#i have weak hands and plastic packaging hates me

[masochiick]

almost became violent trying to open a packet of crackers when will a big, strong man come save me from having to open anything ever again

[jadewritesficshere]

Walker

Eddie Munson x Reader

So my joints have been hurting more and more recently, and I've noticed a decline in what I can do without taking breaks. It isn't to the point I need a mobility aid yet, but that struggle with my own mortality and insecurity came up and I wrote this little blurb as a way to work through some of that...yea....

Warnings: Reader needs a walker, hurt/comfort, discussion of insecurity

You don't want to look at it. The metallic frame seems to taunt you. If you turn away, the sunlight glints off the bolts holding it together, casting a burst of light into the corner of your vision.

You glare at the inanimate object. A walker. Something you always pictured using when you were old and greying. Not when you were young and in the "prime of your life" as people called it.

You can hear the fall of footsteps and rustling of plastic bags coming from the hallway. You peer through the crack of the door and the frame and spot Eddie, multiple bags in his arms. Eddie uses his hip to open the door, grin widening into a wild smile at you. You can feel your heart pick up speed as you return a small grin.

"Hey," you murmur, sitting up slowly in your bed. Eddie dumps the bags onto your bed with a thud before he presses a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter shut and you can feel the warm exhale of Eddie's breath against your face for a split second before he kisses your forehead again. You feel the press of his lips trail down your nose, pausing at the tip of your nose before he jokingly nips at it with his teeth. Your eyes snap open as you jerk back, but Eddie follows you, pressing his forehead to yours.

You stare into his soft, warm chocolate eyes. "Hi," Eddie mumbles before pressing his lips to yours. Eddie pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes," Got something for you." You tilt your head slightly as Eddie grabs one of the bags. He dumps it out on your lap, doing the same with the rest of the bags.

An assortment of paints and paintbrushes scatter across your bed. A bottle of glitter, thankfully never been opened and still in packaging (a shiver runs down your spine at the thought of glitter all over your bed). There are stickers, glue, stamps, and basically anything you would need for a craft project.

"What's all this for?" You poke at the obviously newly bought glitter," New dnd mini?" "For you!" Eddie waves his hand over the supplies with a flourish. You blink at him, waiting for him to continue. Eddie bounces up and grabs the walker so easily you're almost envious," Thought we could make over this bad boy. Make it look fucking metal."

You take a deep breathe in," And why would we do that?" You can feel Eddie watching you as you cross your arms and look away. You can hear Eddie sigh before hearing his footsteps come closer to the bed. A hand gently lays on your shoulder, slowly going up and rubbing the back of your neck. "I know you hate the walker. Thought that if you made it more personal you'd feel better about it."

You snap your head over at Eddie," I don't want to feel better about it! I don't want to have to use it Eddie! I used to be active, okay maybe not like running a marathon, but I could hike for miles no issue. I wish I had been more active, cause i can't now! Hell, I'm grateful if my joints aren't stiff getting out of bed in the morning. Some days I can get up and be okay, and others I can barely roll over in bed. My body is fucking rioting against me. Using that just proves how weak I am."

You can feel the tears start to form and you clench your jaw, willing them not to fall. You look down, annoyed at yourself but more at your own health. Eddie's fingers slowly massage your neck, tension slowly easing out of it. "Look at me," Eddie commands. Your eyes lock onto his. "When I was recovering, and I used a walker, was it weak?" "You got maimed and almost died dumbass of course not-" "So what makes you think you are for using one?"

A heavy silence fills the air. Eddie inhales before continuing, "I know the situation isn't the same, but follow me here. Was I weak or bad or less then for using a walker? No. Will Wayne become less then or weak for using a cane? Nope. What about Max, think she's weak in her wheelchair?" You shake your head slowly.

"Exactly. This walker? It doesn't make you weak or less then to have one and use it. It's a tool to help make life easier for you. Don't you think we deserve an easier life after the shit we've seen?" Eddie gently cups your face with his other hand," I hate seeing you think less then about yourself, and I know I can't take that all away, but if making over the walker helps I'll do it. Fuck, I'll buy my own and use it if you want. Be the coolest people around using walkers, except for Ms. Miriam."

You let out a chuckle and smile weakly at your boyfriend. "Miriam is pretty cool," you lean your face into his hand, relishing the comfort it brings. "Fuck yeah she is! And so are you. You're still the person I love, an aid isn't going to make me think less of you. Anyone who does think that doesn't deserve to be in your life anyways." Eddie nods before pulling back and flipping both middle fingers off, "They can suck it."

Eddie grows quiet for a second, absently fiddling with his rings," But, if you want me to drop this for now I can. If you want, I'll pack all of this back up and we can do something else. I know it doesn't fix all those thoughts in your head but...I dunno thought it would make things a little easier."

You look at Eddie and then at the supplies on your bed. You hum as you think, looking things over. Eddie sits in silence, a hard thing for him to do, waiting your decision. You inhale, "Want to paint it black?" Eddie's grin is infectious and you can't help smiling back.

It isn't perfect, life rarely is. It may not take away every thought you have, every insecurity or frustration that cuts deep. But it does soothe that ache. And as you and Eddie paint the walker, you can feel a little better.

[toointojoelmiller]

please don't go: a last of us fic

chapter 4

after David / Silver Lake / post-episode 8

angst, Joel & Ellie bonding, 99% canon compliant

rating: mature - content warnings re: s/a, violence, more

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 | ch 9 | ch 10

link to whole story (work in progress) on AO3

----

note for this one (+ blanket S/A trigger warning for this fic):

I deviated from canon in only one way which is David did assault Ellie - here's why I did this (from my ao3 post) - It’s not that I think that there’s a need to dial up what happened in canon - what Ellie experienced was traumatizing and horrifying enough. But, maybe I’m cynical - I have always felt that the way we saw the action unfold in the restaurant was a bit *sanitized* for a video game audience… and in the show (David gives good villain monologue, don’t get me wrong), once he takes Ellie down, there’s just so much taking time, slow talking, slow moving. Perhaps he's just “savouring the moment” (gag) but I’ve always had this feeling that a man as dark and brutal as him, once he gets his victim where he wants them, especially so full of rage, wouldn't hold back with causing a ton of damage even if it's just in a small amount of time. So, I have made a few changes to canon in that sense, only because it feels just a bit more (sadly) realistic to me.

----

It only takes a minute for Ellie to completely stop crying. She scrubs the wetness from her face with her palms, smearing some of the blood splatters around. She ends up shuffling a bit until her shoulders are against the wall. She keeps her knees pulled up, hands clasped in front to hold them, eyes still shut as her face tilts up to the ceiling, head resting on the wall behind her. She thumps the back of her skull on the wall once - twice - the blanket isn’t on her anymore, has ended up pooled on the ground behind her, so nothings cushioning it - he leans forward, but she stops on her own.

Because he’s a coward, Joel lets them slip back into quiet. “You’re not fine, baby, but it’s ok to need help,” he might try saying if he was a better man, “You don’t have to handle everything alone.”

Ellie guarded her independence ferociously from the moment they’d met - desperately tough, hating being babied, willing to be taken down going full out against unbeatable odds if it meant she didn’t look weak. Scared the shit out of him. He could lie to himself and say that’s why he doesn’t say anything as he watches her, but he’s too fucking drained to bother with his bullshit.

He’s just afraid - of saying something wrong and pushing her too far, snapping something. Breaking her in a way she can’t pull back together. So he lets her drift.

He rubs his hand across his face, squeezes his eyes closed tight and presses the pads of his fingers against them until little patches of light and dark pop up in his vision. And then, since he’s never been any good at having his hands sitting idle, he finds himself moving to pull the first aid kit out from under the shelving, sliding it closer until the flashlight beam can fall on it. One of the plastic latches snaps apart as he flips it open, brittle from age, the cold.

It’s not untouched, but more intact than most he’s come across. A grubby looking stick of After-Bite and pack of Benadryl sit on top, and he tosses them to the side to run his fingers through the mess of little white packages underneath. Gauze, bandaids, sterile scissors, tape. A thick stack of antiseptic wipes - long dried out, he guesses, and proves himself right tearing a corner off in his teeth and pulling out a bone dry little white square. A dash of red catches his eye and he picks out a couple of what look to be mini toothpaste tubes, red and white and purple - squints to read the label - “Insta-Glucose”.

“Look, Ellie - sugar.” He watches as she opens one eye to peek at him. That gets her attention.

“Hm?”

When did you last eat, he wants to ask, too scared to know, keeps up his cowardly streak by swallowing the question down.

He slides one of the tubes over to her, puts it just in front of the toes of her boots. “It’s uh - I think they made ‘em for diabetics, mostly - just sugar. Carbs. S’posed to eat it, get your blood sugar up”.

She blinks at him but doesn’t move to take the tube, so he grabs it again, twists the tear away top off, and holds it out to her. “Here, eat some - it’ll - it’ll help,” he says, and counts one - two - three seconds until she reaches up to take it. She pinches the tube between her fingers and nothing comes out, looking back at him. Blank. 

“Sorry, must be frozen - dried out,” he takes it back to crush it a bit between his fingers until little red crumbs are making their way out of the top. He tries to hand it to her but she doesn’t take it back - stares at it for a moment, shakes her head.

“Don’t… dunno if I can.”

He’s trying not to sound frustrated - he’s not, not one bit, not at her - but the fatigue is creeping into his voice and he can hear himself sounding shorter.  “Don’t really have to swallow, it’ll kinda - melt. Put a bit in your mouth and you’ll - it’ll still work."

She touches her fingers against her lips as she replies, “Mouth’s dry.” 

Of course it is - he hasn’t thought to get a drop of fucking water into her. Shelter - get warm - hydrate. The fucking basics.

As he sits in the shame, registering the fact that he keeps finding ways to fail, a memory flashes at him. Cold water, tasting like salt, trickling on his face, his chin, a few droplets slipping past his cracked lips. A sliver of relief as he’s trapped, in and out of his body, sinking in endless dark, made only out of pain. Tiny fingertips brushing little bits of moisture, mercy, across his lips again and again. 

His eyes burn. Trying to think of the steps he has to take next. Put them in the right order. It takes way too long.

Right. Grab her bag again - there was a bit of sloshing in her thermos when he dug past it earlier taking stock of her clothes - just enough for a few mouthfuls. He pushes it into her hands and twists the top off for her. “Drink - slow, though. Bit at a time.” She takes a small sip while he grabs the blanket from where it’s bunched up on the floor behind her, trying to tug it up again, settling on wrapping it around her sides, about halfway up her arms. Then he turns away, dumps the first aid kit contents out onto the floor and stands up.

Ellie would never let him get away with a real old man groan like the one that just came out of him. Wouldn’t live that shit down for weeks.

She just stares up at him in confusion.

He gestures with the now empty plastic kit. “For snow - keep it under the blanket to melt a bit.” No reply as she lifts her thermos back up for another sip.

He cracks open the door and pauses to let his eyes adjust to the dark after getting used to the flashlight brightness. There’s a decent amount of light coming from the moon and being reflected off the bright snow everywhere, so it doesn’t take too long. In the time he spends crouching down to fill the kit with snow and stand again, Ellie gets up and moves behind him. He nearly bumps into her as he starts to turn back. “What’re -” he starts but she’s already telling him, in a miserable sounding voice -

“Have to pee.”

Fuck, he thinks. “Okay,” he says.

He leans around her to toss the container of snow onto the shelf and turns back to her. “I’ll come with you.”

She whines out an exasperated “Jo-el,” sounding every bit a teenager. She’d probably stomp her foot, he thinks, if she wasn’t so - well.

“You’re not going out alone,” he’s saying on autopilot, and she tenses her shoulders up instantly.

Dial it back, dick.

“Sorry -” he starts over - “I’ll give you privacy, Ellie, but - we’re both a bit -  unsteady,” he's fumbling, “Just - in case, ok?”

She gives up too easily.

“D’you want the jacket?” he asks, hesitating with what to do here. Seems stupid, finally getting her warm and then taking her back outside underdressed - but his coat is so big on her, hanging past her knees, her hands - might be more of a hinderance just now.   

She shakes her head, so he moves around her for a moment to grab the pistol he’d unholstered as they warmed up earlier. Goes to pick up the flashlight, and then reconsiders - hell of an easy thing to spot waving and moving around in the dark, even far away. Moonlight will have to be enough.

“Alright, c’mon then. Let’s be quick.”

He twists awkwardly to close the door behind them as they step out, trying not to lose too much of the heat they’d built up inside. Like earlier in the day, she leans heavily into him as they slowly pick their way down the steps. With no sun the temperature has dropped since they were out, and he feels them both tensing up quickly as the cold cuts right through their clothes. He keeps her upright with a hand clasped tightly her shoulder.

It’s hard to say for sure in the dark - not to mention how he’s burning through his last fucking brain cells at this point - but he thinks she’s moving a little worse than before, actually - frowns a bit more as he takes in how much she’s hunching forward, keeping one arm around her middle.

Shit.

He glances around in the dark. Doesn’t hear a sound.

“Just go here,” he decides, moving a few more steps until they’re tucked around the corner, along the side of the little building. She tips away from him to steady herself against the wall.

He hesitates. “Do you - need help with anything?”

But she shakes her head, so he reluctantly takes a few steps back around the corner.

He pauses for a few seconds, not hearing anything. Finally she asks in a small voice, “Can… a little farther?”, and he makes himself give her the privacy he’d promised, even as every step away from her feels wrong to his bones. He glances back briefly, feeling a bit relieved to see that the light cast by his flashlight - left it on inside to drain even faster on them, moron - isn't all that visible from out here. He turns back around and purposefully moves slow, taking smaller steps to shorten the distance he covers.

He hears her start shuffling around, and he clears his throat a few times, tries to be a bit noisier than he needs to as he picks up and sets down his feet, kicking the snow a bit- maybe some background sound will make it easier for her to go quickly.

Respect for her privacy aside, it’s pretty clear when she’s finally able to, and when she’s done. He hears her breathe out a whisper - “Fuck,” - and then the shuffling sounds are back, along with a few new whimpers - struggling to get her pants back up?

“Everything ok?” He asks, not able to help himself. She doesn’t answer, but then he hears her start walking - takes it as his cue to move quickly back in her direction.

She comes into view around the corner a second before he reaches it. Managed to get her pants up on her own, then. But right away he clocks how her whole body is vibrating, hard, and even in the dark he can tell she’s wide eyed. Her breaths are short and shallow. He needs to get her inside, now.

“G-got-” she stutters out as he steadies her from the side and starts moving them back up the steps, “peed on my p-pants.”

“Don’t matter - you’re changing anyway,” he reminds her.

They make it back through the door and he pushes it shut with his foot, both of them huffing a bit to catch their breath. He’s relieved to find that it’s stayed marginally warmer inside.

“No fair,” she slurs - he can hardly make out what she’s said, now, her voice sounding newly thick, even more off than before.

“Mm?” He nudges her after she goes silent for a stretch, keeping his arm around her back, not confident she’d stay up if he let go. He tries to scan what he can see of her face, now lit up again partially in the flashlight glow - she’s looking straight ahead and away from him.

“S’easy - you,” she twitches a hand vaguely in his direction, “piss anywhere.”

He’d laugh at that, if this were any other time. Remembers, uselessly and painfully, how Tess voiced the same complaint - “Don’t know how lucky you are, Texas” - anytime the two of them had to rough it somewhere.

“You’re not wrong,” he responds. Unholsters the pistol from his hip with his free hand and tosses it onto the shelf next to the first aid kit full of snow. He steps around so he’s facing her more directly, moving to grab her by the shoulders to steady her with both hands and almost forgetting about her injury. He hovers the hand on that side for a moment, and then he settles it lower on her arm, by her elbow. Ready, just in case.

She stares right through him, barely there - glassy eyed, frighteningly pale. She’s going to crash soon, it's clear from the look of her - might be about to faint on him. A fresh surge of fear has him feeling suddenly, newly clear headed and alert.

“We’re gonna put on your dry jeans now, and get you layin' down, warmin’ up again,” he says slowly, watching for any sign that she’s hearing him. “I’ll put some more water in your thermos - you can take little sips of it - but other than that I don’t want you movin’ around. You - your body needs some real rest to heal, baby. And - you need to tell me everywhere you’re hurtin’,” - she looks down to the floor and he clenches his grip on her, fighting the urge to shake her - “Please, Ellie - you’re scarin' me.”

There’s nothing in her stomach. But she lurches forward in a violent dry heave, giving it her all anyway. 

----

link to whole story (work in progress) on AO3

[marvelsswansong]

you made me hate this city

summary: It was just a stupid bet. A way to prove Jason and his asshole friends wrong, to finally get under the blonde's skin. It was never supposed to end with Eddie falling in love, nor with him laying on your doorstep with bruised knees, begging for your forgiveness.

tags: Eddie x fem!reader, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, ice queen/social outcast reader, Hopper!reader (goddaughter), reader is 18+ (impli. twenties), fluff, humor, angst, happy ending tho ofc

☆ word count: 17K+ (i stg it's worth it) ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Winters in Hawkins were unbearable.

Eddie's fingers - dry skin cracking by his knuckles, pink lines marred by green veins poking out of his skin - shakily held up the lit joint to his chapped lips, allowing him to inhale deeply and let out a slow drag of smoke. Much like his muted breaths, the white whisps of air curled upwards in lazy swirls before dissipating into the night air, providing a momentary release from the cold.

The freezing temperatures embraced Eddie just as quickly afterwards, making him grumble in discomfort, swearing under his breath for how long Jason and his group of friends were taking to finish the damn basketball game. The heat provided from his van was rather weak - the heater having blown a fuse a week ago which he had yet to fix - and his jean jacket did little to provide any additional warmth as he grasped the lapels of the jacket and pulled it closer towards his body.

God, where were those assholes?

As if fate had been listening to his internal monologue, Eddie soon heard the crunching of snow beneath several pairs of feet accompanied by the recognizable rowdy chatter between the basketball players. Leading the group as usual was Jason Carver - the blonde's signature smug expression replaced by one of annoyance - followed by his two best friends, a brunette and a redhead who were practical carbon copies of each other (muscular airheads with big egos and loud voices). Not that Eddie could really distinguish between the basketball players at Hawkins High. They all tended to come from the same pool of people.

Tall, fit, conventionally attractive, white males from cushy upper class backgrounds.

Unfortunately, that also meant jocks were one of his most profitable clients. Hence why Eddie had dragged his van and stash of goods half-way across town during winter break in the freezing cold. Having waited a staggering twenty minutes with nothing more than a jean jacket to keep him company, he was simply looking forward to finalizing the deal and to be able to drive back home to fall underneath the covers.

"You got the goods, freak?" Nate, the tall brunette, yelled out in advance, clapping his meaty hands together. Eddie had to actively suppress an eyeroll - no matter how many times he regularly dealt with them, they'd never even gone so far as to call him by his real name. Wordlessly kicking open the back of his van, he pulled off the green tarp overlaying the interior to reveal a hefty amount of weed, neatly packaged in plastic containers and paper bags.

