that was sort of presumptuous of me to show up at your door with a bunch of luggage, but I guess it probably wouldn’t have been a great idea to leave it in that parking garage anyway,” You finish your rambling, out of breath now and slightly lightheaded. 

That was likely an inappropriate way to greet her after all this time, but you find that you’re exhausted from your travels and electrified with adrenaline from your impulsive decision to come to New York. 

At first, it was nice to get out and stretch your legs after spending half a day in your car, and walk around this new city in search of Robin’s apartment, but now you could just collapse right here on this scuffed hardwood floor. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she tries to process your word vomit, but still cannot find an answer for her biggest question. Though she’s concerned that one of her neighbour’s so easily gave away her location to a stranger who was banging on her door and curious to know how you’d found her apartment, she’s more interested in your story for now. In learning what got you here after all this time.

“Why are you here? I mean-it-it’s great to see you, but, um-why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?” Robin suggests, leading you gently towards the couch. 

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds great,” You agree, navigating carefully around velvet-upholstered stools with your bags in hand. 

A man with long hair and tattoos stands from the couch to take a seat on a chair to his right in order to accommodate you as Robin helps you place your bags on the floor next to the woman with the curly hair and high cheekbones. 

Finally, you sit down on the plush orange couch next to a happy looking guy with gorgeous, voluminous hair. He smiles at you kindly once you’re settled in and you breathe out, willing yourself to relax so you can attempt to coherently explain your situation to your friend and, apparently, these strangers. 

Their eyes on you make you nervous, but once Robin takes her seat next to you, you feel more at ease. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Robin reassures as she tucks her legs underneath herself on the couch. You nod, taking one more deep breath and collecting your thoughts before beginning. 

“So-I know this is, like, totally crazy that I just kinda showed up here out of the blue after, what? 5, 6 years?” You begin nervously, looking to Robin for confirmation on how long it’s been since you last saw each other. She nods after turning her body to face you. 

“But I just–I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this but–I felt like I was on autopilot or something, just kind of drifting through my days: going to work at a boring job with boring people, coming home to my shitty apartment, going to sleep, and doing it all over again and again and again.”

In your periphery, you notice a few of them nodding in agreement and feel relieved at their earnest validation. It gives you the strength to continue your story. 

“And one day I guess I woke up? I realized that I hated where I was, who I was with, what I was doing, what I wasn’t doing. I just sort of…panicked. I knew I couldn’t stay there–in that life and that apartment cause it was, like, a total shithole-”

“Why was it a shithole?” A voice interrupts from your right; The One With The Tattoos. You’d been so into your story for those 30-some-odd seconds that you nearly forgot that it was more than just Robin you were venting to. He seems genuinely curious and well-meaning, so you’re not perturbed by his interruption, only surprised, which is what causes you to pause before answering his question. 

In the moment you take before you respond, you clock the bat tattoo on his forearm (though you’d recognized his inked skin earlier, you hadn’t examined the art close enough to discern what the tattoos were of), among a smattering of many other patchwork tattoos, and hope you remember to ask him about it later (if there is a later with these people–there’s all the chance that Robin could send you packing). 

Finally, you shake off your surprise and respond, “Well, aside from the fact that my apartment was definitely mold-infested and my building had a serious rat problem, my landlord was a total creep.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” He agrees, brows furrowing.

“Yeah. So, I just couldn’t live there anymore, or go back to work, and I definitely was not about to go back home to live with my mother–phone calls once a week are already more than I can handle, I don’t think I could take her constant scrutiny for more than 30 minute increments,” You explain, scoffing lightly. “But, um-” You stutter, looking down at your lap and pulling at the skin of your hand absentmindedly. 

“Anyway…I panicked and I decided that I needed to get out of there as soon as possible, so two weeks ago, I put in my two weeks at work and pretty much packed up my whole life into my car and started driving without a destination…And then I remembered hearing that you’d moved to New York a few years back,” You recall, gesturing to Robin, who smiles warmly back at you.

“So I looked you up in the phone book and when I found your name I just felt like it was the right thing? Which I know sounds kinda kooky, but it was the first good feeling I’d had about something in a long time, so I just decided that I needed to trust it,” You conclude, squeezing your hands in your lap. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, especially since it’s been so long, but…is there any chance at all that you might need a roommate?” 

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When you step inside the apartment, you immediately love the place. For one, it’s bigger than your old apartment and even has a pretty sizable balcony (that can only be accessed through a window). To your left is the kitchen with exposed brick, a simple small table with four mismatched chairs surrounding it in the middle. 

Just past the modest kitchen is the living area, which is just as eclectically decorated as the kitchen with a sofa, a fluffy looking armchair and an armless chair adjacent to each other, a coffee table, and a television set sitting atop a sideboard. Two doors are on either side of the living room. To the left of the living room is a large window (complete with a cozy looking window seat) which looks out onto the balcony. 

You marvel at the place as Robin leads through the apartment, the rest of the crew following in behind you two before the door slams shut and you enter what appears to be a bedroom slash storage space. Despite the bed in the middle, there are things strewn about on the floor, seemingly haphazardly tossed in here and forgotten about. 

After introductions to the group (you now know their names and the fact that Eddie and Steve live across the hall, while Nancy lives a few blocks away), Robin had informed you the available room at her place might be a bit of a mess since she’s been using it as storage space for a while. The only guests she has live close by enough that sleepovers were a rarity. 

“So, this’ll be your room,” Robin explains, rolling your bursting suitcase inside it. Steve enters last, dropping your trash bag full of clothes to the yellow-ish hardwood floor and you do the same with your backpack. 

It’s a fairly nice room; a simple square spacious enough to fit the queen size bed and a side table, while also allowing extra room still for a chest of drawers and vanity (which you will eventually add to the room). 

Though anything without rats, mold, and a creepy landlord would be an improvement, this place is a definite upgrade from your last and you find yourself containing a joyous squeal as you take it all in. You’ve never been a fan of change–enjoying the comfort of familiarity instead–and have always agonized over every decision you’ve made, but for once, you have no doubts about your decision to come here. This actually feels like the first real decision you have ever made. 

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When Steve opens the building's front door, the smell of fresh rain and pavement hangs in the air, an oddly nostalgic scent. It reminds you of childhood, of early mornings at summer camp with Robin. 

The sun hangs low and bright orange in the sky–it’s getting late so you’ll probably only be able to make one trip to your car and back before the sun goes down, and then have to collect the rest of your things tomorrow. 

Though you grabbed as much as you could carry from your car (which remains parked in a garage about three blocks away) before going in search of Robin’s apartment, you obviously couldn’t take everything with you, so the bags you just dropped off at your new place were only a fraction of the things packed away in your vehicle. 

Robin’s friends kindly offered to help you drag the rest of your belongings back to her apartment. Since none of them have a car, and it is apparently nearly impossible to find parking in this city, you have no choice but to carry everything back by hand. 

You lead the way to the parking garage, Robin at your side and the rest of the gang following behind you. 

As you walk through the city, past storefronts, HELP WANTED signs in windows, and people with briefcases in long coats and giant scarves walking briskly like they have someplace important to be, you’re reminded of an imperative piece of information.

“Robin?” You say as you cross the street. 

“Hm?”

“I don’t have a job here.” 

The whole reason Robin was looking for a new roommate in the first place was because she can no longer afford her place on her own. And you, as her new roommate, have been recruited to help solve that problem for her. But without a job, and a bank account that is less than impressive, you’re on the clock to find a new job–and fast. 

“You can work at Hannigan’s with Eddie and I!” She offers excitedly, her hand smacking your arm in her enthusiasm. Sorry! She apologizes quickly before continuing: “We’ve been working there forever, I can put in a good word for you with the owner.” 

“That sounds great…But what’s ‘Hannigan’s’?” You ask, because in her haste to offer a solution to your little problem, she had left out vital information. Eddie pipes up from the rear and steps forward so he can walk in step with you and Robin as he answers your question. 

The way the sun hits him from behind outlines his body in a soft orange halo, causing his long hair to shine in the early evening light. This lighting softens his features, making him look angelic and pretty as his pale skin glows. You find yourself content watching him as he speaks.  

“It’s one of those fancy upscale restaurants. The tips are usually pretty good, but sometimes you gotta endure some light harassment to get them,” Eddie explains, and when he sees the apprehensive look on your face, he jumps to reassure you: “Sometimes we get to take home leftovers though.”

“By ‘get to take’, he means steal,” Steve corrects and you look to Robin for confirmation.

She just shrugs. “They’d go to waste anyway.” 

“I guess I’ll just have to invest in some armour, then,” You say, implying that physical armour could somehow protect you from rude customers. Eddie smiles at that, a dimple carving into his cheek. Briefly, you note how charming his smile is, but before you can stare too long, Robin grabs your attention by lightly elbowing you. 

“Don’t worry, snooty rich people can’t be as bad as Harrington's snotty children,” She says. 

“Oh! You have kids?” You wonder, turning to Steve as he strides along casually a few steps behind you, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. 

“No, not yet. I work at one of the preschools in the area,” Steve supplies. 

“Oh, nice. You like working with kids?” You wonder. 

His answer is apparent on his face which lights up instantly at the question. “Love it. The kids are really great, and so much more capable than people give them credit for! People are quick to dismiss kids, especially four and five year olds, but they understand more than you think.” Steve rambles, his passion clear. 

“Hey, is this the garage?” Robin asks, bringing your attention back to the task at hand. 

It is. The place you left your car a mere two hours ago, nervous and unsure of what came next. But now you have a new place, something akin to a job offer, and three kind strangers and one old friend by your side. 

Once you reach your car–which is parked all the way on the top floor–you unlock the back seat doors. 

“Okay, so, let’s try to grab all the stuff from the front and maybe a few things from the back?” You suggest, then move to unlock the trunk of your car where the boys stand. 

“Jesus. How did you pack all this shit in here?” Eddie asks, marvelling at the trunk of your car which is stuffed full of most of your belongings. 

“Are we about to find your kitchen sink packed away in here, or what?” Steve adds. 

“Uh, I don’t know, really,” You say, answering Eddie’s question. “I packed it all up so quickly I didn’t really notice how much stuff it actually was, but it’s like my entire apartment is stuffed into this trunk.” You say, and it kind of is. You’re surprised your trunk could even shut with how crowded it is. 

Robin and Nancy grab the remaining bags from the back seat, while you and the guys grab a couple boxes from the trunk. Then you lock up and start back to your new apartment. 

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Your first thought when you gain consciousness in your bed is a thought that no one would ever want to have—especially not before eight in the morning. Someone has broken into my apartment. 

Your eyes shoot open, staring up at the ceiling–your new ceiling! In your new apartment! That you’ve lived in now for a solid 48 hours. But your time here may be cut short if the intruder has plans that involve you and a knife.

You know for a fact that it is not Robin because you share a wall with her and can hear her shuffling around her room getting ready for the day, and the person out in your living room right now definitely opened your front door and is now shuffling around out there.

Thud. 

What the fuck was that?

Most people in your situation might freeze in fear and simply lie in wait for the intruder to come to them, accepting their fate. Others might run and hide. But you, on this random Tuesday in November at 7:43AM were apparently a force to be reckoned with. The Old You might have chosen one of the two above options, but New York You–the new, and hopefully improved, you–has a job interview today and are not going to let some intruder stop you from making it. 

You are not about to have your fresh start end so soon. So, you carefully pull the covers off of your body and as quietly as possible get out of bed.

Inching slowly towards the door, you decide you first need a weapon to defend yourself. There’s no use going out there and meeting the intruder if you can’t protect yourself against them. However, since you’re not in the kitchen, you don’t have access to a knife or any other kitchen utensil that could be wielded as a weapon. And since many of your belongings are still packed away in bags and boxes scattered around the room, you don’t exactly have many options. 

Quickly, you grab the first object you see that could potentially be used to incapacitate the intruder. Then, you very slowly reach for the handle of your door. 

Twisting the handle as gently as you can manage so as not to draw attention to yourself, you begin to open the door, revealing an inch of the kitchen, then another couple inches which reveals a sliver of the living room. Heart racing wildly in your chest, you decide it’s now or never. 

Bursting from your room while brandishing your weapon of choice, you let out what some may describe as a battle cry, startling the intruder in the living room. Startling them so much that they bang their head on the coffee table when they try to get up from where they’re laying on their stomach on the floor between the couch and table. 

You don’t have a great view of the intruder from where you stand right outside your door, so you slowly step toward them where they lie. 

The intruder groans in pain, forehead falling to rest on the rug below them as they bring a hand to the back of their head. A head with long, messy curls that you vaguely recognize. 

Oh. Oh, God. 

“Eddie?” You question meekly, lowering your weapon as waves of guilt crash over you. 

“Uh-huh,” He replies weakly, voice muffled by the rug he’s practically eating. 

“Oh, God,” You moan before placing your weapon on the table and rushing to his side. He lifts his head then, and you help him up onto the couch. He groans again as he sits back into the plush cushions and all you can do is apologize. 

Taking a seat on the coffee table, you grimace at his grimace. “I am so sorry, I thought you were an intruder,” You explain, squeezing your fingers in your hand. Your heart still races in your chest. 

“It’s-It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Kinda did it to myself,” Eddie jokes, still rubbing the back of his head. You nod once, biting your lip, still feeling guilty because, yeah, he technically did do it himself, but he wouldn’t have if you hadn’t stormed out of your room like a crazy person and screamed bloody murder.

As your heart slows to its normal pace, you begin to wonder what he was doing here in the first place—laying on the living room rug for that matter.

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude, but what exactly were you doing on the floor?” You ask, finally taking in his dress now that the situation has deescalated some. He wears red and black plaid pyjama bottoms and a white tank top so see-through that you catch a glimpse of dark ink beneath the material. The sight steals your breath for a moment. 

“I was, uh, looking for my rings. Thought they might have fallen under the table,” Eddie supplies, drawing your eyes back up to his face. His eyes are warm and soft. God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen eyes so large and round. He looks like a baby deer or something. A cute, injured baby deer. 

“Oh. Did Robin let you in?” You ask, because it doesn’t matter that he looks like a baby deer, what matters is that it is very possible that he simply let himself into your apartment and you’re not sure you’re comfortable with that just yet. I mean, you’ve only just met him and the others two days ago, and have only seen them one other time since then when they had come by to help clear out your new room. 

Eddie looks like the guilty one now as he replies, “Uh, no…?”

“Sorry,” He apologizes quickly. “Let me just…try this again.” 

You’re not sure exactly what he means until he stands and begins walking backwards in the direction of the front door, all the while making strange noises with his mouth that somewhat resemble the sound of rewinding a tape. He’s literally starting over, resetting, going back in time to try this again because he saw you weren’t comfortable with his uninvited presence in your apartment.

All you can do is sit and simply stare at the strange, yet comical display as Eddie awkwardly reaches behind him, opens the door, reverses out into the hallway, and shuts the door with a slam. 

Too stunned to laugh for a moment, you sit in silence for approximately five seconds, thinking that might be the end of it, before a knock sounds at the front door. 

You hesitate, staring at the door strangely. But you’re intrigued now by his strange display, wanting to know how it ends. So you stand and stroll over to the door, opening it to, of course, reveal Eddie, who smiles brightly at you. 

“Good morning,” He greets politely. “You mind if I come in?” 

Stifling a giggle, you nod. “Of course.” And open the door wider, stepping to the side to allow him space to enter. He enters swiftly and you shut the door.

Eddie saunters over to the living room once again, about to resume the search for his rings when he spots your weapon of choice sitting innocently on the coffee table where you left it. He pauses and stares at it for a moment, tilting his head, and you stare at his back as you remain in the kitchen, watching as his dark curls shift and fall to one side, cascading over his shoulders. 

The presence of the weapon is new to him since it obviously was not there when he entered the apartment the first time. He also hadn’t seen it even when he’d gotten up from the floor because you’d sat on the coffee table, and therefore blocked his view of the object. 

Now, Eddie wanders over to the coffee table, gingerly picking the weapon up like it’s some sort of precious antique, then spins around smoothly to face you. Holding it loosely at one end, he lets it dangle just above the hardwood floor.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you. You stare back at him, unsure of what’s happening. 

“What?” You wonder. 

“What were you gonna use this for?” Eddie asks, tone humorous, and dark eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“To-to defend myself against the intruder,” You answer, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious about your choice of weapon. 

“With a bathrobe tie?” Eddie exclaims, shaking the flimsy terry cloth material around so the long fabric wiggles in the air.  

“Y-yes!” You defend weakly.

“What were you gonna do? Spa-day me to death?” 

“No! I-I thought it could be used to, like—choke someone?” You say, cringing as the words come out of your mouth. 

Eddie barks a laugh. But you can tell he's not laughing at you. He simply finds the situation and your choice amusing. In the little time you’ve spent around Eddie, you don’t get the impression that he’s mean-spirited or judgmental. The exact opposite actually–to you, he’s only been accepting and kind. 

“It’s creative, I’ll give you that. But not very practical,” Eddie critiques.

“My robe was hanging on my door, okay? It’s not like I had a knife in there or something,” You attempt to defend, playing along. 

“Still!” He laughs incredulously. 

“Let me get this straight: first, you break into my apartment, and then I very kindly invite you back in, and you insult my choice of weapon?” 

Eddie seems to mull this over, recalling the events in his mind to confirm that, yes, that is indeed what has happened.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so…Ya know, you should really talk to Harrington. He’s the king of wielding random objects as weapons. When we first moved here, he thought we were getting broken into all the time, and this one time he grabbed our floor lamp and-” 

Before he can finish his story though, Robin comes out from her bedroom, dressed in some jeans and a striped long-sleeve. She makes it a few steps before she notices Eddie and you standing almost ten feet apart in the living room together, both of you still dressed in your pyjamas, and one of you grasping a purple bathrobe tie. Robin stares for a moment like she’s suspicious of something, shifting her eyes from you to Eddie and back again. They land on Eddie when she slowly asks, “What’s going on?” 

“I was looking for my rings. You seen ‘em?” He explains, effectively diverting her attention from the strangeness of the situation. 

“Yeah,” She nods, walking towards the kitchen again. “In the dish by the door.” 

“Cool. Thanks,” Eddie says, walking towards you now. Before he walks past you to retrieve his rings though, he takes hold of the other end of the bathrobe tie, pulling it taught, and presenting it to you with a slight bow. “Your sword, m’lady.” 

Grabbing the tie from him, you thank him, and he continues toward the dish by the door. Eddie’s theatrical and kind of strange, but instead of weirding you out, you find that those traits endear you to him. You’re sick of boring people and to finally be around someone who is so unapologetically themselves is refreshing. Especially someone as interesting as Eddie. 

Turning around to the kitchen where Eddie is carefully rooting through the dish for his rings and Robin is grabbing a juice from the fridge, you realize something strange about what just happened. Though surprisingly, none of it has to do with Eddie. 

“Um-if you were in your room getting ready, how did you not hear my scream?” You ask, because you doubt that she just didn’t hear it. You were pretty loud. 

After taking a sip from the small plastic bottle, Robin explains, “Huh. I guess I’ve learned to sort of tune out the noise. Living across the hall from two idiots who barge into my apartment without warning has kind of become my new normal. Loud, sudden noises aren’t really surprising anymore.”

“It’s worrying how desensitized you are,” You reply, mostly joking. 

Robin takes another sip of her juice and shrugs. “Don’t worry, you’ll get there someday.” 

“Ya know, I really hope I don’t.” 

Robins snorts, approaching the counter where Eddie is still picking his rings from the mess of keys and other small trinkets in the dish, and crouches down to retrieve her tote bag from the shelf below the counter. You ball up and toss your robe tie in the general direction of your room before Robin pops back up and turns to grab her juice from the table behind her. 

“Okay, so I gotta go run some errands, but I should be back just after your interview,” She informs and you nod. Eddie goes to leave as well, opening the front door as Robin tells you, “Good luck, you’ll be great!” Then heads for the door as well. 

Gratitude swells in your chest. Robin has been more than kind to you these past two days. Before Saturday, it had been years since you last spoke.

You and Robin were best friends at the summer camp you attended as children and remained close as you entered your teen years and later became camp counsellors at the same camp. You were the first person she ever came out to and it often felt like you shared a brain; for many years she was your sister. 

Despite your living hours and hours away, you and Robin maintained your friendship during the non-summer months; talking on the phone often and mailing letters back and forth. 

Eventually, though, your individual lives got busy and neither of you had the time to maintain the long-distance friendship or attend summer camp as counsellors anymore. Phone calls decreased and letters stopped being written and mailed, until eventually, your friendship fizzled out. There was no major falling out of any sort; the end of your friendship was simply the result of poor management on both ends. 

You often thought about calling her up to see how she was, but it wasn’t until last week that you made the impulsive decision to contact her again. And you’re glad you did. She’s given you a new home and she even helped you set up your job interview at Hannigan’s. You’re grateful that she’s given you the opportunity to start fresh in this new city with new, interesting people, but much of your gratitude comes from the chance you now both have to breathe life back into your cherished friendship.

“Hey,” You call, causing Robin to pause and turn to you before she exits the apartment, brows expectantly raised. “I know I’ve already said it so many times, but I just want to say thank you one more time for everything you’ve done for me these past two days. And I know it’s been a long time since we’ve been friends…but you’re a really good friend.” 

Robin smiles softly at you. “You’re a really good friend too. You always have been.” 

It’s then you rush to her at the door where you embrace her in the biggest hug and hope the action translates the magnitude of your thankfulness and love for her. 

“I’ll see you later,” She says after you part, walking out into the hallway. 

You sigh.

It has been one hectic morning, and your interview starts at 10:30, so you should probably start getting ready now. But Eddie lingers in the hallway, just outside his front door. 

Before you can even say anything, he preemptively apologizes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, eavesdrop, but you have your interview at Hannigan’s today?” 

You’re not mad though. Nothing you said was a secret. And so far, you trust Eddie. He cares about the way people around him are feeling and takes action to remedy situations where people aren’t happy or comfortable. That much is clear from this morning. It’s why you don’t dismiss him and leave to get ready. He’s a good person. 

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

Eddie takes a couple steps forward so he’s standing just inside your apartment once again. 

“Would it help if I gave you some tips? I’ve been working there for a while and I kinda know what they’re looking for, so-”

“That would be great!” You exclaim, because you really need this job if you want to continue living here. 

Eddie just smiles brightly at your reaction as you say, “Just let me get dressed and then I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready?” 

“Sure,” Eddie nods, grabbing the edge of the door on his way out to close it. 

“Oh! And Eddie?” You call out just before the door shuts. 

“Yeah?” He responds, popping his head back in the apartment. 

“I really am so sorry about this morning.” 

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for breaking in…Although you seemed pretty unprepared, so, yaknow, this was probably a good learning experience for you,” He teases, that same sparkle in his eyes that had appeared when he was questioning your weapon returning. 

You bite your lip over a smile as Eddie winks at you and disappears behind the door, the heavy wood slamming softly shut. 

Getting ready in record time, you end up knocking on Eddie’s door across the hall approximately one hour later, leaving more than enough time for Eddie to give you interview tips and for you to walk over to Hannigan’s to arrive early. 

As you stand in the hall awaiting his answer, you feel oddly giddy, a swarm of nervous butterflies fluttering rapidly in your belly. Briefly, you think your butterflies can be explained on account of Eddie making you nervous. But you bat that thought away as you hear footsteps approaching and remind yourself that it’s more likely that your upcoming job interview has caused the butterflies. 

When Eddie answers his door, you find he’s also gotten dressed in the hour since you’ve seen each other. He wears a simple black t-shirt with a band name and logo you don’t recognize on the front with a long-sleeve underneath, and some light-wash jeans. His hair is noticeably more tame, his curls flowing neatly over his shoulders. Eddie also wears the silver rings he was searching for this morning; three on one hand, and one on the other. The fluttering in your belly intensifies for a moment, but again, you bat them away. 

“You wanna come in or are we gonna do this out in the hall?” Eddie jokes when you make no move to enter his apartment, unaware of this strange battle you’re having within yourself at his doorstep. 

Shaking yourself free of your thoughts, you mutter a quick apology and take his joke as an invitation to enter. As you do, you realize this is the first time you’ve been inside his apartment. Which isn’t a surprising fact. You’ve only been here for two full days, and haven’t really left your apartment much since then.

His apartment is smaller and you might describe it as drab, but their decor choices are vibrant in their own way. 

The kitchen is immediately to your right as you enter, a table to your left, and as you wander further into the room, a counter separates the entrance slash kitchen area from the living room. In the living room sits two black recliners and a large wood entertainment centre with a television set. On either side of this are two closed doors. 

The far right side of the apartment has two windows and a red sofa sitting beneath it. Beside that is another door, this one open (revealing tiled floor and a closed shower curtain). 

There isn’t much in the way of wall decoration (aside from a lone dart board hanging on the wall and a few posters), but on some of the shelves of the entertainment centre are framed photographs. Some of the photos feature what appears to be two younger versions of Steve and Eddie, presumably taken in high school. In one photo, Eddie has his arm around Steve’s shoulder and they both hold beer cans in their hands. Eddie smiles cheekily for the camera, while Steve puts on a faux grimace at his friends close proximity. 

Other photos feature boys who appear to be much younger than Steve and Eddie (possibly siblings?) and there are also photos that include Robin and Nancy, some recent and others clearly taken years ago. Another includes Steve and Eddie carrying a boy with curly hair–who wears a graduation cap and gown–on their shoulders, all of them smiling widely. You can tell it's candid as they all appear to be laughing and unaware of the camera photographing them. 

“Who’s this?” You ask curiously, pointing at the photo as you turn around, finding that Eddie hasn’t moved from his spot at the door and has likely been watching you inspect his living area this whole time. Suddenly you feel like you’re intruding. “Sorry, I-”

“No worries. You can look. That’s what they’re there for,” He shrugs, finally joining you in the living room. 

At your side now, Eddie inspects the photo you pointed to and a fond smile crosses his face. His side profile is soft, and you spy just a hint of shaven stubble on his cheeks. It distracts you for a moment. 

“Dustin,” Eddie says after a beat. 

“What?” You ask dumbly, now preoccupied with the freckles you’ve spotted that dot his pale skin lightly. 

You’ve never been this close to him before. All you’d have to do to get right into his personal space is take one short step forward. But of course you won’t do that. Why would you? 

Eddie looks from the photograph to you. “In the picture,” He explains, nodding to the framed image. “That’s Dustin. It was taken at his high school graduation, like, two years ago? He’s a good kid…Well, he’s not really a kid anymore, but I guess it still feels like that sometimes.” 

“How do you know him?” You hear yourself say. The kid looks like he’s about five years younger than Eddie and Steve, so naturally you’re curious about how they know him. 

You’re supposed to be here getting pointers for your job interview, but instead, you find that you’re more interested in the details of Eddie’s life. 

“Uh, we were in high school together and I had this club that he was a part of,” Eddie explains, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“What kind of club?” You wonder, electing to ignore the fact that he somehow attended high school with this kid. 

He seems reluctant to provide you with an answer to your question. Up until now, he’s been a pretty open book; someone who doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. But now all of the sudden, he’s guarded? 

“I won’t judge, yaknow,” You reassure, because you won’t, but also because his reluctance to reveal what sort of club he ran makes you all the more curious to find out. 

Eddie side eyes you, squinting. He must determine that your remark is genuine because he straightens up from where he’d bent slightly to view the photo and provides you with an answer. 

“Ever heard of DnD? Dungeons and Dragons?” 

You furrow your brows for a moment, vaguely recognizing the name, but not remembering why. 

“Oh!” You exclaim after a beat. “Yes! Was that the one that people were freaking out about years ago cause they thought it caused Satanism?”

Eddie snaps his fingers as he responds, “That’s the one.” 

Then, he glances back at the photograph, and you think you can almost make out memories behind his eyes. Fond ones. You lean forward slightly, trying to catch his eyes again.

“You still play?” 

Your question shakes him out of his momentary reverie, and he looks to you once again. “Not as much as I used to…But Dustin and the other guys and I try to organize a couple meetings throughout the year. It’s hard though because everyone’s kinda spread out now. And busy.”

His tone is wistful as he continues to glance around at the photos sitting on the shelf. Had you just upset him? First, you assist him in banging his head against your coffee table and now you’re potentially causing him some emotional pain too! Good going. 

You’re about to apologize or change the subject, but Eddie speaks before you can. “Anyway! We should probably talk about your interview now. How long do we have?”

Looking around the room to find a clock, you spot one by the door. The little hand points toward the nine and the large hand points toward the six. 

“About a half hour before I should get going,” You respond, turning back to Eddie as he takes a seat on one of the recliners behind you. You sit down as well. 

“Great. So…do you have any questions first?” Eddie asks, unsure where to start. 

“Uh,” You say, trying to remember any questions you had, but you can’t seem to recall any as you roll up the sleeves of your thick sweater, the ink on your wrist and forearms revealed as the fabric is pulled back. 

Immediately, Eddie’s eyes shoot down to the action and for the first time, he catches sight of the ink.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” He remarks, like it’s something he should have known. As if it’s been more than 48 hours since you met and it’s ridiculous that he didn’t know. 