"What'd you want?" the metalhead asked, voice monotone and face straight - completely immune to their presence at this point. The transaction was, after all, a regular routine at this point so as to make Eddie's reactions automatic and reflexive. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as he could.

The basketball player standing next to Nate, a slim redhead named Oliver, cut into the conversation whilst brushing falling snowflakes off of his varsity jacket with a frown.

"Give us everything, son of satan."

"Everything?" Eddie raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his surprise. Jason only clicked his tongue at that, left hand coming up to swiftly comb through his hair - the blonde was on edge, that was as clear as daylight to see.

"Yeah, jackass, just give us what you got. I'm throwing a massive party and my parents are in California for another two weeks so I need all you got."

"That'll be $1,500." Eddie slowly said, eyeing the blonde up and down, expecting the man to pull out of the deal at any moment. Instead, the jock only let out an exasperated sigh, dropping his duffel bag to the floor before digging out a wad of cash.

"That's a shit ton of money you're blowing on weed, Carver." Oliver commented, slapping his friend's shoulder.

"Not enough money to impress (Y/n) though, apparently." Nate added from the side, causing both him and Oliver to crack up at the expense of a fuming Jason, the blonde's fists clenching tightly by his sides.

"Fuck off, would you?" the blonde shrugged his friend's arm off of his shoulders quickly, eyes burning with annoyance and betrayal. Eddie knew he wasn't supposed to be listening in on their conversation, his brown eyes still focused on the stack of notes in his hands as his fingers combed through each bill one by one. But his ears perked up at the mention of your name and he couldn't help but listen in closer as Jason's teammates laughed even harder at their leader's expression of fury.

"I'm telling you. Your daddy's money and status may get you everything you want, but not even you can win over the ice queen of Hawkins High." Nate drawled, with Oliver nodding eagerly behind him.

Jason only rolled his shoulders forward at that, unclenching his jaw with a frustrated sigh.

"Well how the fuck was I supposed to know that she was going to throw her drink on me and call me a 'blonde bimbo in ugly basketball shorts' just cause I asked her out?"

The chuckle that escaped from Eddie's lips was dangerous, but he couldn't help but let out a short laugh at the recollection of your comment, subjecting himself immediately to the harsh gazes of the three jocks. Jason in particular looked offended at that, cracking his knuckles and flashing the metalhead a stinging glare.

"You think that's funny, Munson?"

Counting up to the last thousand - damn, Jason really had handed him $1,500 on the dot - Eddie looked up at Jason with a sly smile, shaking his head lightly side to side.

"Meh, just a little. Doesn't matter though. You got the cash, I got the weed." he replied before stepping to the side, signaling for Nate and Oliver to begin shoving the packets of weed into their duffel bags. Whilst they did so, Jason slowly walked forward towards Eddie, an egotistical swagger to his steps.

"What? You think you can do better, freak?

"Asking girls out? Eh, maybe." Eddie decided to goad the blonde further, enjoying the delicious cruelty of being able to toy with the fragile ego of the star basketball player. Watching how Jason's neck strained at that comment, adam's apple bopping up and down.

Suddenly, the angry expression on Jason's face melted away into a wide grin, a new delightful idea seemingly having popped into his mind.

"Tell you what, freak. Let's wager a bet." Jason's tongue dragged across his lower lips slowly, his eyes were glinting with a certain kind of danger Eddie couldn't quite place. "You think you're such tough shit, that you're so much better than me - why don't you go after (Y/n)? If you can somehow get the infamous ice queen to say yes to a date, you win."

"And what exactly would I win?"

"I'll pay double the usual for all our dealings. Heard through the grapevine your shitty trailer home's overdue for a fix, no?"

Oliver and Nate cackled behind Jason at that comment, igniting fiery hatred in the metalhead's veins. Jaw feeling stiff, he forced himself to sit up straight, staring right back at the jocks.

"... That, and you leave me and my friends alone for the rest of the year."

"For that price, you'll have to have her say yes to prom too!" Oliver yelled out from the side, to which Jason nodded.

"Get her to say yes to dates and then prom, and then we'll say you win. I pay double, you can fix your shitty dump you call a house, and we'll stop bothering you and your band of freaks. Deal?"

It was no different to staring the devil in the face, devious and cruel smirk matched with voice dripping with venom as the blonde extended one hand forward. Eddie stared at it for a few seconds, contemplating his decisions: his uncle had tried to be sly about money problems but winter was only getting colder, and now that he had Dustin, Lucas and Mike in the group, he did want the bullying to stop against his group.

Swallowing his doubts, Eddie quickly shook Jason's hand, never once breaking eye contact.

"Deal."

-------------------------------------

First week back from winter break.

Eddie has been agonizing over how to even approach you. He's only spoken to you once before.

Actually, that may be an overstatement, he thinks, now looking back.

Eddie was being blocked from accessing his locker as a group of cheerleaders gossiped in the hallways, each of them blatantly ignoring Eddie's quiet pleas for them to move. When he coughed loudly and tried to wiggle through the crowd, the two head cheerleaders by the front shot him a nasty glare, the blonde one even going so far as to look him up and down and smirk.

"Thought I smelled trailer trash. Piss off, freak."

"I'm just trying to get to my locker, Joanne." he'd deadpanned - normally, he would've just walked away by now but he really needed to get to his fucking locker for that damn history textbook.

"Well we're too busy catching up about the rager Dianne went to last week in Idaho, so you can wait, okay?" the other head cheerleader, a petite raven haired girl named Sandra, snapped. That elicited a crowd of giggles to erupt amongst the group, and Eddie sighed again, running a hand down his face in exasperation.

"Look-"

"Didn't know this was the hangout spot for superficial barbies skipping their geometry classes." you sneered, coy smirk dancing on your glossy lips. The group of girls instantly froze at the sound of your voice, causing even the two head cheerleaders by Eddie to straighten up in fear.

"What'd you want, (L/n)?" Joanne stuttered out, the low pink flush in her cheeks clearly marking her embarrassment and fear. Eddie watched in awe as you simply stared the cheerleader down, dissecting the girl's layers with one glare and a low chuckle under your breath.

"For you and your fake friends to leave, obviously. What, too dumb to even figure that out?"

"Y-you can't make us leave! You have no authority to command so." Sandra blurted out, eyes darting away to the floor when you redirected your fiery gaze at her. Eddie had to admit, you were kind of terrifying - sharp eyes drawn forward, head held high, fingers gripping tightly onto the straps of your backpack.

"Is that so?" you questioned, stepping one step closer to the crowd of cheerleaders, all of whom instinctively backed up against the wall. Pink tongue tracing your lower lips, you cocked your head to the side in feigned interest. "I guess you only ever listen to the authority of Joanne's boyfriend, huh, Sandra? When he's leaving hickies on your neck and blowing off dinners with Joanne for you?"

"You did what?!" Joanne screamed out in anger at her best friend, causing Sandra to begin running in the opposite direction. Sensing a battle brewing between their two leaders, the rest of the cheerleaders deserted the hallway, leaving you and Eddie alone in the aftermath. You rolled your eyes, shoving away the last cheerleader evacuating the scene before Eddie's left hand reached out to grab your wrist.

"W-wait." he stuttered out, hesitant. You looked down at his hand with a cold glare, before staring back up at him in annoyance.

"What."

"Thank you for standing up for me. I mean, no one's ever talked back to the popular kids for me before. It's really cool of you." he rambled, hands fidgeting by his neck, not being able to quite meet your gaze upon feeling chills run down his spine at your icy demeanor. Your only response to his comment was to aggressively shake off his hand, recoiling from his touch as if you'd been burnt.

"I wasn't doing any of that for you, Munson. They were in the way to my Chemistry class."

Turning on your heel, you disappeared into the foreground before Eddie could muster up a response.

The rumors were true, he realized. You were exceptionally beautiful - it was no wonder that you were rumored to be scouted by the cheerleaders by third period on your first day (had you not literally dumped an iced coffee over their leader when she'd approached you during lunch). Even when you were snarling at him, arms crossed in a defensive posture and chilling orbs glaring daggers into his eyes, he couldn't help but feel warmth rise to his cheeks from being able to gaze at your face up close.

But Eddie wasn't able to focus on your features much - the dip of your neck leading down to the valley of your breasts, your glossy lips and bright eyes, jaw and cheeks carved by the harsh sunlight - when you'd snapped at him and turned the other way.

Staring down at his now empty hands, he shrugged. You were indeed, an ice queen.

Cut to the present, Eddie's hiding behind the door of his own locker, peeking out at the hallway every few seconds to watch you shuffle through your own belongings. Headphones around your ears, Walkman tape bouncing alongside your side as you pull down a stack of books from the top shelf, your skirt rides up ever so slightly to bunch at your waist.

To any passing stranger, you may even look sweet at the moment - soft body hugged by the green fabric, knee high socks, lipstick cautiously being applied by the small mirror taped to your locker door.

But Eddie knows better. The whole school knows better, with the way everyone makes a point to avoid you. Cheerleaders stop walking and turn the other way, the jocks avoid your gaze and keep as long of a distance from you, and even the nerds and band geeks make sure to walk with their head down and mind their steps to not bump into you.

"What are you looking at?" Dustin suddenly jumps in, face few inches from Eddie, causing the older boy to straighten up in surprise and hit his head against the wall. Clutching his head where it's beginning to bruise, he makes it a point to glare at the curly haired freshman, who only flashes him an innocent smile.

"Ouch, what the hell, Henderson?" Eddie grumbles.

"You got that 'I'm lost in my thoughts' look on your face. And I was just curious as to what could be so interesting to have you staring off into space."

"It's nothing." Eddie quickly blurts out, practically slamming his locker shut and leaning against it with a faux grin, cool relaxed posture with his arms crossed. Dustin doesn't buy that, only frowning in disbelief, before leaning to the side to peek towards where Eddie was staring.

The only person really visible is you, thumbing through your notebooks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Holy shit, were you... staring at (Y/n) (L/n)?" Dustin semi-shouts out of shock, forcing Eddie to practically grab the younger boy by the front of his t-shirt and yank him backwards, narrowly avoiding the curious look you throw behind your back upon hearing your name be shouted out.

"Keep your damn voice down, geez." Eddie swears, heart thrumming with anxiety. Dustin's face only quirks up in semi-annoyance, his left hand coming up to slap across the senior's chest.

"Why were you staring at her?"

"I was not staring at her." Eddie weakly responds. It's a total lie and they both know it, with Eddie unable to even look Dustin straight in the face.

"Listen, I know you're crazy and your whole thing is going against the grain - which I think is awesome, don't get me wrong. But getting involved with her? That's a death wish, man. She's fucking scary." Dustin shudders, shaking off faux chills as you slam your locker shut and shove past a group of cowering teens, not even sparing them a second glance.

Cursing internally, the metalhead swallows his comments and forces out a grin.

"Relax, man. I'm not getting involved with anyone."

----------------------------------

Eddie finally gets the courage to talk to you on a rainy Friday afternoon. The parking lot's deserted and the sky's a murky gray, harsh showers slapping against dulled windows fogged up from the cold.

Tucking his roleplaying notebook underneath his left arm, carefree smile on his face from the fantastic D&D session he's just had, he almost walks past where you're leaning against the wall without acknowledging that you're alone.

You're so good at that, Eddie realizes: blending into the background, simultaneously being so eye-catching and beautiful to catch his attention, whilst also exuding an uninviting aura that makes his brain immediately divert his gaze elsewhere.

Tapping your converse shoes against the cement floor, your head is drawn downwards with your eyes narrowly focused in on a hardcover book Eddie can't read the name of. The entire hallway's deserted and Eddie realizes that now's the best time - more than ever - to make his first move.

"Hey. (Y/n), right?" he starts out, waving for your attention and flashing you his most charming smile. It doesn't even leave a dent on your face: lips still in a straight line, your head not even picking up to stare at him.

"What do you want?" you drawl out, flipping a page with your thumb. He fumbles on what to say next, not used to having to speak to someone who won't even look at him - at the very least, he thinks, when jocks are jeering at him or cheerleaders are insulting him, they flash him a dirty glance.

"Tutoring." is the first thing that leaves his lips and that does the job of causing you to still and look up at him with your eyebrows raised, mocking grin on your face.

"Tutoring? You do know that I'm barely passing all my classes, right?" you spit out, unimpressed. Stranded, Eddie's hands fly up in mock surrender, voice edged with nerves as he forces out a laugh.

"Yeah uh, no, I meant like... I could tutor you."

You chuckle at that - a dry, bitter sound that makes him cringe - perfectly manicured fingers curling to point accusingly at his figure.

"You, Eddie Munson, repeat senior - tutoring me? Yeah right. Fuck off, won't you?"

Licking his lips, Eddie takes in a deep breath, ready to try and persuade you again when the loud honking of a car cuts in. Looking over your shoulder, he can see the faint outline of a truck and a man sitting by the front of the driver's seat, shouting your name. He can't make out much about the man's features - the glass windows fogged up and obscured by the pouring rain - and you brush past Eddie with ease, shoulders colliding with his.

"Well that went well." Eddie sarcastically comments under his breath.

Maybe this bet isn't going to work out, he bitterly thinks, kicking a small pebble in his way.

Then it's Monday. And thank god for Ms. Rogers of his American History class - because she announces a new group project, and the pairings just so work out to pair you and him together. Eddie has to conceal the rush of joy and relief when he sees his name hastily scrawled next to yours on the whiteboard, keeping his face straight and outwardly disinterested when he sits down next to you.

"Hey there, partner." he jokes, sliding his chair closer to the table. Your gaze remains fixated on your nails, your only acknowledgment of his presence being the rolling of your eyes. "How's life?"

"Life is life, Munson." you spit, harsh gaze shifting a fraction to cast him a dirty glance. It makes him feel small, goosebumps rising across his skin from the way your lip snarls and your voice tightens.

"Right, well, now that we're project partners we'll probably be seeing a lot of each other. Do you wanna meet up after school to discuss the basics?" Eddie trails off slowly, cautiously trying to survey your reactions.

He's silently bracing for another cruel remark - or maybe a disinterested eyeroll, coupled with a middle finger to his face - but to his surprise, you huff out a quick sigh and unclench your jaw.

"Fine. The library at 3.30."

"Oh actually, I was wondering if we could do later because technically we're supposed to have a Hellfire campaign tonight-"

You hold one hand up to his face, forcing him to shut up, before throwing him an annoyed glance.

"Do I look like I care? Reschedule."

All other arguments die in his mouth when the teacher begins to talk, signaling for everyone in the class to fall silent and redirect their attention to the front of the classroom. Eddie shifts to look forward, but he can't help but quickly glance at you from the corner of his eyes.

You look agitated, teeth biting down on the end of a yellow pencil, grinding down onto hard wood. Shoulder tensed, body braced forward as you lean onto your propped up arms. Eddie realizes then that he's never seen you relaxed. Or seen you smile, or hell, be anything other than aggressive and tense.

The thoughts of the bet with Jason re-enter his mind, which he's quick to scrub away in an attempt to pay attention. Above all, he supposes, he'd like to at least pass this fucking class so he's not a fourth time repeat senior.

The end of the school day arrives in a flash, it seems, with him anxiously jumping up and down on the balls of his feet outside the library whilst waiting for you to appear. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he then feels a warm hand on his back, twisting around clumsily to see your non-amused expression staring back at him.

"Come on, Munson. I don't have all day."

The first half an hour is painfully awkward. Eddie keeps on throwing jokes - "if I have to read another passage about a dead white man, I think I'm going to die myself" - and thoughtful compliments - "that's a really good idea, (Y/n), thank god we were paired together or else I would've failed" - but you don't seem the least bit deterred. Sitting at least five inches away from him, shoulders hunched over as your gaze remains fixated on the stack of papers strewn over the table surface. There's a permanent frown on your face, pulling down and wrinkling your features, coupled with an unwavering silence.

Eddie wonders what it'd be like if you smiled instead.

"So what do you think? I reckon pretty much everyone's going to do the easy topics - the ratification of the constitution or the fight for independence. So maybe it'd be better if we did something different, like maybe how the two party system emerged?" Eddie suggests lightly, leaning back on his seat, flashing you a hopeful smile.

You don't even look up at him, shrugging your shoulders.

"Sure, whatever."

"If you think there's something else we could do, I'd love to hear it." He's practically begging you to speak at this point, considering he's been the one filling the silence in the room for the past half hour.

"Don't have any ideas."

"You sure?"

"YES! Jesus christ, Munson, are you deaf?" you snap, looking up at him angrily.

"Alright, god, I'm sorry that I'm trying to include you in OUR project." he retorts, feeling his patience run dry. "You know-" He lets out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I've been nothing but nice to you the past few weeks-"

"Why is that?" you press, voice suddenly quiet.

"W-what?"

His breath catches in his throat when you make full eye contact with him, yellow embers reflecting in your orbs from the light bulbs hanging overhead.

"I'm confused as to why you've been so nice to me lately, Munson. What's your end game?" you question, slamming your book shut. Eddie blinks at you silently like a fish out of water - what the hell is he supposed to say to that? It must look awfully odd from your point of view, he realizes, for you two to go from strangers to him trying to talk to you all the time.

But what's he supposed to say? "Jason Carver and I fought and we got into a bet that I could seduce you and bring you to prom because you're this notorious ice queen."

Yeah right.

Exhaling quickly, he just cocks his head to the side and feigns calmness.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better."

"Me, seriously?" you scoff, clearly not believing him.

"Yeah! Look, I... I know what it's like for people at this shitty high school to not take you seriously or to make you feel like a complete outcast. I figured you could use a friend! Because no offense, I have the Hellfire Club, but I've never seen you with anyone but yourself."

He's being pretty sincere with that statement, and it seems to come through as you raise your eyebrows slowly in response, unreadable expression on your face.

"You've been... watching me?"

"Not in a creepy way! Just consider it, like, one outcast looking out for another."

It's the slightest change, a reflex that lasts for less than a second, but he catches the end of your lips twitch ever so slightly to indicate a grin. It disappears just as quickly it appears, but he catches it nonetheless, and it makes hope blossom in his lower abdomen.

"... Alright." you surrender, gaze slightly softer, voice no longer aggressive and defensive. It's impossible for him to conceal his joy at that.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Munson. I suppose I could be a bit nicer to you. But-" you poke him on the side with a spare pencil. "No promises. No pushing me into anything. We're hardly acquaintances, let alone friends. But I suppose if we need to work together on this stupid project together, we might as well get along. Okay?"

Eddie nearly pulls a muscle with how fast he nods in affirmation.

"Okay."

---------------------------------------

Tuesdays and Thursday evenings are from then on reserved for after school meet ups to work on the project. You're still characteristically you - full of mean comments, sassy eyerolls, judgmental gazes and all. But he does notice that as time goes on, you're snarling at him less and loosening up ever so slightly.

He's yet to seen you smile, however, though he's gotten close a couple of times. Like when he slipped on a banana peel whilst walking out the library with you last week or when yesterday, he made a dumb joke about a horrendous illustration of Thomas Jefferson in the textbook.

On a windy February afternoon, you two end up staying a bit later than expected. Eddie leaning against the wall, sitting on the carpeted floor with his legs crossed as he pours through five heavy leather bound books, you're hunched over a shitty desk lamp and a cup of coffee as you highlight passages from a textbook. Neither of you have cared to check the clock or have registered the fact that it's been a full two hours since the librarians notified you two that they're heading out.

"I think my brain's melting." he complains, slipping down the wall slowly in a dramatic fashion. You shoot him an amused glance, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth.

"Tough luck, devil boy. We've still got a lot more to read."

Eddie groans, rubbing his eyes with his metal ring clad fingers.

"I know, but it feels like we've been reading boring books in this stuffy room FOREVER now!"

The two of you pause at that, it suddenly dawning on both of you that the rest of the library seems oddly... dark. And quiet.

"Shit. What time is it?" you ask aloud, standing up so quickly that you topple your chair over. The nearest clock - hanging behind a row of oak bookshelves - indicates that it's nearly six thirty pm.

Far, far, later than anyone would be at school.

It's a scramble to dog-ear pages, organize the books in their relevant places and to shove all your belongings in to your respective bags before racing down the hallway to the front doors, which of course, are locked.

"Well, I guess we're gonna die here." Eddie remarks, dropping his hands from the front doors with a sigh. You slap him across the shoulder at that, though this time the action's more playful, more tongue in cheek.

"Relax, Munson. All we need is a phone, do you think the front office's phones still work?"

"Yeah. I would know, because they made a call to my uncle this morning to complain that I came in an hour late to first period."

"Classic Eddie." you comment, to which he visibly stiffens and stares down at you with awe. "What?" you press, confused at why he's suddenly looking at you like that.

"You said my name. Not Munson, not devil boy, not an insult."

To his quiet surprise, you seem to get embarrassed at that, eyes dropping to the floor as you shift nervously on your feet.

"I mean, that's your name, right? But if you prefer I call you like Munson instead I ca-"

"No, no." he lets out a gentle laugh, and a thought passes by your head like a bullet train that you really like it. It's soft, it's melodic, it's sweet: taste of sweet potatoes coated in cloud sugar on your tongue. "I really like hearing you say my name. Say it more."

Your lips quirk up again, signaling a potential smile, but it's not fully realized. But your shoulders do drop in a more relaxed manner, and you flash him an ambivalent glance.

"Sure."

After using a spare hairpin in Eddie's pocket to pick the lock to the front office, you jump over the counter to slide over the surface and reach the phone behind the desk. Eddie makes a joke about how you'd make an excellent spy - to which you throw him a dirty glare and signal for him to shut up - before you make a phone call. To whom, he doesn't know. But it's clear that you care for this person, as your voice becomes lower and less agitated.

"Hey. Yeah, sorry for worrying you. I was staying late with my project partner for American History and then... we lost track of the time and now we're locked in. Do you think you could come over and get us?" you pause, Eddie supposes it's to allow the person on the other line to respond. "Alright. Sounds good. See you soon."

"Who'd you call?" he quizzes, curious as he helps you slide off the desk, allowing you to grasp at his shoulders to jump off securely. He chooses to ignore the way his skin tingles with electricity when your soft hands grip at his skin, heat wrapping around his upper body.

"My godfather. But it'll probably take another half an hour for him to arrive so we should probably camp out by the front doors till then."

There's a good five minutes of uninhibited silence after that as you two sit by the front entrance. You're sitting across from him leaning against the lockers: one leg straight, the other propped up by your chest as you rest your arms on your knee and twist your body to look out the window. Eddie's sitting a few inches away from you, legs crossed, toying with the rings on his fingers.

It's not a tense silence, but it is boring.

"I didn't know you had a godfather." Eddie decides to say, looking up at you cautiously. "That's cool."

"Cool, huh?" you quip, tearing your gaze away from the window. "Not many people think that. Most people think it's fucking weird that I live with my godfather instead of my biological parents."

"Well most people are assholes and idiots. Don't listen to them." he argues, lacing his fingers together.

"That's true." you agree, nodding ambivalently. "What about you? You and your uncle? You two live by the trailer park, right?"

Neither of you delve into too much personal information - the conversation's restrained to surface level things, before somehow melting into a heated discussion over music. It turns out that you're a huge music fan, front pocket of your bag overflowing with cassettes, notebooks crumpled by the weight of your walkman and headphones.

"Listen, I can appreciate a good Billy Joel song and all, but Black Sabbath is god." Eddie insists, uncrossing his legs and gesturing frantically with his hands.

"Oh, please, Eddie! You're just saying that because your exposure to Billy Joel has primarily been Uptown Girl. He has some serious deep cuts, like you can't tell me that you're able to listen to Vienna without getting emotional."

"Hey, you can get PLENTY emotional to Black Sabbath."

"Really?" you quip, poking him in the shoulder, forcing him to fall back down on his heels. You're fully smiling at this point, eyes light and wide, lips outstretched into an actual grin. He really likes this sight, he thinks. The light even seems to hit you differently when you smile - carving shadows down your jaw, glittering light kissing your hairline, halo around your hair.

"Really. Pinky promise." Eddie argues, poking his pinkie finger out at you. You stare down at him, fully amused, shaking your head sideways at his antics.

"I'm not gonna pinky promise you shit." you mock, crossing your arm.

"Aw, come on." he leans in teasingly, backing you up against the lockers. He doesn't realize it, but your breath hitches in your throat at the action, as it hits you that he's so close that you can count the individual freckles adorning his cheeks and smell the mixed scents of pine, fresh rain and weed emanating from his jacket.

You both break away from your respective positions at the sound of the front doors unlocking, with a very unimpressed look on Hopper's face as he links back the keys to his belt and raises his eyebrows at you.

"Are you sure it was the project that made you late and not being with your boyfriend?" he drawls, forefinger outstretched to gesture between the two of you. You stand up so quickly you practically stumble forward, stuttering your words - you're so mortified, you can't even look at Eddie.

"Jesus, dad, NO! He's just a friend."

"Friend, huh?" Eddie teases, elbowing you on the side, to which you elbow him back harder (making him groan out in slight pain). He watches as the police chief's blue eyes narrow in on his figure, dissecting him with a single glance, before returning to stare at you. It registers in his mind that Hopper's eyes soften when they land on you, a small grin appearing on his aged face.

"Alright then. Good to see you've made friends, (Y/n)." he comments. You roll your eyes, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Speaking of which, Eddie needs to get going. Right?" you rush out, practically shoving Eddie forward. Eddie nods awkwardly, shooting the older man a (what he hopes is) charming smile before winking at you.

"Right. Thank you, sir, for saving us. (Y/n), I'll see you next Tuesday for the final bits of the project?"

"Yeah, see you."

The moment you hop into the front seat of Hopper's truck, you can practically feel the intensity of the the rush of thoughts in your godfather's mind, his heavy gaze alternating between the road and your anxious figure shifting against the leather seats.

"So... this Eddie. Your friend, huh?" he starts out, quiet.

"Just drive, Hop, jesus." you say out loud, leaning your head against the window, rubbing your temples in a soothing manner as if to cure a headache.

"Not commenting on it, sweetheart. Just saying it's nice to see you open up and make friends."

"A friend, dad. One. Singular." you correct, to which he just waves off your comment with a blow through his lips.

"Still. Maybe this'll help you adjust a bit better. You have been adjusting alright, right?"

He pulls over into the driveway of his house, hands lingering over the steering wheel as he glances over at you worryingly. Hopper's always been a protective godfather, never intrusive but often keeping a close watch on you from the background. You don't blame him for worrying, considering the whiplash of a turn your life's taken in the past few months.

Leaving your parents in New York, packing two bags of clothes before hitchhiking across the country to come all the way down to Hawkins to live with your godfather. Your 'real' parents are practically dead to you, hence why you've chosen to call Hopper 'dad', and you consider El to be your real life little sister.

You figure you're already asking so much of him: to take you in as his non-biological daughter, to provide you a place to sleep and eat, to pay for your schooling as you catch up on two years of high school you took off in New York. All of this, combined, has led you to be less than transparent about how you've been adjusting at your new school.

In fact, Hopper wouldn't even know anything about how you don't really have friends if it hadn't been for Mike and his big mouth, and El's sweet concerns being expressed to Hopper.

"I'm doing okay, dad. Seriously." you assure him, patting down on his hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

When your bedroom door finally closes behind you that night, it dawns on you as you're staring up at the ceiling - you've made a friend.

For the first time in a while, you fall asleep filled with joy and giddiness.

------------------------------------------

"Do you wanna come see my band play tonight?"

Eddie asks you on the final day of your project, closing your locker door for you, peering up at you with his doe like eyes. Your mind's been swimming with anxious thoughts all day - you're afraid that the only thing keeping your friendship afloat with Eddie is the project, which is due to be turned in today, and you're not sure what's going to happen once it's done.

So it's actually kind of a relief to have him beg you to see his band perform tonight, relief that you can't help but spill out into a small grin reflected on your lips.

"Corroded Coffin's playing tonight?"

"Yeah! And it's gonna be radical. Some of my other friends are gonna be attending too, so you won't have to show up alone."

"Aren't minors not allowed in seedy bars?" you tease. "Your friends are like, all freshman boys."

"Hey, I have friends that aren't Henderson or the other kids! Seriously, Steve and Robin are cool adults in their twenties and they will be there too."

"I don't think imaginary friends count." you continuously tease, walking away from him, as he follows right behind you.

"They're NOT imaginary! I swear, they're real people with real jobs and hobbies." Eddie pouts, looking like a kicked puppy. It's adorable, really, and you can't help but chuckle at his sad expression.

"Alright, alright, I'm joking! Sure, sounds good. When and where is it?"

"The downtown bar by the bookstore off the 45. Door's open at 7, but realistically we won't be playing till like 8.30 so feel free to come by then. I'll tell Steve and Robin to wait for you outside. They're cool, I promise."

You can't help but bite your bottom lip at that, anxiety gnawing at your chest.

"Are you sure? I just... I don't know if I'll get along with your friends, that's all. I mean, it took us like forever to be friends ourselves." you comment dryly.

"Pfft, you'll get along with them super well, don't worry! You're cool, they're cool, that's all you need."

All protests die in your mouth when he smiles at you like that, so you sigh and surrender to his demands.

"Alright, fine."

The bar's packed and loud, you think, flashes of yellow and red light emitting from the dingy entrance as you cross the road towards the establishment. There's already a line of people outside but there's two people in particular who stick out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of black and edgy looks - a girl and a boy around your age, mid-playful argument.

The guy meets your gaze and then waves you over, soft smile on his lips. He's quite cute, you think - not your type, but there's an undeniable charm to him, wavy chestnut brown hair, soft features and slight muscle definition to his thighs and arms. The girl's grinning at you and she's also pretty, short brunette bob framing her lively face quite nicely.

They're also dressed more for the park than a metal concert, but you suppose you haven't done much better (throwing on just a t-shirt and jeans over a pair of sneakers).

"Hey! (Y/n), right?" Steve asks, as you nod in response, slightly intimidated at the presence of these new people.

You do vaguely remember Hopper mentioning a guy named Steve once over a phone call with Joyce, but other than that you don't know too much about him. But Steve seems really nice, welcoming you into the group instantly, gently pulling you towards the two of them and away from the rest of the hectic crowds.

"I'm Steve. Nice to meet you. And this is Robin, my best friend and eternal pain in the ass."

"Cap your ego, Harrington. Don't listen to him, besides, us girls have to stick together, right?" Robin quips, pulling you against her and winking at you. You can't help but giggle at that, what with the way Steve's face then scrunches up into a haughty frown.

It turns out that they're a delightful pair to be around. Robin's sarcastic, witty and funny, and her no-bullshit attitude and dry sense of humor pairs nicely with Steve's slightly egotistical, flirty and outgoing nature. And with a bit of alcohol dancing on the tip of your tongue, you find yourself loosening and completely comfortable by the time the band comes out to play.

The music is loud - so loud that it reverberates through your body, so loud that it feels like the whole building shakes with the booming of the speakers - but it's also delirious and addicting, jumping up and down in a sea of people to the ear-splitting music.

The three of you stay long past after the show's wrapped up, leaning against the counter of the open bar with dopey smiles on each of your faces.

"Holy shit, my dad's gonna be so mad that I'm this tipsy." you comment, leaning onto Robin's shoulders for support.

"Really?" she teases, amused.

"Seriously. And the fact that he's the police chief probably isn't going to do me much favours."

"Hopper's your father?" Steve asks, surprised. He remembers in the back of his mind Hopper mentioning that he's taken in another kid a while ago, but he hadn't pressed the older man for details.

"Godfather, actually, but he might as well be my dad. Considering I left my shitty biological parents in New York."

"To shitty parents." Robin announces, raising her glass of whiskey into the air. Steve and you clink your glasses with hers in agreement.

"To shitty parents."

"Looks like someone's had a lot of fun." Eddie comments from behind you the moment you down the shot, your head slow to catch up with his presence before it hits you all at once.

"Eddie!" you squeal out, dropping the glass onto the counter and spinning around to envelope him in a fierce hug. He's wholly unprepared to catch your embrace with the speed and force with which you wrap your arms around his waist, causing him to stumble backwards.

"You were amazing! Like seriously, your guitar solo was the best part of the whole night." you gush and Eddie's glad that the harsh lighting of the bar is able to mask the slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Aw, thanks. Did Steve and Robin treat you alright?" he asks, looking up at his friends.

"More than alright, we nearly stole your girl." Steve teases, to which Eddie only scowls, waving away his friend's suggestive teasing.

"Alright, Harrington, keep it in your pants."

Robin and Steve continue to smirk at Eddie, making exaggerated lovesick expressions and throwing kisses at the two of you, none of which you're catching because your head is still buried against Eddie's chest. Eddie has to subtly - but fiercely - tell his friends to cut it out, gesturing with his hands and throwing nasty glares their way.

"Fuck, I really need to sober up though." you mumble, straightening up, stumbling ever so slightly on your feet.

"Yeah, and I'm beat. Wanna split a cab, Buckley?"

"Sure do, Steve. See you two kids around." Robin slyly adds, quickly exiting right after Steve to leave you alone with Eddie. It's clear what they're trying to do, but Eddie can't really bring it to himself to care when you tug at his sleeves, still tipsy and tired.

"Can we drive out somewhere cold and empty? If I go home now, Hopper's gonna be real mad about my alcohol consumption. Even if I'm over 18, that man is... protective."

Eddie chuckles, nodding, brushing away a stray strand of hair from your eyes.

"Alright then. Guess we're driving to the park."

On the way out to his car, his left hand resting on your back as he guides you into the front seat, Eddie meets Jason's eyes from across the road. The jock is leaning against his car, nursing a beer bottle in his right hand, whilst his group of friends rustle and joke around with each other by the gas tanks.

An unshakable feeling of disgust rises up in Eddie's throat, heart clenching at the way the blonde's eyes shift down at you, then on to Eddie's hand on your back, and how then a semi-impressed grin spreads on Jason's lips. The blonde ever so slightly nods at Eddie, as if confirming their bet, before returning to his conversation with his friends.

"Eddie?" you call out his name, breaking him out of his trance. "Everything alright?"

He's being paranoid, he tells himself. He hasn't even done anything yet, if anything, he's nowhere near "winning" the bet - you're just friends, that's all this is, leading you back to the car and helping you sober up by a park.

"Yeah. All good." Eddie forces out, faux grin and all. There's an odd bitter taste filling his lungs, but he breathes out slowly, reminding himself that he's not doing anything bad.

He's just a friend, taking another friend, to the park.

Sitting on the swing set, his fingers trail down the linked metal chains, small smile on his face as you childishly swing back at forth with your legs kicking out in front of you. It's your way of sobering up, you insist, and he can't complain - it's clearly making you very happy, the smile on your face permanent. It's a nice sight, a rare sight, one that he's keeping tucked in to the crevices of his mind for later.

"Be careful." Eddie chastises, watching you soar higher and higher towards the night sky. "I don't want you to break a bone or something. Think Hopper would be even more if you break a bone than if you show up a bit drunk."

Slowing down your movements, you scoff, but there's still a lazy smile on your face indicating that you're not really mad.

"I hate it when you're right." you mumble, drawing a loud laugh from Eddie's lips, head thrown back and all.

"I'm always right, (L/n)." he challenges, knocking his swing into yours.

"Sure, Munson. Except the times you're not. Which is almost every time."

"Almost."

Silence settles over the two of you again, the creaking of metal as you both lazily swing back and forth being the only sounds in the night, pale moon marking the shift into midnight. Eddie's fiddling with his rings absentmindedly, not really sure what to say or why he suddenly feels nervous sitting next to you, until you pick your head back up and speak.

"Thanks."

"For what?" he's confused and surprised.

"For inviting me. For letting me meet Steve and Robin, you're right, they're really cool. And like, I don't know. Thanks for being my friend, I guess." you look down immediately after finishing your sentence, hot embarrassment coursing through your veins, Eddie's soft stare too much to bare all at once on top of your heartfelt confession. The confession that tugs at Eddie's heartstrings, guilt pouring over him in waves.

"Yeah, so-"

"It's just crazy to me, you know?" you interrupt. "That you'd want to be friends with me. That anyone would want to be friends with me. I know I was a bitch when we first spoke. And uh, maybe I still kind of am. But you just... you're different, Eddie."

You pause for a tender moment, legs spreading as you shift your swing closer towards his, so that your knees are brushing against his and you can place a warm hand down onto his lap.

"I feel like you really see me. Not this whole 'ice queen' bullshit or whatever people are saying at school. The real me, the person behind all the walls and defences raised up. You kept on trying to get to know me even when I was pushing you away and being cruel to you. And it was thanks to that that we ended up becoming friends. So... yeah. Thank you, Eddie. Sincerely."

It's hard to shake off the shame now coating his lips, his skin burning and feeling sticky underneath your pure, innocent gaze and soft touch. He forces a smile, fingers uncurling from the metal chains of the swing to pat down on your warm hand, trying his best to maintain the neutrality of his voice.

"Y-yeah. No problem, I guess."

-------------------------------------------

Things shift after that night by the swing set.

Despite the history project having ended, he ends up seeing you even more regularly than before. It's because you end up taking a part-time job at Family Video after befriending Steve and Robin, and also because you start intermittently dropping by to watch his band pratcitce after school or swing by randomly to Hellfire Club sessions, at the insistence of El wanting to see Mike.