“Oh. Yeah,” You say absentmindedly, glancing down at your arms. 

“Tip number one: your tattoos are sick, but at Hannigan’s, they aren’t exactly appreciated, so you should make sure you cover them up.”

“Gotcha,” You say, rolling your sleeves back down the length of your arms.

Suddenly you’re reminded of your first day when you spotted his inked arms. The seven bats decorating his forearm. “Um…Yours are really cool by the way,” You compliment. 

Then, “When did you get your first one?” You ask, veering further off topic. You can’t seem to stop yourself and you don’t know why. 

“Uh…heh,” Eddie huffs a short laugh, almost as if he’d forgotten until this very second when you’d asked him. “I think I was, like, 16, 17? I did a really shitty stick-and-poke on my leg–the initials of my band name: Corroded Coffin.”

Every new thing you learn about Eddie intrigues you. Of course this long-haired, tattoo-having, ring-wearing, Dungeons and Dragons-playing 20-something would also have been in a band. Your surprise is likely evident on your face.

“You’ll have to come to one of our gigs sometime,” Eddie invites casually, as if it’s not the most cool thing to say in the world. Eddie didn’t used to be in a band, Eddie is in a band! 

“You’re still in the band?” 

“Yeah, the other guys live out here too, and we do regular gigs a few times a week…but, um, what about you? When did you get your first tattoo?” 

Still gaping at him, you must pick your jaw up off the ground before you can respond. Cool and humble. How is he real?

“Oh, um, I was 18…I actually got it cause I knew my mom would hate it and it would probably piss her off,” You say, a little embarrassed by that fact. You don’t know why you reveal the information to him in the first place. Maybe because for some odd reason you know he won’t tell anyone. Even still—his story was way cooler. Especially since it preceded the reveal that he’s in a band. But maybe that’s also part of the reason you share it. You want him to think you’re just as interesting as he is—though you’re not sure who would be impressed by the information you just shared. 

“Did it work?” Eddie asks. To your surprise, he seems invested in your answer, leaning over the edge of the recliner's armrest. As if what you’ve said was equally as interesting as his response. 

“Did what work?” 

“Was she pissed?” 

“Oh!” You say, like a total ditz. “Um, yeah. Big time. She hates tattoos.” 

“Is that why you have all of them?”

“No, I only got the first one to make her mad. And then when I realized I really loved it, I just kept getting them,” You respond, pushing your sleeve back slightly to brush the one on your wrist with your thumb. 

When you look back up at him he’s smiling softly at you, but he quickly averts his gaze and his eyes find the clock on the wall. “Shit,” He says, a little panicked. “We only have 20 minutes.”

Whipping your head around to glance at the clock, the hands confirm that it’s 20 to 10 and you’ve barely discussed what you came here to discuss. 

“I guess we’ll just have to lightning round this shit,” Eddie says, determination set in his tone. 

And you do lightning round this shit. In just over 20 minutes, Eddie tells you as much as he can about the owner of the restaurant—Cordelia—who is going to be interviewing you. He tells you how to sit, what to say, how to say it, anything and everything he can think of to help you secure a job at this place. 

As you two stand and Eddie walks you to the door, he shoots you a few final pointers.

 “Obviously it helps that you have experience working at an upscale restaurant, so, um, she’ll probably ask you about that too,” Eddie says, and you nod.

When you reach the door, you turn to him. 

“Thank you so much for your help,” You say sincerely. “You really didn’t have to do this, so it means a lot that you did.” 

“Of course I did,” Eddie replies, like it's just that simple. Your brows furrow. “You’re a member of this party now, and as a fellow party member, it’s my duty to help other party members out when they’re in need.”

“A ‘party member’?” 

You’re sure you catch the faintest blush across his cheeks from your question.

“Sorry, uh, I guess it just means you’re one of us now…A friend,” Eddie explains. 

“A friend,” You repeat. And you find the word involuntarily pulls your lips into a soft smile. 

“Anyway, you should probably get going,” Eddie reminds with another glance at the clock. 

“Yeah, okay,” You agree, turning to open the door.  “Oh, um, where did you say the restaurant was again?” You ask when you’re out in the hallway. 

“It’s um…You know what? Why don’t I just walk you there?” Eddie offers. 

“Really? You don’t mind?” 

“Not at all,” Eddie says with a charming smile. 

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Cordelia was an intense woman. Eddie had warned you of this, though you had wildly underestimated the level of intensity the woman embodied. She was tall, and wore her long, black hair up in a sleek ponytail, not a flyaway in sight. Her office was large and so neat that you thought it looked like some sort of staged set for a decor magazine. 

During your interview, you learned exactly one thing about Cordelia: Cordelia does not fuck around. She did not have time for exchanging pleasantries, and a simple handshake and a “take a seat” was the only introduction she provided you with before she began the interview, which mostly felt more like a police interrogation than a job interview. 

By the end, you thought you felt good about how it went, but Cordelia was hard to read. You never once saw her smile or provide you with any kind of verbal or non-verbal communication that would indicate that she was impressed with your resume or any of your answers to her questions.

It was likely one of the most strange job interviews you had ever had. It didn’t necessarily leave you full of hope as you got up from the leather upholstered chair and Cordelia informed you that you would receive a call if she decided to hire you. 

Walking through the restaurant–which was void of patrons, but had some staff preparing and setting up for opening in a few hours–, you finally come to the large glass entrance doors, and push one open. The late November chill blasts you in the face immediately and the switch from the warmth of the restaurant to this shiver-worthy weather is jarring. Had it somehow dropped five degrees from when you’d walked here? 

Turning right and beginning your trek back home, you hear a voice call out your name from behind you. 

You ignore it at first, thinking that the person can’t be calling out to you since you know a grand total of four people so far (five if you count Cordelia—but you don’t) and surely there are other people in this massively diverse city that also have your name. 

“Hey!” The voice calls again once you’ve made it no more than fifteen feet from the restaurant. 

Finally, you stop walking and spin around to locate the source, and what you find surprises you.

Eddie is currently jogging toward you. 

He’d waited this whole time? Out in the freezing cold? With that effortlessly cool leather jacket that is an extremely pathetic excuse for a winter coat and is definitely doing nothing to keep the warmth in?

“Hey,” He says again once he reaches you. 

“Hey,” You say. “You didn’t have to wait for me, Eddie.” Because he really didn’t and you don’t want to be a burden or make him think you’re taking advantage of his kindness. 

“Seeing as you’re going in the wrong direction, it’s probably a good thing I did,” Eddie tells you, nodding back in the other direction with a gentle, c’mon. You feel your face warm even as the wind whips you. 

“Thanks,” You say sheepishly, walking in step with Eddie—in the correct direction now.

“So, how’d it go? Did you crush it?” He asks hopefully, head turned to look at you, and his shoulders pushed up by his red-tipped ears as though he’s trying to conserve heat. 

The furrow in your brow and your soft stuttering must be enough for Eddie to understand exactly how it went, as he speaks before you can provide him with your best approximation of how the interview might have gone. 

“Yeah, that’s normal with Cordelia. That woman is impossible to read,” He says, shaking his head as you both stop at a crosswalk. 

“Right? Oh my God. I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” You say, relieved because that means that the interview wasn’t a total disaster. Is that what that means?

“Yeah, we call her Medusa,” Eddie remarks with a sidelong glance at you. 

You snort unattractively at the nickname and just as quickly bring your hand to your face, covering your mouth as if the action could force the sound back in. 

“Fitting,” You say, coughing as a cover for the noise when Eddie looks at you, brows raised, supposedly amused by your amusement. 

Eddie smirks to himself, barely noticeable, before asking, “Did she say she’d call?” As you look both ways before crossing the street with many other bundled-up New Yorkers. 

“Uh, yeah, why?” 

“That’s a good sign,” He answers, his shoulders shaking with a sudden shiver. That simple statement allows just a little drop of hope to blossom in your chest. 

“Are you cold?” You ask because he can’t not be freezing. He’s not exactly convincing you otherwise. 

“Yeah. I can’t feel my fingers,” Eddie states plainly.

“Wanna jog the rest of the way?” You offer, mostly joking. 

“Please,” He replies anyway.

Though you don’t exactly jog the last few blocks home, you do pick up the pace, and when you get back you make him some tea to warm him up (and hopefully bring back feeling in his fingers). 

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Since your interview every time the phone rings you basically leap over any obstacles in your way to get to the phone, hoping it will be Cordelia calling about your waitressing position as Hannigan’s. But each time the phone rings and it’s a telemarketer, or the bank, or anyone other than Medusa herself, you lose just a little more of that small inkling of hope you allowed yourself to have. 

At present, you sit on the couch in the living room beside Robin while you eat noodles; the rest of the Chinese spread sitting on the coffee table in front of you or in the laps of Steve, Eddie, and Robin. 

On the plush chair to your left sits Steve who is currently chowing down on some dumplings while staring with rapt attention at the television, and Eddie–who announced his newfound aversion to normative seating options upon his arrival in your home–sits on the floor by your socked feet. 

Though the TV is on, you aren’t really paying attention. It’s been just over a week now since you moved in and one week to the day since your interview, and by now you’ve lost all hope. 

Privately, you decided that you would call time of death on this potential job by the end of today and start searching for a new one tomorrow. You know there’s plenty of other jobs out there, but the prospect of working with Robin and Eddie had excited you and made you a whole lot less anxious about working in this new city.  

Ring! Ring! Ring! 

Hope surges inside of you despite your intentions of abandoning it. Suddenly, you feel three sets of eyes on you. Even Steve—who had been incredibly invested in the lifeguards running in slow motion on the television screen—looks at you now. 

They all knew you’d been waiting for the call. They also knew that you hadn’t received one. Not the one, at least. You wish you had time to get up and answer the phone that sits on the side table in your bedroom because you’d really rather not admit to them that it’s simply another telemarketer. 

Since you don’t have the time to reach the phone in your bedroom though, you pull in a deep breath, reach over the sofa arm, and pick up the landline that sits on the glass end table. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, this is Cordelia Hannigan from Hannigan’s-”

And after that you think you black out. Because you don’t hear anything after that. Because this is the happiest you’ve ever been about getting a call about a job. Which sounds ridiculous since it’s just a waitressing job. But it represents so much more. It’s the seal that cements your place in this city with these people. It represents your new beginning. 

With that realization you decide that you should probably listen to your new beginning. Trying your best to tune into Cordelia’s words, you hear her throwing words and phrases around like strict dress code and uniform and training and first shift. When she’s done, you tell her thank you, and return the phone to the base, hanging it up with a resolute click. 

Three sets of eyes remain on you and your frozen body. When you don’t say anything after one second of hanging up, they get restless. 

“So?” Steve prompts, leaning forward in his chair in anticipation. 

“Was it Medusa?” Robin asks from your side. 

You nod slowly, not believing it yourself. “Uh-huh…I got the job.” 

“You got the job!” They all shout in freaky unison. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You think you hear Steve mutter déjà-vu to himself as Robin and Eddie continue their cheering and congratulating. 

“I-I start training this week and my first shift next week,” You inform. 

And then Eddie’s shouting, “Speech, speech, speech!” with his hands cupped over his mouth as if you’re much further away from him. 

“Alright, alright!” You acquiesce as the others join his chant, putting your noodles down on the coffee table and getting up to stand in front of the television.

“Um, I guess I just want to thank all of you,” You begin, feeling suddenly sincere, but still maintaining a note of jest. “I couldn’t have done it without all of you. Steve, you helped me transport and unpack most of my shit. And I have a lot of shit.”

He nods in agreement. “And I couldn’t have focused on prepping for the interview if I was worried about my stuff sitting in my car in that garage, so thank you…Robin, you helped me set up the interview with Cordelia-”

“Medusa,” Robin and Eddie correct simultaneously. 

“Medusa,” You correct yourself. “And you also recommended me for the position. So, thank you…And last, but certainly not least, Eddie,” You say, smiling softly when you catch his eye. He smiles right back at you, that charming dimple appearing on his face as he does. 

“Without your pointers I probably would not have made it through the interview without being turned to stone.”–Eddie snorts–“And I also probably would have gotten completely lost and wandered into the East River if you hadn’t been there when I left. So, thank you…” You tell him sincerely, the partially joking tone you had maintained throughout your cheesy speech erased completely now since your gaze had fallen on him. 

“Good night, New York!” You finish, trying to play up the cheesiness now to divert from the seriousness that had snuck into your tone, and you bow dramatically as Robin and Eddie clap and woop. But Steve, you notice, is glancing oddly as Eddie.

You laugh as you take your seat, plucking your cardboard box of noodles off the table as you go. 

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“Robin!” You hear Steve call from out in the living room, his voice muffled slightly through your closed bedroom door. “The door!” 

Robin’s door creaks open before you hear her exit her bedroom. 

“You couldn’t have gotten it?” She complains as she walks through the apartment to answer the door. 

“No. Baywatch is on,” Steve replies like his answer needs no further explanation. You snicker to yourself as you button up your pressed, white uniform shirt. You swear you can hear Robin’s eyes rolling. 

Baywatch was Steve’s favourite TV show; he never missed an episode—except for last week when a meeting at his school ran longer than expected and he’d called Robin to get her to tape it for him. He decided that now–while you were both getting ready to leave for work–was the perfect time to come over and watch it (instead of taking the tape back to his place since your TV is better anyway). 

The apartment's front door–which remains perpetually unlocked when you and Robin are home–opens and you listen closely to hear who it might be while you work on tucking your shirt into your formal black dress pants. 

“Oh. Hey, Eddie,” You hear Robin greet, though it sounds more like a question with the confusion lacing her tone. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, his footsteps tapping against the faux hardwood as Robin shuts the door with a loud slam. 

With a quick glance over at your alarm clock, you find that it’s almost time to leave. The realization sends nervous butterflies to flight in your belly. Tonight is your very first shift at Hannigan’s. 

Last week you had your training, which was nerve-wracking, but tonight was the real thing. Tonight you would be earning your first dollar, receiving your first tip, suggesting wine pairings, and probably dealing with rude customers. And all of it makes you nervous. 

It’s scary for so many reasons, for more reasons than just the fact that new jobs (no matter what they are) are always scary. It’s scary because it’s the next step in the process of making a new–hopefully better–life for yourself here. For that reason, you want it to go well. But you aren’t sure what ‘well’ really means in this situation. 

“Y/N!” Robin calls, shaking you from your thoughts. “Cab’s here!” 

Blowing out a quick breath, and trying your best to shake out your nerves, you grab your jacket and bag and exit your bedroom, still feeling those butterflies, but determined not to let them shake you. At least not too much. 

Leaning against the now open apartment door is Eddie who’s dressed in the same black dress pants and white button-up as you and Robin. He shoots you an easy smile as you emerge from your room, and you smile back. 

His long hair, which he usually lets flow over his shoulders in soft waves, is now tied in a low bun. He’s missing his usual chunky silver rings and all his tattoos are hidden beneath his sleeves and a highly buttoned collar. 

Though it’s strange to see him stripped of his unique accessories, you find yourself scrolling your eyes over his body. With his hair away from his face, his features are highlighted, revealing the strong line of his jaw and making his eyes appear somehow larger. 

As your eyes move down his body, you note the way his arms look in the button up, how his thighs fill out the dress pants. You find yourself missing his rings though. Something twists in your belly, though this time it’s not nerves. 

“Ready?” Robin’s voice asks, once again shaking you from your thoughts. She must notice that you weren’t entirely there, that you were lost in your thoughts because she stops shoving things into her bag to ask: “You okay?” 

Ripping your gaze away from Eddie and turning to Robin, you reply, “Yeah!” in a voice much higher than your own. You cough quickly as a cover and repeat your words, sounding much less caught out the second time. 

“Okay,” Robin drawls suspiciously. “Well, we should really get down to the cab now cause we probably have about 60 seconds before they decide to leave and force us to brave the windchill ourselves,” She informs, pulling her jacket on and shoving her tote bag over her shoulder. “Alright, you’ll lock up and we’ll see you at the coffee house afterwards?” Robin asks Steve. 

“Yeah, sure,” He replies absentmindedly from where he’s glued to the sofa. 

“Shit, I should probably get my keys then,” You mutter. If they’re going to the coffee house after your shift, then you can’t rely on Robin unlocking the door for you if you’re not together when you get home. 

Before you can walk back to your room to retrieve your keys though, Steve pipes up. You’re pretty sure it’s the first time he’s taken his eyes off the television since he got here. 

“Wait, you’re not coming?” He asks, his body twisted to look at you with his arm draped over the back of the couch. 

“Oh,” You reply dumbly because ‘we’ apparently included you. You were a part of the ‘we’ Robin meant. ‘We’, as in Robin, Eddie, Steve, and you.

It’s not like they haven’t been welcoming since you got here, but it’s only been a few weeks and they’ve been friends and neighbours for years; you thought it might take them longer to accept you into the group since they’re so solid. A part of you felt like they might still see you as an outsider; someone who doesn’t get invited to their after-work coffee shop hangouts just yet. But they’d expected you to come. Sometime within the last couple weeks you became a part of their definition of ‘we’.

“No, I’ll come,” You confirm with a nod in an attempt to appear casual about the invite. 

“Awesome,” Steve says, turning back to the television. 

“Guys!” Robin shouts and you realize then that she’s no longer in the apartment. Eddie pokes his head out into the hall as Robin says, “Come on, the cab is waiting!” 

“Yep, coming,” Eddie says and you follow right behind him, feeling so many things all at once. Nervous about your shift, excited about being invited to the coffee house, and another thing for Eddie that you can’t quite name just yet. 

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

The fast-paced environment of Hannigan’s is overwhelming, and while normally it might frazzle you, you find that you don’t mind it nearly as much as you thought you might. It’s definitely a different environment than your last job–a desk job that only promoted boredom within you–, but the new challenge of this place is stimulating.

As the night goes on, the din of the restaurant only intensifies; nearly every table and booth is filled with patrons talking and enjoying their 5-star meals, the sounds of cutlery clashing against fine china, hosts and hostesses greeting people at the entrance and making reservations for customers over the phone for months from now, the sizzling, clinking sounds roaring from the kitchen when the swinging traffic doors open, then shushing when the doors close again. 

With just over an hour left of your shift and the clearing of what feels like the thousandth table you’ve waited on tonight, you watch as yet another diner is seated in your section. He’s a tall man, his dark hair styled precisely atop his head, and has a short goatee beard, trimmed to perfection. It reminds you of Kurt Cobain’s facial hair, though nothing else about him resembles the rock icon. The man looks rich–though you suppose most people who dine here are. From what you can tell with the distance between you, he might be about ten years your senior.

Not wanting to keep him waiting, you begin to stride over to his table, though you are just as soon intercepted, a large hand gently engulfing your wrist. You turn and find that the hand is attached to Eddie, his deep brown eyes staring back at you, and suddenly the contact brings heat to your face and a zip of something unnamable down your arm. Both of you retract your hands swiftly before Eddie explains his interception: “Why don’t you let me take this table, yeah?”

Confusion muddles your features for a moment. Why on earth would Eddie want to take on another table? It’s busy enough in here as it is. Plus, taking a table that is not in your section is strictly against the rules and as it’s your very first shift here, you’re not quite comfortable enough just yet to bend any rules. Especially not when they were fiercely outlined to you by Cordelia, who you were sure that if she possessed the powers of Medusa like Eddie and Robin say, she would surely turn you to stone if she caught you breaking any of them. 

Since you’re not willing to risk getting yourself or Eddie into any sort of trouble, you tell him: “You have your own section to worry about, Eddie. Don’t worry about mine, I got this.” With an easy smile in hopes of further reassuring him, though you’re not sure of what. 

You barely make it a few steps in the direction of your table before he’s stopping you again, this time with a gentle hand at your elbow. 

“It’s just that…I’ve had that guy in my section before and he’s…difficult,” Eddie explains, struggling to come up with a word to describe him and seemingly being displeased with the one he chose as his brows furrowed together. 

Oh. 

His explanation causes heat to rise to your face, warming your entire chest with a strange fuzzy feeling. Was Eddie trying to protect you? If he was, that was very sweet of him, but still, you can’t allow him to take this table for you–even though you feel like you could melt to mush in his grasp right now. 

“I’ve dealt with difficult people all evening,” You say. “I’ve got this.” 

Before he can protest anymore or continue to convince you not to take the table, you’re walking away from him, your soft skin slipping from his gentle grip. 

Eddie watches you walk away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as you greet Paul and hand him the menu. The second Eddie sees that trademark salacious smirk creep across Paul’s face, Eddie’s jaw clenches involuntarily, but it’s not like he can do anything about it now.

Had he had any right to try to do anything about it before? To try to take your table? He hasn’t known you very long, so who is he to step in and attempt to protect you from that creep? He shouldn’t even feel this protective of you, this jealous. What the fuck is going on with him lately? 

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Collapsing onto the big fluffy couch at The Ugly Mug, you feel yourself instantly sink into the soft cushions. Have they always felt like literal clouds molding perfectly to your body or does it just seem that way after being on your feet for hours? 

Now that your first shift is over you can appreciate how truly tiring it was. Adrenaline must have helped you stay on your feet all night, helped you acclimate to the job, but now that you’re seated in the calm, quiet atmosphere of the coffee shop, all that energy has left you entirely. 

“Ugh, is it always this exhausting?” You sigh, slumped between Robin and Eddie. Steve sits on a plush chair next to the couch. 

“I-” Robin begins, but Eddie interrupts before she can finish. 

“Don’t lie to her, Rob,” Eddie says, sensing that Robin was likely about to lie in order to comfort you. 

“Fine,” She replies, sighing, exhaustion weighing heavy in her bones as well. “It is. It’s always this exhausting…” 

“But,” Robin drawls teasingly, pushing herself up so she’s no longer slumped down on the couch. “It’s not every shift you get hit on,” She says, wiggling her brows suggestively at you. 

“What? Who got hit on?” Steve pipes up curiously, placing his pastry down on the round table beside him. 

“Y/N,” Robin confirms teasingly, and you cover your face with your hands. 

Eddie huffs from beside you as Steve says, “What? No way! By who?” 

“One of the rich guys. I think he’s a new regular–Paul,” Robin answers, a childish tone to her voice when she says his name that makes you think she might start singing Sitting In A Tree with yours and Paul’s names any second now. 

Steve’s eyes widen comically and Eddie grumbles something incoherent from your side, but you don’t get the chance to ask him what he said before Steve is hurriedly asking: “So? What happened?”

“Well, he asked me out,” You reply, a little embarrassed from their excitement as you adjust so your legs are crossed under you. Paul was charming from the moment you handed him his menu, all smiles and classic handsomeness. 

“And you said?” 

“I said yes,” You reply quietly at the same time as Robin exclaims, She said yes! She’d cackled when you’d told her about it at your lockers after your shift ended, joking that you could quit Hannigan’s and Paul could become your sugar daddy instead. 

Normally, you might have declined such an offer from someone you’d just met–especially if that someone was 10 years older than you–, but the whole point of this move was change. Change required doing things you might not normally do, it required some spontaneity and courage. Both of which were not necessarily your strong suits, but you were trying. The first step was simply saying yes to things. 

Steve smiles, impressed. “Alright, Y/L/N!” 

And then, realization dawns over his features and he quickly turns his attention to Robin. 

“Speaking of dates…” Steve begins, using the same salacious tone Robin had used earlier. “Robin, how are things going with Alicia?” 

Looking at Robin, her eyes widen as she replies, “Oh my God, I totally spaced and forgot to tell you!” 

Leaning in closer to Eddie on your other side, you whisper, “Who’s Alicia?” 

“This girl Robin’s been seeing for a bit,” He answers easily. 

You tune back into the conversation just in time to hear Robin inform, “I asked her to be my girlfriend.” Even if you weren’t looking at her right now you’d be able to hear the smile in her voice. 

“That’s great, what’d she say?” Steve asks, jumping in even as Robin opens her mouth to continue, clearly not finished speaking.

“She said yes!” Robin exclaims, not even pausing to tease him about his over-eagerness to hear the rest of the story or give him a playful roll of her eyes like she usually might. This Alicia woman must mean a lot to Robin if she’s obliged to censor her usual sarcastic quips. 

“Fuck yeah!” Says Steve as he high fives Robin and you chuckle at their odd celebration. 

“Robin, that’s great. I’m so happy for you,” You congratulate, hand on her shoulder, remembering when you were teens and she never thought she’d get to have a girlfriend. Robin smiles sheepishly now. 

What a satisfying end to the day. You’re exhausted, but at the same time exhilarated. It feels like things are finally falling into place, like you’d been putting together a puzzle and some of the pieces had gone missing. But you’ve found some of them, and now you’re sliding them into their places. And they fit. For the first time, you feel like you fit, and that makes you believe that everything is going to be okay–that you’re going to be okay. 

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

“So,” Robin drawls as she places two juices on the kitchen table in front of you, one for her and one for you. “Where’s he taking you?” 

“I don’t know yet, actually. All I know is that it’s ‘somewhere nice’ and he’s going to be picking me up at 7:30-ish,” You reply as you twist the cap off your drink. 

“Mysterious,” Robin comments after taking a sip of her juice.

“Your date’s tonight?” Steve asks as he wanders into the kitchen and sticks his head into the fridge, likely scouring the shelves for a snack. 

“Yeah, why?”

Steve stands from his bent position inside the fridge and turns to you and Robin, a slice of cold pizza in hand. “Mine too! Gonna bring her her favourite flowers, take her to her favourite restaurant, go see the tree at Rockefeller–the whole shebang.” 

Steve takes a giant bite out of his pizza slice, then slides over to the table and steals Robin’s drink. She makes a disgusted face at him in protest and pushes the drink away from her when he places it back on the table after taking a healthy swig.

“That’s really sweet, Steve. I’m sure she’ll have a great time,” You tell him genuinely. 

“Ugh!” Robin groans, drawing your attention away from Steve as her head falls back on her shoulders dramatically. “Stop talking about dates! I haven’t seen Alicia in three days and I have a shift tonight,” She complains, pouting. 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Steve mutters, taking his slice with him into the living room where he joins Eddie and Nancy–who sit on the armchair and couch, reading and writing, respectively. 

“Whatever,” Robin replies, slumping down in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Aren’t you seeing her tomorrow?” You ask though you know the answer because it’s all that she’s talked about since she last saw Alicia. You’re sure you could pick the girl out of a crowd without ever having seen her just from everything Robin has spewed to you about her. It’s nice to see her happy. 

“Yeah,” Robin says, tone solemn. 

“Why do you sound disappointed?” You wonder with a chuckle.

“Because tomorrow is not right now,” Robin explains and you snort at her impatience to see her girlfriend again. 

God, you don’t remember the last time you felt that way about someone; wanting to be around them all the time, missing them the second they left your side. Maybe it was college the last time you’d felt that way? You haven’t really dated since then. That one disastrous blind date your previous co-workers set you up on does not count. You’d actually prefer to block it out of your memory. 

Robin sighs. “Anyway, I should hop in the shower before my shift,” She says as she stands and heads to the bathroom. She’s genuinely bummed that she won’t get to see Alicia until tomorrow 

“Have fun,” You joke, head falling back on your shoulders as you watch her walk into the bathroom upside-down. You think you hear a sarcastic ha-ha from her before the door shuts. 

Also upside-down from your current perspective is Eddie who you see sliding the window to the balcony open before ducking under it and going out onto the balcony.

He’s been off all night. While usually he would be cracking jokes and being his usual over-dramatic, loud self, tonight he was uncharacteristically quiet, keeping to himself. You’ve spent enough time around him by now to tell when something might be up with him. 

Standing and grabbing the large throw blanket tossed over one end of the couch, you wrap it around yourself before going to the window, sliding it open again and carefully ducking under it as you step out into the chilly night. 

The remnants of winter's early sunset remains on the horizon, lining the city in a dark blue hue while the sky above and beyond that is blanketed by blackness and a dull smattering of stars. That’s the one thing you miss about living in a small town; the lack of light pollution allowed for the stars in the sky to burn bright. Here, it’s impossible to make out a constellation from the street. You suppose the city lights are as close to stars as you’ll get out here.

Eddie leans against the brick and concrete balcony wall, his forearms perched on the cold surface, watching the city as plumes of cigarette smoke swirl around his head. He turns to look at you when he hears you approaching, tucking his chin to his shoulder. 

“You smoke?” You ask, pointing at the cigarette held delicately between his index and middle fingers. You’re feeling a little awkward for some reason. Maybe because you’re not used to Eddie being silent. 

Eddie sniffs, says, “Yeah. Trying to quit.” Then snuffs out the half-smoked stick by crushing it against the concrete. He knows the habit might bother you. It bothers the others as well; Nancy has called it a ‘cancer stick’, Steve has often taken to flushing his cigs in protest, and Robin simply informs him that it stinks. He also knows that you have your date with Paul tonight, and as much as he dislikes the guy, he doesn’t want you smelling of smoke for your date. 

“Hm,” You hum, coming up beside him and leaning over the wall, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You shiver and he has the urge to remove his leather jacket and wrap it around you. 