At this point, all of Eddie's friends know who you are. It was comedic at first, to see how Gareth nearly choked on his tongue and refused to make eye contact with you in your presence, and how all the freshman boys - Dustin, Mike and Lucas - pretended to be interested in a bunch of random sheet music thrown around the room to avoid having to look at you.

"Relax, kids, you can stare at her." Eddie had to say, laughing as he placed an arm around your shoulder. "Stop scaring them, (L/n)."

You just scowled at that, shrugging off his arm and sighing dramatically.

"I'm not trying to do that! It's just my reputation preceding me. I'm not as mean as I seem, I promise." you emphasized, turning to address the boys face to face. "I'm just here because Eddie promised to let me play for a 'taster' session of sorts."

"You're... joining Hellfire?" Dustin meekly asked, being the first out of the three to gain enough courage to look up at you. To his surprise, you didn't scowl or flip him off, if anything, you looked quite approachable and friendly standing next to Eddie, who was smiling at you with so much pride.

"Not sure if I'm necessarily joining, but... this meathead won't stop talking about this damn game so I wanted to see what all the hype was about."

The other boys loosened up after seeing how relaxed Eddie seemed to be around you, mock hurt on his face as he dramatically clutched his chest, stumbling backwards as if he'd been shot.

"You wound me with such harsh words! Now I can't promise that I'll go easy on you when we start playing."

"Why would that matter?"

"Duh, I'm the dungeon master, so everything you can do in the game is basically up to me. Or what you roll on the dice, but mainly up to me."

"That hardly seems fair." you commented, flashing the young boys a look of disbelief. "Is that really how this works?"

"Yeah, which is why we basically always have to gang up against him." Lucas replied, drawing a genuine laugh from your lips. It was the final straw to break the tension in the room, everyone loosening up and welcoming your new presence in the group.

"Sounds good, freshies. Us against Eddie, we can definitely take him." you winked at Eddie, rolling your shoulders forward. "Watch out, Eds."

It's late spring now, verging on summer. Eddie's lost count of the amount of time you two have spent together, be that in between periods at school (skipping classes together by the bleachers) or sneaking into the cinemas without paying on a tipsy game of truth or dare.

Eddie catches himself fully lost in your presence - watching your hair flip in the wind behind you whilst he drives with his window down, surveying how your delicate fingers toy with the fabric of your jacket when you're deep in concentration, counting your slow breaths as you lean against him in a darkened parking lot out of exhaustion - until the illusion is shattered for him by way of remembrance.

It's a bet.

But it doesn't matter, not really, he'd always tell himself. You two are still friends. And Eddie's not forcing it, being friends with you is natural, spending time with you is something he genuinely wants.

It's a hollow way of consoling himself, but it's the only way he's able to justify continuning to hang out with you and to slyly avoid Jason or his stupid best friends' constant pestering about how the bet is going.

"We're still just friends, Carver." Eddie gritted through his teeth, skillfully stepping past the blonde to get to his van. Jason didn't seem to like that response, one hand reaching out to grab at his wrist and yank him backwards.

"Listen, freak. I'm impressed, not gonna lie, that you even managed to become friends with her. But the bet was over dating her and getting her to go to prom. It's now, what, end of April?" the jock chuckled, tapping his two front fingers against the expensive watch around his wrist. "Time's running out. That said, I lose absolutely nothing if you lose the bet so actually-"

The blonde pulled away, victorious grin on his pink lips. He looked like a coy predator playing with his prey, smug cruelty rolling off of him in waves.

"Yeah, don't make a move. I'd love to win this bet."

Looking down at where Jason's filthy hand was wrapped around his wrist, Eddie roughly shook off the basketball player's grasp, glare fuelled by the heat of a thousand suns.

"I'm going to win the bet, Carver. Don't get too cocky."

"Did you see what Nate did yesterday?" you question him in the present. Eddie's lying down on the carpeted floor of your bedroom next to you, legs bent in a 45 degree angle, hands supporting the back of his head. You're lying down with your feet propped up on your bed, your eyes meeting his in a sly manner.

"Not really, why? What'd he do this time?"

"He tried doing a backflip during the lunch period and broke his left wrist. Cried like a little bitch about it, too."

The image of the tall, overconfident jock wailing like a child makes Eddie snort.

"That's hilarious."

"It's what he deserves too. He's a total creep." you shudder, remembering how he tried to hit on you on your first day of school. "Though, he did cry a bit more when I sprained his fingers because he tried to grab my ass on my first day."

"He did what?"

"Yeah, I know. Real fucking creep. Don't know why he bothered, either, the jeans I was wearing that day were super ugly."

"I highly doubt that." the comment slips out of Eddie's mouth unconsciously, piquing your curiosity enough for you to shift your body to the side to stare at him with confusion.

"What'd you mean?"

"Oh! Just like..." Eddie scratches his neck, avoiding your gaze. "I highly doubt that the jeans you were wearing were ugly. Just like, I don't think anything you could wear could be ugly."

You sit up at that, legs crossing underneath.

"You calling me pretty?"

"Well, uh-" he stumbles over his words, cheeks flushing vibrant pink as he begins to rattle off in an incoherent manner. "Yeah, I mean I always thought that but yeah you are. Objectively speaking. But also like I think you're pretty, is it hot in here suddenly or-" his hands fly up to the collar of his hellfire club shirt, pulling at the sides as if to let in cool air.

"Are you serious?" you sound shocked, in disbelief, which only confuses Eddie in return.

"Of course I am. Why... would I lie about that?"

You shrug, bringing a juice box to your lips.

"Figured if you thought I was pretty we wouldn't still be friends. That's a compliment you give to someone who's attracted to you, not someone who's just your friend."

"Oh." Eddie then comments, pausing ever so slightly. "Who says I'm not attracted to you?"

His daring question lingers in the air for a few baited breaths, the atmosphere in the room shifting in the microseconds it takes for that sentence to leave his lips and for him to suddenly shift closer to you.

"... I'm attracted to you too." you choke on your words, it barely being a whisper, but Eddie catches it nonetheless. His left hand comes to rest on your cheek, eyes staring right into yours that you think he must be able to see through your soul.

"Can I kiss you?"

You don't think you can speak. You're left to nod quietly, hoping that it's enough. And it is. The force with which he kisses you - he blames it on the months and months of pent up adoration - backs you up against your bed, your legs falling backwards as your back meets the soft mattress. He practically crawls on top of your lap, kiss messy and deep, strands of curly hair clouding your hazy vision.

When it's done, fresh air filling your lungs instead of the intoxicating scent of Eddie, muted taste of beer and mint chapstick dancing on your lips, you two stare at each other with wide eyes before bursting into a fit of nervous laughter.

"So... what now?" you question lightly, hands still gripping his forearms.

"Let's go on a date? Arcade after school on Friday?" he suggests.

"We already do that every week, doofus."

"I know, but this time it'll be different. I'll hold your hand and buy you dinner afterwards."

You pretend to think about it, humming quietly before nodding with a wide smile.

"Deal."

You fall asleep in his embrace that night, face squished against his upper chest, body rising and falling alongside your slow breaths. But Eddie can't sleep. The euphoria he's feeling is underlined with sickening guilt, a gnawing clawing sensation in his stomach, a harsh whisper in the back of his mind that none of this is real.

He's lying to you.

But what he feels for you isn't a lie, he reasons, so it's fine. He's driving himself insane with these internal arguments, subconsciously pulling your sleeping figure closer towards himself as his fingers clutch onto your waist tighter.

Burying his head into your hair, inhaling deeply, he attempts to quiet his thoughts. It'll all be over soon. Graduation is looming. He's just got one more part of the bargain to hold up - asking you to prom. It'll be over soon, it won't get worse....

Right?

------------------------------------------

"I'm really glad she's dating you."

Hopper comments two months later, looking over from the driver seat of his truck as Eddie jumps up straight upon being addressed by your godfather. The two men have spent countless times together - whether it be Eddie lounging on the couch in the living room whilst waiting for you or Hopper knocking on Eddie's trailer door to ask why you still haven't come home - but it never stops Eddie from getting a bit nervous around him.

He wants to make a good impression on the police chief for numerous reasons, but above all, because he's your father. Your only parent at this point. So even if it's something as casual as hitching a ride from Hopper the day Gareth had to borrow his van, Eddie's still a bit on edge when he's sitting in the passenger seat next to Hopper.

Upon seeing the younger man's eyes widen in surprise, Hopper chuckles, the sound a low rich baritone.

"Have to admit, the day I picked her up from school that day you two kids got yourselves locked inside and she called you her new friend... I felt that there was something more to that word. Friend. And despite your, um, questionable activities-"

Eddie flushes with embarrassment at that.

"You've always been good to her. And it's doing her wonders, I can tell. She went from this isolated, broken shell of a person to... Someone with friends her age. A job. Someone who smiles and laughs and says yes to spontaneous plans. I know it's not all you but you've been a big part of that so thank you." Hopper grumbles out, coughing awkwardly, not used to such heartfelt confessions. It makes Eddie feel even worse, almost making him want to sink into his seat.

"It's no big deal." Eddie forces out, voice strained and almost breaking because he's choking on recurrent waves of shame, guilt twisting like sharp veins around his chest and squeezing his heart. His mind is still foggy and reeling from the guilt when the truck finally pulls up by his trailer, and you come barreling from the inside of his trailer to hug Eddie.

"Didn't know you'd be here." Hopper comments, crossing his arms. You roll your eyes.

"I think I'm allowed to come over to visit my boyfriend, dad."

"Mmhmm, just make sure you're home by eleven."

"Midnight."

"Ten thirty."

"Eleven thirty."

Hopper pretends to be annoyed, sighing deeply, but he still smiles and ruffles your hair before leaving.

"Fine. See you then, kiddo."

Your legs thrown over his lap half-hazardously, Eddie can't really focus on the VHS tape you've generously 'rented' from your workplace - "Please, as if I'll get in trouble. The only employees are me, Robin and Steve and our boss basically never comes by." - as another character gets gruesomely killed on the screen.

"You're not watching the movie." you complain half-way through the movie, putting down the popcorn bowl to stare incredulously at your boyfriend. He only smiles in response, shaking his head sideways, symmetrical face framed by his long curls.

"Can't focus. You're too pretty." he offers, and you chuckle at that, his whining tone and pleading eyes melting your heart. You clamber on top of him, legs caging his body in between your thighs, as your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

"Aw.... Thanks, babe. But you really don't have to tell me that every day."

"I'd tell you that you're pretty every day just to see you smile like that." he admits softly, boyish grin on his lips and mischievous glint in his eyes. You open your mouth to respond with a sassy comment when someone knocks on the door loudly, accompanied by a furious set of even louder knocks.

It's your sister, El, jumping up and down anxiously before her eyes fall upon your familiar figure.

"El, what's wrong?" you question immediately, climbing off of the couch and rushing to cradle your younger sister's face in your hands. She doesn't look physically harmed nor does she look particularly upset, just anxious to see you.

"I'm bored and Mike canceled on me last minute." she complains, stretching her arms out over her head. "I heard from dad that you were here and I wondered if we could like... hang out. We don't have to, if I'm intruding I can-"

You look at Eddie with a pleading gaze, but you honestly don't even need to convince him, as he's already fluffing up the pillows and shaking off the popcorn crumbs from the blanket strewn over the sofa.

"Nonsense, nonsense! You're totally welcome to join us. Just be careful with your sister - sometimes she screams really loudly at the jump scares." your boyfriend teases, winking at you. El giggles at that and you send the metalhead a harsh glare.

"I do not."

"You totally do, babe. But it's okay, I still find you hot."

"Is there popcorn left?" your younger sister then questions, wiggling out of your grasp to stare at the television with eyes full of wonder.

"I'll make more, why don't you two get comfortable." you quickly suggest, knowing Eddie's kitchen like the back of your hand. You take the quiet moments which follow to admire how Eddie interacts with El, your vision only slightly obscured from behind the counter.

El's rattling off about something you don't really understand but Eddie seems totally entraced by her, delighted smile and eager nodding, gently encouraging your younger sister to continue her story whenever she gets nervous that she's talking too much. Your sister looks wholly relaxed in his presence, shoulders lax and fingers thrumming gently against a cushion she's holding against her stomach.

When he makes a dumb joke and El laughs, the warmth blossoming in your chest worsens. You feel lightheaded, stomach filled with love, eyes glazed over in pink hue. You almost drop the popcorn packets on the floor when you realize what this is.

Love.

You love Eddie.

You're not surprised, concealing the smile on your face as you turn away and pop the paper packet into the microwave. Eddie's your first real boyfriend. First friend turned lover, first friend in Hawkins, the person who introduced you to your new group of friends - Steve, Robin, and now Nancy and Jonathan as they swing by Family Video ever so often.

It was inevitable then that you'd fall in love with Eddie.

It's all you can think about for the rest of the night, in between stupid jokes thrown in by Eddie and comments of awe and shock muttered by El in between mouthfuls of popcorn, until she's practically falling asleep on your lap. Checking your watch, you realize that it's nearly 11:30 anyways, so you'd better get home.

"Do you think you could drive us back?" you question quietly, whispering as you gesture to El's sleeping figure. Eddie nods, turning off the television and gently pocketing his car keys as you lightly shake your sister awake and strap her into the backseat. She mumbles incoherently, asking sleepily where you two are going, to which you only shush her and assure her that Eddie's just driving you two home.

The conversation in the car is light and spare - it's late at night, El's still sleeping in the backseat, and unbeknownst to each other, you both have a lot on your minds.

Eddie's fixated on how much he likes you, how much he's scared of losing you and how it's almost been two months of dating you. You're transfixed on the realization that you love Eddie, the tall metalhead who loves his guitar and D&D, the boy with copious jean jackets and an oddly obnoxious charm that broke down your walls brick by brick. The constant wondering if he feels the same, the worries that you're overthinking it, layered with the euphoric rush of adoration and infatuation makes you almost sick with joy.

When the familiar outline of your house comes into view, Eddie piggybacks El into your house as you open up the front door for him, allowing him to gently tuck your sister into bed before you close the door. You accompany Eddie back out to the driveway, fingers anxiously twitching by your sides as the confession sits on the tip of your tongue. It's burning your mouth to keep it in, heart beating at a million miles per minute.

"What's on your mind, princess?" he gently asks you, the sour expression on your face giving you away in a moment's notice that you're clearly deep in thought. But nothing could've prepared him for what you said next.

"I love you." you blurt out. "I actually, wholly, undoubtedly love you."

Eddie freezes at that, grin falling ever so slightly, eyes wide and unblinking. You take it as a bad sign, fumbling over your words desperately as you try to salvage the situation.

"I-I know that might be kind of quick because we've only been dating for two months, but if you think about it we've been friends for almost like three quarters of a year, so it's not-"

"No, no." your boyfriend quickly reassures you, hand cupping your chin to stop your talking and to focus your attention on him. You realize that up close, you can better make out his features in the dark: he's smiling brightly, eyes fawning and voice gentle. "It's not quick. I realized I loved you many weeks ago. Was just waiting for you to catch up." Eddie adds, winking at you.

You laugh at that, nodding eagerly, tension dissipating from the night air in an instant. The boy then kisses you gently under the pale moonlight, his tongue slipping in to trace your bottom lip when you moan out in surprise, the strength and passion with which he presses into your mouth catching you off guard.

Eddie's kissed you a million times at this point, but this time it feels different to you. It feels like a million unsaid "i love you"s wrapped into one, delicate touch burning golden tattoos alongside your skin as his hand dances up your waist, pleasant melodies ringing in your ears even when you pull away to catch your breath.

"So... you love me and I love you, I guess." you breathe out into the cold air, affirming reality for yourself by speaking out loud.

"Yeah." Eddie replies, licking his lips to chase the aftertaste of your cherry lipgloss.

"Two people in love. How romantic." you joke, smiling.

Eddie doesn't respond to that, only pressing another shaky kiss to your lips before bidding you goodnight, his knuckles turning white with the strength with which he grips the steering wheel on his drive back. His anxiety has snowballed past its tipping point, his head a toxic warzone of jumbled thoughts, nauseous feeling causing bile to rise up to his throat that Eddie needs to pull over to the side mid-drive.

His heart feels like it's being crushed.

He can't stand it anymore - the lying, the secrets, the way you look at him like he's the only thing that matters in this cruel world. And now, it's undeniable. The truth is staring him right in the face.

You said you loved him.

And fuck, he loves you.

It's gone too far. He's fallen too deep. He's sinking into a bottomless pit and he's dragging you down with him.

And for what? Eddie bitterly ponders, smashing his hands down onto the steering wheel with anger. A stupid bet with a jock?

He needs to call it off.

He makes a beeline to the locker room the next morning, frantically tearing through the school hallways in search of Jason. Unfortunately, the best he can do is to run into Oliver and Nate post-shower, flicking each other with wet towels before Eddie coughs and demands their attention.

"Where's Jason?"

"Pissed off the coach so he's doing another lap. Why, backing out of your bet like a pussy?" Nate teases, drawing a howling laugh from Oliver. Not that Eddie cares. It just frustrates him because first period starts in a few minutes and if he's late one more time for chemistry, he knows it's another detention slip being put into his hands.

"Just tell Carver to meet me by the bleachers during lunch. It's important. And yes, it's about the bet."

Eddie thanks god that you don't share any classes with him today. He doesn't think he could stomach it, looking into your innocent eyes and letting you kiss and hold him softly when he doesn't deserve your love.

He feels as if he's in a trance the whole day, going through the motions of life, eyes empty and mind buzzing with static as he nods along to one lecture after another.

The only thing to jolt him awake is when, in between his second and third period, he hears a familiar set of voices whispering from inside the janitor's closet. It's Dustin, Mike and Lucas, with Dustin clearly pained and tired whilst the other two boys whisper frantically amongst themselves.

Privacy be damned, Eddie opens the door and flicks on the light, jaw clenching with anger the moment the small space is enveloped in bright light and he sees the shiny black bruise blossoming on Dustin's forehead.

"What the hell happened?" Eddie quickly questions, closing the door quietly behind him. He's far too tall for the enclosed space, head awkwardly brushing up against the ceiling, his limbs stretching into mops and cleaning supplies, but he can't give a shit. His veins are coursing with anger, worry tightening his chest as he surveys the extent of Dustin's injuries - the curly haired boy only sighing and refusing to meet the senior's gaze.

"Jason Carver happened to him." Lucas cuts in, voice also tense and angry.

"We were hanging out by the entrance and Dustin decided to stand up to Jason and his teammates for bullying us and, well.. he didn't like Dustin's smart mouth." Mike comments quietly.

"So what, that bastard punched you?!" Eddie exclaims, hysterical.

"He didn't punch me, relax. He just knocked me up against the wall and I happened to slam my head against a brick out of place."

"A BRICK?" Eddie screams, causing all of them to cringe at the sudden loud noise. "Shit, Henderson, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, seriously! I mean, just another Monday, right?" Dustin tries to joke, flashing the older boy a reassuring grin. But it does little to quiet Eddie's fury and guilt, not being able to protect his fellow Hellfire Club members in their time of need.

Lunch time rolls around achingly slow, Eddie munching on his homemade sandwich quickly whilst waiting for Jason to show up by the bleachers. The blonde makes his appearance a full ten minutes into lunch, striding across the green fields in large steps with a scowl on his face.

"What's so important you had to cut into my lunch time, huh?" he growls, clearly annoyed.

"I'm calling the bet off."

"Huh?"

"The bet. I'm fucking over it. I don't care about the money. You win, okay? Now let me out."

Eddie attempts to shove past the blonde but it's like walking into a brick wall, Jason's left hand flying up to Eddie's chest to stop him from walking away before shoving him backwards.

"You're backing out now? When prom's just around the corner and you've already got that bitch riding your dick? I'm surprised, freak." he cruelly comments, cocking his head to the side in fake interest.

"Yeah, I'm out. Now let me go."

"I'm just surprised, that's all. Thought you'd stick by the bet, especially with what happened to that twerp this morning. What's his name, Justin?"

"It's Dustin." Eddie grits, fists clenching by his sides.

"Yeah, whatever. You want to give up the money we bet on, cool, whatever. But a part of our deal was that I'd - along with my friends - lay off of your band of freaks. If you want to call off the bet, that offer is also taken off the table."

Jason's words hang in the air, metaphorical black smoke filling Eddie's lungs and restricting his airways. He feels like he can't breathe, hands clawing at his skin, heart beating at a million miles per minute whilst he mulls over the blonde's words.

All he can focus on is the panicked and scared looks on Lucas and Mike's faces, and the shiny bruise on Dustin's forehead. And Eddie's being given the choice for them to not be bullied for the rest of the whole year, to finally not be terrorized every time they walk into school.

"Still want to call off the bet?" Jason mocks, extending a hand forward. "Shake my hand and it's over."

Eddie stares at the blonde's outstretched hand in silence.

He doesn't shake it.

-----------------------------------------

You can barely sit still, the low humming of Billy Joel flowing from your record player barely settling your nerves as you shift back and forth between your bed and the full length mirror in your room, criticizing every stray hem of your dress. There's a quiet set of knocks against your door and you yell out that you're not ready yet, expecting it to be Hopper.

"It's me!" El announces. "I can help you get dressed, if that's okay?"

Dropping your dress onto your bed, you open the door with a large smile, the excited and eager expression on your younger sister's face too sweet to reject. She sits on your bed with her legs dangling off, watching as you hold up different fabrics up to your chest and ask for her approval. After a several tries and pleas for you to "spin around", you two settle on a nice baby blue doll dress with a sweetheart neckline.

"Can I try doing your mascara?" El then asks quietly, pointing to the mess of makeup littered on your vanity. You laugh, nodding, closing your eyes quietly as her shaky hands attempt to carefully brush through your lashes with the wand. To your delighted surprise, she's a master at it, even going so far as to blend out your eyeshadow perfectly when you hand over your brushes to her.

"What shoes are you wearing?" she asks immediately after that, practically bouncing with excitement.

"I'm starting to think you're more excited about me going to prom than I am, El." you tease, opening your closet and pulling out a pair of sparkly white heels.

"Oh, I can't help it!" she gushes. "It's like all the romantic movies I watched, they always end with the girl and the boy going to prom. It's so romantic." she dreamily sighs, landing on your bed with her back on the mattress.

"Does that make me the protagonist?" you joke, strapping on your heels as you lean down towards your feet.

"Duh. And it makes Eddie your love interest."

"Very handsome, very charming, love interest, I'd like to add." Eddie suddenly cuts in, standing behind your door with a smug smile on his face. It fades into a soft, adoring grin when he sees you in your dress, dolled up and pretty yet still so naturally you. He hopes you can't tell that he loses his cool at the sight, voice slightly strained and tips of his ears flushing pink. "You look absolutely gorgeous, princess."

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." you comment, throwing him a flirtatious wink. It's no lie, he cleans up well - the suit is a little awkward on him in some places, but the clean cut look makes his jaw stand out more, lean muscle straining the fabric perfectly.

"Shall we get going, my dear love interest?" you joke, offering one arm forward. El scrambles off your bed to hold open the door for you as Eddie wraps one of his arms around yours, nodding.

"We shall." he puts on a horrible posh accent, making you laugh at his antics. Hopper asks - no, practically demands - to sneak in a couple polaroids of you two together before you're burning with embarrassment and desperately shoving Eddie out the door, calling out to your father that you'd be back by midnight.

By the time the two of you pull up to the gymnasium, the party's already started. You're buzzing with anticipation and nerves when Eddie gently helps you hop off of his van, eyes burning with so much adoration that you can't even meet his gaze without melting.

"Bet you that the punch is gonna suck." he whispers into your ear, the flashing lights overhead blinding your eyes ever so slightly.

"Meh, that's why I did this."

You hike up the skirt of your dress to reveal a bottle of vodka strapped to your thigh, Eddie watching in awe as you twist off the red metal cap and pour him a shot into a red solo cup.

"God, I fucking love you." he moans, practically whining it against your lips. You smirk.

"I know."

Eddie's not thinking of anything but how beautiful you look - so carefree, hands thrown up in the air, bubbly laughter erupting from your throat when he dips you or tugs you towards the food stand - that he doesn't even register Jason and his boys' persistent gazes throughout the night. It's only when you declare that you need some fresh air that he's broken out of his lovesick trance, his jacket finding home on your shoulders as you two lean against the wall of the school building.

"Having too much fun?" Eddie teases, knocking his shoulders against yours.

"Definitely. That, and the three shots of vodka and all the pizza grease is melting my brain."

"Ditto."

Eddie's shoulders tense when he hears sets of footsteps approach, accompanied by the drunken yellings of Jason and his friends. Hands flying to your waist, he pulls you upwards, unreadable expression on his face.

"Let's go back inside." Eddie suddenly hurries out, clearly panicked. You frown, confused.

"We literally just came outside."

"I-I know, but uh, let's go-"

"MUNSON!!!!! There's the man of the hour." Oliver screams, cupping his hands together to amplify his voice across the parking lot. Eddie freezes in place, trapped, as you scowl and cross your arms over your chest.

"Piss off, asshole." you bark back, stepping in front of Eddie protectively.

"Oh, got your little bitch fighting your fights now, impressive. You trained her well, freak." Nate drawls, practically tripping over his words with how drunk he is. Eddie can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears, panic settling in.

"Don't talk about her like that." he manages to choke out, standing up on shaky legs. But he falters under Jason's gaze, green with envy and red hot with anger, as the blonde steps forward in front of his friends.

"Come on, freak, you can drop the act now. You've won the bet, fair and square."

"What bet?" you stumble backwards in shock, frantic eyes flying to Eddie, who is now suddenly refusing to meet your gaze. "Eddie, what's going on?"

"Ah right, of course little miss ice queen would be confused! Let me break it down for you, sweetheart." Jason practically shouts, clapping his hands together with a gleeful smile. "Back in December, your little boyfriend and I waged a bet. This loser thought he could do a better job asking out girls than me, so I said that if he could get your prissy ass to say yes to a date and to prom, he'd win."

"What?"

Eddie doesn't have the courage to look at you. He's sparing himself the trouble of having to see the crestfallen look on your face, of having to actually see for himself the way your hopes come crashing down into a pile of rubble, to be standing in the aftermath of his destruction.

"We're all impressed that he managed to succeed." the blonde jokes, his two friends eagerly nodding from the back. "Guess we underestimated your abilities, freak." Jason reaches forward and punches Eddie in the shoulder, knocking him back against the wall.

"(Y/n), I can explain-" Eddie starts out lowly, but you're not willing to hear any of it. He can see it in your eyes: in a moment's notice, you've pulled back up all your defences, warmth and kindness disappearing behind your walls as your voice drips with venom.

"Fuck off, Munson."

The laughter of the basketball players continuously rings in Eddie's ears as he chases after you, desperately trying to catch up to you as you run across the parking lot.

"Please, just hear me out-"

"NO." you announce firmly, spinning on your heels and staring up at him with burning hatred. You've never stared at him with anything other than fondness and warmth the past few months. It's then gut wrenching that the fury with which you're glaring at him now - the lack of any kind of kindness or playfulness in your eyes - is unprecedented.

"You know, I knew this was too good to be true." you start, voice shaky. "God, you have no idea how many fucking times I found myself thinking throughout the course of our relationship - no, even when we were just fucking friends - that I didn't deserve this. That there was a reason no one wanted to be my friend. But I was a fucking idiot, because-"

You choke on your words, a sob hanging by the edge of your lips, but you bitterly swallow it down. You'd be damned if Eddie gets your tears on top of everything else.

"Because I thought this was my reward. I was thinking, finally, after all these years of suffering, I could get something nice. New friends, new family, a boy who liked me for who I was... But I realize now that I was nothing more than a joke to you. A sleazy bet with the sleaziest douchebags in school."

"(Y/n)-" Eddie tries again, he can feel you slipping through his fingers and it's breaking him, heart aching to just have you in his arms again. But all you do is shake your head sideways, gritting your teeth as you shrug off his jacket and throw the fabric against his chest.

"Don't fucking talk to me again. If you even so much as look at me, I'll ask Hopper to step in."

"At least let me drive you home." he quietly mutters. "You don't even have a car."

"Save it. I'll take the bus."

Eddie stands there staring at his jacket in his hands, your perfume still lingering in the fabric as he watches hopelessly you walk away into the dark woods.

"Fuck." he breathes out, tears stinging his eyes.

He's fucked up. Really, really badly.

------------------------------------

Steve and Robin both glare daggers into Eddie's back as he shuffles through the aisles of Family Video, both of them pretending to be busy when he'd first entered the store and muttered a quiet "hello." They're pissed at him, for good reason, of course, but it's awkward to know that his friends (who are also your friends) have all turned on him.

It's even more awkward having to make excuses as to why you're no longer showing up to band practice or to D&D sessions to the oblivious freshman and his other friends like Jeff and Gareth, who always looked forward to your sarcastic comments and humorous quips to pass the time.

"Just this, please." Eddie says, throwing a VHS tape of Evil Dead onto the counter. Both Steve and Robin stare down at the tape, then at Eddie, before resuming their conversation behind the counter as if they've never seen him. Eddie rolls his eyes, suppressing a deep sigh.

"Come on guys, this is childish. This isn't even for me, this is for Gareth."

"Then why didn't he come here and rent it himself?" Robin interrogates, tone harsh and dry.

"Got held up doing house chores by his mom. Just scan this damn thing, I'll pay, and I'll be right out of your eyesight, okay?" Eddie's practically pleading at this point and Robin sends Steve a knowing look, forcing the other boy to jump off of his seat and begin to mindlessly scan the tape.

"That'll be $2.50."

In between the painfully awkward and silent transaction, Eddie's looking at everywhere but his friends' faces. Their silent frustration, disapproval and disappointment is too heavy to bear, alongside the heavy guilt and crushing depression he's been experiencing the past two weeks since prom.

"Why'd you do it?" Steve blurts out mid-handing off the tape to Eddie, causing Robin to slap her best friend across the shoulder for his outburst.

"What?"

"I just, I don't get it. It doesn't make sense. I saw - we both saw -" Steve gestures to Robin, sending her a warning glare. "How you looked at (Y/n). How you spoke about her. How much you loved her. What'd you even bet for?"

Pocketing the tape into his back pocket, Eddie sighs slowly, contemplating whether or not to tell them the truth. But hell, he's got nothing to lose at this point, he figures.

"Happened over a weed dealing. I was just talking shit, really, because Jason's ego was bruised after being rejected by (Y/n). We bet over me being able to successfully ask her out to a date and then to prom. If I won, the conditions were that Jason would buy for double - and I knew that Wayne was tight on money, and the trailer's been long overdue for a fix. And he also, uh... said if I won the bet, he'd stop bothering me and my friends."

Eddie doesn't notice it, because he's staring down at his hands whilst rambling, but Steve and Robin exchange a sympathetic glance as Eddie continues to pour his heart out.

"I tried pulling out a million times. But for one reason or another, I could never do it. I was a coward, don't get me wrong, but... when she told me she loved me, I knew it'd gone too far. I was so intently committed to breaking the bet off, consequences and money be damned, but then I saw Henderson had a bruise on his face from Jason roughing him up." Eddie swallows nervously, throat feeling prickly and dry. "I couldn't back out of it then. I didn't want any of the kids to get more hurt when I could prevent it."

"Oh, Eddie..." Robin says quietly, placing a warm hand on his arm. He only shakes her off though, forced grin pulling his lips apart.

"It's whatever. Point is, regardless of good intentions or bad circumstances, I was a fucking coward. And a liar. And an asshole. I broke her heart and I deserve all the bad things in the world for that."

"Does she know any of this?" Steve presses, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"No. I haven't spoken to her since prom. Never even so much as drove past her home. Pretty sure Hopper would shoot my tires flat if I tried, anyways." Eddie weakly jokes.

"You should tell her. If not for you, than for her. She deserves to know the truth."

The metalhead only sighs at that, shaking his head lightly in denial.

"She already knows the truth, Steve."

"Not the bet, but the reasons behind the bet. Your feelings through out the whole thing. How you tried to pull out but you couldn't. I mean the whole truth, Eddie." Steve insists, unwavering.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with this loser." Robin dryly comments, flicking Steve's forehead. Steve scowls at that, sending the brunette girl a playful glare before turning around to stare at Eddie.

"Seriously. Let her know the truth. It'll both do you good."

"If I were you though, I'd bring chocolates as a peace offering or something, because I did hear that Hopper got a new rifle last week." Robin adds, swinging her legs off the counter as Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Gee, thanks, Buckley."

"Don't sweat it, Munson."

"....Thanks." Eddie quietly whispers, genuinely touched by his friends' advice. Their words continue to replay in his mind like a broken record on his drive back home and out of the corner of his eyes, Eddie continues to see a phantom outline of you. Sitting next to him, singing from the driver's seat, hair being ruffled from the open window.

You're still haunting him, he still can't stop thinking about you. Mulling it over, he realizes that the least he can do is to try. Try and talk to you, to iron things out.

He just hopes you're willing to listen.

---------------------------------------

Eddie doesn't think he's ever felt this nervous before.

Standing by your front porch, throwing small pebbles at your bedroom window late at night, hoping that you notice the odd sounds and look outside. It's weird - a part of him is screaming at him to run away, that this was a mistake and that he should run into his van and drive home right now. But there's another part of him, one which is stronger and louder, reminding him that he has to explain himself to you.

He sees you lean out your window with a confused expression on your face, eyes scanning the night sky and trees before landing on his figure. You roll your eyes and slam your window shut, forcing him to escalate his plan.

The next time Eddie's knocking on your window he's precariously balancing on the slippery roof tiles, gripping onto your windowsill for dear life and hoping you have enough mercy in your heart to let him in. You're still scowling when you open your window back up, but this time there's a hint of care and worry in your eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing? You got a death wish, Munson?" you hiss, careful to not wake anyone else in the house.

"Well you weren't going to let me in the normal way, so I had to do the next best thing." he weakly offers, fingers turning white. "Are you going to let me in so I don't die, then?"

You click your tongue, swearing under your breath.

"Just because I don't want to attend your fucking funeral." you warn, stepping back and letting him climb in through your window. He practically falls onto the floor face first, limbs awkwardly tumbling forward, his left arm catching his fall ever so slightly in an effort to save the bouquet of flowers and chocolate from getting crushed.

"H-here." he shakily offers them by thrusting the items into your hands, which you cautiously take before throwing it behind you on the bed.

"Thanks. You can leave now."

"Wait, wait, wait-" he rushes to block off your access to the door before you can push him out the bedroom, making you stomp your feet in frustration.

"What, Eddie? I'm fucking tired, it's a Wednesday night, for fuck's sake."

"I know you don't want to talk to me. But it's fucking killing me that you don't even know the whole story. Please, hear me, out. Just five minutes, and if you still want me to leave, I... I will."

You should be laughing at his face. You should be your usual coldhearted self, uncaring smirk lacing your lips as you shove him out the front door and throw the flowers and chocolate back onto his chest. But you can't find it in yourself to do so.

Damn Eddie Munson and his handsome face, you think. You also can't deny the lingering affection you hold for him, and fuck... you have missed him. Greatly. The amount of times you've cried in the past two weeks is a testament to that.

The worst harm's already been done, you think. Might as well hear him out.

"Fine. You've got five minutes." you say, and you can see his face light up visibly with joy and relief.

"Thank you. The bet, listen, it... it happened during a drug deal. Jason was pissed that you'd rejected him and I was just trying to push his bottoms and toy with his fragile ego by boasting that I could probably be better with girls than him. He knew that I was having money issues and the trailer needed to be fixed, so he cut me a deal. If I got you to say yes to a date, then he'd start paying double for our weed dealings." Eddie rushes out, speaking so fast that he has to catch a deep breath in between.

"Then I added I wanted him to stop bothering me and my friends at school. Especially now that I got the freshman kids to look out for, I just wanted his word that he'd stop bothering them all. In return for that, however, it was additionally agreed that I'd also have to get you to say yes to prom."

"That's... oddly sweet of you. Kind of." you mutter, thoughts running a million miles per hour at the revelation. You figured that the bet was just a joke to exploit you. Not something Eddie agreed to in an effort to protect his uncle and his friends.

"It's really not, because I hurt you. I knew from the beginning that this was wrong. I had this persistent, sick, stabbing sensation in my stomach all throughout our friendship that this was wrong. I tried to lie to myself that I hadn't done anything bad yet, because we hadn't even started dating, but I knew it was only a matter of time before we became real. And once that happened, I..." he chuckles sadly, gaze lowering to the floor.

"I liked the illusion of us together too much to pull back. The bet was always lingering in the back of my mind, sure. But I liked you too much. I love you too much. So I ignored it. Even if it was fake, it felt real whenever I got to hold you and kiss you."

He runs a quick hand through his hair before resuming.

"And then the night that you told me you loved me, I panicked. It was like I was finally awake, like icy cold water had been dumped over my head and I saw what a fucked up mess I'd gotten us into. I told Jason the next day that the bet was off, but... he held the end deal of our bargain over my head. The part about no longer bullying my friends. And Dustin had gotten a black eye that morning from a rough altercation with Jason and I... I didn't end up backing out of the deal because of that. But I tried to get out. God, I tried many, many times. Maybe not as strongly as I should've, but there were numerous times where I tried to get out of the deal." Eddie affirms, pleading.

"So... all of that. All the lying, all the secrets, all the play pretend... was it worth it?" you whisper out loud, hands clutching at your sides as you hug yourself and look up at him.