There’s a lull then, in which Eddie wonders why you might have come out here. From the sounds of your prior conversation with Robin, you need to start getting ready for your date soon. Why come out here just to stand around with him in the cold? 

“Um,” Eddie begins, unsure of how to phrase this so it doesn’t sound like he’s shooing you off. Just because he doesn’t understand why you’re out here with him doesn’t mean he wants you to leave. He enjoys your company, wants to be around you more. As much as possible, actually. “Did-did you need something?” 

You hesitate for a moment, before saying, “No. No, I just wanted to come check on you.” Though it sounds more like a question. Like you’re prompting him gently. 

“Oh. Okay,” Eddie replies, surprised and not sure what else to say to that. You’re so thoughtful and observant it makes his chest hurt. 

Eddie can feel you examining his face closely and he lets you, continuing to stare out at the city below. 

“I can leave if you-” 

“No,” Eddie replies suddenly before you can even finish your sentence, his eyes finding yours as he says it. Your eyes are wide, expectant. “I mean-no. You’re good.” 

“Okay,” You say, settling in beside him.  

The conversation tapers off again and you’re left with the sounds of honking cars, the muffled racket of people talking in the street below, the robust sound of a public bus stopping down at the corner. A harsh wind kisses your cheeks, likely staining Eddie’s pink. 

He feels awkward. He’s never felt awkward around you before. Not even when you almost strangled him that one morning and he smashed his head against the coffee table. Maybe it’s because of everything going on in his head right now. 

An odd tension sizzles between you. He can feel its strength, more fierce than the wind. But it’s elusive, an enigma he can’t quite grasp. He wants not to think about it and tries not to since he can’t do anything about it anyway. 

“How are you adjusting?” 

“Are you okay?” 

You both break the silence at the same time. A smile breaks across your face and Eddie blows a harsh breath out through his nose. 

“Sorry, you go first,” Eddie offers. 

“I just-are you alright?” You rush out after a brief pause, seemingly self-conscious of the question, though Eddie could never imagine why. “I just thought you maybe seemed a bit off in there…And, like, usually when people separate from the pack, it might mean something’s up,” You explain slowly, that almost inquisitive tone appearing in your voice again. 

Eddie side eyes you, your perceptiveness surprising.

You must take the glance to mean that he’s annoyed because you say, wanting to lighten the mood, “...Or they just want to be left the hell alone.”

Eddie snorts, turning his body to face yours now, his right hip pressed into the cold concrete wall with his elbow resting atop it. You mirror his stance, adjusting the fluffy blanket around you as you go. 

“But I find it usually means the first thing….And-and a lot of the time I don’t think that people really want to be left alone, even if they say they do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie teases lightly, wanting to shift the focus away from himself. He can’t tell you what’s wrong.

“Mhm,” You nod, playing along with his teasing by holding your head high as if you have all the wisdom in the world to offer. But then your expression changes. Just slightly, but Eddie sees it. What you say next isn’t teasing, what you say next is from your soul. 

“I think what they really want—more than anything—is to not have to be alone ever again,” You say, and it’s like a shadow passes over your face. He notes the change in your eyes; like you’re living a past feeling. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees after a beat, tone the furthest from teasing it’s ever been. Both because he knows the feeling, but also because he doesn’t want you to feel alone in it. Because he can tell you’ve been really lonely before. And he hates that his evasion of your question made you recall that loneliness. 

That look in your eyes disappears, and you seem to shake out of it easily as you look him in the face and ask, “What are you thinking?” 

It’s a pretty innocuous question. But right now, at this moment, it holds more weight. 

“I’m thinking that…you’re right. I guess I’ve just been in my head.” 

He wasn’t planning on revealing that. He doesn’t even know why he said anything. It’s like you pulled it out of him. It’s like he can’t resist. 

“Yeah? About what?” You ask, eyes searching his. 

He can’t tell you. He wishes he could, but he can’t. It would be such a jerk move to tell you before your date. And it’s not like he could have told you earlier either. Not after the promise he’d made. He already feels like he’s said too much. 

“We don’t have to talk about it. I get it,” You say after he doesn’t reply. 

But you don’t sound hurt. Instead, you sound sincere in your acceptance of the fact that he doesn’t want to say anything. It makes him want to tell you even more. Your sincere kindness, your thoughtfulness, it makes him ache. How can he not be honest with you? Especially when you’ve been so honest with him. 

In order to honour his previous promise, Eddie layers the truth in a sheer veil of lies, concealing parts of the truth, while revealing others. 

“There’s-there’s this girl,” Eddie begins, working out how he’s going to weave lies in with the truth. “But one of the guys from my band–Jeff–asked her out recently…And I-” 

“You like her too?” You guess. You’d known from the secret smile that crept onto his face; fond but sad. 

Eddie nods slowly, relieved that he didn’t have to say the words aloud himself. Like saying them would make it more real, would confirm what he already knows. 

“But Jeff asked her out first. So I don’t have a right to…to feel the way I do about it,” Eddie explains, navigating his way around the truth. He’s lying to you almost as much as he’s lying to himself. “And it would be wrong to tell her now. I’d be betraying Jeff’s trust.” It’s not Jeff’s trust he’d be betraying. 

You sigh, stumped. “I’m sorry, that’s hard…tell me about her?” You ask, though your voice sounds strained. 

God, you’re so nice. It’s killing him. He feels so guilty. How can he lie to you about you? He can’t. Not when you’re looking at him like you are. Like every word out of his mouth is the most important thing that has ever been said. 

“Um…Well. She’s-she’s open-minded and accepting, a little weird,” Eddie describes with a chuckle, remembering the morning you greeted him with your bathrobe tie. 

When your eyes connect, he can’t help but soften, impassioned as he looks into them. Wanting so badly to let you know he’s talking about you, he toes the line. 

“She’s genuine. Honest. What you see is what you get with her,” Eddie says. The city noise fades away and your breaths become the wind, your eyes the city lights. 

“She cares about her friends. It feels like she always knows the right thing to say, even if she feels like she doesn’t…And she’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.” 

Something changes in your expression. Your eyes burn, searching his intently, looking back and forth between the left and the right. His eyes can’t lie, he can’t force them to. They reveal everything. They can’t conceal or contain his feelings. 

Eddie yearns to hold your face gently in his hands, to feel your lips against his, to feel your smile as he kisses you. 

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as if sudden emotion overwhelms you, your eyes aflame. You wait in anticipation for his next words as wind whistles around you, ruffling your blanket.  

“Anyway,” Eddie coughs, dispelling the tension, and glances down at his wristwatch. “It’s getting late, you should probably start getting ready for your date.” 

Recognition flashes in your eyes, like you’d forgotten entirely about your upcoming commitment. 

The spell is broken. He hadn’t even realized there’d been a spell until it was broken. 

You take a step back and it’s then Eddie realizes you were so close your toes were nearly touching. Shit. Why had he done that? That was almost worse than telling you everything he’d said was actually about you. 

“Yeah. Right,” You agree, walking back towards the window.

Eddie turns and leans against the balcony wall, looks back over the city. The wind is the wind, and the lights are just lights. 

“Oh, and Eddie?” You call. Eddie swivels his head to look back at you, one foot inside the apartment and one out on the balcony with him, straddling the window sill. “I hope it works out with her.” 

Eddie gives you a good-natured smile. “Yeah. Me too,” He replies as you duck under the window and return to the apartment. You close it shut softly, leaving him with the wind and the lights. 

Eventually, Eddie goes back inside too, locking every intense emotion that had built up inside of him out in the cold. 

As he wanders back into the apartment, he finds your bedroom door is now closed and Nancy’s spot on the couch is vacant. Robin is rushing out of her room in her work uniform while she roots through her bag, mumbling about her keys. And Steve, who’s snacking on some grapes from the fruit bowl on the counter, has Robin’s keys casually swinging from his index finger. Though Robin doesn’t notice until Steve ahem’s, and she snatches them from his hand before reaching the door. 

“Oh!” She says as her hand twists the handle, and spins around on her heel to face Eddie and Steve. “If either one of you is still here before Y/N leaves, tell her to have a good night with Paul. She deserves it.” 

And the door slams shut behind her as Eddie takes his seat on the couch. 

He has every intention of picking his book back up where he left off. Though it remains open in his hands as he stares at your door. He can’t stop staring at your door. Which should be infinitely less captivating than the words between the pages in his hands. And yet it is not. It is far more captivating than any book he has ever or will ever read. The thought strikes him like a bolt of lightning zapping a tree and setting it on fire.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” Steve asks, noticing Eddie’s prolonged staring at your door. 

Pulling his eyes very slowly away from your door, Eddie replies, “Yeah, I…Yeah.” 

When his gaze finds Steve’s, he’s looking at Eddie like he’s trying to do long division in his head. 

“...Okay,” Steve drawls, retrieving his jacket from the counter in the kitchen. “We’re definitely gonna talk about that later. But for now, I gotta pick up Joselyn. Later, man!” He calls as he exits the apartment, leaving just Eddie and your door, alone. 

He’s not necessarily looking forward to whatever conversation Steve wants to have with him later, but he’s hoping this Joselyn woman will keep Steve busy long enough for Eddie to avoid the conversation entirely–at least for the night. 

It’s been 23 minutes and your bedroom door still has not opened. Eddie knows the exact amount of time it remains closed because although he had tried to focus on the words in his book after Steve left, he simply could not stop looking at your door. And wondering when it would open. Hoping it would open. Estimating when it would open by calculating how long it might take you to get ready. For a solid three seconds, Eddie debates knocking on it, before deciding that’s crazy because-

The door opens. 

“How do I-” 

Eddie stares. Suddenly your door becomes the least captivating thing in the room–in the entire universe–and he can’t believe he ever thought it was captivating to begin with. 

Your black dress—which reaches your ankles—is simple, though it hugs your body wonderfully. The straps are thin and the neck is square-shaped. 

Eddie could equate your beauty to a thousand other beautiful things. He could equate it to paintings and sunsets and flowers. He could equate it to the most beautiful poetry and the most profound stories. But the truth is that none of his comparisons would ever be enough. None of them could express how he feels when he looks at you; like his heart stops and speeds up in his chest at the same time. Like he’s never seen anything beautiful in his life until this moment or even knew what the word beauty meant until he saw you. 

“Oh-Everyone left already?” You question when you realize Eddie is alone. You and Eddie are alone. 

“Y-yeah,” Eddie stutters, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Oh…alright.”

Eddie swallows hard, trying his very best not to watch you like he’d watched your door. But that task proves impossible. And now it’s quiet. And it’s been quiet for far too long as you stand there fidgeting with your shawl looking like that with no one to tell you that you look like that. No one except Eddie. 

“Um,” Eddie begins. Great start. He can’t say what he wants to, so instead he explains his presence: “I didn’t wanna leave without letting you know, since everyone else left...But, uh, what-what were you gonna say…before?” God, he was the worst! If he can’t say the word to himself, how is he supposed to repeat it out loud to you? 

“Oh,” You say, looking down at yourself bashfully. “I was just gonna ask how I looked,” You explain, waving your hand in dismissal.

Eddie wants to not be the worst. Eddie wants you to think that he’s not the worst. Eddie wants you to know that you look like that. 

“You look great,” He says, slightly breathless. ‘Great’ is a safe word, it’s a friendly word. It’s not the word he wanted to use. 

You smile softly, averting your eyes from him and to the floor as you say a meek, but sincere, “Thank you.” 

Eddie really shouldn’t say anymore. But he loves the way it feels when you get all shy from his compliments. He loves the way you thank him. Like you know his compliment is true, but to hear him say it means something different, something special.

So he can’t keep it in. But he wills himself to reign in his emotions; to freeze the butterflies in his belly before they take flight. 

“You-” look really pretty. “Your dress is really pretty.” 

“Thank you, Eddie,” You say, swaying nervously on the spot. 

Fuck. Shit. Jesus Christ! There wasn’t a net big enough in the world to contain the swarm of butterflies fluttering in his belly right now. It’s downright embarrassing. 

You seek out his eyes. And Eddie knows. And you part your lips, about to speak. 

“I-”

Knock, knock, knock. 

All too soon, your gaze shifts to the front door. But Eddie’s eyes remain on you. 

“Oh, that’s Paul,” You inform, pulling your shawl more tightly around your body before you begin walking towards the door. You make it about three paces before you realize, “Shoot, I forgot my purse in my room, would you mind getting the door?” 

“Sure,” Eddie says, minding a whole awful lot. But he stands from the couch anyway and makes his way to the door as you head back into your bedroom. 

The door swings open, revealing a sharply dressed Paul leaning against the doorframe. His suit is pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. It’s too pristine, like he’s not moved in it, not sat down. 

When Paul lifts his head from where it’s bent on his neck, his salacious smirk disappears the moment he sees Eddie. He’s far less handsome with that ugly frown on his face. He looks like a petulant child. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Eddie bites his tongue. Then forces a fake smile as he greets politely, “Good to see you too, Paul.” 

He expected nothing less from the guy, but that didn’t make it any easier to hold back. Sure, he wasn’t serving him in the restaurant–so there weren’t any clearly defined rules here–but you were about to go out on a date with the guy. So he held back. 

“Y/N will be right out, she’s-” 

The click of your heels against the wood floors sound behind him. Paul’s smirk spreads across his face like molasses as he eyes you. Though Eddie’s sure they don’t roam further than your chest. 

A surge of unrightful possessiveness swells within him at Paul’s obvious ogling. 

“Hey!” You greet him cheerily and Eddie steps aside, fading into the background. 

“Hey, babe,” Paul says as you reach him and Eddie cringes at the territorial nickname. It takes everything in him not to shudder like he’s just seen a child pick their nose and wipe it on a pole in the subway. 

You hug and Eddie watches as one of Paul's long arms stretches around your waist, though his hand hovers dangerously low before you pull away and Paul remarks, “Ready to go?”

“Yup,” You confirm, with a sweet smile. With that, Paul guides you out of the apartment with a hand on your middle back and just before you exit the apartment, you request: “Lock up on your way out?” 

It shouldn’t feel this good to have your attention on him again. Shouldn’t make his heart skip in his chest. 

Eddie just nods, sure that if he tried to speak, he would emit some embarrassing sound instead of a casual sure thing.

You smile at him widely, “Bye, Eddie.” Has his name always sounded that lovely? 

“Bye, Y/N.” Has your name ever felt that lovely rolling off his tongue? 

The door slams shut behind you. 

“Shit.” 

Eddie’s belly bubbles with a feeling. Jealousy burns in his gut. He has no right to feel this way. The moment he names it, he wants to un-name it. The moment he names it, he wants to ban the word from his mind, shove it inside one of those dark spots up there, and hope it never sees the light of day again. 

He made a promise to Robin. He doesn’t get to feel this way. 

So he tries his best not to call it what it is and tells himself that it has to be a simple combination of his hatred for Paul and his knowledge that you are a ridiculously wonderful person who deserves so much better than Paul Becker. But this is all he can allow himself to acknowledge. 

What he will not acknowledge is the third part to this equation that adds up to this feeling. What he will not acknowledge is the way he feels when you look at him, when you say his name, when you stand in front of him in a black dress and he can’t tell you how pretty you look. 

So he focuses on the one thing that is the most natural to him: the fact that Eddie hates Paul. 

⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂ ⌂

Next Chapter [coming soon]

A/N: And that is chapter one, folks! I've been working on this for months now, so I really, really hope you enjoyed it. Please consider reblogging and leaving a nice comment or sending me an ask telling me what you thought!

[prinvessdior]

Possibly a sneak peak of chapter four of HOFAH I need to change the title holy shit

This ends pretty abruptly bc it’s just a sneak soz ;(

I must've turned on my heel too quick because the next second I collided with a wall face first, though it wasn't quite a wall, more like someone.

Unceremoniously, I fell backwards from the impact only being caught with an arm looped around my waist, and a cup of.. something sweet covering my favorite jacket in its sticky gooey goodness. My headphones jostled off my ears to hang around my neck, faintly I could hear a Billy Joel song playing.

"Sorry— I tried to get you before you put on your headphones." the brick wall said, oh no that was totally not cute blonde boy from the café, he was frowning looking down at my chest, woah back up buddy. I followed his gaze and realized there was a ugly brown stain in my former pink favorite jacket. My favorite jacket that I'd saved up for a month for.

"Oh," I said dumbly, still caught in the surprise of literally running straight into this guy and spilling his drink all over myself

"Uh- well I was trying to give you your drink back that you left in the café but uh." Totally not cute blonde boy said and released me his frown deepening. I hadn't even ordered a drink for myself, did he go through the trouble of buying a new one and walking all the way here with it? The chocolate was still warm as it seeped through my jacket to my sweater.

"It's-its okay!" I stumbled out flushing from the cold. Yep totally.

"I didn't really like this jacket anyway." I lied with what I hoped was a convincing laugh.

he tilted his head to the side at me, "Are you sure? That looks expensive?" Damn, how good was he at reading through lies. I strained a smile.

"I mean yeah- but it's not a big deal really!" I shook my head already peeling off the stained material.

I shivered when the nippy air seeped into the fabric of my sweater, and I was pleasantly surprised to find a new, warmer jacket wrapped around my shoulders. Totally not cute blonde boy had taken his own hoodie off, it was emerald green, like his eyes. While he busied himself I took another glance at his viridescent irises. Yeah, they were perfect.

"Can't have a pretty girl walking around in the cold." Oh god he was a flirt, my heartbeat picked up and another flush rose to my cheeks. "But- won't you be cold?" I asked though I pulled the green fabric tighter around my shoulders, he shrugged, "I like the cold."

"Could I uh- maybe get your jacket cleaned or something? I feel bad for scaring you." He cleared his throat, I held my pink jacket dumbly in my hands.

"It's okay! I can jus—"

He held his hands out in front of him for my jacket and frowned looking down at me from under his fringe. This close I really got to see him, his blonde hair was wavy and I could spot some curls near the back, it was cut in a mullet style, I thought they went out of style years ago.. but he could definitely pull it off.

"I insist." he flexed his fingers and then I noticed how big his hands were. You think if he put his palm on my face it'd cov—

NOPE. Stop it right there brain you don't even know the guy. Against better judgement I placed my favorite jacket into totally not cute blonde boy's hands and he beamed at me, it was comparable to the sun. He took my jacket and neatly folded it beneath his arms, and he was gentle with things that didn't belong to him, someone help me.

"Can I get your number? So I can text you to give back your jacket." and he was smooth I think I might melt the snow I'm standing on. I nodded a bit too enthusiastically and opened my phone, clicking on new contacts and handing my phone to him. Our fingers touched when he handed me back my phone and I let my fingers linger.

“I’m sorry again about your jacket.” He spoke up after he watched me deposit my phone into my—well his jacket’s pocket, it was muscle memory alright, totally.

[aranarumei]

two-tone.

ummm. so. @dirtbra1n‘s posts about hanzawa and tashiro and the river and everything got me thinking enough that i ended up? writing something. so here is my small offering under the readmore. please don’t ask me about where this fits in with the canon timeline... i’m not good at that

When Tashiro turned from the conversation, spotting Hanzawa at the corner of his eyes, he asked, “Did you ever have a bad haircut?” 

Hanzawa smiled, frayed at the edges. “Who knows?” he said, and that was enough to stop most people from asking any further questions, but Tashiro just turned his eyes fully on him instead, leaned over and flicked a strand of his hair playfully. 

Hanzawa stared, caught under the haloed strands of gold-black messily tied back from his face and faded with the kind of ease that felt like something entirely out of reach. It was written bare on the openness of Tashiro’s face, the raw cut from black to gold, the empty and rich color of his eyes. A head where things go in and out, he thought bitterly, and then almost flushed at the sheer envy and condescension wrapped in the thought. He picked at the dirt under his nails, tucking his hands away from sight. He needed thoughts that were more beautiful, but everything in his head felt soaked in a thick, ugly miasma.

“I bet it was shorter than it is now,” Tashiro said. “Since right now it’s so long that it covers your eyes.”

“Your hair’s longer than mine, though.” 

“Was it longer, then? That must’ve been a sight.”  

“You’d never know,” Hanzawa said, and Tashiro honest-to-god pouted at him. 

“You don’t have a picture?” 

“Why would I take pictures of myself?” Hanzawa asked and regretted it immediately because that felt like more of an admission than offering up some grainy, boring picture of his lighter-colored hair and different hairstyle. Because any anomaly there could be brushed off into a deep and bottomless well called the past, but this—the evasiveness, the reluctance—that was him, in the here and now. He flicked his eyes away, consciously vulnerable.

“Did it look really bad?” Tashiro murmured, more to himself than Hanzawa. “Oh my god, were you a delinquent in middle school?” He asked, not bothering to hide his glee at the thought. “That would explain so much, what with you being so evasive—”

The truth was that Hanzawa was a boring, ordinary kid, who sometimes thought about not being ordinary, but then he was a good kid by default and being a good kid meant that there wasn’t much time to look and see what else was part of being, so he couldn’t say something like he harbored a secret passion for piano or art or cooking or anything of the sort. What he did know is that even when it felt like he needed to lock himself in his room and that he could never sleep again, every time he stumbled out of bed with the half-idea that he was developing a severe case of insomnia there was this wash of contentment whenever he was at school and especially whenever Tashiro was near him.

If work was never-ending, at least there was always someone to talk to. He’d get to listen back, and that was the best part of it—absorbing someone else’s life and placing the little pieces you knew into a little folder with their name on it. Like the way Tashiro’s favorite color was spring green and he had tried to get into metal before but couldn’t. The way his favorite kinds of singers had cute and clear voices and the way he flexed his fingers around the nearest object whenever he was making a particularly tough decision. 

Hanzawa didn’t like or hate a color particularly because it felt kind of troublesome, to attach whether you liked things to a certain color. He wasn’t good with extreme spice and felt the same about sweetness, but that was ordinary about a lot of people. Maybe the only thing that wasn’t was the way he thought about everything, but maybe every other person around him was secretly like that, too. He still didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse about himself. If he was anything he was a good kid, maybe, with a knack for studying and staying out of trouble and getting people to not dislike him. 

Hanzawa hummed. “Well, you’ll never know,” he said.

Tashiro stared at him, the way he kept doing ever since he accepted to position of next captain, and Hanzawa was confronted by the sudden re-realization he’d been having in the recent weeks—the openness of Tashiro’s face wasn’t the kind of simplemindedness one would laugh at but instead the kind of thing that made you feel like you were being pierced, three hundred times over. 

“I’ll find out,” Tashiro threatened, and Hanzawa didn’t meet his eyes. He hummed again, the low, droning noise floating out of his mouth into the blue sky. 

***

The next week Tashiro had slumped next to him after practice, and asked, “It’s dyed?” 

Practice today had left them both out of breath. Ping pong wasn’t a demanding sport in the way that something like basketball was, but today had been one of those off days for a couple of members, which meant it was a couple of off days for all of them, because ping pong was played in pairs and that meant that even on your worst days you were always having a conversation, in some ways, the rhythm of you and your partner bouncing back and forth and bleeding into each other. So Tashiro’s question came out a little breathless and frantic, but when Hanzawa looked over at him, he looked steady enough, taking a long sip from his water bottle, shoulders loosening as the seconds ticked on.

Hanzawa nodded, even though Tashiro wasn’t looking. His bangs curled around his eyes. He hoped they were enough to cover his expression. “I assume Miyano told you?” 

Tashiro snorted. “After I bugged him for a week straight. He’s a good kouhai, isn’t he?” 

Hanzawa tried and failed not to preen under the idea of that kind of attention. He huffed. “Unlike you, clearly.” 

“Hey, you’re looking at the captain here!” Tashiro said. “Doesn’t that mean you like me?”  

Hanzawa hummed again instead of a response. After a while he finally said, “I just thought… you’d be a good captain.” 

Tashiro grinned at the praise. “You’re a real softie at heart,” he said. “I can’t believe you dyed your hair just to look smart, though.” 

“Did it work?” Hanzawa asked. 

Tashiro shrugged. “You always look smart to me,” he said. “So maybe. But even if you lost all of your hair, I think you’d have that cunning look on your face.” 

Despite himself, Hanzawa laughed. “It’s just a lighter color,” he said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s still cool to know, though,” Tashiro said. “Like, you’ve seen my bad dye job before. But your hair always looks so nice.” 

“That’s because you wear your dyed hair out for anyone to see.” 

Tashiro stuck his tongue out. “Well, someone said I couldn’t dye it again! And I refuse to have plain black hair. It’s boring.” 

Hanzawa raised an eyebrow. 

After a few moments of desperately pretending he hadn’t just put his foot in his mouth, Tashiro buckled under the pressure and muttered, “Well, not that you’re boring. You’re super interesting, actually. Like the type of person that ends up really famous down the line.” 

“What for?” 

Tashiro shrugged. “Anything?” he said. “Maybe a novel, maybe some business. Who knows.”

Hanzawa had tried his hand at poetry once and given up in the same day. Whenever he thought about expressing himself it manifested in thoughts of blood and boiling hunger, but he was squeamish about pain and writing out even a word about how desperate he was for the magic word of intimacy was embarrassing in a way he had long decided to never face. “I couldn’t write a novel,” he said. “it’s a lot of work. Being famous in general is.” 

Tashiro sighed. “I guess someone like you might not want the attention, huh?” 

“Some attention’s fine,” Hanzawa said carefully. “Fame is different. It’s like… being inspected, over and over. Like an object.” 

The silence between them stretched a little too long. Hanzawa cleared his throat, planning to leave, but the sound that emerged from his throat wasn’t gentle but rough, long, and dry. 

“Hey,” Tashiro said, before Hanzawa had the presence of mind to be embarrassed. “You look parched.” He held out his water bottle, fingers curled around the neck. It swung between them. 

Hanzawa stared back at him. He’d been doing it a lot, nowadays, but right now he felt overwhelmed by it, just looking at everything and the hint of a smile on Tashiro’s face, the way the awkward, close feeling in his throat was loosening already, feeling like he was on the edge of many realizations that were all secretly the same one.

There’s a metaphor here, somewhere, to be pulled from the shape of Tashiro’s knuckles brushing up against his hand—something about hunger. A starving man who’s been drinking an ocean given his first sip of spring water. For now, Hanzawa was content to let that stray thought swirl along with the rest. Maybe years later he’d think about how to write it down.

Tashiro grinned as Hanzawa accepted the bottle, took a long, slow gulp. “Feeling better?” he asked.

Hanzawa stared up at his half-bleached hair and sunny smile. “Yeah,” he said, voice smooth. “Something like that.”

[dumbviolet]

जाने क्या बात है ,जाने क्या बात है 

         नींद नहीं आती बड़ी लम्बी रात है!!! 

 I laid on my bed humming this song and asking the inevitable question to myself .Maybe this is just a phase that has lasted for quite a while for now. The feeling of lagging behind of my peers. I mean yeah sure there might be people who are behind me but this self realization that hits out of nowhere that I'm repeating the same mistakes again and this might cost a little more than the last time & then calculating the cumulative damage that its gonna cause to my mental health & my career & my reputation. It becomes a lot. Just a single thought then starts attaching a chain of them & the next thing you know is that your brain is so overwhelmed by these thoughts ,it starts to find a numbing resource or anything to divert the attention from those thoughts whether it be healthy or in a really toxique downwards spiral.   

         These thoughts are of many shades...                                                                                                         Blue-The gloomy feeling because you have missed a lot of things.                                                                            Red-The anger on yourself that how come i missed these important things.                                                               Violet-The jealousy from those people who seem to have it all under control.                                                             Yellow-The anxiety of the consequences in the near future.                                                                                    Green-The guilt from committing the same mistakes over & over again.  

      Then after some time this starts to overpower the brain & in search of a stimulant it sometimes finds something sharp or something sultry & as the vital fluid drips or the skin sizzles the sensation of the pain elevates & calms the ongoing storm of thoughts & all of its shades are dissolved together to become a plain grey. This also gives one the  false relief that atleast I've punished myself for being such a useless person that I am.                                                But once the andrenalin & the pain flushes down & I realize that one moment of weakness has left a permanent scar on my body that will forever remind me of whatever led me to do that & the guilt trip once again takes the lead & continues for what seems an eternity...                                                                                                               I was so deeply stuck in this painful  periodicity of self harm that I didn't even realized how much I've blemished this beauteous & perfectly functioning body of mine.                                                                                   Nevertheless, this was about to stop. Not so long ago I met a stranger who coincidentally turned out to be my classmate & ever since this benevolent, 4ft creature has been unknowingly taking care of me . { I would just like to pause for a bit & admire the female friendships . Those who have them should always be grateful and  treasure the same} So this girl hatched a scheme with my favorite teacher & set me up for a free & most helpful therapy session of my life . My teacher to whom I'm most grateful to talked his way to my issue of self harming & as he glanced at my fresh outburst of the colourful thoughts{ as I like to call them} just said these words that will forever be embarked on my heart "Mam, whatever mistakes you make, I will still respect you, however harming the body that universe has lent to you & which is not yours to own & damage at your free will is simply committing a sin".                     As his words sinked in I realized how much I've sinned until now & then firmly resolved, not to commit another one ever. Its true that its not an easy job to snatch your brain's favorite stimulant & calm down the storm of the ugly thoughts by yourself but I've been endeavouring to indulge in some other stimulants such as singing ,  mehendi or as easy as making a paper butterfly                                                                                                        My battle isn't over yet as eventhough I've controlled  myself from executing the action of self , totally deleting the very command & the resource is gonna be the real challenge!!!