"Yes." Eddie responds automatically, confident. "Because it meant I got to have you. And I never faked my feelings for you. Not even once. That was all, always, genuine."

You're left to stare at him in silence, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you reflect over his words, Eddie taking in shallow breaths as he carefully surveys your reaction. He can't read your mind right now, he so badly wishes he could see what you're thinking because your expression is kept tight and neutral through it all.

"Do you... still want me to leave?" he whispers quietly. You don't speak, you don't nod nor deny him, you just continue to stare at him with a blank expression.

It's enough of an answer for him.

"You do, huh?" he chuckles, the sound as hollow as his heart. "It's fine, I uh, knew you wouldn't want me again after this. But you... you deserved to know the truth. Again, I'm so sorry for hurting you. I love you though. And I never lied about that."

He's hoping that you're going to stop him from leaving. That this is going to be the breakthrough moment in those romantic films, where you cut him off from speaking with a fierce kiss and whisper forgiveness against his lips, pinning him against the door.

But you don't even twitch. You just silently nod, unreadable expression on your face, and let him brush past you and walk down the stairs silently.

Eddie's heart stills feels heavy, grieving the loss of you and your love. But his shoulders feel ever so lighter, knowing that he's done the right thing by apologizing and explaining himself. He still feels like shit, he still thoroughly plans on smoking at least two packs when he gets back to his trailer, but he feels like he can breathe a tiny bit easier now.

"Wait."

Your voice suddenly rings out from behind him, your front door hanging open behind you as you've clearly ran through the house in a rush. Eddie jumps up in surprise, bewildered that you've chased him down the stairs.

"Y-yeah?" he stumbles out, pulling away from his van door.

"I forgive you. Sort of, I mean, it'll take a while for me to get over it and to fully trust you again but I... I still love you. Do you still love me too?" you whisper, doubtful.

Eddie almost wants to laugh at that question: that you'd even think for a second that he's spent any moment of the past two weeks being anything but in love with you.

"Of course I do, princess. Never stopped."

"Then that's all that matters."

This kiss tastes and feels totally new. Salty tears, mint toothpaste, your shaky fingers grabbing his as Eddie pulls you in impossibly close.

He's trying to memorize every aspect of you, having been starved of your presence for too long, committing every single aspect of you to memory. How you taste against his lips. How your body fits right against his when he places an arm around your waist. How your hair tickles his neck from this angle, moonlight shining a halo around the crown of your head.

You try to pull away a few times to catch your breath, but he doesn't let you, your giggles being swallowed by another needy kiss.

Eddie doesn't ever want to lose you again. Not even for a second.

a/n: if anybody actually read to the end of this story... thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart. This story has been a true labor of love, sweat and tears and countless hours of work. Whilst I was re-editing this I realized I kind of don't like how it turned out but I worked so hard on it and I already announced I was gonna post it so here it goes, I guess.

I've had this concept of a social outcast x Eddie reader with a enemies to lovers trope thrown in for a while so I'm just glad that I got it out my system. Totally nervous and completely unsure of how this will be received (my longest fic to date) but it's out now. Thank you for reading ❣️

[jimclassicstoycollection]

Transformers Prime

Generation Selects

Voyager Class

War Breakdown (loose)

& Zamu

by Hasbro

Breakdown was given to me by a friend of mine in Virginia because he had a duplicate set. The reason: he wanted two jet Vehicons, and the second Breakdown was just extra plastic. So he was gifted to me. My gain.

My normal modus operandi is that I post in the order that I bought or received the toy. In Breakdown’s case, I’ve delayed this so many time it’s now irrelevant. It’s not import in the grand scheme of things, I just wanted to go on record about it.

Before I could post this (which I’ve delayed several times already) I needed to apply all of Breakdown’s stickers first, and this is the part I hate. There’s a reason I haven’t opened my ‘Titans Return’ Trypticon, or ‘Power of the Primes’ Predaking yet BECAUSE of the stickers, which I’m not ready to deal with...Well, that and I don’t have a lot of room at the moment to even display them. 

Anyway, let’s get back to Breakdown.

This Breakdown figure was part of the original Transformers Prime toyline, however this toy never made it to the States because of some kind of safety reason, or something? So TFP Breakdown stayed in Japan. Well something’s changed because he and the Vehicon jet soldier made it in a two pack ten years later. So this is my first (likely only) TFP Breakdown.

Going back to the stickers for a just a moment. This was a bit of a pain to apply all of them, but I managed to do it, and I think they do compliment the toy, for the most part.

Vehicle Mode:

Vehicle mode is, what I believe, is an armored truck. It’s cast in mostly in blue plastic, it’s chunky, and it rolls.

The armored truck has got some nice, but simple detailing, and the stickers do help, I must begrudgingly admit.

The right, rear side panel just won’t close up for some reason. That’s a little annoying.

At the end of the day it rolls well, and aside from the disconnected panel the truck is ultimately a sold vehicle.

The vehicle has about 5 5mm ports for additional weapons and such.

Transformation:

Transformation really isn’t the difficult. My biggest issue is the right leg panel (which is the loose section in the vehicle mode) is just constantly popping off during transformation, and that’s a very annoying.

Robot Mode:

Breakdown just looks so cool! He’s broad-shouldered, gorilla-armed, tiny headed hellova bruiser-bot!

This toy really captured the TFP aesthetic.

Breakdown’s got some serious attitude going on here.

He poses well, and you can get him into some decent action poses, however he’s a bit weak at the knees which is problem because of he’s a little top heavy. He stands just fine.

The sticker on the rear bumper was the worst thing to apply.

Zamu:

Zamu is...his Arms Minicon partner, I think. Since this toy was released in japan back in 2012 it’s the same set which was packaged for the set.

Zamu had to be assembled like a model kit; it wasn’t too difficult, and once again the sticker application was probably the hardest part. Haha!

Zamu is a robotic rhinoceros. who transforms into either a gun or a hammer for Breakdown to wield.

Flip back the hand and you can place the hammer in the clear plastic piece (be mindful on the clear plastic)

Final Thoughts:

War Breakdown is a fun, but flawed toy. The armored truck mode has a panel which doesn’t peg in properly, the knees are a little weak, but the toy poses well, he looks fantastic, and was definitely a missing piece to me TFP collection.

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More (Part IIII) - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 

Summary: Reader ponders the decision they made after meeting Zemo in Riga. Series now complete!

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Kissing, marijuana & alcohol abuse, heavy angst & depression, small reference to suicide, implied casual sex, yearning

A/N (also check out A/N at end when finished reading): This is it, everyone! I was going to end this completely differently originally, but after some thinking --  and some light peer pressure from ya’ll, I did something a little different. I did fight with this part the most out of all of them, so I hope it’s still good. Please enjoy. And thank you for all the love on this series, it’s been so fun to write! Also I was listening to this song while writing this.

---

The incessant buzz of her alarm clock jolted her out of her dreamless sleep. Fumbling in the dark, she slapped the top of it, hitting the snooze button and looking at the interface with bleary eyes. 

4:00 A.M. It stared, indifferent, back at her tired face. 

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and lamenting, bargaining, half expecting the clock to turn back time when she opened her eyes again. Unfortunately, it did not. With a huff, she threw back the covers and stretched, disturbing the orange cat that slept in the empty spot next to her where her husband used to lay. 

Snorting, the cat lifted its head to look at her as she climbed out of bed before curling back up in a ball where her feet had been. 

“Don’t mind me, just getting ready for work so I can feed us,” she said, grumpily, then in a moment of repentance, affectionately scratching her behind the ears. 

She had always been a night owl, so she didn’t think it would be possible to ever get used to waking this early. No human was meant to function at this time. It was the one part of the job she hated most. The rest of it was manageable, though it was still work. 

Setting about her morning routine, she showered, made coffee, and donned her uniform. Eating a day-old bagel and nursing her coffee on her tiny balcony, she looked out over the darkened horizon. It was far too early to even enjoy a sunrise. 

There was a saying, time heals all wounds. After her husband died, she’d heard it a lot. It was a saying she had come to find true. But it’d been well over a year since she’d left Helmut, alone in that swanky hotel room, and it still hurt like it was yesterday. 

“I understand,” he’d murmured, and she felt the ghost of his kiss on her forehead, arms around her waist, even now. She shivered, not from the chill of the morning air.

She’d left her old life behind, all of it. Sam and Bucky, too, about a month after their time in Riga. She couldn’t look them in the eyes after what she’d done.

But, she was proud of what they’d accomplished. They’d defeated the Flag Smashers. Bucky seemed happier, more at peace. Sam had accepted his role as the new Captain America. John Walker seemed to have faded into irrelevancy. All the loose ends had been tied up in a pretty little bow.

Except for hers.

Which is why she moved, sold all the stuff in her tiny NYC apartment, and packed her car full with what she couldn’t bear to part with, some photos and momentos from a different lifetime. Her car didn’t stop until she hit the Atlantic Ocean, on an island just south of Charleston. All but undiscovered by tourists, the residents in the sleepy beach town kept to themselves, and she could go about her life in peace, undisturbed. 

She couldn’t just run away from her problems, that was why she’d left Zemo. It seemed counterintuitive, but in her mind, it made sense. The problems would catch up to her, like they always had. The dissatisfaction she had with her life, with herself, was always going to return. And she knew she had to be alone to deal to face it head on. Like a wounded animal, crawling into the woods, there were only two ways things could end here; either she’d heal and come out stronger, or eventually she’d die. And so far, the healing part wasn’t going great. 

Each day was a matter of convincing herself that she’d made the right choice. Especially now, as her eyes burned, fighting to stay open against the inviting embrace of sleep. 

Despite it being dark outside, the bakery was bustling already when she walked in the service entrance. It smelled amazing, as always. Sweet and warm, a cacophony of aromas, baking bread, fresh coffee, sugar.

She set about the usual preparations to open up, packaging orders for the regulars, sweeping the floor, wiping down countertops. Once the place was open, she didn’t have to work the register, as she prepared batches of dough in the back for proofing, to be baked the next day. 

Before, she’d been a terrible cook, but she’d grown comfortable in the kitchen after learning to bake. There was something satisfying about working with her hands, at this point she’d memorized all the recipes and the work became second nature to her. Now, she always had fresh bread and pastries in her kitchen, although they were the slightly disformed, ones the shop owners deemed too ugly for the glass display cases. Daylight was cherished, even if she barely saw it inside the shop. Because while she was awake, busy with work, her thoughts remained pleasant.

At night it was the hardest. Things got quiet, lonely. When she got home, she poured herself a drink. Cheap whiskey, the kind that came in a plastic bottle and burned on it’s way down. She had never been much of a drinker before, she was now. Her thoughts were more manageable after a drink. Especially because she was usually thinking of Helmut. 

It was often that she wondered what he may be doing, and those thoughts usually ended with the image of him lying in the sun, poolside, on some island in the Pacific Ocean, drinking expensive champagne with a supermodel. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought to her, and yet she was plagued by some variation of it every night. 

Sometimes, she’d humor herself, and imagine what they might be doing had she decided to stay with him. Unfortunately, thinking of that was more upsetting. She wanted it, selfishly, though she wasn’t willing to admit it.

When she was younger, it had been so easy to block out the pain, to just press forward, no matter what. Much to her dismay, it didn’t get easier as she got older. Years of watching those she loved in pain, years of being in pain had taken a toll on her resilience. She wasn’t the strong woman she once was, she was weak.

That night, one drink had turned into two, into three. Wallowing in her own self-pity had become second-nature, she felt like Hamlet, lamenting her circumstances, a constant turmoil monologuing in her brain. But this night felt particularly worse, for some reason. 

For the record, she had been doing better. But she was all-too-familiar with how grief worked, pulling her back down the dark side of the mountain, where she was forced to fight her demons over and over again. At some point, they were going to win.

It was a funny thing. Despite the loss of her husband, who she had loved dearly, his death had been easier to accept. Final. She couldn’t bring him back. Helmut on the other hand, was still out there, an open wound that could never fully heal.

Before she knew it, she was four drinks in, at her bedside table, fumbling through the bottom drawer, until she found what she was looking for.

Back on her couch, she stared at the card in her hand, the hastily written phone number on it, an international line. Helmut had given it to her, the day she left, stuck it in her purse while she wasn’t looking. She didn’t discover it until she had returned home.

It had been months since she last did this, pulled the card out of its hidden place in her drawer, placed it on the coffee table in front of her next to her phone, and considered dialing it. It had been a frequent occurrence when she first moved here, when she couldn’t find a job and spent most of her mornings either hungover, or stumbling home from rendezvous with men whose names she wouldn’t remember, and she wouldn’t care to, because there was only one man she really wanted. She could only hope he’d be as close as one call away. But she never called. 

I mean really, he’d probably moved on by this point. If she was going to call, she should have done it months ago, when there was more of a chance that he’d give a fuck. 

She considered this a setback. But she’d made her way halfway through the cheap bottle of whiskey, it was the drunkest she’d been in ages and she was curious. She didn’t know whose number it was, who’d be on the other end of the line, and never knew why Helmut would want her to have it to begin with.  

At this point, she wasn’t capable of good decision making. In general, it hadn’t always been her strong suit. So why did doing the right thing matter now? It didn’t, she decided. 

Taking a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle, she ensured she wouldn’t remember what happened next, at least not clearly. 

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?” she didn’t recognize the sound of the man on the other end of the line immediately, so she didn’t answer. All she had wanted to do was maybe hear Helmut’s voice, he didn’t even need to know it was her that was calling. 

“Hello?” the man repeated, and she realized it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. The grandfatherly, comforting tone wasn’t her former lover, but someone close to him. And she supposed that wasn’t terrible.

“Is this Oeznik?” she asked. 

“It is,” he said after some hesitation. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Truthfully, she was shocked she’d allowed herself to go this far. This was a bad idea. If she stopped now she could get off without doing any real damage. But just as she was about to hang up, she heard her name, muffled, on the other end of the line. 

“H-How do you know it’s me?” She raised the phone back to her ear. 

“I thought you sounded familiar,” Oeznik chuckled, low and soft. “Helmut told me you might call.”

“He did?” she squeaked. “Yes, although it was awhile ago. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I uh….I….well….” she managed. “I guess I just….I guess I wanted to see how he was doing.”  Her words flowed together like the liquor she was drinking, she knew she sounded drunk.

“Good, since we last spoke,” he said. “I don’t hear from him much these days...maybe every couple months. As you might imagine, he’s trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

She nodded. Perhaps Zemo was as lonely as she was, hidden away in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Though she had to imagine it looked much nicer than her current place, and maybe he had better company than a portly orange cat that begrudgingly liked him. “I understand.”

“How have you been?” he asked.

It sounded stupid, but she realized it was the first time someone had asked her that. Sincerely. Checked up on her. Even if she was the one who had dialed the number in the first place.

“I’m good,” her voice cracked. “Just keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Helmut always had such nice things to say about you.”

“Really?” she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Of course, would you like me to let him know you called?” 

“No, no...I wouldn’t want to bother him,” she choked on her words, something catching in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”

“I’m okay, I just….” she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, lowering her voice, since she didn’t think her normal register would come out as anything other than a whine. “I think I made a horrible mistake.”

“What’s the matter? What did you do?”

She shook her head, shaking the tears loose and now they were lining her lashes, threatening to spill over. However, she managed to make the next words she spoke come out clearly. “Nothing, I just...it’s really stupid, I really shouldn’t have called.”

He sighed on the other end of the line, and she felt like, despite her attempt at staying calm, he could still see that she wasn’t somehow. “It seemed Helmut was awfully sweet on you,” Oeznik’s words next came hesitantly, calculated. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he told me if you ever called, to help you with whatever you might need, no matter the ask.”

Oh God, what had she done? A sob left her, one she couldn’t control, and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle any more. Her tears were flowing freely now, tracking down her cheeks and along her chin. She wiped at them clumsily, clearing her throat. 

“That’s very kind of him, but you can’t help me. I’m so sorry to bother you, please just forget I even called,” she forced a smile on her face so that hopefully he could hear it. “Goodbye.”

She hung up, horrified, and within seconds had deleted the call log from her phone. She’d been thoughtful enough not to memorize the number, and the lighter she used whenever she smoked sat in front of her. Without a second though, she burned the card, watching the paper blacken and disintegrate, until it was all but a pile of soot on her Wal-Mart coffee table. It was a fair punishment, and ensured she’d never get the chance to embarrass herself like that again. 

And then she cried, sobbed into a pillow next to her, until her tears ran dry and she wore herself out, falling asleep on the couch alone. When she’d wake the next morning, the only evidence of her actions would be a throbbing headache and a dead phone. 

She wouldn’t remember the call.

----

Life went on, as it always did. It had been about a month, and since that night she grew more indifferent, remembered how to ignore heartbreak. For now, she was stuck in her purgatory, waking up before the sun and falling asleep before it set, smoking joints, drinking cheap liquor, and going on the occasional date with people who she didn’t really like, tourists who would leave after a week and wanted temporary company. 

Despite everything, she partly believed things were getting better. Maybe they weren’t, but the possibility that someday they would seemed feasible. And that was enough, for now. 

On her days off, she’d walk to the beach and lay on a blanket, reading a book until the sun dipped below the horizon and lit up the sky in hues of pinks and purples. She found a record player at an antique store and began collecting vinyls, listening to obscure artists whose albums she found in the $1 bin. It wasn’t so bad. Life wasn’t so bad. 

She took a shower after work. Tomorrow was her off day, and she wasn’t sure what she had planned besides maybe watching a movie and getting stoned. Maybe she’d try going to the beach. The weather was getting warmer, and she could even go swimming if the water wasn’t too cold. 

Exhausted from her day of work, she laid down in her bed, still in her robe, her hair wrapped in a towel around her head. The sun was setting outside, the windchimes she’d hung outside slowly clanging together, birds singing in the warm spring air. Her cat hopped on the bed, offered an affectionate trill and curled up at her side, purring, in a rare display of affection. A cool breeze drifted through the open window. And for the first time in over a year, she felt content. Closing her eyes, she savored the moment, committed it to memory, so she could recall it the next time she was drunk-crying in front of her TV. 

She fell asleep slowly, so slowly that when she woke, startled by something in her kitchen clattering to the floor, it felt like she hadn’t even been sleeping at all. The clock next to her red 11:31 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside, the cool breeze from before had grown stronger and her bedroom curtains were billowing, wind whistling loudly through the apartment. Her cat had left her side, and she frowned, shivering in the sudden cold.

Pulling the towel off her head, she made her way over to the window with the intention to close it, sleepily, lazily, until she heard something else. A creak in the floorboard. A heavy footstep in her kitchen. That wasn’t just her cat. 

Some kind of muscle memory was ignited then, an ancient instinct that called to her from a different lifetime. Darting across the room, the gun she kept was in her hand, stealthily pulled from its hiding spot beneath her mattress. Truth be told, she never thought she would’ve needed it. Anyone looking for her would be smart enough to kill her in her sleep, not be so foolish as to wake her first with their heavy footsteps. 