[deadlittledogs]

Could you do like a small diary entry or review of your 2022? You’re really cool btw:)

January 8th 2022, the cusp of a new year, held a lot of hope for me. The year was young and I was younger, finding myself on the plains of Southern Oregon on a small vacation with a friend. The land was flat, covered in a hearty layer of snow and ice, and the dark hills that lined the distance were dusted with a faint coating of white. We arrived exhausted but with jovial spirits, exploring the property for the first time and coming to find that the sun had quite the powerful heat to it. It burned rather hot and high, leaving my mouth dry and my lips flaking by the time we returned back to the cabin. 

A few days into our stay, I walked out onto the land alone, clad in my snow boots and a woolen sweater to keep me warm. I ventured along through the edge of the forest where the cabin sat and eventually emerged out onto the plains, walking along on a muddied trail lined with frosted sage brush and frozen wildflowers. My breath swelled into plumes of white in the space before me and a steady trickle of salt leaked from my nose. The further I ran near the river, the more oppressive the heat from the sun became, and eventually I stripped myself of the top half of my clothing and walked completely topless through the terrain. My shoulders flushed a heady rose color and my skin itched under the powerful force of the sky. It had been quite some time since my body had come to touch the light.

I came to stop under an eagles nest that was perched upon a wooden power line by the edge of the river and watched as they flew from their spot and into the forest that edged the flatlands; shrinking from two great beast in the sky to small, insignificant specks swirling off by green hills and puffy billows of clouds. I collected their feathers that had been caught in the brush and prayed, feeling fulfilled, spiritual, enlightened. It was almost enough to give me purpose in that moment. To lay nude upon the stretch of blanketed snow, in a land so similar to my ancestors but yet so different, blessed with small givings, I felt my heart soar with meaning.

Later in that week I fed horses grass biscuits from my palm and visited a Buffalo farm, every morning my friend and I loaded kindling into the wood stove to provide heat and I’d spend the hours gazing out the window and watching as time shifted the land through many different phases. It wasn’t a perfect trip and I had cried under those country stars more often than once, but still, I had hope.

I couldn’t fathom things getting much worse than they already were, and here, in the prairie, the concept of hope, love, and forgiveness seemed so much more palpable. I had seen eagles soar and smelled simmering woodsmoke, had seen the horizon clear of fog and the mountains turned pink from the setting sun. I had felt the desert heat and the chilled valley wind on the flesh of my breast, had seen a sky so clear of city light that the stars seemed to sparkle like a deep, black pool of shimmering river rocks.

 I could survive, I thought, I could be happy one day, somewhere simpler. 

It was unfortunate that instead, things became more complicated. It was the last time I’d see that particular friend for more than 24 hours. I spent the next 11 months afterwards in a state of despair, crying heedlessly into the night, drenching my pillow with all my sorrows and blustering myself into a mean, ugly rash.

I learned what it meant to have your heart broken, to be at a stand still without ever moving forward. I found myself for the first time, in a long time, completely and tremendously alone. I did nothing, accomplished nothing, and hated myself every moment through it. I felt the hope inside me, the prairie that had slowly begun to thaw, gradually freeze over into a thick sheet of ice. 

I have never in my life been so devoid of dreams. 

Now as the year has come to an end and I find myself miles from that valley of snow and sage, I realize that I am lost. 

There is something in this world that has pierced through my starving, gaping mouth like a metal hook, that has ripped me from my river and gutted my weeping, bleeding organs out onto the rocky shoreline. It hurts stupendously to have been emptied like that, to have been feasted on only to have been spat right back out. 

My hopes for 2023 are minimal now that my expectations have been lowered, since my time is too consumed with licking my own wounds than dreaming of something grander. I hope in 2023 I can eat tasty food. I hope maybe, just maybe, I could visit the desert again. I hope I can muster the courage to meet the horses on the property next door. I hope I can swim in the river this summer without drowning. I hope I can go to another pow-wow and see the dancers and hear the rhythm of drums.

It is wise to be hopeful and even if I can’t be right now, I know someday it’ll be possible again. I know someday it might not hurt.

[simpleasyouplease]

Westsail notes from Mike

Westsail notes from mike

They are. The first building is the Placentia Ave location, the second is the old Columbia facility on Mc Cormick Place, and the third is the east coat, Wrightsville Beach, NC location. The rest jump around, most are Placentia, but there are some from the original Kendall Yachts company—you can tell by the flush deck, what Wm. Atkins called his “Thistle”, the balance are the Bill Crealock “Eric” deck. There are also some pics of a company called Crystaliner. This is where the Sam Morse Bristol Channel Cutter ended up being built. Sam started at the Dreadnaught yard up in Danta Barbara, but moved to Newport after the 2nd or 3rd Boat. Most of those photos were taken by S. Snyder Vick. I remember a lot of them being taken. I also recognize a familiar face or two. Even though the boat was outdated, there is something ‘Salty’ and romantic about the Colin Archer design.

This was, I think, the plug for the Crealock ‘Eric’ deck. I just finished all the little videos. I don’t know if the movie was ever completed. The other, with Bud Taplin was interesting, if not wholly accurate. Taplin is/was a complete ‘hand job’. He cried when we fired him. He was given dozens of ‘warnings’, but he refused to comply. Now he’s dressed himself up and poses as ‘Mr. Westsail’. Taplin couldn’t grasp the idea of production boats, and wanted to build each one as a custom. They claim over 1100 built, but I think that’s a little bit higher than the truth. I called Taplin a few years ago, and he pretended he didn’t know who I was. Even though he was banging his ugly wife, Paula, in the next berth on a trip down to Mexico, while I faked being asleep. It was pretty disgusting. I seemed to have faded out of the scenery after I left with most of the money. There is a picture or two of a much thinner me in the brochure with the green cover. I’m fine with being in the background. I’ll let someone else make the comments. Taplin knows all of what I said above. The ‘wood’ deck is a flush deck Kendall. There was no mold for that. There are about 5 flush deck Kendall/Westsail out there. People started calling their Kendall’s Westsail because the resale was better.

Google Mike Bradshaw Westsail, I think I should turn up there. I had to step in as National Sales Manager after a Jerry quit suddenly.

I think that particular flush deck was a boat named ‘Senta To’, that was built for Gene and Carol Soma in the SF Bay Area.

Somethings you just remember. I think I told you the story where Snyder and I went to SF on our last dime, and I got the buyers to pay more money than they owed ? And we had to wait until the next day to cash their check so we could fly home ? That was Gene and Carol, so that’s why I remember.

S. Snyder Vick was my ‘partner’ in Electro Controls. E.C. Bought Kendall at an I.R.S. Auction, but Snyder ended up with controlling interest because his wife’s company, Impact Advertising also bought a piece of it. We also had some investment from Tom Byers and Ron Kinsling. Ron went on to help me fund the startup of Flicka. Snyder was an heir to the Vick Chemical Company, (Vaporub), and Rexall Drug fortunes. But he refused any financial help from his family, although we later used some of his dads stocks, along with my house, as collateral for a bank loan. Lynn and Snyder were the big “front” people for Westsail.

Snyder and Lynn now live up in Washington near the Canadian border, and have a W42.

Kendall and his gigantic, fat wife, were semi-Hippies who lived in a Westfailia van. They had 4 or 5 friends who all wanted to go cruising in a Colin Archer. They all chipped in to build the first hull mold. They then all took their hulls to various vacant lots around Costa Mesa/Newport to build out their flush deck Kendall’s. Larry Kendall decided to start a company and build completed boats, which was a disaster because the VW van was also their office and house. And they were building in someone’s backyard. They built maybe 7/8 boats, and as many hills before the IRS seized them for not forwarding the employees withholding monies. The IRS has no sense of humor when it comes to that. We bought the assets at the auction, which included 3 boats in various stages of completion, along with all the patterns, tooling and the hull mold, which was in really bad shape because it had been sitting outside for a while. We soon built a new, better one, an moved it to Christaliner’s facility. The cost from IRS was $1,800 in 1970 dollars.

Linda was Kendall’s wife’s name. She was a really loathsome human being.

We made a hull, and used it as a plug. We added things like a flange to mount the deck to, we continued to use a split mold, but made changes to make it easier to form a proper seam.

I googled mb and found westsail.org. Just you name, but did see Chris Charly posted on the westsail face book

"Hans Weerman - replaced Bud Taplin as production manager."

Which I know you said you had to work hard to make happen....

Sorry

Chris Carley - 1972-~1978 Carpenter, rigger, foreman of 42/43 Westsail line, delivery/trouble shooter ex-owner of W43 Music (former Teresa J, ex Kalokagathia)...For the couple of years that I ran the 42/43 line we built boats for the manager of ZZ Top, Walter Cronkite, and one of the Kennedy clan.

The Kennedy guy was Perry Auchincloss, I don’t know how to spell it, he was Jackie Kennedy’s half brother.

Hans was a Dutchman that had worked for many years with Columbia Yachts. Very capable. He later through some of his family, bought the dying Westsail with the intention of reviving it and moving some production to the Netherlands. It was too late, and lacked the motivational zeal of two kids trying to stay alive. Taplin is a Putz.

We had 250 employees. 300 if you count the east coast. It was hard

The 32 has 1,300 man hours to build. One of our points of contention was that I felt the real hours should be 1/2 to 1/3 of that. My wife feels I’m not spending enough time with her tonight, so I’ll catch up to you tomorrow

Westsail notes from mike via text nov 12 2017

http://m.imdb.com/title/tt4960890 westsail

https://youtu.be/xB9xIAMBdEk

Me-Have you seen this?

Were these your photos?

Si strange to see boats being built outside!

Not the east coast or U.K. That's for sure.

Hi from sunny. And windy FLORIDA

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/westsail-the-world-documentary#/

They are. The first building is the Placentia Ave location, the second is the old Columbia facility on Mc Cormick Place, and the third is the east coat, Wrightsville Beach, NC location. The rest jump around, most are Placentia, but there are some from the original Kendall Yachts company—you can tell by the flush deck, what Wm. Atkins called his “Thistle”, the balance are the Bill Crealock “Eric” deck. There are also some pics of a company called Crystaliner. This is where the Sam Morse Bristol Channel Cutter ended up being built. Sam started at the Dreadnaught yard up in Danta Barbara, but moved to Newport after the 2nd or 3rd Boat. Most of those photos were taken by S. Snyder Vick. I remember a lot of them being taken. I also recognize a familiar face or two. Even though the boat was outdated, there is something ‘Salty’ and romantic about the Colin Archer design.



Here it is again. Wood deck fiberglass over. Was it a owner finish?

This was, I think, the plug for the Crealock ‘Eric’ deck. I just finished all the little videos. I don’t know if the movie was ever completed. The other, with Bud Taplin was interesting, if not wholly accurate. Taplin is/was a complete ‘hand job’. He cried when we fired him. He was given dozens of ‘warnings’, but he refused to comply. Now he’s dressed himself up and poses as ‘Mr. Westsail’. Taplin couldn’t grasp the idea of production boats, and wanted to build each one as a custom. They claim over 1100 built, but I think that’s a little bit higher than the truth. I called Taplin a few years ago, and he pretended he didn’t know who I was. Even though he was banging his ugly wife, Paula, in the next berth on a trip down to Mexico, while I faked being asleep. It was pretty disgusting. I seemed to have faded out of the scenery after I left with most of the money. There is a picture or two of a much thinner me in the brochure with the green cover. I’m fine with being in the background. I’ll let someone else make the comments. Taplin knows all of what I said above. The ‘wood’ deck is a flush deck Kendall. There was no mold for that. There are about 5 flush deck Kendall/Westsail out there. People started calling their Kendall’s Westsail because the resale was better.

Google Mike Bradshaw Westsail, I think I should turn up there. I had to step in as National Sales Manager after a Jerry quit suddenly.

I think that particular flush deck was a boat named ‘Senta To’, that was built for Gene and Carol Soma in the SF Bay Area.

Somethings you just remember. I think I told you the story where Snyder and I went to SF on our last dime, and I got the buyers to pay more money than they owed ? And we had to wait until the next day to cash their check so we could fly home ? That was Gene and Carol, so that’s why I remember.

S. Snyder Vick was my ‘partner’ in Electro Controls. E.C. Bought Kendall at an I.R.S. Auction, but Snyder ended up with controlling interest because his wife’s company, Impact Advertising also bought a piece of it. We also had some investment from Tom Byers and Ron Kinsling. Ron went on to help me fund the startup of Flicka. Snyder was an heir to the Vick Chemical Company, (Vaporub), and Rexall Drug fortunes. But he refused any financial help from his family, although we later used some of his dads stocks, along with my house, as collateral for a bank loan. Lynn and Snyder were the big “front” people for Westsail.

Kendall and his gigantic, fat wife, were semi-Hippies who lived in a Westfailia van. They had 4 or 5 friends who all wanted to go cruising in a Colin Archer. They all chipped in to build the first hull mold. They then all took their hulls to various vacant lots around Costa Mesa/Newport to build out their flush deck Kendall’s. Larry Kendall decided to start a company and build completed boats, which was a disaster because the VW van was also their office and house. And they were building in someone’s backyard. They built maybe 7/8 boats, and as many hills before the IRS seized them for not forwarding the employees withholding monies. The IRS has no sense of humor when it comes to that. We bought the assets at the auction, which included 3 boats in various stages of completion, along with all the patterns, tooling and the hull mold, which was in really bad shape because it had been sitting outside for a while. We soon built a new, better one, an moved it to Christaliner’s facility. The cost from IRS was $1,800 in 1970 dollars.

Snyder and Lynn now live up in Washington near the Canadian border, and have a W42.

Kendall and his gigantic, fat wife, were semi-Hippies who lived in a Westfailia van. They had 4 or 5 friends who all wanted to go cruising in a Colin Archer. They all chipped in to build the first hull mold. They then all took their hulls to various vacant lots around Costa Mesa/Newport to build out their flush deck Kendall’s. Larry Kendall decided to start a company and build completed boats, which was a disaster because the VW van was also their office and house. And they were building in someone’s backyard. They built maybe 7/8 boats, and as many hills before the IRS seized them for not forwarding the employees withholding monies. The IRS has no sense of humor when it comes to that. We bought the assets at the auction, which included 3 boats in various stages of completion, along with all the patterns, tooling and the hull mold, which was in really bad shape because it had been sitting outside for a while. We soon built a new, better one, an moved it to Christaliner’s facility. The cost from IRS was $1,800 in 1970 dollars.

Linda was Kendall’s wife’s name. She was a really loathsome human being.

Me-Did you use much from the Kendall? Was the hull just a copy or a new plug?

We made a hull, and used it as a plug. We added things like a flange to mount the deck to, we continued to use a split mold, but made changes to make it easier to form a proper seam.

Me-I googled mb and found westsail.org. Just you name, but did see Chris Charly posted on the westsail face book

"Hans Weerman - replaced Bud Taplin as production manager."

Which I know you said you had to work hard to make happen....

Me-Sorry Chris Carley - 1972-~1978 Carpenter, rigger, foreman of 42/43 Westsail line, delivery/trouble shooter ex-owner of W43 Music (former Teresa J, ex Kalokagathia)...For the couple of years that I ran the 42/43 line we built boats for the manager of ZZ Top, Walter Cronkite, and one of the Kennedy clan.

The Kennedy guy was Perry Auchincloss, I don’t know how to spell it, he was Jackie Kennedy’s half brother.

Hans was a Dutchman that had worked for many years with Columbia Yachts. Very capable. He later through some of his family, bought the dying Westsail with the intention of reviving it and moving some production to the Netherlands. It was too late, and lacked the motivational zeal of two kids trying to stay alive. Taplin is a Putz.

We had 250 employees. 300 if you count the east coast. It was hard

The 32 has 1,300 man hours to build. One of our points of contention was that I felt the real hours should be 1/2 to 1/3 of that. My wife feels I’m not spending enough time with her tonight, so I’ll catch up to you tomorrow

[endlessymphony]

Could I please get a fluffy 👒 with Draco Malfoy? Possibly something sixth year or later?

yeah of course! :)

you melt my heart.

draco malfoy x reader

summary - draco basically hates everyone but you; no plot... just fluff

warnings - some light cussing (as usual)

a/n - ok y’all are really making me like mr malfoy lately

draco malfoy, the platinum blonde hard-ass with what seems to be a heart of stone. well... for everyone but you.

somehow you had weaselled your way into his heart during sixth year- everything you did brought a smile to his face, a faint blush adorning his cheeks whenever you were near, and his once suave way of talking was hindered by nerves. the second someone pointed it out, however, he immediately began chewing them out

the first time you ‘met’- you had run into him after class, staring down at the rubric in your hands for the essay that was due in two weeks time when you bumped shoulders with someone. “shit! i’m so sorry.” you called out in surprise as you looked up to see who it was, almost immediately regretting your whole existence once you recognized him. surprisingly he just shrugged and continued on with his day instead of tearing a hole into you, like he would’ve done to anyone else.

it wasn’t uncommon for his demeanour to instantly change when he saw you, face softening and brows unfurrowing- even if he was pissed off at potter. seeing you made the sun shine a bit brighter, the air sweeter, and his mood improving.

today happened to be on the colder side, the weather being quite on and off lately, so you decided to throw on a sweater after classes. the rain lightly tapped on the window as you began on your potions homework, tapping the end of your quill against your cheek. essays were always hard to start, but you were adamant on getting a better mark then your know-it-all boyfriend, so you knew that you had figure something out eventually.

you decided you needed a break to think about the wording, putting the quill down and leaned back in your chair, stretching slightly before turning back to your paper and sighing. then came a knock at the door, you turned your head and smiled when you recognized the tall figure in your doorway.

“how lovely of you to come see me.” you mused, “i wanted to see if you needed any help with the potions essay.” he replied, a small smirk coming to his lips as he knew exactly what you were doing. procrastinating.

“well, i’m actually all set with that.” you said with false confidence as you looked back at your desk where your essay was, or well, the lack of it. draco shut the door behind him, walking closer to you. “oh yeah? let’s see what you have so far.”

“i don’t need you to cheat off of me, malfoy.”you flipped the parchment over, pretending as if you had something written. “and why would i cheat off of you?” he raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on the back of your chair before noticing the sweater you were wearing.

“is that...” “your sweater?” you cut him off, “yeah, it is. don’t you think it suits me?” you gaze up at him with doe-like eyes, trying to avoid any scolding that may be coming your way. he chuckled slightly, and your stomach felt like it had just dropped. ‘maybe he thinks i look ugly?’ your inner anxious voice took over.

“you look beautiful.” draco answered simply, “the green compliments your skin quite nicely.” you attempted to control the flush that was growing across your face. “...really?” your voice was soft, and you were hesitant.

he brought a hand up to gently cup your cheek, “really.” draco’s signature smirk faded into a sweet smile, something only you saw, and even then it was rare. you melted into his touch, leaning your head into his hand.

“i know you haven’t started on your essay yet.” he said softly, and your eyes snapped open, face heating up even more. “shit.” was all you could muster, and of course it came out mumbled. he pulled his hand away from your face, “why don’t we take a break together, and i can help you with it afterwards, yeah?” draco offered, still smiling as he offered to help you up out of your chair.

you nodded, graciously taking his hand and standing up. “where are we off to?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “nowhere too far.” was the only response you got, as he swung you over his shoulder. you let out a sound of surprise, beginning to giggle.

draco walked a few steps before he dropped you onto your bed, clambering onto it and laying his head on your chest. “well... this was closer than i expected.” you said with a laugh, beginning to run your hand through his hair.

he hummed softly, gently toying with the bottom of your sweater as the both of you began to relax in each other’s embraces. “you make me soft... a huge sap, i swear i’ve never felt like this with anyone but you.” draco said, voice muffled by your shirt. “i’m very aware that you’re the bad boy who hates everyone but me.” you tease, ruffling his hair. he lets out a grumble of protest, but doesn’t do much to stop you. “i’ve known it since the day we met.” going back to twirling the soft strands around your fingers.

“you melt my heart, y/n. i love you.”

“i love you too, draco.”

🏷- @miss-starkov @seekinglumos @wizardwheezes @elevatorsdoor

join my taglist ˗ˏˋ here ! ˎˊ˗

[softer-ua]

I was thinking about how Katsuki has never seen Deku in the hospital before and how Deku might be surprised to see him, and how that would probably hurt Katsukis feelings.

Then I decided to be self-indulgent and write the scene out. It was supposed to be short but I got super self-indulgent, because I like making Katsuki feel and making it hurt 🥰

I don’t wanna be unexpected

Deku carefully cracks open his eyes slowly taking in a dark unfamiliar ceiling and the heavy aching of his limbs, he isn’t fully cast anymore but a routine stiffness that tells him he had been.

 He’s grown used to this routine over the last year, he doesn’t even bother trying to sit up. Instead, he just scans the room the best he can from his semi-horizontal position. 

Turning his head to the left he sees an empty visiting chair and a small window letting in the city’s lights. It’s the only light the room has so it must be well into the middle of the night. 

Continuing to the right he sees a small nightstand filled with get-well cards and gifts. It brings a smile to his cracked lips, he’d most certainly cry if his body had the water to spare. 

If you told Deku a year ago that he’d get into UA he might have believed you, but never in a million years would he believe you if you told him he was on friendly terms with at least 1/3 of all of UA’s hero course students. 

Sometimes that felt like the most unbelievable part of everything. Having his idol pass his legacy to him to beat an ancient evil? Crazy but within the realm of his imagination. 

Making close friends with half his class and being at a minimum a positive acquaintance to most of his peers? It was almost unthinkable for a kid who’d spent his whole life being scorned and left out by even his teachers. 

Choked up by his feelings, Deku tries to swallow the painful lump forming in his throat. He’s worried so many people and let them down by getting hospitalized yet again. 

He’s too dehydrated to cry but he can’t help the dry cracked warble that escapes him. It takes a concentrated effort to clear his throat and not break down completely. It wouldn’t be cathartic at this moment, just painful. 

A small groan from the foot of his bed pulls his attention away from reading what he could of the cards. 

What he sees doesn’t instantly register with his groggy mind. That’s not uncommon, usually, the longer he’s out the more disoriented he is upon waking, his body might have made a full recovery but the brain takes longer to re-engage with its surroundings. 

Deku doesn’t expect to see Kacchan of all people in his hospital room at all, let alone when he first wakes up in the dead of night, but the blonde tuft of hair sticking up from a familiar orange hoodie turned makeshift pillow cradled in well-toned arms makes the figure resting over the edge of his hospital bed unmistakable 

Deku would know that pale face pinched into a grimace anywhere. 

It adds to the layer of confusion he’s grown used to as part of waking up hospitalized. It also adds a layer of dread and an equal amount of relief. Things must be pretty bad if Kacchan is here, but Kacchan is here and he looks completely whole. It’s a best worst-case scenario. 

Kacchan lets out a small grunt as he pushes his face deeper into orange cotton. Deku’s heart squeezes at the sight of the blonde's obvious discomfort. 

Kacchan should be at home sleeping in a real bed, not hunched over in a visitor chair clutching a hoodie for a pillow. 

Without thinking Deku calls out “Kacchan?”, his voice just above a whisper, a selfish part of him hopes Kacchan will stay asleep a little longer. That he’ll stay where Deku can see him and knows he’s okay. But he knows it’s selfish. So he calls again a little louder, his voice hoarse and scratchy from lack of use. 

The blonde shoots up, eyes near frantic as he looks around before red irises settle their sites on him with more concern than Deku ever remembers seeing on Kacchan. Well, at least outside a fight and directed at him.

He hopes they're not about to fight, but when it comes to Kacchans temperament… well he’d be a fool to dismiss the possibility of it. 

For a moment all Kacchan does is stare at him. It makes something cold and heavy settle in his stomach. Nothing scares Kacchan, and yet he looks completely shaken. 

“Deku? Are you really awake this time?” Katsuki tries to not make his whisper sound as desperate as he feels. There’s no point getting worked up over another dream or worse a still drug-addled Deku, but this Deku seems to recognize him for the first time, and although tired his green eyes shined with a level of coherency that’s been missing for a few days now.

Katsukis’s chest grew tight seeing it. It paled in comparison to the glimmer of brilliance that usually shone in those beautiful emeralds, but when compared to the unfocused glazed look he had been sporting the last few days? Well, Katsuki thought he just might collapse with relief. 

This is what he’d been waiting for, Deku’s been physically healed for at least 2 days now but consciously he’s been pretty touch and go. “Uh, I think so?” That’s definitely not the kinda question Deku had been expecting, but he has his own question he wants to get to before they get into that. 

Pushing through the dry burning in his throat Deku rattled off the most pressing questions. “How are you feeling? Is everyone okay? Did LOV getaway? What’s going on?” 

Annoyance flashes in Katsukis’s eyes before quieting with acceptance, of course, the nerd wants to know how everyone else is and the current status. Katsuki wanted the same when he first woke up, they were heroes in training, after all. Their own lives would always take a backseat to their self-appointed responsibilities. 

“Hold on. You sound like sh– not good.” Katsuki got up and got the nerd a cup of water and then helped him sit upright, trying to decide on what to tell him. Completely missing the way Deku flushed at his uncharacteristic gentleness. 

Katsuki decided on the bare minimum. 

“I don’t wanna talk about that sh- not good fight right now. All you need to know is that everyone is fine. You’re the only one still layed up, worrying everyone half to death. You’ve been out for almost a week, you woke up a few times but you were all loopy calling people by the wrong names.” 

Calling him by the wrong name. Deku must have said an incoherent hello to half the class only sometimes guessing who he was speaking to correctly or just talking to no one at all before immediately falling back asleep. Deku had of course asked about him more than a few times but not once did the bastard see him sitting right in front of him. 

It had taken every ounce of willpower Katsuki possessed to not throttle him, but he’d promised All Might that for the sake of Auntie Inko he wouldn’t upset the nerd. 

The pride Katsuki had just momentarily taken in thinking to get Deku water, the gentleness he took help the dweeb sit up, and managing not to swear when recounting the transgressions to boot turned ashen when he saw the way Deku shied away with guilt. 

A stubborn part of him felt righteous and believed Deku should feel guilty, a larger part felt a sense of failure in breaking his promise to All Might literally the first time he actually spoke to Deku. 

“Wait, if everyone else is okay what are you doing here?” Deku feels himself relaxing despite his guilt, contentment settling in the spaces where trepidation previously roosted, he trusted Kacchan to be honest. 

If he says everything’s fine then it is, but the lack of pressing news makes Kacchan passed out at the end of his bed even more confusing. 

The painkillers he’s on make thinking feel like everything’s ruining through Windows 95’, he can practically hear his brain's fan whirring. His mind can’t really pull up fresh thoughts, just old truths, Kacchans never visited before and he apparently has no reason to now.

Katsuki sighs as he slumps back into his chair. Deku’s still clearly confused and he isn’t sure he has the energy to repeat himself right now, then considering how he failed the first time he decides might as well try.

“Everyone is fine, everything is as fine as it can be at the moment. You’re in the hospital recovering from the fight with supercharged crusty mcdusty, but you are also apparently going to be fine” Dekus staring at him like he has two heads so he keeps talking. “The league is being dealt with, I’m not talking about the fighting until tomorrow at the earliest, neither of us is in shape for that conversation and I don’t know much myself yet”

Deku’s pinch brows and slight pout tell him he’s got questions, questions he can’t answer. Anytime he even thinks about how the fight went down he feels like he’s going to explode.

Trying to reign in every ounce of self control he possesses he slumps further in his chair rubbing his face and counts to five. Then kicks Dekus hospital bed for good measure, before speaking again.

“Deku just rest, you're clearly still out of it and I don’t wanna repeat myself a third time.” Seriously how many other ways can he say everything is, by a very loose definition, fine. How much clearer can he make it that he’s not giving anything else up?

“Uh you didn’t have to repeat yourself? I believed you the first time, Kacchan” Deku couldn’t help but feel like Kacchan was purposely misinterpreting his question, but why? It shouldn’t be a hard question, he’d really only asked to make conversation and clear up some brain cobwebs.

“Then why did you ask–“ Something ugly and broken twists in Katsuki’s gut as he slowly repeated Dekus' question in his head ‘what are you doing here’.

“I just didn’t expect to see you here if you didn’t have to be.”

Deku wasn’t, hadn’t been, asking why someone was there with him but why he, Katsuki, was there. Deku wanted to know why he was here instead of literally anyone else. Deku didn’t know that Katsuki had basically taken up permanent residence in here with him, probably couldn’t see the cot laying at the foot of his bed.

White-hot rage coursed through him in an instant, after everything they went through Deku thought he’d just ditch him to some extras in scrubs? Katsuki had a bad temper on good sleep, exhausted he was ready to put Deku back in a coma.