A dark silhouette stalked through her kitchen, moving slowly. It was a man, she assumed, based on his broader figure, and lack of coordination. In her experience, women were often stealthier without trying. He took another step, the floor creaking below him, shuffling on bargain linoleum. 

Staying low, she crept forward, ducking stealthily behind furniture, avoiding the spots on the floor she knew made noise. It didn’t appear the intruder had a weapon, in fact, it seemed he was bumbling about, searching for something. A burglar, and a bad one at that. An island full of vacation homes owned by rich doctors and they thought they’d find valuables in her shitty apartment?

It wasn’t until she was standing directly behind him, gun aimed at his head, that she finally spoke up. 

“I believe you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said flatly. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’d be in your best interest to leave empty-handed.”

Her eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but the intruder froze, arms slowly raising in defeat, empty-handed, as he turned around to face her. In the dingy room, she couldn’t make out any of his features, could only see that he was clad in all black.

“Unfortunately, liebling, that wasn’t my intention.” 

She would’ve recognized that voice anywhere, though the endearment he’d used was enough to clue her in. Hitting the lightswitch with her free hand, she was face to face with the man she’d spent the past year trying to purge from her memory, Helmut Zemo. 

Her gut twisted, her mind raced, but the only thing currently bubbling up, over the surface of every other emotion was the pure, seething rage left behind in the wake of fearing for her life.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she stepped towards him, gun still raised, fuming. 

“Hey, hey!” he staggered backwards, hands raised, eyes averted. 

“I thought you were a fucking robber!” she hissed. “I thought you were here to kill me!”

“Lower your voice,” he scolded. “You’re going to wake your neighbors.”

Taking a deep breath, she realized she still had her gun trained on him and she lowered it, clicking the safety and discarding the weapon on the countertop. “What the fuck?” she asked. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know you had such a mouth on you,” he smirked, but she wasn’t finished, and she glowered at him. 

“You broke into my apartment!” she growled.

“I had to be sure I was in the right place.”

“Yeah? You couldn’t have knocked first?”

He nodded, eyes trailing down to her hands, which were trembling, she hadn’t even realized. He seemed to understand what he’d done then, and she flexed her fingers, eyes locking with his. “I suppose...you may be right,” he said, surrendering.

She felt the rage subsiding as she took in his appearance. He looked not so different from the last time she’d seen him, except a fair amount of stubble covered his jawline in a short beard. He was still devastatingly handsome. Zemo’s dark eyes, filled with longing, drank her in, tilting his head as his gaze shifted to her lips. It was like she could read his mind, she knew what he wanted, what he was thinking. And her body was going to betray her if he kept it up.

Despite everything, she was still upset. Upset and embarrassed, as the light was doing an unflattering expose of her tiny, cluttered apartment, full of mismatched furniture and water-damaged wallpaper that her landlord refused to replace. It probably gave the prison cells that Helmut had spent years in a run for their money, and was in stark contrast to every other aspect of his life.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty liquor bottles on her countertop, stowed in her trash can. “Have you been drinking?”

“Not tonight,” she quipped, on guard. Had to be. As much as some old instinct told her to throw herself into his arms, press her lips to the underside of his jaw, and let him envelope her in the comfort of his embrace, she knew she couldn’t.

“Hmm,” he brushed past her, frowning, looking disappointed, as he made his way to her living room. 

“How did you find me?” she asked, eyeing him wearily.

“I’m a wanted man, I trace every call that comes into my estate,” he said over his shoulder. 

Helmut was taking inventory of the cramped space, staring at the photos she’d hung in a collage on the wall behind her couch, with a few watercolors painted by her late husband. One in particular, that he was focused on now, was from her wedding. Of all the memories she chose to hang, this one was her fondest, her former partner was all dark curly hair falling into deep blue eyes, and she was the portrait of a blushing bride, wearing a dopey love-drunk smile, gazing at him, ignoring the camera. 

“You looked so beautiful on your wedding day,” he said, turning over his shoulder to look at her. He was so out of place here, standing in her living room, for a moment she thought he might be a hallucination, some physical manifestation of the heartbreak she’d experienced. “Although that doesn’t surprise me.”

She flushed, suddenly self-conscious in her thin black robe and still-damp hair. It occurred to her that she wasn’t looking her best, which made this whole situation that much more disconcerting. However, the compliment disarmed her slightly, and the anger she felt began to dissipate, slowly. She was going to offer him something to drink until her cat, who had been absent through the chaos, suddenly jumped up on the back of the couch and promptly hissed at him in an attempt to defend her territory.

“Pumpkin, be nice,” she said, although it was mostly to placate Helmut. Pumpkin never listened to her. 

Helmut let her sniff his hand, and she was stunned when the cat rubbed her face against it. Of course, Pumpkin would like him of all people. That made sense. Then again, she supposed it made them not so different. He turned away to look at the rest of the room. “I see you haven’t kicked that bad habit you told me about,” he gestured at the ashtray full of roaches on the coffee table. 

“Did you just come to my place to insult me?” she asked, putting her hands on her lips and feigning confidence. She could’ve rolled over and cried and told him how much she missed him, how many nights she’d spent crying over him, and while all of it was true, she felt indignation was the better option for her self-preservation.

“That’s a good question,” Helmut turned to face her now, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he was wearing. Completely inappropriate for the weather here, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. “Why do you think I’m here?” he asked.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I don’t know, but you shouldn’t be.”

He snorted, his frustration evident, and she saw a glimpse of the man that so many feared, the side that had earned him his dangerous reputation, that had him locked away in a high-security prison for nearly a decade. “I didn’t come all this way for nothing, draga, we’re going to have it out.”

“Fine,” she said, lacing as much venom as she could into her words to prepare herself. “Then get on with it.”

He stared her down, and the expression her wore startled her, something sparkled in his eyes, mischief, relief maybe? It was insulting. Like he didn’t take her seriously. But there was something else there, too, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was wiped from his visage before it registered.

The tension in the room dissipated slightly when Zemo sat on the arm of the worn couch she’d bought from a yard sale, and she winced. “I spoke to Oeznik the other day,” he said flatly, snorting, eyes focused on a stain on one of the rugs she owned. “He told me he had the pleasure of speaking to a friend of mine about a month ago.”

Frowning, she tilted her head, her eyes meeting Helmut’s. Something in her brain sparked a memory she’d once dismissed as a dream after a particularly bad night of drinking.

“He was concerned, you see, because this friend didn’t seem to be in the best state of mind,” Helmut rose from the arm of the couch, stalking forward slowly, and she couldn’t move backwards, not even if she wanted to, as he could pin her easily against the front door. His voice grew louder, faster as he went on. “He said she was crying, slurring her words, he told me he thought maybe she might be-” Helmut cut himself off abruptly and closed his eyes, clenching one of his fists, a look of distress on his face as he took in a terse breath. “I won’t finish that thought, but you’re a smart girl, you can imagine what I’m getting at.”

Swallowing hard, the phone call came back to her in pieces, the tears, sobbing on the phone to a man she hardly knew. It was the night she finally admitted to herself she’d made a mistake, even though she’d already known it, deep down when she left him in the hotel room. 

“Please forgive me for breaking in tonight,” Helmut said. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not answering the door, I needed to see with my own eyes that you were okay.”

Exhaling through her nose, she looked at the floor. “It’s not like that. I had too much to drink.” she said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. “It was just a bad night.”

“Then tell me, what was the horrible mistake you made?” he asked, stepping closer. He was close to her, now. So close. And his proximity made everything more difficult.

God, if only she could remember exactly what she’d said, the only thing that came to her were the emotions, desperation, sadness, grief. It was all too much, and he was threatening to bring them all back to destroy her again. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” He asked, tilting his head, his eyebrows pulling together. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? How hard it was to sit on a plane when all I wanted to do was be here? With you?” His hand rose to cup her cheek, stopping just short of her face when she flinched away from his touch.

“Please stop,” she managed, the burn of tears behind her eyes almost menacing. The last thing she needed was to cry in front of him. “You’re undoing everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. 

“You’re….you’re here,” she murmured weakly, wetness seeping, glossing over her pupils. “I only have so much capacity for pain right now, if you touch me now, you’ll ruin everything.”

No one ever had this kind of hold on her, she’d never bent her rules to appease anyone else, and she’d gone toe to toe with super soldiers. He was just a man, and yet, he terrified her. 

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer, but one tear escaped, sliding down her cheekbone, and she sniffled. 

“I’m not the one who did this to you,” his thumb, swiped along her face gently, wiping it away. He’d touched her, just barely, and she was reeling. 

“I know,” she stuttered, gasping. “I know it was me, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You are so stubborn.” His expression softened as he looked upon her, his thumb tracing underneath her jaw, tilting her head upwards to look at him. Malleable, she obliged. “I’ve thought about you everyday since the night we spent together. You’ve plagued me. That can’t be a coincidence. Are you really happier this way? You must be honest with me.”

She shook her head, blinking out fresh tears. “No, I’m not. I just thought...by the time I realized I made the wrong choice, you’d have moved on. People like us don’t get to be happy.”

“Says who?”

How could she refuse him anymore? This would continue to go on until she gave in. And from the beginning, she wanted to give in. There was no use in fighting the inevitable. The small point of contact -- his hand on her chin -- radiated impressive warmth, and she could feel every part of herself being attracted to him, quelling some ache deep within her. 

Reaching up, she clutched at Helmut’s palm, which didn’t last long, because he pulled her into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his solid frame. 

“Come home with me,” he coaxed softly. 

“I will,” she murmured, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. “But you have to let me bring Pumpkin.”

He chuckled, warm and amiable, the vibration of his chest echoing in her own. “Of course, you’ll bring Pumpkin,” he murmured into her hair. Oh, how she had missed hearing him laugh. They could’ve stayed that way for hours, and she would’ve been content, but he pulled away, hands on either side of her face as he studied her.

Unable to hold back any longer, she leaned in to kiss him. It was chaste at first, all the memories of her last night with him came flooding back quickly when he parted his lips to deepen the kiss, but she didn’t want that quite yet, just needed a moment to process this. The simple comfort of being held by him, kissed by him, was more than enough for now. He’d been waiting for this, she could assume in the way that he responded, pulling her impossibly close so she was engulfed in him.

Her stomach flipped, a warmth blossoming in her chest as he pulled away, their foreheads touching. “Oh, I missed you,” she sighed, shivering as his beard tickled her neck, his mouth on her sensitive skin.

“And I, you,” he murmured. His eyes studied her, carefully, up close, and for the first time since meeting him, she really let him see her, teary-eyed and vulnerable.

She would never let him go again. 

---

A/N: So here we are! I know it’s been a ride, but I’m really excited for these two. However, I don’t feel like I’m done writing for Zemo yet. If ya’ll have any headcanons, thoughts, questions, requests, etc, feel free to drop them in my ask box or shoot me a DM. I’d love to talk more about him. I also would be down to write more oneshots based around this series, because I am sort of like….okay, they obviously have a connection, but they don’t know that much about each other, and I may or may not have a light future already mapped out for them. I might do an epilogue at some point even. But if you have anything you’d like to add, let me know!

Taglist: @juice-1981  @sapphiredreamer26  @tatooineisdry  @marvelsvision @spookycereal-s @trelaney @fireghost-x @booksarekindaneat  @thunderingbats  @felicityofbakerstreet @takacsgram @mischiefmanaged71 @fanfictionedagain @merelyhooper @gyllord @mundaytuesday @friday18eo  @lovegood7553  @adara-wolfhart @a-djarin @farawaywasteland @sky-writes-stuff @fuckinglittlekitten @katyasrussianaccent @agent-jbarnes  @neoarchipelago @pattispunk @kpopnena @purebloodwitch @spookyconsultingcriminal @msmarvelwrites @professorrw @lazyradeecal @captainrexstan @notyourfuckingbusinesss @felicityofbakerstreet @unlikekiana @maeday-18 @friendly-letters @fandom-lover-4 @meefal @queenfairyfangirl @gogomonbebelf @scullys-alienpussy @the-multiverse-approach @sky-writes-stuff @safiakillspop @eggofhumiliation @originalcollectorsaladsstuff @archangelproperty @friday18eo @jayden-rose-leon @actuallyanita @mayhemmachine @kermuddgen @zadiewrites @pach-inks @theokatz @reichelhache @autumnsoidier @mischief-siriusly-managed @danaaeaa @joey-motorola @singlemomslayer @stevesbestgirl @dinna-fashh @popriskra @xaanyhs @adorable-punk-superheroes​

[anyotherwriter]

Split Decision [2]

I'm uploading early because for once I'm a few chapters ahead of the game? Usually means bad things will happen. Anyway, this is probably garbage, but I'm committed now. I did outline this entire series and chapter 2 and 3 were definitely the worst two out of the whole thing so struggle through with me. Also thank you so much for the feedback on the first chapter! It was greatly appreciated.

I included the a link for the playlist I started for when I write anything Daryl related. It's still in its infancy but I feel like it's gonna get out of control real quick.

Again, continue reading at your own risk. I don't include warnings on my work. TWD is a whole warning in itself lmao. GIF doesn't belong to me, but props to whomever it does.

\\\\\\\\\////////////

A few weeks in Alexandria was like a few weeks in a fever dream. Well...not a dream per say, but more like an apocalyptic, ultimate survival fantasy. The food, running hot water, people that didn't want to kill you every five seconds? Incredible.

She wasn't too well versed in social skills anymore, so as the Alexandrians began to warm up to her being there, they'd started to approach her. It only took a few seconds for them to promptly regret their decision, though, as any attempt at conversation with her would be met with a lot of hesitancy and a sharp tongue. She appreciated that she wasn't dead yet and that they served hot meals when possible, but she still didn't trust them much. More times than not, she felt the need to leave. The walls seemed too tall, the nights too quiet. The constant hum and growl of survival was missing and it made her feel weak, like she lost her ability to do the bare minimum for herself anymore. But she was also thankful for a bed and food and a door lock that actually kept people out. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

"Coming to grab dinner?" A voice called to her, a familiar feeling of annoyance building up in her throat. She wanted to tell him to stop trying so hard, she'd come around on her own. But she wouldn't, not without a little nudge. Aaron could easily tell that was her case.

As he slowed to a stop in the middle of the street, patiently waiting for her answer, she felt exposed. She was sitting there in a pair of baggy jeans that someone had leant her when she came in, the late summer evening breeze blowing around her, reminding her that her hair smelled like "waterfalls" rather than body odor and iron. She was barefoot and she hated that she loved it so much. She couldn't remember the last time she took off her boots longer than to change out her socks or to bandage up blisters. She changed her mind; it was a dream.

"Probably not. I didn't finish my breakfast, I can just finish that later." She responded quietly with a small smile she knew didn't deserve a place on her face.

"No," Aaron shook his head, still not moving from his place. "Let's go get some hot food, mingle, make some friends…"

"Me? Mingle?" She cackled, reminders of the chatterbox she truly used to be before flashing through her memory at lightning speed. The more she remembered, the smile on her face became sad. "I don't think I should."

"How can I get you to leave that stoop?" He asked curiously, now taking a few steps towards her. She was still fidgeting with that plastic tape case in her hands the way she did in every solitary silent moment she had here, which was all the time apparently. The corners were rounding from the friction and a few new spider cracks started. Aaron and Gabriel have both been trying to coax her down towards the center of town with the promise of food and a tape player. She hadn't yet taken them up on either. Apparently the food was non-negotiable; someone always stopped by, typically an unfamiliar face trying to make small talk, would drop it by for her. She'd eat in the silence of her basement room and stuff any packaged non-perishables in the large bag under her bed. Just in case.

She didn't say anything, instead gently holding up the tape so he could see it. It was time to hear it again. And with a gentle nod of Aaron's head, she slid on her boots, tucking the laces quickly into the sides, and grabbed her backpack off the porch behind her. She followed him closely and silently. A few people had taken notice that she was heading the same direction they were, which made her anxious. It wasn't critical for her that people liked her, she would just like it if they did. Although, her general demeanor has made that rather difficult.

Aaron led her into the church, a place she definitely felt was very misplaced in a world like this, and into a back room. It's where the radio system lived that helped them communicate with the other communities. And the first time she'd heard that there were other communities, her head nearly rolled off her shoulders in disbelief, let alone the fact that they could talk to each other on a regular basis.

He reached into the bottom drawer of an old, dented filing cabinet and pulled out a familiar brick. It looked similar to the model she had, maybe a little older.

"Safe assumption you know how this works?" He asked quietly, his tone matching the overall quiet, serene feel of the church. She only nodded her head. He turned to leave her to it with a gentle squeeze on her shoulder.

And once the door closed and she was completely alone, she took a seat. The chair squeaked and squealed under her as she tried to get comfortable. She slipped the old, corded headphones over her ears, the foam on the ear pieces threatening to tear. She then sat in silence for a long time. She had a feeling of dread in her chest at the idea of hearing it again. She wasn't sure if she was ready to relive the memories that came with it, and the people, and herself. But even as the intrusive thoughts tried to drive her out of there, she found her fingers fumbling with the case anyway. She was alone, which meant she could feel alone.

Pressing play and hearing the first few drum beats from the all too familiar song immediately had her hurting and crying.

***

When she woke up in that cramped room, daylight was beginning to spill over the treetops beyond the walls outside. The small window showed her the people that were already out and about, doing their chores and trying to be normal. Her eyes were heavy and swollen. She had lost track of how many times she'd listened to and rewinded that tape, but with each time, a different wave of grief slammed into her. Eventually the heaviness made her tired enough to pass out right there on the table, the headphones still clinging to her ears. She tried to take a moment to gather herself but the heavier foot falls and conversation on the other side of the door had other plans. Then it opened.

She recognized the woman that takes a lot of watch shifts at the gate, though she couldn't remember her name. She had only seen the taller, burly man a few times from a distance. They were bickering about something trivial and hushed quickly when they spotted her still sitting there trying to collect herself.

"Sorry," she started as she took the headphones off her head and neatly wrapped up the cord. The buttons on the tape player were the only sounds in the room as she ejected the tape and stuffed it in the case. "I'm heading out."

"We sincerely apologize for interrupting. I presumed this room to be vacant." The man said to her rather quickly. She only offered a small smile to him as she grabbed her bag off the floor and crammed her arms through the straps.

"You're Y/N, right?" The woman asked as she stepped out of the doorway.

"Suppose so. I hope the gossip has been good." Y/N offered lightly, knowing full well that if they knew her name that there was talk.

"Nothing too exciting, I must say to my dismay." The man retorted with a serious look on his face. "I'm Eugene."

"Rosita."

"Nice to meet you both." Y/N said quietly as she turned to leave. Her footsteps seemed exponentially louder since she was trying to slip out unnoticed. A scarce few people that sat in the church pews allowed her exit to distract them from their own thoughts. The door seemed much too loud as she shut it behind her.