He struggled with the feeling of his palms heating, but the second before he felt like detonating Katsuki caught Deku’s eyes in full.

As always they show everything the nerds feeling and the familiarity soothes him in a way he can’t explain. Doesn’t ever want to explain.

It used to drive him up the wall like Deku was purposely giving him messages in a language he couldn’t read. Shoving in his face how inadequate he is in comparison.

Katsuki knows now that’s not the case and over the last few months, he’s actually been learning how to read Deku for the first time in his life.

And he’s discovering that even though it’s an advanced read for him he likes the challenge and even more he likes the victorious warmth that spreads down to his toes when he can tell just what Dekus is thinking without any words.

Right now Deku does look slightly confused and yet still so open and trusting, and his crooked shy smile proves that he is actually happy Katsukis here. His confusion is just that, confusion.

Always glad to see him, always caught off guard by his presence.

As much as the familiarity soothed the recognition hurt.

A couple of months on good terms doesn’t erase all the bad years, he knows this, he’s told himself as much a dozen-plus times.

He’s never visited Deku in the infirmary or the hospital before now.

At first just because his stubborn pride insisted that he couldn’t show weakness/care for someone else because he was above them all, that he had to constantly act like Deku was below him. Even when he recognized Deku as a rival he didn’t visit, partly because of lingering pride but mostly because he felt like he didn’t deserve to.

He was too much of a coward/slave to his pride to risk being turned away.

This time he hadn’t even considered Deku might not want him, he had just selfishly insisted he stay by his side for his own peace of mind.

To see Deku wanted him here but couldn’t understand why Katsuki would want to be here himself left his fingers feeling numb as all the adrenaline drained out of him.

Deku studied Kacchan intently, his explosive rival had turned to him and risen half out his chair looking like he was about to shout at him but when their eyes locked the words had apparently died on his tongue.

Now Kacchan was just staring at him with an unreadable expression entirely unmoving after he plopped back in his seat, never breaking eye contact. It was clear now that Kacchan hadn’t understood his question at first but now he seemed lost at how to answer.

Deku wanted to wait for Kacchan to speak but experience told him he shouldn’t hold his breath.

Besides it was late, as much as he desperately didn’t want him to go, Kacchan should be safely asleep in his own room. It’d be selfish to ask him to stay.

Kacchan probably hadn’t meant to stay as late as he did, he was just prone to falling asleep wherever he was once 9 pm rolled around. Deku knew first hand that Auntie Mitsuki had a very strict bedtime policy that had long been physically instilled into Kacchans psyche.

“Kacchan, it’s late you should head back to the dorms and get some real sleep. I feel fine.” At the sudden incredulous tweak of a blonde eyebrow, Deku rushed to elaborate, “I mean I'm of course tired, and a sore but I feel whole. This is a familiar routine for me, I’m okay.”

Katsuki thought back to what he told All Might a lifetime ago, “he never considers himself”.

Here Deku was laying in a hospital bed concerned about his sleep and knowing just what he wanted/needed to hear, that Deku was okay, straight from the source.

It’s all he’d wanted to hear for almost a week now and he had to press his lips shut into a tight line to keep the embarrassing whimper he felt clawing at his throat from escaping.

“I know that you can go to the front desk and the attendant will call for a UA shuttle, doesn’t matter the time, Todoroki has left as late as 3 am”

Oh if that didn’t have something ugly snapping its jaws and thirsty for blood inside Katsuki. At heart, he’s always been explosively petty.

As much comfort as Todoroki being almost equally worried about Deku had been over the last week anytime anyone so much as even accidentally hinted at the ways Katsuki had failed to be there for Deku before now had him seeing red.

Reminding him how others had stepped up and into the places, Katsuki felt he should have been, felt like a slap in the face. But coming from Deku the anger he felt turned inward.

Where he usually saw red, all he saw was green. Not the warm emerald hue of Deku sitting in front of him, but dark bitter jealous green.

Petulant ‘whys’ clawed at his ribs. Why did people who’d only know Deku for a year have a more prominent roles in the nerds life than he did after knowing him forever, why did Deku have to like those extras so damn much, why didn’t he realize sooner how important Deku was, why did he have to care about any of that at all, why did Deku have to bring up that goddamn candy cane, why did Deku want to send him away, why wasn’t Deku even half as desperate to stay by his side as he was, why why why?!

He voiced none of these thoughts, instead just continued staring grumpily ahead. Hoping Deku didn’t notice how heavy his breathing had gotten or how he tightened his grip on the chair's armrests.

Deku took another sip of water before continuing. “I’m happy you’re here, really, it means a lot to me.” He let a genuine full smile slip on his face, he didn’t want Kacchan thinking he wasn’t grateful for his presence.

He really was happy that Kacchan was the first person he got to see upon waking up.

Circumstantial or not the fact that Kacchan was here with him now was a deep comfort to him and a pleasant way to wake up. Usually, it was to his classmates' forced positivity or his overly fussy weeping mother and that never got easier to deal with. As confusing as the change was it was a nice one. And he told him as much.

Why did Deku always know exactly what to say to people? When he, Katsuki Bakugo, couldn’t say anything at all.

Normally the instant relief his body felt at Deku’s words just pissed him off, but tonight exhaustion took its toll.

He felt the tears he’d been fighting all week fall hot and sticky down his cheeks, embarrassment shame and guilt tinted his face a splotchy pink. When he felt the lump in his throat give way to a choked hiccup he didn’t just crack, he shattered.

Ugly sobs racked through him and he buried his face in his hands and dug his fingers into his hair.

Why was the only familiar part of this him breaking down in front of Deku? He’s known Deku his whole life. He should have been the first and last person in Deku’s hospital room every time from the very beginning if for nothing more than obligation. Any one of those times could have been the last time.

Deku would have slipped away from him, and Katsuki would have been one of the last ones to know.

He hadn’t because he knew it’d always end up like this, him blubbering like a baby over Dekus hospital bed and he couldn’t risk it before. Too desperate to keep that little voice inside him that picks apart his every sign of weakness quiet.

It never goes away and UA had made it so much louder, he couldn’t give more feed to the fire. That’s exactly what Deku does to him.

On bad days Katsuki feels the little claws of insecurity scratching at his brain comparing him to Deku, that Deku’s surpassing him because he’s weak and he’s going to get left behind, he’s going to be forgotten.

On equally bad days he surpasses Deku completely and the voice switches gears, telling him he doesn’t deserve Dekus praises. That he’s a hopeless brat with an oversized ego and Deku’s words are empty. Katsuki hasn’t earned them, and he never will, Deku’s just placating him.

Katsuki doesn’t have good days.

Why did he even care though, Deku has seen him cry a dozen times and never once has it changed anything, hell Deku cries all the time.

But Deku’s never been debilitated by crying the way he is, Deku always keeps moving like he doesn’t even notice he’s crying. But he, Katsuki, can barely breathe around his tears.

Because he’s weak and a coward and everything Dekus not. Deku’s light years ahead of him in being a better person and by proxy a better hero and he’s never going to catch up.

Delirious with exhaustion Katsukis thoughts keep spiraling out of his control, growing more and more vicious.

He doesn’t even deserve to call himself Dekus' rival, Deku’s going to leave him behind, Deku’s going to keep taking on the world by himself because he’s not strong enough to fight alongside him, Dekus going to get himself killed and it’s all his fault. He’s hyperventilating through his sobs now.

“Wha- Kacchan, what’s wrong?” Deku suppressed a small groan at stretching stiff unused muscles as his scrambled brain had him lurch forward to grasp Kacchans wrists, he can see where blunt nails dig into his scalp. Gently as he could, Deku replaces callused hands with his crooked ones.

“Hey look at me.” He lifted Kacchans head to meet his eyes and took deep slow dramatic breaths encouraging Kacchan to match his breathing. Red eyes frantically scanned his face and clutched his wrists tightly like a lifeline, desperate that Deku doesn’t pull away.

Slowly their breathing synchronized, the tears kept flowing though, Deku was certain he was crying now too but he made no move to confirm this. He just kept watching Kacchan, keeping his own breathing steady. This wasn’t the first time he’s had Kacchan match his breathing, but it is the first time he’s been this close and this obvious about it. Then again Kacchans never looked this desperate.

In the past when he’s noticed Kacchans breathing has sped up and his gaze looks far away he’ll nonchalantly sit down next to him like he hasn’t noticed Kacchans problem at all, then he’ll practice his own breathing exercises a little louder than would be considered polite. Consciously or not Kacchan follows suit.

He’d learned the tactic when he was 7 from his mom helping one of their neighbors on the way to the store, a very nice lady he called Auntie Kay. She had some kind of disorder that gave her bad anxiety and had apparently forgotten to take meds that morning and got overwhelmed by the noise. His mom used to be an assisted living caregiver before she became, well his mom, so she had experience with this kind of thing.

Later she explained what she’d been doing. That you're someone they have a long history of trusting you don’t want to get in their space, just reaffirm to them that they’re safe and try to get them to slow their breathing, focus on breathing out.

1, because It’s hard to concentrate if you don’t feel safe. 2, the human body doesn’t know if it has enough oxygen, it knows if it’s getting enough air and if it has too much carbon dioxide in it, and you breathe out carbon dioxide.

That day his mom was like a mini hero, saving the day with a smile. It made him more aware that there’s more to being a hero than just fighting villains, it’s about saving people.

He can’t fight villains from a hospital bed, he could still be there for others. He could be there for Kacchan.

After a minute he hesitantly thumbed away the freshest tears but that seemed to just make things worse as another sob racked through Kacchan and he tightened his grip on his wrists. It wasn’t until Kacchan finally spoke and he reflexively snapped his jaw shut that Deku realized he’d been making soft shushing noises.

Katsuki tightened his grip on Deku’s wrists as he choked on one last sob thinking that Deku was finally pulling away, but when he just continued to thumb his tears away and making soft little noises he let himself believe Deku wasn’t going to dismiss him again.

Katsukis never let himself be comforted like this by anyone, not even as a child, but he was too tired to fight it, too distraught to care about how selfish he’s sure he’s being, and too certain that Deku was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

He’s confronted his own mortality a few times this year but none of it had compared to being confronted in real-time with Dekus. Living with Deku so close to death over the last week had taken its toll on everyone but Katsuki especially had been unraveling more and more each day.

The first day he’d been ready to bring the entire hospital down if he didn’t get to Deku’s side immediately. It only got worse from there.

He’d grown more cantankerous than he’d ever been, but the fire in him had been dying out. By the time Deku first woke up and didn’t recognize him the only thing he’d say to anyone was the same mumbled shut up, only sometimes accompanied by half-hearted sparks daring anyone to try to remove him from the room.

Auntie Inko was distraught too but she had let All Might take her home after that first visit and encouraged her to rest there saying something about how no mother should have to see this side of hero work or whatever.

The doctors were probably just worried about what all those tears might do to their equipment, Katsuki certainly had been even if he hadn’t said so.

Katsuki had promised Inko he’d stay by Deku’s' side, she’d looked conflicted about something but they both silently agreed that was a discussion for another day.

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say now but desperately feels like he needs to say something.

He’s terrified it’ll all come out wrong and freak Deku out, Deku who just woke up for real for the first time! He’s terrified of saying nothing and losing his chance to say anything at all because Deku just woke up for real for the first time in a week!

Deku deserves to hear him apologize for everything, but he doesn’t feel like he’s ready to be forgiven and if Deku doesn’t forgive he doesn’t know what’ll happen to him, he may very well implode.

If Deku turns him away then the kindest thing the universe could do for him would be to ignite every nitroglycerin-soaked cell in his body and just let him go. But the universe isn’t kind and will instead make him force himself out of this room and into a UA shuttle and into a life where everything green fades into bleak gray.

“Kacchan, your muttering” Deku says with the softest smile Katsuki has ever seen, and he feels like all his broken pieces have begun melting.

Deku stays silent, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. He seems content with doing nothing more than smiling at him until the sun comes up. And Katsuki feels another sob rip through him as he forces himself to speak.

“I meant it when I told you to keep your eyes on me.” The desperation in his own voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. “I want you to know to look for me, and that I’ll be there. Even outside of heroing. I want you to expect me at every turn, forever. I don’t wanna be unexpected”

Deku leans forward and Katsuki thinks he’ll stop breathing all over again until their foreheads bump together. Deku’s looking right in his eyes, and he’s so close Katsuki's eyes can barely focus on him. They just stay like that for a small eternity while Katsuki’s heart beats wildly for entirely different reasons. One’s he’s not sure he’s ready to understand.

“Okay, Kacchan”

[bokutoslittlebird]

Family Vacation

Bokuto x reader x Akaashi

Author’s Note : no incest, I promise ; the request included some slight BokuAka interaction, however I made it more than slightly ; the hot springs resort is loosely based on three different locations under the Kinosaki Onsen in northern Hyogo [Mikuniya Ryokan, Yutouya Ryokan, Nishimuraya Ryokan]. Each one offers different things, but they all have some common aspects that I liked: seafood served during winter months [November - March], traditional ryokan, and options for the hot springs [indoor, outdoor, and family] ; holy fuck is this wrong.. but holy hell is it erotic

Warnings: introduction of the Bokuto family, best friends to lovers au, playful teasing [about reader’s virginity], some mlm [Bokuto x Akaashi] interaction, fingering, face-sitting, handjob, blowjob, cum eating, spit exchanges and mentions, no penetrative sex, virgin!reader, virgin!Bokuto

“Oh, [Y/N]! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Thank you for having me, Bokuto-san,”

“Oh, dear, call me Fuyumi! You’re practically family, anyways,” she smiles, eyes crinkling as she does. Her smile makes you smile, bowing in respect as if you haven’t known her for years.

The Bokuto family always spent their winter vacation before New Years at an Onsen in Hyogo. Yasurai-fukurou was well known for their hot springs throughout the year, but their meals included seafood in the winter. Kōtarō and Shinjiro both love seafood, especially crab, so it made sense the Bokuto family would come to this place specifically. Winter meant snow, and snow meant the garden view from the spring was gorgeous, having the silver lining the green foliage as the pebbles along the ground glistened with melted snow, cold and slippery. It was Kōtarō’s and Machiko’s favorite season, so it was an added bonus. The family had the money to spend, treating the members to a relaxing trip. Even Keiji, Kōtarō’s friend, joined them his first year at Fukurodani.

You didn’t usually attend, yet you always wanted to. Your family celebrated holidays differently, so you often found yourself swamped with family activities around December, only getting free to hang out by the time school started back up. Always wishing to go, you finally got your wish this year. With the stress from school this past semester, your family decided to let you choose what to do, so you declined spending the holidays with your family. Instead, you were free to spend that quality time with the Bokuto family. Fuyumi practically begged Kōtarō to invite you, knowing you’d be alone, so you didn’t have to worry about inviting yourself. There was one problem, however.

“[Y/N] should room with us!” Machiko points out. “She can’t board with boys!”

“What do you take us for? We’re her best friends,” Kōtarō waves off his sister. “I worry Amaya might try to wrestle her,”

“She could use the practice!” She pipes up, only to be shut back down. “I wouldn’t hurt her,”

“Why not let the girl choose herself? It is where she will stay, in the end,” Shinjiro said. Although he was right, you suddenly felt your heart tugging in two different directions. Machiko and Kōtarō gave you the puppy dog eyes, begging to choose them. A heavy sigh came from you as you weigh the options presented in front of you.

“I trust Keiji and Kōtarō, I’ll room with them,”

“No!” The two girls dramatically shout, falling to their knees. Fuyumi laughs, patting your back.

“Good choice, dear,” she compliments. You know why. Her daughters may be considered mature and adults, but they are both hectic and chaotic in their own way. At least with Kōtarō, he has Keiji with him. There’s no reason to mull over the decision, you know full well that Keiji and Kōtarō wouldn’t hurt you.

Once settled into each room, your bedding laid between the two of them, the trip to relax in the ryokan was in order. The two genders were separated, of course, so you sat in the spring with Machiko, Amaya, and Fuyumi. It wasn’t a bad thing, being with the three, but you knew Machiko and Amaya like to tease you.

“Gosh, [Y/N], you’re so innocent! You’ve never done anything?” Amaya’s face made it seem like she was much more malicious than on the surface. “Even I had a couple boyfriends that I had special adventures with before your age,”

“Excuse me? Amaya!” Fuyumi scolds her daughter. “You never told us this,”

“Why would I? You and dad never allowed me to have a boyfriend until I graduated. Kōtarō even had a girlfriend in his second year,” she pouts, puffy cheeks making her less malicious and much more adorable. Though unintentional, her words make your mood sour, Kōtarō’s slipping from her lips. Machiko notices this, however.

“Well, Kōtarō is a boy and I told your father to make sure he doesn’t do any of that dating stuff, but it seems like he did,”

“You know, I’m kind of tired. I’m really relaxed,” you mention, moving to exit the water. “I should lay down and take a nap,”

“Oh, are you sure? Dinner will be served soon,” Machiko holds out her hand, as if to stop you. You’re quick about getting out, rinsing yourself off before wrapping a robe around your naked body.

“I’m sure. Wake me when dinner’s ready,” you cheerfully smile, waving to them as you leave the setting. Your smile falls, an artificial thing as you continue to pad towards the room. Passing the window leading to the garden, you notice the cascading of the white snowflakes, shimmering in the light from the outdoor lamps. It’s peaceful, the way it floats down to the ground until it rapidly melts, joining the slush forming on the pathway. A sigh leaves you, heart aching from the words Amaya let spill.

It wasn’t her fault, you tell yourself that as you continue to the room. Amaya doesn’t know, but Machiko does. Machiko has always had the older sister intuition, knowing when her younger siblings had something to hide or something embarrassing. Whether it was from her years of travel around the world, or just a trait of hers, she could pinpoint things that made you want to crawl in a hole. What does Machiko know, exactly? Your big, fat crush on her little brother.

Kōtarō has been your crush as long as you’ve known him, aka since you guys were waddling around with chubby legs. Your family and his family live near each other, so it made sense for you two to play a lot as children. As the years passed, your admiration for him evolved into a crushing thing, yet your young mind wouldn’t allow such a horrid thing to be spoken. No, it festered until you broke down one day in high school and confessed to the dark of the night, the only witness of your confession was the moon. You confessed that you loved him, you were in love with him, nobody else could compare. It hurt even more now, knowing you were falling in love with him while he was loving someone else. Even Keiji probably loved Kōtarō, knowing how close they were. You wouldn’t put it past them to be in a relationship, either. Each thought accompanied a step you took, each one bringing tears to prickle your eyes as you finally shut the door to the room, and your problems.

With the dark encompassing the room, you found yourself easily situating yourself on the ground to cry, curling up in a ball as you did so. A pathetic scene, you knew it was, yet you couldn’t help yourself.

After you left the ryokan, Shinjiro happened to be talking to the boys in front of him, both of them flushed red from the warmth of the bath and the topic at hand.

“I knew something was off in the way your mother encouraged you to invite her! I never thought it’d be that, however,” his guffaw had Kōtarō sinking into the water, bubbles coming from his nose as he huffs. Keiji looks at him pitifully, but doesn’t do much of anything else.

“She doesn’t even like me like that. This trip was a mistake,” Kōtarō mumbles, his mouth going back under the water. Keiji sighs, looking into the water where his distorted hands lie. Before he can speak, Kōtarō beats him to it. “I have to go to the bathroom. I think I’ll leave early,”

“You sure it’s just that?” Shinjiro teases. “Or are you going to wait for your lovely friend?”

“Okay, maybe it’s a bit of both,” he huffs, cheeks puffed out. Keiji lets the words die on his tongue, letting Kōtarō leave the spring without any reason to look back.

Shinjiro sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks into the water. “Maybe I went too far. I shouldn’t tease him about his crush, it seems like it’s important to him. I don’t think she sees him in that light, anyways,”

“She does, actually. I think she’s been in love with him for a while,” he confesses. Shinjiro’s eyebrows rise as the words sink in. However, he is quick to understand. No longer laughing and joking, his smile is more bitter and sad. A pity smile.

“And you’ve been in love with her, haven’t you?”

Keiji turns his head to the side, yet he nods. The red dusting his cheeks is no longer just the warmth of the water. Shinjiro moves closer to Keiji, putting his hand on the younger man’s back.

“Then tell her. You both need to confess, not let this fester and turn into something ugly. Don’t let this ruin your friendship with Kōtarō, either. It’s not worth it,”

“I know. I know, Bokuto-san,”

“When you gonna call me Shinjiro? Or even dad? You need to let loose, Keiji!” He laughs again, getting Keiji to crack a smile.

While Keiji ponders how he should go about this, Kōtarō trudges up to his room for the week, unaware you’ve also turned in early. His mood has taken a turn for the worse, hair deflating as he pouts. No matter what, he’s always found himself finding your validation to be the most important. Throughout the years, he’s reached out to both you and Keiji for validation, finding them both to be important to him. While he knows Keiji partially does it just to make him happy, which he is thankful for, he knows yours is genuine. Even when he forced himself to move on, knowing you didn’t see him in that light, he found it hard. You followed him into his dreams, gleeful chimes of your laughter as the future he aims for bloomed into an obtainable goal. Yet, he’d wake up to see the empty space beside him, a brutal reminder that his dreamt future would stay in his head, playing on loop until he could do something about it in the real world.

When his door comes into view, he sighs, relief flooding through him. As he gets closer, he hears a soft voice from inside. Leaning his ear against the shut door, he hears you — a squeak of his name, accompanying a soft mewl, most likely held back due to the thin walls. Even he understands what you’re doing, it’s not like he’s never thought of you that way, finding himself wishing you could relieve his stress in the best way possible. As to respect your privacy, and settle his nerves, he quietly creeps away, to his parent’s booked room. He decides to use the toilet in there, giving you a few moments to finish your own business.

Leaning against the door once more, he doesn’t hear your heavy breaths or your moans and mewls, so he slides open the door to see you under the covers, laptop shining in your face as a movie plays. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“Huh?” You jump, turning to see Kōtarō’s large frame at the entrance of the room. It’s scary, the way he seems to have popped up after you finished, or attempted, getting off on thinking of him. “Oh, Kō. It’s just you. No more hot springs for you?”

“Oh, no, I found it to be getting too hot,” he lies, rubbing his neck. The robe you’re wearing is the one you put on after exiting the spring, so his perverted little mind knows you’re completely naked underneath. Not only that, you’re probably nice and slick from thinking about him—

He stops himself, hearing your voice. “Did you hear me? I asked if you wanted to watch the movie with me,”

“Oh, sorry, off in my own world. Uh, sure, what is it?”

“Crown for Christmas. A sappy romance Christmas movie, from America. It’s very predictable, but it’s cute. My mom loves it, so I brought it to watch,”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” he hums, lying on his own bedding. He didn’t move closer to you, giving you some space, but he finds himself panicking when you move closer.

“Can’t see if you’re all the way over there, dummy,” you giggle, pressing play. He can’t find it in himself to focus, the movie being background noise to his thoughts. The hot springs help to add a special glow to your skin, making it seem smoother than before, and you smell so nice, not to mention he can feel his cock throbbing at your soft voice calling out his name. What would it be like if he used his own fingers, would you be able to hold back? Or would you come completely undone as you came on his fingers— even better, his cock? Just the thought has him groaning, head shoved into his pillow as you pause the movie, probably confused.

He looks up, seeing your dazed expression — yep, totally confused. He sighs and shrugs, apologizing. “Are you okay? You seem.. tense,”

“Tense?” That’s one way to describe it, he supposes. “I’m just.. dad was teasing me earlier. That’s why I left. I’m.. remembering what he said,”

“Oh, I get that. Amaya kept teasing me about girl stuff, so I left. Machiko tried to stop me, but I was already out of the water,” you admit. It’s not the full truth, but that’s okay.

“Girl stuff? Like what?” Kōtarō never shied from girly stuff, including the weird stuff that happened to girls like puberty and the menstrual cycle. You chalked it up to his older sisters being shameless, never making it seem gross. Even when you started your period in class, Kōtarō was there to help you, a knight in shining armor.

You wish they were less shameless.

“Oh, um, you know, the romantic stuff,”

“Like? Boyfriends?”

“Yeah, I’ve.. never had one. No experience on my end. Amaya was teasing me because she had a couple of boyfriends before my age, so it.. it didn’t hurt my feelings, but it made me feel some kind of way, you know?” Your attempted explanation was kind of butchered, trying to explain it without giving too much detail. Kōtarō wouldn’t judge you, of course not, it wasn’t something to judge you about.

He knows the feeling, being inexperienced.

“W-Well, if you want any experience before going into the dating scene, I could.. always help you,” he whispers. His words hang in the air, settling into both of your minds. He’s berating himself for using such a lame line to try and get in your pants, but you’re trying to find a way to say yes without seeming desperate. However, “I mean! I have experience, so I could help you! I’d say I’m pretty good at doing stuff. Oh! It could be like.. any advice or something.. hands on,” he whispers the last part again, his confidence melting like snow on a summer’s day when your face falls.

It isn’t you don’t want it, you just would prefer him to not word it like that. It reminds you of Amaya’s words and the pain in your chest, the churn in your stomach. “If you’re gonna be like that, maybe I should ask Keiji,” you huff, turning your body away from his. Focusing on forcing your stomach to stop twisting in knots, you don’t even notice when Kōtarō closes the laptop and presses himself against you. Well, not until you feel something pressing into your back. “Kō—”

“Don’t be like that. I’ve never actually gone all the way, I’ve been saving that for someone special. I can help, though, if you’d let me,” his breath fans over your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His arm snakes under you, pulling you into his stomach while he lays on his back.

“Kōtarō!”

“You’re stressed, gotta loosen up a bit. I’m helping,” he just says, making sure your legs are hooked over his. With the lack of clothing under the robe, your nether region is spread open towards the door, sending your adrenaline skyrocketing. Kōtarō is quick to ease that, his thick fingers spreading open your folds while his middle finger rubs against your sensitive clit. “You’re absolutely soaked, do I turn you on that much?” He’s grinning, you know he is. Gritting your teeth, you keep your mouth closed as you focus on the feeling of his fingers, now sliding up and down and collecting your slick.

Kōtarō doesn’t want to tease you for too long, slipping his middle finger into your cunt as you mewl, hand coming to cover your mouth. “What a reaction. I wonder..” he trails off, pulling his finger out, only to add in three fingers. You’re arching, legs tending against his as he fingers you, lips pressing themselves to your hair and ear. When his tongue flicks out against your ear, you squirm and he grunts, his left arm keeping you firm against him. “Sensitive, are you?”

He doesn’t get any vocal confirmation from you, but the way you’re clenching around his fingers tells him all he needs to know. He makes sure to keep his thumb bumping against your clit, adding pressure. You can feel the familiar feeling, the beginning of an orgasm as he pumps his fingers into you. With a squeal of his name, your nails dig into the meat of his arm, liquids spilling out of you and all over Kōtarō’s fingers. The squishing sound enters your ears, legs tensing as you mewl, his fingers rubbing themselves against you some more.

“You’re so wet.. I bet it’d be easy to slip my cock in there, wouldn’t it?” His voice is low, a rumble in his chest as your cunt clenches at the thought, your wildest fantasies so close to coming to fruition when someone clears their throat. You pop up, Kōtarō jolting and keeping you on his chest as he moves.

Keiji is looking at the both of you, a heavy blush adorning his cheeks. The room is dim, only the lights from outside the inn illuminating him. He’s right at the door, right in front of where Kōtarō was just fingering you. Kōtarō’s hand finally leaves from between your legs, glistening wetness shown in the lamplight. “If you want to give her experience, you need to go over everything involved in foreplay, Kōtarō. There’s more to prep,”

“M-More?” your voice is small, barely a whisper as you find more slick oozing from you, Keiji entering the room. He kneels down in front of you, still held against Kōtarō’s chest.

“Has he even kissed you, yet? Or did he go headfirst into fingering you?” When you shake your head, Kōtarō himself sucking in a breath, Keiji knows he was right. With the elegance he always exudes, Keiji tilts your chin up towards him. “Then, allow me,”

The kiss is gentle, yet not simple. His lips are firmly against yours, molding perfectly as he keeps your chin tilted. As he deepens the kiss, you find your hands grasping at his own robe, feeling yourself lighter than you were when you had entered the room. Keiji moves to pull away, a brisk kiss on your lips once more before swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, sending heat all over your body.

“Akaashi..” Kōtarō whines, his grip on you tightening. “This is supposed to be my time with her,”

“Well, you’re going too fast. Why not elongate the time spent together, hm?” His voice sends tingles down your spine, his hands removing you from Kōtarō’s grasp. “Lay back, Bokuto-san. You’ll get your turn,”

Your brain is going haywire as he speaks, undoing Kōtarō’s robe with unconscious grace. He’s not doing it on purpose, you know he isn’t, it’s just how he is. Once Kōtarō has been disrobed, you find more heat springing to your cheeks as his muscles ripple and flex. The lack of light prevents you from seeing everything, but you’ve always found yourself insatiable when thinking of his broad frame and what hides under his clothes.

“Give me your hand, [Y/N],” Keiji’s voice has you coming back down to earth, yet you find yourself once more shy with Kōtarō’s legs spread, his cock heavy and so large in Keiji’s hand. You comply, though, your much smaller hand joining Keiji’s around Kōtarō’s girth. It’s so much, the way it feels and the heat of the skin under your fingertips. A soft groan comes from Kōtarō as Keiji moves his hand, his other hand shuffling you between his legs.

“This is called a handjob, [Y/N],” Keiji says. You nod in understanding, realizing he’s teaching you. “Moving your hand up and down the shaft is the basic function of it, but you can also use your fingers to tease the slit, like so,” he demonstrates, swiping his thumb over the small slit, puffy and red where Kōtarō’s cum is dripping from. The simple act has Kōtarō throwing his head back, moaning as his hand covers his mouth. The walls are thin and if his family is back, they probably have a good idea of what’s going on.

“I see,” you hum, continuing to move your hand up and down the shaft. Keiji nods, seeing you’re understanding.

“Or tease his balls, like cupping them or massaging. Don’t squeeze them hard, though. It won’t feel very nice,” his hand moves to cup and tease Kōtarō’s balls, the man himself laying on his back as his face turns red, the ministrations getting to be too much. “There’s also a blowjob, but we can teach you that next time,”

“N-Next time??” You squeak, jumping a bit. Whether it was a one time thing or the beginning of a relationship didn’t cross your mind. His words, however, seem to please you more than imaginable.

“Of course, darling. We’re not done here, either. Why don’t you let Bokuto-san show you what other kinds of pleasure he can give you?” At Keiji’s words, Kōtarō pops up with a bright smile on his face.

“Sit on my face, baby,”

“Oh, woah, wow, uh..” you stop, unsure how to politely decline. His mouth and nose, down there? Not to mention your weight on his head? You were sure he’d regret his decision. “I don’t think”

“I’ll be fine. C’mon, I gotta show you what else my mouth can do besides dirty talk,” he winks, sending more heat to your cheeks, making you feel rather hot for a winter’s day, clad in only a robe. Keiji seems to read your mind, taking your robe from your shoulders, the belt falling undone easily from the previous activities. Once you’re down to your birthday suit, Keiji presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, a whisper to go that sends you crawling closer to Kōtarō’s face. He grins, eagerly taking your thigh and placing it on the other side, keeping your drenched cunt close to his face. He says something, but only a muffled noise comes out, his tongue swiping along your folds.

With your back to him, Keiji wishes he told you to face him and watch, yet he finds the scene of you erotic. He may have a bit more expertise than you and Kōtarō, it seems that’s all that’s needed. He smiles, gaze catching on the way Kōtarō’s fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, making indents. Completely forgotten, Keiji spits a glob onto Kōtarō’s cock, him jumping at the feeling. With a few more pumps of his hand, he flicks his tongue against the head.

Kōtarō’s moan has you mewling, the sound acting as a vibration as your fingers tug harshly on the silver and black strands. Though not as long as they were in high school, there’s enough to grasp and pull on. The wet sounds from behind you has your head turning, eyes falling on Keiji’s mouth wrapped around Kōtarō’s cock. It’s an erotic scene, his head moving up as more of the length is revealed, his blue eyes settling on your own as you feel a nip down below. So focused on Keiji, Kōtarō wants your attention all on him. Keiji chuckles, almost like a hum, that vibrates around the cock in his mouth that has Kōtarō moaning.

The tongue that flicks against your clit has you squirming, restrained mewls and moans leaving your lips as hands tug on his locks. Kōtarō licks and suckles on your clit occasionally, then moves down to prod and swipe over your entrance. The position makes it easy for him to breathe, but he moves down further. New position has you squealing, hands flying to your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure. Another moan from Kōtarō that sends shivers down your spine, heat to your core, accompanying the obscene noises of Keiji sucking Kōtarō off.

With Kōtarō’s nose bumping against your clit, his tongue’s only focus is on your pretty little cunt, sucking and swirling his tongue. The sensitivity from earlier makes quick work of you, hunching over as your thighs tighten around Kōtarō’s head, his strong hands keeping you from hurting him as you gush all over his face. A moan comes from him as he laps at your juices spilling over his face, his own orgasm coming as Keiji takes him down as far as he can. Globs of white cum spurt from the side of Keiji’s mouth, a gagging sound as he struggles to swallow it.

A hand on your shoulder has you leaning back, falling against Keiji’s chest with his cheeks puffy. Kōtarō manages to look up at the scene, gaze fuzzy as he watches Keiji kiss you once more, cum seeping from where his lips meet yours. When Keiji pulls away, his tongue is out, pushing the dripping cum into your mouth where the rest lies. It’s enough to have Kōtarō hard once more, a dark and heavy blush settling across his cheeks and nose.

The thick appendage pressing into your back once more has you gasping and jumping, some cum spilling out your mouth and down your chest. As it travels between the valley of your breasts and over the perk nipples, Keiji takes it upon himself to lap at the milky droplets. You gulp down the rest in your mouth, making a show of it by tilting your head up, throat contracting as you swallow it all. Kōtarō finds himself unable to look away from the scene.

“Ah, seems like someone’s still raring to go,” Keiji breaks the silence, eyes glancing back to look at Kōtarō’s cock, once more standing tall and proud. He then looks to you. “Shall I let you handle this one alone?”

[quietmyfearswith]

happy hoelidays ; preferences

warnings — allusions to smut, swear words, wanting kids (idk)

characters — andy barber, steve rogers, ransom drysdale, jake jensen, bucky barnes, lance tucker, syverson, will shaw, august walker

a/n — here’s my entry for the happy hoelidays 2020 hosted by @stargazingfangirl18, @navybrat817 , and @donutloverxo 🎄 Y/M/N = your mother’s name 🎄 lmk what you think!!

their love language | with their little | when you’re insecure | slipping into little space | fussy

masterlist

I asked for one thing this year…you — dialogue prompt

Andy was going over the last of his files; as Christmas neared, he decided to take the week off. Despite it being something he didn’t usually do, he deemed it only necessary since he was spending the particular holiday with his beloved. Hearing the bustling of Christmas ornaments and decorations made the lawyer raise his gaze from the papers in front of him to the girl who was placing stockings with his and Y/N’s names by the fireplace — he didn’t even know that they had such stockings. “What do you have there, baby?” 

Turning to him with a wide grin as she held the two trinkets, “I bought these two when I was at the mall the other day; they’re so cute!” As she pinned them by the fireplace, Andy hugged her so his front was flush against her back. “I do think they’re adorable like you,” Pressing a sloppy kiss on her cheek, Y/N giggled as his facial hair tickled her, “But I don’t think that the Christmas sock is necessary, especially for me.” Looking over to him with worried eyes and furrowed eyebrows, Y/N assumed the worst, “You don’t like it? Is it the color? Or did you see the gift I bought for you and think it’s shit?” Stopping her from overthinking, Andy kissed her deeply and held her hands between their chests to prevent her from wiggling away, “It’s not that, baby.” His statement didn’t help her confusion so Andy further explained, “I asked for one thing this year,” Kissing the knuckles in both her hands before looking up at her with pure love and adoration before confessing, “You. You’re what I asked for and I’m glad it came true.”

Oh, see, I thought we were going to enjoy a nice holiday dinner, and then you had to go and do that. I’m very disappointed, sweetheart — dialogue prompt

Knowing how much his girlfriend adored the Christmas season, August tried his best to end any missions before it or not accept any new ones. Thankfully this year he wasn’t needed elsewhere; so he decided to cook up a delicious homemade meal for the two of them. While he was doing the final preparations for their meal, he wondered what Y/N was doing. As he placed the chicken he cooked on the table, he removed the apron — something she’d gifted him when she found out he developed a habit of cooking and was extremely good — and headed to their shared bedroom, “Little one? Where are you?”

Y/N was nervous as she twirled in front of the mirror completely fixated on whether or not the babydoll she was going to wear later after their dinner looked good; so fixated she failed to hear his deep voice call out for her. When the door creaked open she turned around, they both gasped at the situation they were in. Y/N wasn’t planning for August to catch her in one of his gifts this early; while the latter was incredibly turned on that his erection was aching to be attended to. “Oh, see, I thought we were going to enjoy a nice holiday dinner,” He pointed to the door as he approached her with slow steps; “And then you had to go and do that,” He grabbed the cloth of her skimpy outfit before continuing, “I’m very disappointed, sweetheart.” Confused about his arousal that she mistook for anger, “What do you mean, Aug? Don’t you like this babydoll I got for you?” Her pout was so adorable that it only added to his desire for her as he clarified, “I love the babydoll, but I’m disappointed because now food’s gonna get cold because we’re gonna have to take care of this,” He grabbed one of her hands and let it feel his raging erection against his pants. Giggling at his problem, Y/N then squeezed his cock and sultrily teased, “Let’s get to it then, daddy.”

Congratulations. You’ve officially won the Ugly Sweater contest. — dialogue prompt

There were a lot of technological advancements that Bucky was thankful for; the improvement of the laundry washer and dryer wasn’t one of them though. It was just too much to comprehend for his cyborg brain with all the options and different detergents and products one can use. So he came to a compromise with his girlfriend; she’ll do the loading of their clothes into the washer and dryer, while he’ll unload them from the dryer and fold them. That set up worked perfectly for the two of them given how Y/N loathed having to fold clothes. But Bucky’s luck was wearing thin; Y/N was out running errands for the Christmas party of the Avengers and the former Winter Soldier was left alone at their living quarter. “Fuck it,” He whispered as he gathered all their dirty clothes and headed to the washer. The sweater he was going to wear was in the dirty pile of clothes and despite his disinterest in laundry. He poured whatever cleaning product looked suitable for the clothes and pushed the button that accomplished the task in the shortest amount of time. Opening the dryer, he immediately fished for his sweater and gasped out loudly with what the clothing article looked like. The once gray sweater was now littered with red and green streaks — thanks to the other Christmas sweaters and pajamas his girl had — and by some sorcery there was a white lace stuck to it as well as some colored cotton balls that were made to look like Christmas ornaments. Deciding that he didn’t really care, he decided to discard the shirt he was wearing and  be clothed in the sweater.

As he was walking over to the party hall, his eyes brightened upon seeing his girlfriend; hugging her from behind he planted a kiss on her cheek, “Hey, doll.” Smiling brightly at him, she kissed his nose and moved out from their hug and took a good luck on her boyfriend. Chuckling at what he was wearing she teased him, “Congratulations. You’ve officially won the Ugly Sweater contest.” He rolled his eyes as he buried his face in her neck to tickle her, which proved successful as she let out a bunch of giggles that made him chuckle against her skin — adding to the vibrations. “Maybe you should ask for Santa for a simple washer and dryer this year?” Shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders so they could enter the room he told her, “Only thing I wished for is to spend more Christmases with you.”

^ gif prompt

Despite having computer skills Jensen couldn’t find out the perfect gift for his girl — even though he may have snooped around on her phone and laptop and yet his search remained unfruitful and the man still was clueless on what to get her. He ended up buying a lot of gifts which included her favorite chocolate and snacks, jewelry he hoped she’d like, a sweater he thought would look adorable on her, lingerie he knew would fit her well, her favorite scented candles, and a framed print photograph of the two of them. As he was delicately placing the items into a large box he bought in her favorite color. Deep in focus, he failed to take note of the presence of his beloved woman, “What you got there, babe?”

Startled, he jumped to stand up and used his body as a shield to avoid her curious and wandering eyes to see the gifts. “Babe! Didn’t hear you come in. What are you doing here?” Chuckling at his flustered state she sassed at him, “Well I live here too, right?” As he placed his hands on his hips he shook his own head as he grimaced at himself and was internally smacking himself for his dumb reply; his girlfriend was more amused with his flustered expression rather than what he was previous doing. “Well the surprise is ruined now; since I was wrapping my gifts for you,” It broke Y/N’s heart to see him disappointed in himself so she placed a kiss on his cheek and covered her eyes with her hands, “I’m not looking so you can put that away; then to make you feel better we can have sex.” Jensen was immediately turned on with her sultry tone and preposition that he just shoved all off the things inside the box before covering it; carrying her bridal style and leaving out the spare room. Y/N was laughing loudly at how her boyfriend was more than eager to carry out her suggestion.

“Since when are you so good at wrapping gifts?” — dialogue prompt

The only gifts that were under Y/N and Sy’s Christmas tree were either gifts that had been given to them by friends or the few presents she bought for her boyfriend. Part of her was optimistic that Sy had gotten her a gift too big that it was impossible to place it underneath the tree; but the more pessimistic part of her taunted her that he didn’t bother getting her a gift. Sipping on her hot chocolate as she watched a movie, she scrunched up her face in confusion upon hearing Sy let out grunts as he walked towards her. “Are you alright, bear?” At the moment she cursed at how thick her man was since his body concealed what he held behind him. “I couldn’t wait any longer ‘till the 25th, bug. Just had to give my gift to you.” His Texan accent was thick as he was proud of the gift he held.

She patted the spot beside him and he was more than willing to sit beside her; then pushing up the wrapped up box he himself wrapped. Holding the huge box in her smaller hands, she threw him a mocking look, “Since when are you so good at wrapping gifts?” Rolling his eyes at her jab, he brought his hand to tickle her side, “Since I had to give my girlfriend the best gifts I could ever give her.” Her heart melted with his sincerity and knew in herself that even though she has yet to find out what’s inside the box but knew that it was the best gift she ever received. Pressing a kiss to both his cheeks she shyly mumbled, “Thank you, bear,” Before proceeding to open up the gift. It was a bit of a struggle for Y/N to open the gift as the packaging tape Sy used was sticky on her fingertips; the former Army captain refusing to help her in her distress but instead just chuckled at her adorable reactions. “Oh my God, Sy!” She squealed as she saw what was hidden under the poorly wrapped gift was the laptop she was eyeing for a while since her old one was pissing her off. The captain wrapped his arms around her smaller figure as she put the box on the floor gently and launched herself on her boyfriend’s lap to press kisses all over his bearded face. “You love my gift, bug?” Nodding enthusiastically she pressed a passionate kiss on his lips before answering, “I did bear; thank you so much!”

“Well, well, well looks like you’re my gift…and now I get to unwrap you.” — dialogue prompt

Lance shut the door as he came home after attending the Christmas party he and his fellow coaches and gymnasts had. He was wearing a silly Christmas sweater and a red belt that was tied to mimic a ribbon from a wrapped gift. “I’m in the living room, angel,” He yelled in hopes that his girlfriend would come to him. When he heard the soft pitter patter of her feet, he smiled upon seeing her figure approach him. “Lancey! How was the party?” She wrapped his arms around his neck as he peppered kisses on his neck to which the gymnast giggled at as he was getting tickled by her shenanigans. “It was alright; turns out Maggie got me for secret Santa and just gave me hair gel.” Pausing her actions, she moved away from his neck and ruffled his hair, “She knows you really well considering how you use so much.”

Feigning offense, he placed a hand on his chest as he gasped, “It takes a lot of work to get this hair to look perfect, like it always does.” Giggling at his response she just kissed his cheek and reassured him, “It always looks good, Lancey; but I do love your bed hair the most.” Her lingering hands lifted his sweater a bit and was shocked to see his belt, “Well, well, well looks like you’re my gift,” With curious eyes he looked at her as she wiggled her eyebrows as she lowered herself to kneel on the floor; by now he caught her drift, smirking as he let her do as she pleases, “And now I get to unwrap you.”

^ gif prompt

It was the annual Avengers’ Christmas outreach program and though he wasn’t the overall head, Steve volunteered which resulted in his girlfriend doing the same. As he was handing out the gift baskets the other agents had prepared, he looked over to find Y/N who was currently entertaining the kids. A loving gaze rested on his face upon seeing how much of a sweetheart and how caring she was around kids — his thoughts then drifted about how much more gentle and nurturing she would be if it were their own kids. Few hours after the outreach program ended, Steve was waiting by one of the couches for Y/N as she was still talking to some of the other agents, wishing them a great Christmas Eve. Smiling as she saw his sculpted face she plopped herself down on his lap as she snuggled herself to him, “Hey there, soldier.” 

“You look real happy, doll,” He took note as she stroked the skin of her arm and felt her purr in pleasure from the simple act. “The kids were so sweet and adorable! One of them even thought I was a princess,” As she cooed about the children she interacted with earlier, Steve could not help his imagination as it drifted to images of him and Y/N taking care of their own. Settling one of his hands on her stomach, he began to run slow and soft circles on her skin as he spoke, “What if we had our own?” Craning her neck to look at him, she asked for clarification about what he meant, “What exactly are you saying, Steve?” A soft, serene smile graced his lips as he humorously spelt it out for her, “Why don’t we ask Santa for our own kid this year?” More than thrilled with his suggestion, she kissed his lips multiple times as she excitedly kissed his lips repeatedly, “Yes, yes, yes! I’d love that so much!” Pleased with her response he hugged her as he uttered lowly, “Best part of trying for a kid is the sex we’ll be having.”

Baking together — general prompts

“Baby, can you come over here?” Will’s voice called for his girlfriend as he was laying down the ingredients he bought earlier. Appearing from the bathroom where she peed, she stood beside him as she placed a hand on the kitchen island, “What you got here, bub?” Opening the recipe for the Christmas cookies he found on the internet, he pointed to his tablet and the ingredients, “I need help baking cookies, please.” Y/N softly chuckled at how her man was pouting at her for needing help. “What are the cookies for, Will?”

Pushing away from the sink and heading over towards her, he trapped her between his body and the kitchen island as he revealed, “Well this is really the first time that I’ve been excited to spend the Christmas season,” The business consultant knew that when she tilted her head that she was confused with where his explanation was going so he just bluntly let it out, “I was hoping that us baking together could be our Christmas tradition.” Y/N could not help but feel the butterflies in her stomach erupt as she loved what Will had to say. Nodding her head excitedly,  she hugged him, “I’d love that so much, bubba. That can be our holiday tradition starting from now.”

Kissing under the mistletoe — general prompts

The Christmas Eve gala Carter threw was nothing short of elegant and alluring. But as the CEO had his arm wrapped around his girlfriend, it was the only proof he needed to believe that the night was elegant and alluring with her by his side; they both donned the color red in the suit he wore and gown she was dressed in. “You did a good job, Car,” Y/N whispered before pressing a kiss on the shell of his ear. Politely ending his conversation with one of his business partners, Carter smiled at her, “I think I did. I mean, I got myself a beautiful girl who loves me so much and is great at bed.” His jab resulted into her softly slapping his chest to which he only laughed at as he pressed a kiss on her cheek. “There’s something I wanna show you,” Allowing himself to be dragged away, he excused themselves just as some people were trying to start a conversation with them.

“What did you want to show me, angel?” Standing face to face at an empty hallway, he wondered about what it was she wanted to show him. With a grin — one that seemed innocent but the man knew better that if anything her mind had impure thoughts — she pointed a finger up and his gaze followed and smirked upon seeing a mistletoe hanging from above the ceiling. “My needy girl just wanted a kiss from me huh?” Nodding her head, his soft hands cupped her cheeks and pulled her in so he could plant an ardent kiss on her lips; smiling when he felt her claw at his back moan at the touch of his lips against hers. Breaking away from the kiss Y/N grabbed one of his hands — though Carter raised a brow with what she was up to but remained mum — as he guided his hand down her body he was surprised when she pressed his hand against her clothed core, “My panty has a mistletoe printed on it; does it mean you’ll kiss me there too?” Biting his lip as he got hot and bothered at the thought, Carter promised, “Angel, even without a mistletoe you can bet on it that I’m gonna kiss and fuck you down there.”

Friends w/ benefits  — trope prompts

Ransom rolled on the bed and faced where Y/N was laying; he shocked himself as he ran his finger over the shape of her face with a rare, loving expression on his face. Before going up to dress himself up he kissed her forehead then headed for the kitchen. As he was preparing a pot of coffee and some toast for him and Y/N, he smiled as he heard some footsteps coming from her bedroom; might be waking up already, he thought. The front door opened to reveal a woman who looked like Y/N, but he suspected was older given how she had wrinkles on her face and had gray spots in her hair. “Oh, am I in the wrong apartment? I swear this where my daughter, Y/N, lives.” Putting the puzzle pieces together, he reassured her, “Oh don’t worry you’re in the right apartment,” He pointed to her bedroom as he spoke, “She just woke up and is probably washing up.” Ransom introduced himself as Y/M/N did the same as they shook hands; before an awkward silence could envelope them, there was a soft ping that came from the coffee pot to announce that the hot beverage was ready, “Would you like a cup of coffee?” The older woman nodded as she removed her jacket and hung it on the coat rack, “Yes please; I also bought some bagels and croissants that we could eat.”

“Mom! What are you doing here?” Y/N gasped out in shock as she saw her mother placing down some food on the table; she was also quick to throw an apologetic look at Ransom. “Well seeing as you’ve never given me a direct answer on whether you’ll be spending Christmas Eve with me and your father, I decided to personally get an answer from you.” The trust fund baby quietly laughed at the exchange between the two women; he never witnessed a banter that was filled with love and genuine wit without disdain or revulsion mixed around in it. “Okay, fine I’ll go!” Y/N sighed up in defeat as her mother clapped her hands excitedly, “Is Ransom coming as well? It’s about time you introduced us to your boyfriend you know!” With widened eyes, the younger woman was at disbelief at the fact she knew the name of her fuck buddy; She wondered about how did Ransom introduce himself he was ahead of her in answering, “We’ve been together for just half a year now; but I guess Y/N was just embarrassed of me.” Flinching as her mother smacked her arm as she scolded about how you shouldn’t be ashamed about the ones we care about Y/N was quick to retort, “I’m not ashamed of you. But if you want you can meet my parents on Christmas.” Both Ransom and her mother were smiling wide — clearly excited for that day. As her mother excused herself to go the bathroom, Y/N was now left with the former playboy and she moved to stand beside him and was pleasantly surprised when he engulfed her in a hug, “Is this your subtle way of telling me you want to be more than friends with benefits?” He smirked at her after placing a kiss on her forehead to confirm that it was indeed what he wanted, “Don’t gloat too much about it, princess.”

[beskarberry]

Bargaining with Beskar (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“Alright, space cowboy, your turn.” You nodded towards the bulge that had made his baggy canvas pants grow tight, and he followed your gaze with what you guessed was surprise. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, hmm?”

Rating : Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: canon-typical violence (bounty capture) smut: captured bounty sex, rough play (soft choke), fingering, pent up sex.

Summary: You’re an ex bounty hunter just trying to escape the guilds radar long enough to spend a hefty reward, but a another bounty hunter has other plans for you. Can you convince him to let you go with only your charm, or will you find yourself in carbonite?

Authors note: I wrote this in a fury in the middle of the night so it’s messy and very very self indulgent. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything so if I need to tag something tell me!

Edit: This fic started on another blog of mine but I moved it here to keep it consistent for when I add more chapters.

Next->

You'd had a good run.

It was a hard opportunity to pass up, the high profile bounty you had been charged to bring in had been able to contact their family shortly before you had captured them and the family offered to pay you handsomely for their return, easily triple what the guild was going to pay for this bail jumper. You’d taken the deal, but that meant you would be returning to the guild empty handed. Maybe if you laid low for a while they'd forget.

Of course that was a stupid thought, within weeks you had noticed rookie hunters on your tail.  Word had gotten out that the bounty was walking free and a sloppy bounty hunter was a liability to the guild. After evading all of the green-horns for a time the more experienced hunters began tracking you, and your only choice with them was kill or be killed. They should have known you wouldn't go down quietly.

Months passed before you saw another hunter, hoping against hope that they had given up. It wasn't until you had gotten somewhat comfortable on Tatooine that the last one came.

You were far outside of Mos Eisly, the sandy city was barely a smudge on the horizon from where you were laying low doing repair work on a moisture extractor when he arrived. The machines engine was so loud in your ear you never heard him coming up over the dune, though through the scope of the pulse riffle he carried you wouldn't have heard him anyway. You cranked a ratchet against a stubborn bolt,

-crank.... crank.... c-CRZZT-!

Electricity coursed through you,  your first thought was that somehow you had made a connection with a loose wire and shocked yourself, but it was soon obvious that whatever had electrified you was strong enough to paralyze you, causing you to drop down onto the ground. Your fingers were still twitching when you heard bootsteps coming over the sand, but you were unable to stand, instead you worked to shake the electricity running through you.

"Th-thi-think I hit a whi-wh-wire there, I- I- I- I'll get it fi- fixed." you stuttered through clenched teeth, thinking it was the moisture farmer that had hired you coming to see if you were ok. The pulse was wearing off quickly, and you were able to jerk your head enough to make visual contact with the boot of the man approaching you, but these were not the boots of a farmer, they were the boots of a bounty hunter.

"Oh fuck" you tried to scramble to your feet, but you were still jarred from the pulse bolt that had hit you. The man above you wasn't going to wait for you to get your footing, and kicked you over onto your back with one bandoliered boot, then kneeled into your gut with the other, knocking the wind out of you. Still twitching with electricity he snapped a pair of binders on your wrist before hauling you to your feet. You struggled in his grasp, a combination of convulsion and fear made you squirm like a womp rat in a trap, but his grasp was too strong. Suddenly there was cold metal pressed against your side, the barrel of a blaster digging into your ribs.

"Move it." A man of little words but quick and to the point, the blaster barrel forced harder into your side to accentuate his point. He ripped your supply bag off of your shoulders and stuffed a leather clad hand into the belt of your canvas pants to fish out your hidden blaster. Rude. He shoved you toward the barren wasteland of the dune sea, unable to argue with the barrel digging into your ribs you both set off in a brisk pace across sands.

"Whose p- paying you?" You sputtered, still feeling the after effects of the pulse bolt. "I can pay you m- more. I made three ti- times the bounty the guild would pay and I would g- gladly split it with you." Bargaining was your only option at the moment, arms and legs like jelly and unable to put up a good fight. The hunter said nothing, continuing to half march half drag you over the sands. "I bet half is still more than double what they're paying you now, so whad’dya say? Wanna go splitsies?" Still nothing. You huffed, dragging your legs in the sand as best you could to slow him down, but a quick jab with the blaster barrel had you singing a different tune.

The pair of you marched on for a couple hours through the dunes towards a rocky outcropping, you continued making offers of credits and services but never once did he respond, choosing instead to shank you with the blaster or shove a hand into your back to remind you of your current position as his prisoner, without letting you get so much as a peek at your captor. Before long you both had made it to the rocks, and hidden behind them was the saddest looking star ship you had ever seen. It was pre-Imperial you were sure, standing dusty and dented in the fading double sunset. The fact that it had survived atmospheric reentry was a surprise in itself. Like hell you were getting on that thing. The bounty hunter shoved you forward towards the ugly ship, letting go of you just long enough to press a couple buttons on his vambrace to open the entry ramp. It was now or never.

Tired and dehydrated as you were from your trek across the dunes you knew this might be your only chance. You tucked in your bound wrists and made a run for it, kicking up sand in your escape. You were fast but he was faster.

-fwip!- SNAP! Something had caught your leg, yanking your feet out from under you and forcing you to do a faceplant in the rocky sand with a thud. You whipped around to find that he had shot you with some kind of grapple, hauling you back towards him by your ankle you were finally able to see who had caught you.

Is that the Mandalorian? From Karga’s cantina? Of all the hunters you had seen in your travels, Mandalorians were a breed all their own. The stoic hunters had frequented the ramshackle cantina on Navarro that you had visited a handful of times in your earlier days of hunting. You’d started to recognize one in particular that frequented the guild post often. His beskar helmet was shiny unpainted silver, but the last time you had seen him the rest of his armor was a dingy reddish brown. The thought was fleeting as you struggled to escape being dragged by the grapple but once he had you back in his grasp there was no denying it was the same man. He was covered almost head to toe in bullets and beskar, all the way up to the familiar shiny dome of it that covered his entire head. You were able to get an excellent view of its craftsmanship as he pulled you back up to your feet and marched you backwards into the old ship, the black shimmer of his visor never leaving your face. You stumbled over your own feet, fighting with the last bit of your strength for one last chance at escape.

“Mando! Remember me? From Kargas? On Navarro? Yeah yeah heya buddy! Hey hunter to hunter you don’t actually want to bring me in, I just know how much you ~looove~ talking with that old cantina crook and the, uh, paper work! Yeah paper work is suuuch a headache! I’ll just slip on out of here and we can both avoid a bad time, sound good?” Though you knew who he was you’d never spoken to this man in your life, and he of course wasn’t going to entertain your pleas, but it was the best you had. You were pushed backwards through the ship, past supply crates and what looked like the guts of a protocol droid towards what you could only guess was a carbonite chamber. He tossed your supply pack somewhere into the bowels of the ship without ever taking his gaze off you. Panic found a few last drops of adrenaline to pump through your veins as you neared your impending doom. Your silent captor backed you into the chamber, puffs of fog billowing out from behind you as the machine fired up. You had to get out, thrashing in his grasp and kicking against the walls of the chamber with every last bit of strength you had, but just like the armor he wore, he himself was unbreakable.

The bigger hunter was becoming fed up, frustrated with your squirming and never ending bargaining; he needed you to hold still long enough for him to hit the activation sequence so this hunt would be over. He let go of your bound wrists and pushed a leather clad hand up against your throat.

“~Ahh~!”

The noise that escaped your mouth made you both freeze, you just as shocked as he was. Your cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassed that in your current state of capture such a filthy noise had been coaxed from you. You squeezed your eyes shut, just waiting for it to be over and let the carbonite freeze you into oblivion, but its chill never came. You slowly opened one eye to glance at the armored man, but he looked like he was the one that had been frozen.

“What was that?” His voice was like gravel coming through the modulator of his helmet, and you flushed red again at his question, looking between the corners of his visor where you thought his eyes might be.

“Don’t worry about it, tin man.” you croaked, “Just hurry up and let’s get this over with.” You squeezed your eyes shut again, hoping that the darkness behind your eyelids was enough for you to vanish into. But you felt the hand leave your neck, coasting down to your bound wrists and tugging you out of the carbonite freezer. Unable to really argue with him you followed his pull on shaky legs, looking at the unreadable face for a sign of his intentions. Once you were free of the chamber he pushed you up against the nearby wall and held you in front of him, completely motionless.

You were confused, embarrassed, and now suddenly frustrated. Was he really going to drag this out for stupid questions? He stood like a statue, the visor of his helmet felt like its gaze was trying to bore a hole through your skull. You stared at him, then to his hands, and last down to his blaster before looking back up to his visor. You watched as one leather gloved hand slowly made its way back up to your neck, giving it a firm squeeze like he had done before, but you wouldn’t fall for that trick a second time.

“Do it again.” came a rumbling voice from deep inside the beskar, but this time it was lower, more measured and full of something that made your heart do flip-flops in your chest. A sinful thought came to you, maybe you would be able to escape after all.

“You’re going to have to work for it, no more freebies” a sly smile crept over your face, earning a tilt of the helmet that made you feel like you were being inspected by a large bird. Your hands were still locked together, but you brought them both up anyway to wrap your fingers around the armored wrist that still leaned against your throat. Immediately his other hand went for the blaster and its barrel was trained on you in a heartbeat. “Easy...” you whispered  showing both of your raised palms in a sign of peace. He kept the blaster trained on you as you gently grabbed his wrist with both hands, pulling on it to guide it down the front of your shirt. When his hand reached your breast, you pushed his palm into the supple mound, rewarding him with another breathy sigh.

Something like a huff whispered out though his modulator, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the whirring of the ships innards, but you knew what you heard. The blaster in his other hand dipped away from you slowly before finding its spot back in its holster. Once it was safely away his free hand came up to grab at your other breast, earning him another encouraging sigh. Without letting go of the front of your shirt he carefully spun you away from the carbonite freezer and walked you backwards towards one of the supply crates that littered the hull until it bumped up against the back of your knees; prompting you to plop down on it. You leaned back, arching your bound arms over your head to give you some kind of leverage while he toyed with your breasts.

“Y’know they’re even more fun without the shirt.” you chided. The mandalorian took the hint and ghosted down to the hem of the tunic you had worn to blend in with the other farmers. It was thin and yielded easily as he pushed it up over your breasts, the flesh of your nipple puckering in the cool air of the ship. The shiny black of his visor never left your chest, only tilting side to side as he took both of them in. His leather gloves were soft and warm on your skin, gently pinching at your nipple and pulling on them just enough to cause your breast to bounce when he let go. He grabbed at the pillowy flesh, groping and rolling your sensitive buds between the knuckles of his pointer and middle fingers. All the while you made good on your word, making soft sighs to edge him on. Though you knew this was supposed to be your escape plan, you couldn’t help the way heated pooled in your belly, making you squeeze your thighs together and rock your hips. The armored man noticed the way you were squirming and let his hands wander down from your breasts to the hem of your canvas pants.

“Well? Don’t leave a girl waiting.” You rocked your hips up at his hands, trying to get him to take the hint. His expert hands that had wielded fierce weaponry so well now seemed to falter at what he was supposed to do next. His fingers were slow undoing the button and zipper as if he'd never taking someone else's clothes off before, before pushing them down until they were around your knees. The sudden hit of cool air made you instantly aware of just how hot you had become under his groping. You used your knees and heels to push your pants all the way off, kicking your muckboots off with them and opening yourself up for him to get a good look at you.

His body was stiff, the visor of his helmet staring down at your heat, he was so still you could swear he was holding his breath. Suddenly his gaze made you feel vulnerable, as if he didn’t like your display. You moved to start closing your legs when a strong hand shot out to grab your knee and hold it in place while he continued to gawk at you. He likes what he sees you realized, heat flushing to your face and your cunt. Again you rolled your hips from side to side, trying to entice him. What’s he waiting for?

“Please...” you gave him your best impression of a needy virgin and saw his shoulders immediately go even stiffer, the black visor snapping up to meet your eyes. “Take your gloves off.”

He cocked his helmet at you, and you were starting to get the hang of reading an unreadable face. “Just trust me, we’ll both enjoy it more.” At that he tugged the glove off of one hand and tossed it somewhere behind him in the ship, exposing bronze skin of a, thankfully, human hand. He reached down between your legs at the hot core of your body, slowly moving his fingers down your slit. You sighed and arched into his touch, begging with your body for something more tangible. His other hand came up to grab your thigh and steady you, but the hand tracing your heat was shy and ghostlike, almost like he wasn’t touching you at all. “Please Mando...” you begged again, hoping he would get the damn hint.

He pushed one finger experimentally into your folds, dragging the wetness that had accumulated there over your opening and making you hum for him. He moved from the bottom up until his calloused hand found the sensitive little nub you had been waiting for him to find. The roughness of his skin caused you to convulse and cry out, making him tear his hand away as if he’d been burned.

“It’s alright! Please touch me there.” Who is this guy? What’s he never seen a pussy before? You thought to yourself, surprised that such a big scary man would be so jumpy. You arched your back and was rewarded with his hands back where they belonged. He pushed his thumb up against your aching clit, drawing lazy circles with it while another finger began pushing its way inside you. This time you let out a ragged and dirty moan to let him know he was doing a good job. He pulled his thumb away from your engorged nub to push a second finger up in you, making you whine. He found a spot in you quickly that was starting to make you shake again, but this time he knew not to foolishly let go. Your legs were quaking, head lolling to the side and making those sinful sighs that you could tell he liked. He was getting you close, your muscles squeezing around his rough fingers as he worked you to your climax. When his thumb found your clit again you came undone, your cunt fluttering around his fingers with your orgasm. He rode it out with you, pushing up against the coiled muscle to milk every ounce of pleasure from you that you could give on his hands alone. You could feel your own cum leaking down your thighs and around his hand, now realizing how pent up you actually were. What a mess you would be.

You were nearly gasping but you knew you were far from spent. He pulled his hand from your dripping cunt and you watched him stare at the slick on his hands, sticking and unsticking his fingers just to watch the glimmering trails. Cute, you mused to yourself, he really might not have seen a pussy before.

“Alright, space cowboy, your turn.” You nodded towards the bulge that had made his baggy canvas pants grow tight, and he followed your gaze with what you guessed was surprise. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, hmm?” With one last glance at the prize on his fingers, he took a moment to reach them up underneath the edge of his helmet, greedily getting a taste of you, before straightening up and undoing his own buttons. You were not prepared for the monster that flopped out of his pants, his cock full and engorged all the way to its hot red tip. Thick veins wound their way up its length and you swore you could see them pulse even from your vantage point on the crate. A soft drop of precum was already forming at the tip and you licked your lips involuntarily, feeling a fresh rush of heat pooling between your legs. “I’m all yours.”

The hunter grasped his aching cock and used his thumb to glide the precum up and down it’s length before he angled himself between your legs. You arched your hips to give him the best angle but he wanted to take his time. He dragged the head of his cock up and down the length of your slick opening, gathering the cum he had earned for himself. When he bumped up against your clit you moaned a breathy and sinful sound that made him shiver. He slid back down again and you pushed your hip towards him, forcing his tip to notch and he almost doubled over from the sensation, giving you a ragged groan in response.

“Did that feel good?” you asked, biting your lip with a devious sneer. “It’ll feel even better inside.” His gaze was fixed on where the two of you were connected, his hands like steel on your thighs. Another tilt of your hips was enough to turn the cogwheels of the metal man and he pushed his length into you with a shuddering gasp. Your own breath caught in your throat at the size of him breaking you open. He pulled himself back out achingly slow before thrusting into you again and earning himself another round of pleasured cries. It took him only a couple more thrusts to find his rhythm, bottoming out against your cervix with every thrust. Your head was cloudy and a fearsome heat was building in your belly, threatening to burst every time he pounded into you. You could hear him now, the once silent bounty hunter was panting ragged puffs of air and if it had been any cooler in the ship you swore you would have seen steam coming out of the helmets vents.

He slowed his feverish pounding just long enough to release one of your captured thighs and bring a thumb down to your clit, pushing against it in a way that was rougher than what you would have liked but nevertheless sent your head spiraling and forcing a pitiful mewl to escape your throat. It wasn’t long before another round of lightning crackled through your body and sent another orgasm crashing through you. The force of it made him choke and stuttered his perfect rhythm hard enough that he fell forward onto you. Your hands were still locked together but you wrapped them around his broad armored back as best you could, pulling him close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath coming out of the bottom of the helmet. He groaned and pushed his head into the crook of your neck before finding his filthy cadence again. He was close enough now that you could catch the scent of him, a mix of sweat and metal and gunpowder and something so primal it made your eyes flutter.

“Let me feel that again.” His ragged voice in your ear sent you spinning, and you could only answer with choked cries. The hand he had used to work you into a frenzy before now snaked it’s way up to your throat, giving it the exact gentle squeeze he had earlier that started this whole twisted tango. This time you gave him precisely what he was asking for, your tongue peeking ever so slightly past wet lips in between soft choked gasps. His pace quickened by your edging and his grasp tightened on your neck, drawing an ugly -urk- noise that had you patting his back in protest. To your relief he respected your gesture and let go of your neck entirely. Interesting...what a sweet, thoughtful murder machine he is. He grabbed ahold of the abused crate that held you both up and ground his hips into you, fucking you so hard you swore it would break. It wasn’t long before your overstimulated cunt gave him exactly what he asked for, crying out into the silence of the hull and clamping down around his cock.

That was the last thing he needed to push him over the edge. A few more messy thrusts and a modulated roar accompanied his climax while he pumped you full of cum. He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt his cum start to pour out of you, mixing with your own as it trailed down from the intersection of your bodies and onto the cold metal of the ships floor. You were both panting, his weight on you making it almost hard to breathe. With great difficulty you pulled your bound arms over top of him and dropped them back behind your head so he could get up, but he just laid on top of you while his cock slowly softened and released itself from you, sending a fresh wave of cum flooding down your legs.

Carefully he pushed himself up, grunting and groaning the whole way. He stumbled to his feet, resting an arm on one of the crates next to you to steady himself and the other on your quaking knee. You glanced down at him and was bemused to see his glossy black visor staring down at your dripping cunt. His hands made their way back to you, gently pushing at your folds to watch the delicious mess he had made trickle from you. You couldn’t hear much over the blood pounding in your ears, but you could have sworn he said something with fondness in a language you didn’t know.

Releasing you from his grasp he walked up your side, dragging his ungloved hand over your disheveled body, devouring your naked form with his visor like a starving man watches a feast. It was now that you remembered why you had let him fuck you in the first place, but your body was limp and your legs shaky. He ran his hands up your chest and over your exposed breasts, then up your arms, grabbing the magnetic cuffs he had put there. Great. Back to the carbonite chamber for me.

But instead your ears were graced with the metallic click of the unlocking mechanism and the restrictive cuffs clattered to the floor. You sat up immediately, rubbing at the bruises on your wrists and staring at your captor with mix of bliss and confusion.

“You’re letting me go?”

Mando was working to put his clothes back in order, the sound of belts and snaps shuffling into place echoed in the ships hull. “Last I heard you had fallen into a sarlacc pit on Tatooine. Can’t collect a bounty on the dead. Pity too, I’d heard you were such a great hunter.” The man who had been your captor was now leaning against the hull wall, his visor still locked on your mostly naked form. “You can go back to doing repairs on moisture farm equipment, or...” he tilted his helmet towards the back of the ship “You’re welcome to use the fresher.”

You blinked at his uncharacteristic generosity, though you supposed you didn’t actually know anything about him. Shifting off of the crate sent another gooey wave of cum dribbling down your legs and flushed your cheeks red. Maybe the fresher wasn’t a bad idea. The metallic man turned on his heel towards what you could only guess was the cockpit.

“Alright, but no peeking.” Like I could stop him. The thought made you laugh, it was his ship after all. You tossed what was left of your clothing onto the floor and made for the tiny alcove that passed as a bathroom and the even tinier shower; but the water was hot and that was enough. It had been so long since you had felt running water on your skin that you didn’t even hear the engines firing up and the rickety ship begin to take off. There was a bar of military grade soap on the ledge that you decided to help yourself to, it smelled surprisingly nice for something so plain. It smells like he does. You shook your head at the intrusive thought. It was just soap.

When you had finished your wash you stood in the fresher trying to squeegie water from your hair, now noticing the rumbling of the ship under your feet. Well, goodbye Tatooine I guess. The ugly dust ball had done you no favors, but this wasn’t exactly the way you had guessed you were getting off of it. He had set out to capture me, and he succeeded. He’ll probably grow tired of me and throw me in the carbonite anyway, so one way or another I would have ended up on this ship. You opened the shower door and saw something on the counter that hadn’t been there when you got in.

Two gray-brown towels were folded neatly on the fresher sink, as well as your clothing and something that looked like a black knit sweater. You hadn’t even heard the door to the fresher open, let alone him coming in to drop the items off.

“Sneaky Mando!” You hollered out into the darkness of the ship, though you guessed he probably couldn’t hear you from where he was at. The idea of him creeping in the bathroom to bring you a towel made you chuckle. “I told you not to peek!”

“I didn’t.” A modulated voice right in your ear made you jump backwards into the safety of the fresher.

“Fucksake man! Scare a girl to death why don’tcha?” You wrapped your towel tighter in indignation, surprised that your nudity would make you embarrassed after what had just happened between the two of you.

He sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “After you went rouge you took out three top tier bounty hunters and not once did you try to beg the guild to stop hunting you. There’s a pretty hefty price on your head, but I think your skills could be put to better use.” The Mandalorian cocked his head at you, “Think you can do that again?”

The audacity... You huffed and put your hands on your hips in a stance of mock fury. “So you kidnap me and now you’re going to put me to work? Great. Thanks pal. Really know how to take a girl out on a date, huh?”

He shrugged. “Do you want to go back to the carbonite freezer? I’m sure Karga would love to part with all those credits for your capture.”

No... No you did not want to go back to the freezer. You glared down at the floor with raised eyebrows, pretending like you were mulling over the idea like it was a job offer and not literally your only option.

“Alright... fine fine you talked me into it. Let’s go hunting, captain.” You snapped a damp hand out for him to shake, but he just shook his shiny metal dome in what you might have guessed was a laugh. He pushed himself away from the wall and climbed back up the ladder to the cockpit without a single word.

You watched as his boots disappeared into the ceiling and shook your head, wondering now if when you woke up this morning you had any idea that the day would take you on some wild bantha hunt though space with a well-hung mystery man. You tightened your towel and tucked back into the still steamy fresher to put on the clothes he had left you. The farming tunic was in a sad state, but the knit sweater looked snug and inviting. Pulling it over your damp hair your nose was flooded with that same delectable scent that you had gotten to indulge in earlier. When he was pressed into you.

“Hoo boy...” You finished getting dressed, rubbing your hair with one of the towels Mr. Mystery had left for you. I hope he’s got travel scrabble somewhere in this rust bucket, or you’re going to have to find some more... physical... activities to pass the time. Your lips turned up in a mischievous grin at the idea.

What a strange trip this will be.

Next ->

[owaowabetch]

Minecraft pt. 1 (Sykkuno x F!Reader)

Oneshot (maybe part of a series??? idk we’ll see): Even though you’ve never played minecraft, you still manage to build a great house with your basement buddy. Friendship with a hint of romance. This is season 1 of the OTV ftb server (Pre-relationship; part of Uh-oh & Impasta)

“Ok guys, so today’s stream is going to be a lil different” You chat to your stream “We are going to be playing Minecraft with the OTV gang and other people we’ve played among us with!” Waiting for Minecraft to load on your pc, you continued on chatting “We will be playing GTA later on in the stream, we have a few jobs lined up with some people, so hopefully we get a lot of money from that” 

You minimized your face cam into a corner as your character appeared in a random spawn area near quite a few people. You saw multiple boxy players run around and hitting each other. So, you walked around picking up flowers  and with the help of some members of your chat, you managed to collect wood.

“OH! HEY Y/N!!” A loud crunchy voice yelled terribly into your ear causing you to cringe visible and immediately start hitting them with the wood in your hand.

“Your mic is dank man” You continue hitting them, which turned out to be Leslie and she starts to hit you back with a laugh. You guess her flowered hand overpowered your wood and hungry state, because you died and respawned to where you first showed up.

“Ah fuck” You complained before another boxy figure showed up infront of you and you recognized the blue shirt and green striped scarf, so you cheered. “Sykkuno!”

“Hey, Y/N!” His character moved his head up and down “What happened? How did you die?”

“Leslie’s mike was..crunchy?? And then she killed me!” You jump around

Sykkuno laughs “What? I’m surprised mobs havent got you. I’ve been killed many times by them” and in comedic fashion poki ran by screaming for help as she was being chased by a giant spider. You both watched as she would turn and hit it before continuing on her run.

It killed her. She puffed into smoke and in her place was a grave.

You both laugh as Sykkuno gasps out her name and you both run to her grave.

“Is this part of the mod? Or is it part of minecraft” You ask crouching on her grave and read her name.

He jumped around you with an answer “ Uh no it’s a mod that abe put in. If you break it the stuff you died with will spawn out”

“Oh” Continuing the crouch and uncrouch “What now?”

“Well i was going to find some of my graves, but I’m gunna find wood to make tools and find food” He answered and with that you decided to follow him

You collect the fruit from the near by trees and kill some of the animals with an axe that Sykkuno made you. Along the way you collected flowers and wood.

“We should find a house before it gets dark and more mobs come and kill us” Sykkuno walks to you then throws a stack of wood on the floor “Or maybe you build us a house. I’m not good at that type of thing”

You stare into your cam and do the debbie ryan “Oh my god, living together?” You pick up the stack of wood and start building a small house “Is that good?”

“Ya, that’s great! I’ll put the door down and I got us some beds, so we now have a spawn point. So when we die we just end up here” He explains doing so

Nodding along to what he said, you start putting the flowers you collected around the house before entering the house. He put the beds down next to each other. Making sure to mute yourself, you do the finger point and with a ‘tch’ sound you smile “ Oh my God Chat! Our beds are next to each other !?! How crazy. Heehee”  

The house was lit up with torches. “Click on the bed” He tells you and you do so. Your characters laid there side by side and your chat was hearing you make embarrassing noises. “Chat better not be telling him how embarrassing I’m being please. This is a desparate plea for you guys not to tell him!! Like Im joking guys please” With a laugh, your character gets off the bed and you walk out.

“Oh!” In Sykkuno’s hand was a flower “I noticed you picking up flowers and I know that [Flower/Name] is your favorite, so i picked some up for you”

You can’t stop the smile that appears on your face nor the flush on your cheeks “You are so fucking cute”

“Wha-?” You interrupt him “This is so sweet, honestly Sy.”

He throws them on the ground “It’s no problem. Just saw them and remembered how much you liked them “ and you pick them up, putting them at the entrance of the door “I love it!!! Thank You Sykkuno!!”

He hums and jumps around. You check chat, when a donation comes in telling you to check it, and read that he was purposefully was looking for the flowers because he knows how much you would’ve loved them. You don’t believe them at first, telling them that while he is nice, going around looking for a flower doesn’t seem like a productive thing to do. So, someone from your chat sent a clip of him telling his viewers that he was looking for your favorite flower to give to you. His excuse was that this as your first time playing minecraft, so he wanted you to enjoy it and thought it would be a great present until he can find diamonds.

“Guys! No!! That is so sweet!” You cry out blushing even further

“Hey guys!” A voice called out. A voice you immediately recognized to be Liliy’s “Come look at my house!” Looking up you see her stood further up from the both of you. She started making her way down and gasped “Are those [F/N]!?! Where did you find these! The look so pretty!”

“Yea” You jumping once more “Aren’t they cool?”

“YES! Can I have one?” She asked standing next to them “Is this your house? I love the flowers around them”

“I guess this is where we live now” You respond

“Both?” Lily questioned “You and Sykkuno are living together!?!”

“Yea! He actually gave me the [F/N]s, so you can’t..have them..” You respond to her awkwardly

Lily turns to Sykkuno and hits his character “You fucking simp”

He gasps “Lily” but she ignores him “I’ll take a different flower as a housewarming gift. Now follow me!”

“Y/N, why don’t you go see it while I gather up more materials” Sykkuno told you

You follow her up the small mountain? And there laid her pink house and you gasped “There is pink wood!?!”

“Yea, you just need pink dye. I have a bunch left if you want some” She offered you

“I don’t know if Sykkuno would want to live in a pink house” You enter her house and notice chests and peak into them

“He’d want what you want so just go for it.” She places the flower she took from your house next to hers. “Those chests belong to other people, but here’s mine.” She hits the chest in her house “I think i have like 20 of the pink wood left, so you can just take the rest”

You took the stack from her chest “Awesome! Your house is nice! It’s big too! I’d have to remake our house into something bigger”

“Yea, it’s kinda ugly since it isn’t pink” She tells you causing you to laugh

“It was a last minute thing to hid in during the night” Holding the pink wood in your hand “I’ll probably look up some building tips and stuff later to make a cool place, but thanks Lily!”

You hung out in her house talking with people as they came and went as Lily went to find more flowers to surround her house in. Though someone interesting came in, wearing the generic steve skin with a slightly creepy face.

“Hey Miyoung!” Lily called from out her house

“Hi Lily” She responded “I’m just letting you know I’m putting a death trap in your home. Please don’t tell the victims”

You snorted in amusement “Can I help with that?”

She moves towards you in her crouched state, so you respond in kind. You both just stared at each other in your crouched position circling each other “Okay, so I have a bucket of oil, so I want to dig a hole in the ground and push people into it”

Nodding your head “Clean, my chat was telling me that there is a trapped door, so why not put one on the ground above it and just have people walk in it?”

“We should also put a sign down there, so as they’re slowly sinking to their death, there’ll be a sign that mocks them” Nodding her characters head “I have some signs already, I’ll make the trapped door”

Taking a shovel from your hotbar, you dig a hole 6 blocks down, digging the other side as you make your way down. You then walk to the other side and start to make your way up.

“You should leave an open space for the sign, maybe 2 blocks open?” Miyoung tells you as she eyes you from above. You jump out of the hole you created and shovel 2 dirt blocks. She places a sign down and covers it up with a wood plank that matches the floor of Lily’s house “Wait I need to put the oil down”

So, she breaks the floor once more and jumps in to put the oil in before making her way back up. “I just put RIP on the sign, I think it’ll help them realize that they will die, so..”

“Alright clean clean” You jump around and watch as she places a trap door on the floor above it and placing a sign in front of it.

“We should probably look for victims” Miyoung tells you

You make your character swing their arm around towards the chests in Lily’s home “Well people have stuff in here, so maybe we should wait for someone to come in to grab something and lure them”

“Sounds good” She says and as she says this Sykkuno comes barging in.

“Hey y/n!” He cheers “Oh hey Miyoung! Lily told me that she has a bucket in her chest that she’ll let me borrow. So, I’m just trying to find her chest. Don’t mind me” He rifles through them “Can’t seem to find them “

You open the trap door and look at him before he turns to you two “Oh is it in here?” and down he goes. “Oh!? IS THIS A TRAP”

You start giggling as he starts to panic laugh “y/n? miyoung? Help!”

You both just crouch above him and stare as he slowly sinks “Guys, any help? please? y/n?”

Miyoung just closes the trap door and walks away and in the little chat says that Sykkuno died in due to [Sticky Dipping], so you type in an apology as you make your way back towards the house. You meet him and apologize to him once again.

“It’s no problem. It was actually kind of funny, but check in the chest I have in the house. I got some more stuff for you for the house” He tells you  “I’m gunna go back to get my stuff and the bucket, so i’ll catch you later!”

“Alright, see ya Sy!” You cheer back to him and make your way into the house.”Alright chat, let’s see what he gave us! I’m not reading what you guys, say so no spoilers~”

You open the wooden box and inside were more pink wood planks, glass, stairs, torches, other house materials to make building easier, and some more of your favorite flowers.

You feel your chest tighten as the butterflies appear in your stomach. You smile largely and giddy, opening and closing your mouth trying to gather the words to express how you felt, you were pleasantly surprised by the things he left you.

You wanted to squeal at how nice he is. It is hard to come across a genuinely nice guy that wanted nothing but friendship with you. So, it was easy to fall for Sykkuno; but it was hard to admit to yourself your growing feelings for him, because love is scary and being in love with your friend is even scarier. Once those feelings come out, you can’t take them back and things just become different. So, it is safe to say that you’ll be keeping them to yourself.

“By the way” Sykkuno starts causing you to jump in real life, as you were sat pondering to yourself “The server is making a town square a few blocks away, so why don’t we move the house there?”

You start collecting the items in your inventory “Yea! Are you going to need help carrying the rest of the stuff there?”

He starts breaking the items in your old home “If you have the room for some that’ll be great! yea!”

Once you both gathered the things you wanted to take, you guys bound towards where the Town Square was being made.

“Oh! By the way, can I request you build a basement for me in our house?” Sykkuno asks

The thought of him referring to the house as ‘ours’ made you smile “Yea, but can I ask why you want one?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t build anything that’ll blow up our house” Sykkuno dodges the question

‘Our’ house. Maybe one day that can be a real life possibility. You couldn’t contain the smile growing on your face even further. Maybe one day you’ll have the courage to tell him how you feel.

As you start building near Leslie’s house, a thought suddenly pops into your head ‘Sykkuno there is a girl into you’

[sweeethinny]

Bad news

I mentioned that event in a one shot about Mira x James, where James said that Teddy thought Victoire was pregnant, and how Ginny looked furious during the conversation.

Well, I decided to write this moment, but my headache didn't let me finish in a better way, but I hope you like it anyway - btw, the result was negative

'Gin!' Teddy's loud voice interrupted James' talk with his mom, the two of them cleaning the dishes they used, still sweaty from the race they did. James was getting almost faster than Ginny, but he was still losing when they got to the third lap. For two seconds, he didn't let himself be forgotten. 'Where are you?'

‘Here… James, get that cup in the living room, I don’t know if your brother knows the functionality of the sink.’ He laughed, nodding and going over there, finding a nervous and red Teddy, looking desperate.

'What happened?' James asked.

'The worst.' Teddy really looked desperate, which made James run after him into the kitchen again, curious to know what had happened. 'Gin-Gin, I'm dead.' It was the first thing he said when he finally found the woman.

'What are you saying, Teddy? And hello to you too, I missed you.' Ginny said, still with her back to the door, putting the clean dishes in places.

'Vic is pregnant,' Teddy said, and James was sure that nothing more he said from then on would help his situation. His mother dropped the cup James had reached for her, turning to face Teddy with what James called the eyes of death, which fortunately, he received a few times. But in the times that he had the displeasure of having been the reason for that, he would never forget the fear that froze his blood.

'What?'

‘It was an accident, I don’t even know-’

'Ah, you know how it happened. Or was she alone in bed?' Teddy flushed and James took a step back, thinking that if he laughed now his mother would remember he was there and send him upstairs. And James liked gossip too much to miss that show firsthand. 'Accident? You were walking on the street and she tripped, fell on top of you, and got pregnant? How the hell, Teddy! She just turned 20!’

'I know, Gin, I know, I... My God, I'm terrified.' Teddy started pacing, his hair changing color constantly; green, red, black, gray, blue, black… He stopped, away from Ginny, near the cellar door, finally seeming to notice how irritated the woman looked, her brown eyes hard on him. 'You need to help me.'

'Me? Help you?' She crossed her arms, and James took another step back, just in case. Teddy was lucky that his father wasn't there too, or he would be dead by now. 'With what exactly?'

'To tell Bill.' Teddy spoke as if it were obvious.

'Uncle Bill is going to kill you.' James blurted out, biting his lip to keep from laughing when the two turned to him.

'No, I'm going to do this first.' His mother walked over to Teddy, who looked more frightened than before now, although James understood his dread, he thought he would rather raise a dozen children than face his angry mother. 'How the hell are you going to raise a child? Tell me. Victoire can't even drink at a bar yet, and is she pregnant?! What do you two know about raising, caring, educating another human being?' Teddy looked like he was about to cry, which was funny, because he was so much taller than Ginny, and even so, James thought he looked smaller than Lily now.

'Gin, I don't know. She was going to take the test this afternoon and- ’

'Didn't you go with her?' Oh, James knew that Teddy was screwed as soon as his mother's cheeks turned red, her eyes even bigger. This time it was Teddy who took a step back.

'She said-'

'Whatever the result, should she share it with the walls?!' Her voice didn't sound as loud as Daddy's did when he was angry, Mom spoke more and more softly when things got ugly. Poor Teddy, James thought, it was great to meet him. 'Was she alone when she made her son? Did she collect your sperm and shove it inside, alone?' The two made a disgusted face, but Mom didn't seem to care, because she continued; 'What kind of man are you, to make the child and then run here without even being there to see the result with her? What will you do if the result is positive? Run for the hills like a coward? Why didn't you have all that fear when you decided to get into the girl's legs without any protection? Harry taught you so many protections, that I know, all the wizard and muggle protections, and even taught you how to make the potion for Vic to take. What a shame, Teddy.'

Teddy looked like a boy, very small compared to Ginny, and if James looked closely he might see tears in his eyes. He thought that conversation was the best contraceptive ever.

'Call her through Floo, and send her over here, to do the test here. And if she doesn't want to, go after her.' Ginny didn't wait for an answer, casting a spell on the broken cup on the floor and leaving the kitchen, still looking furious.

'You better do this before she comes back, if she finds you standing here when she gets back, this will probably be our last talk,' James warned, but Teddy seemed to know, because he snorted and walked into the living room, kneeling down in front of the fireplace. Albus and Lily would envy that he was the only one who saw this whole fight.

Vic looked scared when she answered Floo, but promised to be there in less than ten minutes, which, James thought, was enough time for Teddy to start thinking of great excuses for when their mom started talking about unwanted pregnancies again.

'Did you tell her?' Teddy turned to James, who was sitting on the couch, waiting to remain almost invisible in the middle of the fight.

'About what?' He made a fool of himself, not just because he thought his mother wouldn't handle the news well if she overheard Teddy talking, but that James would get involved in the middle of the fight with his mother giving him a lecture about have safe sex.

'You know what.' Teddy raised an eyebrow, looking very much like Harry all of a sudden. ‘She won’t like to know that you’re lying about it.’

'I am not lying, I am omitting, and I would tell her today, but someone thought it was a good day to get my cousin pregnant.' James shrugged. ‘Mira didn’t tell her parents either, anyway.’

‘I hope you learned from my mistake.’

‘Who learned from whose mistake?’ Ginny entered the room again, the eagle eyes shifting from Teddy to James. 'What did you do?'

'Nothing!' James defended himself, glaring at Teddy who seemed to want to laugh, but stopped as soon as his mother shot him with her eyes again.

‘Where’s Vic?’

'Coming in ten minutes.' Teddy became serious again, sitting on the couch next to James, as if the boy was protecting him.

'I tried to call Harry, but he's in a meeting, which I think is great, because he would be a lot more out of control than me.' No doubt, James thought, thinking about how Teddy needed to thank the heavens, that his father was called to the meeting.

The three were silent until the fireplace burst into green flames and Victoire leaped out of the fire, her hair tied up and her clothes a little wrinkled, looking startled by the not-so-warm welcome. 'Sit down, Vic.' Ginny said.

The girl didn't even wait for another order, sitting in the chair opposite Ginny's, away from Teddy, as if she was afraid that at any interaction between the two, the woman would explode in fury. James didn't judge her, he thought they were both lucky that Grandma wasn't there, or worse, Uncle Bill.

'Have you taken the test yet?' Vic denied, looking scared. 'Are you with the? I still have a potion in my bathroom, I just need to warm it up and add some herbs. It's always good to test both ways.' The girl nodded, and James wanted to laugh at the thought of how strange it was that his mother had managed to shut Victoire's mouth. 'We are going to the bathroom to do this soon, then I want to talk to both of them. James, go pick up your brothers at Grandma's, Teddy, come with us.’

It was the end of the line unfortunately, he knew there was no way to follow the three and his mother would probably protect the room, besides, if she opened the door, just to check it out, and caught him at home, James didn't even want to imagine what could happen, given how angry the mother looked.

'Okay.' He gave up, getting up from the couch. 'Good luck, I have my fingers crossed for you.' James smiled at a Teddy who looked like he was about to throw up, watching him follow Vic and his mother up the stairs.

[shintorikhazumi]

“Daydream.”

A/N: I have NOT written in a while. Or posted rather. It’s been.... a month??? I’m sorry. It’s been.. hard. I also have summer classes which are slowly choking me. Yey.

Anyway, I hope... you all enjoy? I think I’m rusty. There are a lotta plotholes and some... hhrnnghh characterization that i feel iffy about. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

Anywhooooo. Thank you to my lovely platonic crushie @tanuki-pyon hihi for allowing me to use your drawing for inspiration ;-;. Thank youuu <3 Hope you like this.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

It is a bustling city, full of life and vivid color. The songs of the late afternoon played- their notes produced by that independent street musician, backed by the passing cars beneath the balcony, the rhythmic dripping of a loose faucet in the bath, and the rustle of leaves caused by a passing breeze that caresses her cheek.

 Life, color, music, and a touch.

 They all paint a particular picture- one of wine-red eyes, and a charming smile; brown locks that she had tucked behind a heated ear, adorned with exotic jewelry she had purchased for her.

 As she draws the cup away from her lips, she sighs in contentment, the distinctive taste of Boldo tea and the dimming rays of light blanketing the expanse of what she could see making her smile bittersweet.

 It's getting late.

 She knows she has to finish her packing. After all, this fleeting vacation is a dream she'd have to wake up from, come the morning rays of tomorrow. It was short-lived, but she'd like to think these few moments in the city or Buenos Aires are moments worth remembering forever.

 Even if there was a possibility that they were but a daydream.

 That she is her daydream.

 Her phone rings, and she sighs a different sigh. It's one of disappointment and reluctance as walks into the room, swiping the blinking gadget off the table. She taps the green icon, placing the device by her ear, eyes dulling as she listens to the speaker on the other end with poorly-veiled disinterest.

 ["-Are you listening?! Do you understand? The moment you step off that plane, your fiance will be there to greet you. Then he will drive you to work, and you will-"]

 Her face contorts in disgust at the statement. "He's not my fiance." She says, voice cold and adamant.

 ["Diana! How could you say that- about Andrew Hanbridge, no less! The man who has not once given up on you, unlike all the other low-life suitors out there. He's rich, intelligent, charming, and well-mannered."]

 Diana scoffs at the very first descriptor of the man she was to marry supposedly. 'Rich'. Of course he had to be.

 "Listen here, and listen well. You've been off on these silly trips, writing god knows what for well over ten years. It's time you grew up and got married, and inherited the corporation!"

 Diana grits her teeth, hands crumpling a few papers on the table. She immediately regrets that action as she realizes her manuscripts now have ugly creases in them, much like her own plans for life. Not that those were any easier to iron out.

 ["Then dinner at the Hanbridges will be at seven-thirty. Sharp. I have a dress prepared for you in your room. We will be discussing your wedding with And-"]

 And she hangs up.

 Turning her phone off, she throws it onto her mattress, the silken covers causing the device to slide right off and onto the floor with a thud.

 Diana curses as she rushes over, checking for any cracks or damage. She hasn't turned the lights on, and her open balcony does not give her much light, so she opts to run her fingers over the screen, praying she hadn't broken anything. As able as she was to afford a phone, that doesn't mean she wanted a change at any time.

 ...also, her number was saved here. Diana isn’t good enough with phones to know how to retrieve that.

 Diana sighs again. This time it is of relief. She leans back with a plop against the side of the bed, staring blankly at her wall.

 Tomorrow... she leaves.

 Tomorrow, she never sees her again.

 Tomorrow, she talks of marriage plans with two families who couldn't care less about what she actually desires in life.

 Tomorrow... she's gone. She may as well be dead if she wouldn't even be 'living' in the first place.

 Tomorrow...

 What would she be doing?

 Where would she be at?

 Would she still have the same smile on her face as she greeted the passersby who would freeze in place, stand in awe as time stilled for them as they become entranced in the magic that was her dance?

 Diana frowns.

 Would someone else fall in love with her?

 Like Diana has?

 ...Would she... fall in love with them back...?

 Diana feels a pang in her heart as she slumps to the floor, now lying against the hard wood. If she were back in the UK, she wouldn't be caught *dead* in this position. Her aunt would have her head.

 She blinks, staring at the ceiling.

 Oh? It's quite comfortable, she thinks, consciousness slipping into nothingness.

 //

 -It's a slap to her cheek that has her sitting up in haste, body moving in a trained way of self-defense as she arrests the perpetrator in a hold face-down onto the floors.

 "Diana! Diana! Fu- shit! Waitwaitwaitwait-owowowowow it huuurtsss, it hurtsssss!!!"

 And it’s a familiar voice that cuts through her panic, and makes her let go rather clumsily, resulting in more hurt for Diana’s victim.

 “Akko!” She exclaims, happiness and concern in her voice.

 “Well, you sure look happy. Are you into this sort of play?” The girl chuckles wryly, rubbing at her joints as she fixes herself into a seated position on the floor as Diana kneels in front of her, confused at the words.

 “Play?”

 “Yeah. BDSM, that kind of stuff.” 

 Diana flushes at the bold remark, floundering helplessly as her mind ceases to produce a coherent response.

 Akko watches her with open amusement, head resting against her one propped up knee. She hugs the limb, keeping her steady as she stares at Diana unabashedly.

 Diana stares back.

 “Wh-what.”

 “You’re beautiful.”

 “I-! Ah-uh, nnggh?!” Diana doesn’t know if she’s going into a seizure. Maybe she is. Maybe she should have gone to med school after all, to confirm-

 “Pff-” Akko begins giggling, then cackling, then just falling onto her back, hollering in laughter on the floor.

 “Wh-what! What… why are you laughing? I- Did i do something silly?”

 Akko wipes a tear from her eyes, laying on her stomach and propping her head up on both hands as she faces Diana. “You’re silly.” She teases, tongue poking out, eyes crinkled moons.

 Diana can’t help herself, biting onto the bait.

 It’s a deep kiss, and Diana didn’t know she knew how to do it.

 What do people call it? French kissing?

 They pull apart and Akko presses her sweaty forehead to Diana’s, chuckling breathlessly against her lips.

 “Many types of attacks today, Miss Cavendish. You are one powerful woman with a vast arsenal.” She jests, a hand reaching to cup Diana’s face and pull her back in for a chaster peck on the lips that turns into two, then three.

 “I like to have many options at my disposal.” Diana sighs into every brush of their lips, returning a few of her own, nipping at Akko’s bottom lip as she leads her into a submissive position, lying on her back with Diana hovering over her.

 “Boy, am I glad you do…” Akko whispers, eyes glued to Diana’s glistening mouth, the pair leaning closer and closer and- “OHMYGOSH-WAIT. THIS. This is not what I came here to do!” Akko yelps, pushing Diana’s face away and accidentally spraining her neck.

 Diana groans as she rubs at her nape, cursing quietly.

 “SHIT SORRY”

 Diana waves her concern away as she offers a crooked grin.

 “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m sorry, Diana. Sorry, I-”

 “Akko.” Diana giggles, carefully nearing the girl once again. She leans in slowly this time- just in case-, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “How and why did you come find me?” She asks, tone joyful, yet pained. 

 “Because I know you’re leaving tomorrow.” 

 Diana hears a record scratch, and the city’s music comes to a pause. It’s deathly silent, and her breath catches in her lungs, heart painful.

 Diana’s smile falls, as she places distance between them, sitting formally in front of Akko.

 “You…”

 “You told me in your sleep…” Akko murmurs, her words playing flashbacks in Diana’s mind- memories of a night that was not supposed to exist.

 “No- I… I… Akko…”

 Voices in her head play back all her duties, her realities that tell her that the woman in front of her is not a part of them. She’s a daydream, and she’s- as all daydreams are- a fleeting one.

 Diana has to wake up tomorrow morning. She has to go back tomorrow.

 She has to be ‘the real Diana Cavendish’ again. Not because she wants to be. But because she is.

 “Diana, I need to say that-”

 “Then- then…” Diana cuts Akko off before she can deal more damage to her mental state. “Then you must know… that being here… makes it harder for me not to leave.” Diana replied with a crack in her voice. “I can’t stay, Akko. I can’t. Even if I wanted to…” She whispered, unable to project her voice.

 “Diana, that’s not what this is abou-”

 “I can’t stay here, Akko! I’m supposed to go home and get married!”

 Her eyes widen, and so do Akko’s. Diana… doesn’t know what to say. Neither does Akko. They both remain frozen in time and in place.

 “I can’t… stay here… with you…” She feels a tear slip past her cheek… then another, and another, until they dribble down her chin and onto the back of her hands that are clenched on her lap. “You’re a daydream… and… and…”

 “A reality you won’t face?” Akko asks, voice surprisingly steady and clear. “I’m not a daydream, Diana Cavendish. I’m not a figment of your imagination.” She speaks, voice bolder as she gets up and walks up to Diana, making the girl crawl backwards as she hits her back against the foot of the bed.

 Diana gasps as Akko grips her collar, pulling her closer to her. She instinctively closes her eyes, awaiting a hit- a punch, a slap, whatever it was.

 And she gasps again as the soft caress, much like the gentle winds soothe her skin and her pounding heart.

 “I’m not your summer getaway, or your escape from real life. I’m not a fairytale to lull you to bedtime that you forget once the sun rises.” Akko explains with a crooked smile, tears staining her cheeks as she buries her face into the crook of Diana’s neck. Her breaths tickle Diana there, and her tears pain Diana’s heart.

Diana moves to wrap her arms around Akko, but stops midway. She… doesn’t deserve to do that.

 “...hold me…”

 But Akko deserves to be listened to. 

 And so, Diana holds her. She holds her tight, and she doesn’t let go. Not until Akko wants her to.

 “I’m not asking you to stay.” Akko murmurs against Diana’s skin as the latter runs her fingers through smooth strands of hair.

 Diana admits that hearing that statement hurts as much as it relieves her.

 Her sense of duty tells her she has to go back to her home in England and run her company, and yet her heart told her that Akko was her home, and that not staying would mean losing something that she might never be able to earn back again.

 As much as it pained her to know more, she needs to. For both their sakes. “Then what must I do? What can I- we… what do you want me to do? What do you want us to do?”

 Akko pulls back slightly, grinning sheepishly as she presses her feelings into a kiss against Diana’s lips, before pulling her up with her to head towards the door.

 Upon opening it, Diana sees a few bags lined up against the wall, ready for a trip to god-knows-where.

Her mind wasn’t registering this at all-

“Bloody fuck.”

“Took you long enough to figure that one out, huh?” Akko laughs, bringing their joined hands to her lips, and kissing Diana’s palm. “Weren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

 “Well… I… holy shit…”

 “I had no idea you could curse like that.”

 “Mother of… my… arse…”

 “Mother of your arse? Really?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes?”

 “Akko.”

 “Yes, Diana.” Akko rolls her eyes, as she pats Diana’s cheek with her free hand. “You’re supposed to take me with you.”

 “Bloody hell…” Diana murmurs. “Just marry me.” 

 “...”

 “...”

 “EH?! Really?!”

 //

 Bonus :>

 “So why were you in my room that night in the first place?” Diana laughs, running her fingers along Akko’s cool arm, holding her close as they snuggled together in a hammock, reminiscing a daydream so long ago.

 “Ehh... are you really asking me this right now? Diana, it’s been years since that happened.”

“And yet, I know you remember it as well as I do.” Diana laughs, knowing that Akko was rolling her eyes as she scoffs against her neck. “I’m right, aren’t I.”

“Cheeky.” Diana chuckles as Akko pokes her cheek in annoyance, but explains anyway. “I was knocking on the door, but you weren’t answering. I rang, and spoke through the intercom too. Then room service came by and I said I just forgot my key and they let me in.”

Diana feels slightly concerned about the security of that hotel. But wait, there are better questions that need answering.

 “... then why did you slap me?”

“...”

“Akko?”

 “Because you were asleep.”

Diana guffaws, disbelieving. There was no way she was that hard to awaken. She pulls back slightly, looking Akko in the eyes.

 “You couldn’t have woken me up other ways?”

 Akko looks away momentarily, feet already swung off to the side, as if she is about to step out. Which she did. 

“...no?”

Diana watches her skeptically, now also sitting up.

“Akko?”

“Well, you know. It was nice chatting and all, but maybe I should get back to my practice for my road show and...”

 “Akko? Akko… Akko why are you walking away? Akko- hey! Come back here- AKKO!-”

And she was gone, bolting like the wind, leaving Diana stunned and comically livid.

 “ATSUKO KAGARI-CAVENDISH, YOU COME BACK HERE RIGHT. THIS. INSTANT!”

[yamigooops]

Tire Tracks

pairing: street racer! bakugou x mechanic! y/n

words: 2.8k

warnings: language 

Cars were your whole life. You grew up in your father’s mechanic shop and learned everything you knew from him. Customers came and went, some more frequently than others, but cars were the one constant thing in your life. You were able to lose yourself in the process of finding and fixing problems, speaking better with parts than with people.

You barely even registered the smell of oil and gasoline anymore. The thin layer of grime that coated your arms was like a second skin, and you were at home here. The cars all around you purred and multiple gaudy sound systems pounded in the crisp night air. The roar of engines was music to your ears, and you had spent the first 45 minutes of the meet up going around looking at the different setups people had.

Now, though, you were doing final checks on the one car that brought you here: Bakugou’s suped up racer. You rebuilt most of the engine yourself, put countless hours into making it faster and stronger. This car was your baby just as much as it was his, and you felt a twinge of nerves knowing what was to come.

“Everything ready down there?” barked the man in question. You finished double checking the last bolt before pushing yourself out from under the vehicle, only to find the blonde staring down at you impatiently.

“Yeah, it looks fine, no thanks to you,” you huffed, sitting up and wiping your hands on a nearby towel. “Listen, I get that you’re gonna go hard tonight, but if you fuck this car up again, I swear I’m done with you.” You put as much threat into your voice as possible as you stood, putting a hand to your hip and glaring at him.

A sly grin split his sharp features. “Aww come on, Y/N, we both know you wouldn’t give up that easy on her,” he taunted, placing an elbow on top of the car and rapping it with his knuckles. “You love her too much.”

He wasn’t wrong, this car was your pride and joy. “You’re right. It’s the person inside I’m worried about,” you rolled your eyes and turned away to open the hood. You had already triple checked everything underneath, but you needed something to occupy yourself with, so you didn’t have to be around Bakugou.

You had known the fired-up blonde ever since middle school, when his dad started coming to yours for maintenance. See, his dad was a local racer, and heard that your dad had the best service around. Well, he would often bring Bakugou in order to teach him about the inner workings of a car. Because of this, the two of you had practically grown up together, spending weekends at the racetrack and weekdays learning what your fathers had to teach you.

But that didn’t mean you liked one another.

Katsuki had always been full of himself. It could have been because of his looks or his dad’s success, or any other factor, you didn’t really care. All you knew was you hadn’t had a normal conversation in longer than you could remember. They always ended in one of you riling the other up, sometimes becoming yelling matches if things got really serious.

You sometimes questioned why you still worked with him, the little asshole. When you both turned 16, your parents decided to buy a junk car, and have you fix it together to test how much you had learned over the years. It took almost 6 months to get it into good shape, but you did it, the only setback being that you were constantly bickering. It was nearly impossible to make decisions about what to do because neither of you wanted to give in to the other.

After that, you continued to work on cars and decided to go to mechanic school after high school. Katsuki went to a traditional 4-year college, and you thought that would be the end of your tormented relationship with him, but no. He contacted you after two years and asked if you would help him with a project, which you agreed to. Ever since then, you’ve become somewhat of a team, travelling around the country to compete in race after race. Some were sanctioned and official, while others tore through backroads and had come to an end when the cops arrived.

Bakugou was one of the best street racers in the country, pushing himself and his vehicle harder than most were willing to do. His lack of inhibition and self-confidence were the keys to his success. Well, those and the fact that you were always there to fix up the damage he caused. You had been doing this together for four years, now each 24 years old, and you couldn’t help but admit that these races made you feel… alive. The whine of an engine as it shoots past you at near top speed, the screeching of tires as they skidded around tight turns, it was all like a fever dream.

The only issue with Bakugou’s racing was he tended to be reckless. Scuffed paint jobs, cracked tire plates, he always pushed his cars to their very limit and made you deal with fixing his mess afterword. Yes, sometimes he would help you, but seeing as you were the actual mechanic on the team you were stuck with the majority, if not all of the work.

“This race’ll be easy, Y/N. Don’t even worry. I mean, we’re gonna be on a dirt road in the middle of a field for god’s sakes, at least there are no buildings or streetlights to worry about,” he called from his place beside the car.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you groaned. “You’ll look at that open road and think it’s okay to push as hard as you can!”

“Babe, that’s what makes me so good,” he chuckled, stepping up beside you at the hood.

He always did that, calling you pet names just to piss you off. It always did, making your insides squirm with distaste. At least, you told yourself it was distaste.

“You’ve already checked this thing like four times, just settle down it’s fine.” His voice, normally course like metal grating together, had a softer edge to it. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his crimson ones, and nodded. Pulling the hood shut, you turned around and leaned against it, crossing your arms. You looked over Bakugou as he pulled out his phone to send a text.

He’d recently gotten a haircut, shaving the sides of his head short and leaving the top to its normal spikes, and you had to admit, you thought it suited him better. It showed off his sharp jawline, which had only grown sharper as you got older. His bare arms were cut, unsurprising as he spent a great deal of time in the gym. He wore his signature high-necked black cutoff with a bold red X on the front, with army green cargo pants that cinched at the ankles. As per usual when he raced, he did his dramatic eye black to intimidate his opponents. It usually worked.

“Listen, I just don’t want you messing her up again, okay? I put so much into this car and the past three races I’ve had to set aside hours to fix her. I can’t keep doing that when I have paying customers that need my help too,” you tried to explain calmly. His head snapped up.

“I’m a paying customer too, don’t I get the same attention that your others get?”

“You’re more of a…side hustle.” The words came out with a bit of a grin.

One of his arched eyebrows raised dangerously. “A side hustle? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Working with you is like a second job. I spend so much time on this damn car, and looking at your ugly mug, that it’s like working another part-time job on top of the shop.”

His lips turned down in a scowl and he took a menacing step forward. “First off, you get half the earnings every time I win. I don’t have to do that. Second, I’m hot as fuck, thank you very much.”

You scoffed. “You’re average at best,” you lied. You agreed with him of course, but you’d never tell him that even if you were on your deathbed. “Also, the earnings are the way you pay me for all the shit I do for you, remember? That’s the agreement. Plus, most of that money goes right back into her,” you smacked the hood. “So, in reality you pay way less than any of my other costumers.”

He paused at this, taking in your words. “Guess you like me that much, huh,” he chuckled after a moment. The words brought a flush to your face, and you silently thanked the fact that it was nighttime, and the only illumination came from the cars around you.

“No, it’s just because I’ve known you for years. Sometimes I consider upping your rates though, just to piss you off.”

That got him scowling again, an expression that made you much more comfortable than that devious smirk. “I hope you know your sense of humor really sucks.”

“Bakugou!” A rough voice called from behind the blonde, making him roll his eyes and turn around.

“What do you want, shark week?” He growled, facing Kirishima who was making his way over with a smile.

“Just came to make sure you were still up for this race,” the red head grinned, displaying his sharp teeth.

“You really think I’d back down against someone like you?” Bakugou crossed his arms and relaxed onto one leg. “This is gonna be easy as shit.”

Kirishima chuckled, “Don’t count me out so quick man, might not be as easy as you think.” He glanced over Bakugou’s shoulder and spotted you behind him. “Hey Y/N, you here to patch his ass up after the race?”

“You know me so well, Kiri,” you smirked. Bakugou let out a grunt, punching Kirishima’s shoulder playfully, the other man simply laughing at the disgruntled racer. “Best of luck out there,” you smiled genuinely. You had known Kirishima since high school, where he and Bakugou were best friends. They frequently raced these days, constantly trying to one up each other and keeping a running tally of who won. Currently Bakugou was up by two, if you remembered correctly.

“Thanks Y/N, your faith means the world,” he replied with another toothy smile.

“Hey, quit trying to poach my mechanic,” Bakugou yelled spiritedly.

At this, Kirishima simply laughed, turning to leave. “Just came to say good luck man, I would never try to steal her away from ya. You’re like a match made in heaven. I don’t know anyone else who could put up with your bullshit.”

“I don’t know of anyone else either, I’m really doing the world a favor, huh,” you called, loving the way your blonde partner whirled around and glared at you.

“See you guys after the race!” And with that, Kiri was walking back to his own car.

Bakugou stood there for a moment before turning around to return to the car. He was quiet for a moment before speaking up. “Y’know, you don’t have to keep working with me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you don’t…” he said, so softly you almost didn’t hear.

You looked over at him in surprise, “What do you mean, I never said I don’t want to work with you.” It was so unlike him to say things like this that you were completely taken aback.

“It didn’t sound like that just now,” he grumbled, not looking at you. “I know I can be a lot to handle, so I guess I wouldn’t blame you.”

You chuckled, making him look up curiously. “Bakugou, I’m a lot to put up with too. I’ve known you for long enough that it doesn’t even phase me anymore,” you said honestly.

He stared at you for a moment longer than necessary, making you flush slightly. “Yeah, whatever,” he growled in classic Bakugou fashion.

“Racers!” came a shout from nearby. The official of the race stood between the two cars, looking to the two men. “Are you both ready to go?” Both gave a thumbs up, and the man nodded. “Come line up at the start then!”

Bakugou took a deep breath before putting on his jet-black helmet and getting into his car with a sharp slam of his door. You moved away from the vehicle to let him go line up before returning to the side to say your final words to him. “Remember what I said,” you warned, leaning against the rolled down window. “Don’t fuck her up this time, got it?”

He smirked at you and narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about Y/N, this is an easy course.” “It better be, for your sake,” you rolled your eyes with a grin. You loved how amped up he got at the starting line.

“See you on the other side, kid,” he nodded. You gave him a thumbs up and stepped away from the car. The official made his way into the center of the two cars, and you made yours over to your pickup truck to watch the race. You climbed up into the bed and leaned against the cabin to look over the field. From up there you could see almost the entire track, and since the cars’ lights would be on you wouldn’t have any problem keeping track of them.

You watched as the official signaled to prepare to start, the engines of both cars revving loudly. A crowd had gathered to watch, and you smirked, knowing that only got Bakugou more amped. Loudly counting down from three, the official dropped the flag and the two vehicles were off, tearing into the darkness as fast as possible.

Bakugou accelerated just a bit faster, edging in front of Kirishima, who swerved slightly to avoid him. They made their way around the course, Bakugou maintaining the lead for most of the time, but losing it several times. Nearing one of the final bends, you saw the headlights on Bakugou’s car dip dramatically and fall a bit behind Kirishima’s for a moment before pulling back ahead. You got a bad feeling in your stomach at that. However, it was over in an instant, the blonde coming in first by a decent margin.

As he got out of the car, Bakugou was swarmed by the crowd. It took you a moment to make it out in the semidarkness and jumble of bodies, but as you hopped out of the bed of your truck and made your way over to Bakugou, you spotted it. The left half of his front bumper was crumpled and scraped. Anger swelled in your stomach, and you pushed forward with renewed vigor, shoving people aside and coming to a halt in front of the man in question.

“What the fuck Bakugou?! What did I tell you literally RIGHT before you left?” You got in his face as he took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Look at your fucking bumper! How the hell do you explain that, huh?!” Your anger at his carelessness blinded you to the way he was looking at you, the hunger in his eyes.

Just as you were about to go off again, you felt his hand grasping your chin roughly. This was such an unexpected move that your mind blanked in the seconds to come. “God you’re fuckin sexy when you’re mad,” Bakugou growled, pausing a moment before hungrily pressing his lips to yours. The first thing you registered was the heat. They were burning against yours, and they were soft, much softer than you would have guessed.

Snapping back to yourself, you put a hand on his chest – his muscular chest – and pushed away. You looked away, trying to clear your head. “Woah, you can’t just… kiss me…” you gasped.

“Why not?” He murmured in your ear, absolutely glowing with his victory. He was always an impulsive guy, but that doubled when he won. He was known to break things when he beat someone, so part of you wasn’t surprised that he did that, but it was so unexpected that you never would have thought it would happen.

You looked up at him and found a grin resting on his lips. You felt something in you snap, something that had been holding you back from what you’d wanted to do so many times before but never had the courage to do. Giving a minute shrug, you said fuck it and went in again. It wasn’t a sweet kiss though. He threaded his fingers through your hair, and the hand holding his helmet released it, coming to dig into your waist. It was hot and heavy, filled with anger and pent up emotion and victory. It was a kiss years in the making, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted it to happen. This man was leaving tire tracks on your heart, driving right through the barriers you tried to put up to block him out.

And you were okay with that.