The morning air was chilly and there was a small blanket of fog settling over the pond in the center of town. She hadn't expected to live past the blistering heat of this summer. She frequently experienced severe dehydration and hunger and lack of shelter and accepted her fate. The camp she'd been at before she was brought here was built from a flimsy tarp and the bastard had caught fire and took nearly everything she had with it. The woman that gave her her jeans when she first arrived promised to get her whatever she needed whenever she needed them. With the upcoming winter, she knew she'd have to cave and ask for warmer clothes. The only part that was a problem was the asking part.

There were several gray streams of smoke rising into the air from fires and the smell of burning wet leaves swirled around. The whole situation made her want to curl under a big blanket and watch old halloween movies and go to the pumpkin patch and bust out her heavy winter socks. It was a surreal thought, and a memory, that she hadn't thought about in so long. The safety and security and domesticity of Alexandria allowed that feeling to come back to her. She figured that she could quite literally go back to her bedroom and do exactly that. But she didn't have halloween movies or heavy winter socks or access to a pumpkin patch. But dammit if she couldn't go curl up in a bed under blankets and keep warm. And that's where she planned to go. But the smell of stew redirected her to the kitchens where people were beginning to gather for breakfast. Her stomach growled loudly, screaming at her for not eating since breakfast yesterday.

"You got a coat?" She heard a deep grumble off to the side as she approached the small building. Looking off to her right, tucked back a bit, was Daryl. He was elbows deep in cleaning and skinning a deer, his hands caked in blood and his hair falling into his eyes. His focus seemed to be fully enveloped in the innards, but he spoke to her again. "'s cold out here. Got a coat?"

She shook her head, watching as he dropped the lungs into a crusty bucket off to the side.

"You saw what I came in with. Where would I have been hiding a coat?" Daryl stopped his hands for a moment. He searched her face briefly, silently acknowledging that she looked skinnier than he remembered, or maybe he just hadn't seen her as much as he thought. Which didn't check out, because on his late nights - or early mornings, whatever you want to call them - when he'd head out to go hunting, he'd usually see her sitting on the front porch of the place she stayed at. He asked Aaron about it one time, and when Aaron told him she rarely left the stoop or slept, he grew frustrated. Not at her, because he fully understood how she was feeling. He couldn't exactly determine why he felt that way. Looking at her now, finally braving her attempt at a public meeting space, and also stumbling across him at the same time, brought him a strange sort of comfort. But seeing her without something so basic, something he could easily provide her with, he became uncomfortable again. And he hated the feeling of being responsible for her. But here he was, claiming responsibility.

"You alrigh'?" He asked, dipping his hands into a separate bucket full of water to rinse off the blood. He wiped them on a dirty rag and squinted his eyes at her.

"Fine." She said too quickly, tucking her thumbs under the straps of her backpack. "Long night." Daryl simply grunted, noticing her eyes were a bit puffy, not believing her at all. And she noticed that he noticed. And the part she hated most about crying was when other people found out she'd been crying. So she turned quickly and headed towards the smell of food and the low mumble of the growing crowd. Daryl simply watched her go and waited there, rag still in his hands, and waited to go back to the deer until he saw her start eating from a bowl as she disappeared between the houses.

***

A week passed by and the weather played a fake out on everyone. Although... every summer season seemed to do that. She decided she wanted to actually walk around a bit, explore, have people stare at her like a zoo exhibit. Maybe the more time she'd spend out and about, the less they would do that. She sat on the chair on the porch and began lacing up her boots. The basement was beginning to feel like a cage. One of her own making, sure, but she was growing anxious. She wanted to be outside before the cold stole the opportunity away from her.

She'd been putting off asking for a coat or a sweatshirt or even a long sleeved shirt. The break in the cold weather afforded her some more time not in somebody's debt. Granted, she already sort of was, but clothing seemed different. It wasn't like there was an abundance of new clothes coming back in through those gates. Whatever was inside the walls was all they had and she didn't want to take it.

"'ere." A mumble came from the bottom of the porch steps as an old plastic crate slapped the wood. She noticed Daryl standing there, chewing on a fingernail, as a young girl walked up the steps and gently put down another crate.

"Don't want it." Y/N said easily, turning her attention back to her left boot. Daryl was the last person she wanted to be indebted to. He huffed.

"I helped pick it all out for you." The small voice came from the top of the steps. Y/N turned and stared at the girl with the sheriff's hat that didn't quite fit as she toed the crates at her feet. "Uncle Daryl told me you didn't have any clothes."

"Well how can that be when I have these bad boys on." She challenged the girl as she motioned to her jeans and tshirt that was a couple sizes too big.

"Those won't keep you warm." The girl shook her head with a grimace. And with a sigh, Y/N sat up straight and contemplated. She could see the fabrics in the bins and knew they would definitely hold her over for the winter. She stood, made her way over, and crouched beside them. Her hand ran over a pair of gloves right on top.

"You know," she started, glancing at the girl and then to Daryl, "the last person that I asked for clothes from gave me a concussion." She began to laugh, remembering the cranky bastard. Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, the curiosity peaking in his chest almost as much as he felt the need to know who the person was; name, number, address, height, and weight.

"What was his name?" The girl asked curiously. This made Y/N laugh again.

"Rob. He was a cranky middle-aged bastard, mad at the world and starving… so like the rest of us. He carried around these three huge bags of clothes and they weighed him down horribly. Nearly got killed several times because of it. He wouldn't let anyone touch the bags or help carry them. He'd just sulk with them day and night. One night we were sitting around a fire and I saw a sweater fall out of it. It was meant for a woman, two sizes too big for me at the time, but I foolishly asked if I could borrow it. I mean… What was he gonna do with a ladies' sweater, right? But it set him off. He grabbed me by the arms so tight and yelled until his face turned bright red. Left bruises. My dad had jumped in, tried to get him off. Instead of just letting me go, he shoved me to the ground super hard and the back of my head smacked a rock just right.”

Y/N looked back up at the girl, as she watched her intently. She could tell the girl wanted to ask so many questions. Y/N sat down on the top step right next to where she stood.

“What’s your name?” Y/N asked her.

“Judith.”

Y/N smiled her way, barely remembering what it was like to be her age anymore. She seemed so strong and confident and Y/N could only recall being incredibly annoying with strangers and simultaneously mad about her mom. Adolescence for Y/N was weird.

“Well, Judith,” she started, “thank you for picking things out for me. That was very kind of you.”

And Judith smiled at her. Daryl stood there and watched the two interact, wondering how Judith had such an ability to get people to talk. He figured the fact that she was a kid was mainly why, but he’d come across enough kids in his lifetime to know that Judith was something special. He hadn’t heard Y/N speak so much to anyone since they’d found her crowded up in that tree. Since then, she’d gone quiet and he’d almost forgotten what her voice sounded like. Aaron would often joke that she was like Daryl, in a way. He described it as ‘fiercely independent and doesn’t want to look helpless’; Aaron wasn’t wrong.

“Was it recent?” Daryl’s gruff voice interrupted the two as they started sifting through the clothes together. Judith and Y/N somehow ended up with winter hats on their heads, each having a single glove from the pair on one hand and Y/N slid off the boots she’d just laced up to slip on a pair of worn, white tube socks that were now a cloudy gray. She looked up at him briefly and then back down to her toes, her pinky toe finding a wear hole.

“Nah, that was at the beginning.” She shrugged as she slipped the hat off her head and put it in the loose pile beside her.

Daryl felt relieved. But the longer he stood there, watching her try on the things they’d brought her, the more questions he had. He wanted to ask her what happened after she’d hit her head. He wanted to know what happened to that guy. If she ate breakfast this morning. If she wanted to trade socks with him because his didn’t have any holes. But he didn’t ask anything of them.

“You be good.” He offered to Judith instead as he started to back away from the pair. As he turned to leave, he heard the two start to laugh a little, presumably at Y/N offering ‘no promises’.

\\\\\\\\\\\///////////

Again, feedback is always welcome! If you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know.

@captain-tch @wateroffmahwings

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (12)

word count; 8943

summary; you and newt are called to another unusual call.

notes; this is the first half (technically) of a mini sub-plot. the end comes in the next part.

warnings; violence, gun use, description of injury, slight gore, intentional harm, attempted murder, reference to drowning.

“I feel disgusting.” You mumbled, water still dripping from your arms as you stood, shaking yourself odd a little and groaning at the chill that was beginning to sweep in. The lights on the firetruck were flashing, equipment still being loaded back up, and Newt was standing on the other side of the ambulance, a water bottle Minho had given him sitting in his hand as he took another large sip, gargling the water loudly and frothing it around his mouth before spitting it out onto the concrete and grimacing.

“I think I swallowed, like, half the lake.”

You felt bad for him, you really did, and you tried to peel the wet material of the shirt away from yourself. Unbuttoning it slowly, you frowned, wet hair plastered to the back of your neck in the ponytail you wore, and Newt choked on his drink, laughing loudly and spitting up water again. He patted at his chest, turning away from you, his cheeks going red as he tries to hack up water that had gone down the wrong pipe, and you patted his back, startled at his sudden reaction.

His eyes were watering when he recovered, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You know, if I was straight, I’d be very flattered.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your nipples.” He beamed, and your brows furrowed, before you glanced down, noting the hardened peaks from the cold, showing clearly through your tank that had gone clear enough in its pale grey colour to show off the plain design of your bra, and you scoffed. “Truly, it’s an honour, but it’s doing nothing for me.”

“Oh, no, whatever will I do now?” You mused, voice flat of any emotions, and he only laughed again, peeling off his shirt, and ringing it out, goosebumps rising along pale skin as the chill of the air washed over his skin. The lake was clear now, a group of kids who had stupidly enough decided it would be a good idea to jump off the edge of the dock before realising the wall was too tall and slippery with algae to get out, beginnings of hypothermia and ingestions of dirty water before anybody had wandered past close enough to hear them calling for help.

Sometimes, you really hated teenagers.

“Think if we’re fast enough, we can get back to the house before the firefighters? First dibs on the showers with the best water pressure, and guaranteed hot water.”

His eyes twinkled a little as he lifted a still damp but no longer sodden shirt back onto his shoulders, grimy and covered in green and brown stains from the water, no bothering to button it back up. “I take that as a challenge, and I accept.”

You climbed in through the back of the van, pulling open the bottom drawer and finding the plastic seat coverings, chucking one of the sheet packages to Newt for his own chair, before he slammed the doors with you in the back, and rounded to the driver’s side. Smoothing the plastic over your chair to make sure it was covered, your shoes squelched a little as you collapsed down into it. Newt did the same, and the second the keys were twisted into the lock once he was shuffling uncomfortably on the plastic, you were flicking the heating on to the highest temperature you could get it.

The downside of working in a van filled with drugs and medicine? The heat didn’t get very high in order to keep what needed to be refrigerated at the temperature is was required to be at. His eyes checked the mirrors as he reversed, noting the firetruck that was beginning to back out, the Squad truck leaving first, Gally and Fry still milling around to talk to the cops, and so you and Squad had a head start.

It would seem that they had the same idea, because Minho had a positively dangerous look in her eyes as she pulled up towards the entrance alongside you both, and Newt smirked, hand on the gearstick as he switched gears and pressed his foot down on the pedal. He surged forwards, the van moving faster than the trucks due to their added weight, a delay in its start-up, and the pair of you shot across the uneven gravelly path towards the main highway.

The red truck wasn’t far behind, and yet you were laughing a little at the determined look on your partners face, what had been a modest challenge was now becoming a battle between yourselves and the Squad team. You had the edge, being a lightweight vehicle, easy navigation and more speed, but they had the edge, the big red truck was more noticeable to other driver’s and they tended to move out of the way more for firetrucks than they did for ambulances.

As you met the junction for the highway, Newt flicked on the indicators and swerved onto the highway in a gap between cars that was too small to be considered safe. The move left you pressed into the side door of the ambo’, turning to look at him as his eyes stayed fixed on the road, a smirk on his face as the red truck was left in the dust, having to wait much longer to be able to pull out.

“Alright, Vin Diesel, settle down.”

“You want a hot shower to get clean? Or do you want lukewarm water with weak pressure that takes hours to get you clean?” You considered it, knowing that the more the showers were used, the weaker the water pressure got and the colder they ran as the hot water was distributed out, and you weighed out the pros and cons. You gave in with a reluctant sigh, watching Newt weave between cars, and he let out a triumphant noise. “Exactly. So, be a good co-driver, and play something exciting.”

“This is an ambulance, Newt. We have the classical jazz station, the news station, the emergency radio, or static and silence.”

“Sing something.” He offered, and you laughed loudly. “Maybe just yell exciting things at the top of your voice like it’s a James Bond movie. You can be my Bond woman.”

“Exciting things? You mean like ‘Quick, Newt, watch out for the rock slide’ or ‘Oh my God, Newt, he’s shooting at us’?” He hummed, rolling his lips together a little, and looking into the mirror where the red van wasn’t all that far behind anymore. “Oh, okay, I got it. How about ‘Quick! Newt! The bomb that will destroy world peace and the alien trade federation is about to go off, hurry so you can disarm it and save the galaxy!”

“That’s the one!” He shouted back, laughter taking up the cabin between you both as he picked up a little more speed, growling under his breath as distant wailing took place. “Did they just turn the fucking sirens on?”

“That’s illegal! A crime! Disqualified!”

Only a moment later, the truck was passing you by, Thomas lounging in the front seat with a smirk on his face, not even bothering to look at the two of you as he held up his middle finger, feet popped up on the dashboard, before they were pulling ahead, and you gaped at it.

“He flipped us off!”

“He did what?” Newt sounded like he had been told that Thomas had run over his dog, before his face was growing stormy, and he peeled off towards one of the exits, and you sat up a little more in your seat.

“Newt, this isn’t our exit, why are we slowing down? This is war now!”

“We’re taking a shortcut! I think.”

You pouted, watching as he pulled off onto the quieter roads, already resigning yourself to the loss. The van moved slower, not by much and certainly still considered fast for these roads, and you didn’t recognise the area you were driving through until you were almost at the house, coming at it from a completely different angle. It was a side that the trucks would be unaware of, the roads on this side of the house too narrow for the trucks to navigate on, but an ambulance could definitely weave and dodge along them.

You were expecting the grey garage to already be stained with bright and shiny flashes of colour, but as you approached it, the bay was still empty, and you gasped.

Unclipping your seatbelt before the vehicle had even rolled to a halt, and as soon as it was in park, haphazardly and slightly wonky within the designated space but still inside the lines, and Newt was ripping the keys from the ignition. You didn’t even bother peeling away the plastic overs, both hopping down from the van, doors slamming, uncomfortable runs in wet shoes from the vehicle to the changing rooms, the door practically bounding from the wall with the urgency that you forced it open.

Your fingers were trembling with both the cold and the adrenaline as you opened your locker, grabbing for the towel and washbag that sat on the middle shelf, slamming the metal canister shut a second behind Newt, and on the other side of the room, you heard a shower curtain swipe open, before the water spray was coming on.

Kicking off your shoes onto the white tile, your socks were ridden with water, and you stopped into the basin, flimsy curtain closing behind you. Switching on the water, you didn’t care about clothes getting wet as they were all drenched regardless. The water was hot and strong, pouring down over you as you let out a breath in relief, sighing out at the feeling, and stripping the partially unbuttons shirt the rest of the way down.

Dropping it to the floor outside, your vest followed, bra dropping by your feet for modesty, not all too thrilled about the idea of the entire team seeing your underwear. One fireman was plenty enough. Your trousers came next, panties following your bra, and socks lastly, before you were freeing your hair from its bobble and scrubbing dirt from the tendrils. The water was murky as it pooled around your feet, and you grinned through the suds as you heard the locker room door open up.

“Nice of you guys to finally join us!”

Newt laughed at your words, and you scowled at the taste of shampoo that got in your mouth, eyes squeezed closed tightly, but you couldn't hold back your laughter at the several complaints that burst out.

The shower next to yours clicked into gear, a slight dip in the flow of water as it adjusted, and it was steadily growing weaker as the firemen all changed and climbed into a shower, but you had already shampooed, only some soap and conditioner to go.  

“How the fuck did you guys beat us here?”

“We played by the rules, Bren! Flicking on sirens, that was cheating.” You tutted, the girl scoffing from the cubicle beside you.

“Uh, playing it smart isn’t cheating!” She retaliated, and you scrubbed a bar of exfoliating soap over your skin, the extra shrub helping to rid you of the feeling of grunge from the lake away from your flesh. “But seriously, how the hell did you beat us here with so much time?”

“Newt knew a short cut, apparently.” She made a vague sound of agreement, the boys all chatting loudly from the other side of the room, and the build-up of steam was beginning to give you a headache. Running some conditioner through your hair and combing the knots out quickly, you finished up, switching off the water and finding your towel, hand fumbling outside of the stall for the material, before you were finding it, and wrapping it around your body. Wringing out your hair, you pushed back the shower curtain and stepped free.

Newt was at the lockers, pulling a shirt over his head, almost fully dressed, the plastic washing basket from the corner was sitting outside him, water pooling through the cracks to the floor as his clothes dripped, and you scooped up your own, dropping them in with his and flashing him a grateful smile as he all but nodded in a promise to load them into the washer.

His fluffy hair was almost dry already, messy and sticking up from his towel, and you envied how quickly he could get ready again. How quickly all men could get dressed, really.

Taking your kit over to the sink, you fastened your towel a little tighter around yourself again to make sure it would stay tight, before wiping a patch in the steamed-up glass to see your reflection. Running a collection of moisturisers and serums over your cheeks, keeping it at it’s best despite the smoky and dirty conundrums you found yourself in on a day to day basis, you rehydrated and cleansed your skin, before moving on to your hair.

Heading to your locker to get a new set of clothes, you lifted the catch open, the door swinging as you gathered belongings, checking you had everything for a new uniform in your back-up bag, before placing it down on the bench. As you closed it, you jumped, a body leaning on the metal on the other side, and a mumbled curse fell from your lips at the shock. Reaching up to clutch at the edge of your towel and ensure it didn’t fall, you glared at the laughing attacker.

“You fucking suck. Why are you scaring me when I’m in a towel? Dumbass.”

“Oh, ouch. Cranky today, huh?” Thomas teased, reaching out a finger to poke at your stomach through the towel, and you jumped, slapping his hand away as he chuckled more.

“I’m cranky when I’m in a towel, and risking flashing the entire team because you wanna’ startle me!” He smirked, eyes scanning over your body particularly slowly, as if to make a point, and you rolled your eyes, despite the heat forming on your face. Adjusting your towel again, he watched your fingers move, and you kicked at his shin, watching him hop around in his towel at the aggression.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You know what that was for!” You held your fingers up, pointing them from your chest to your eyes, and he got a wicked grin once again as he clocked onto what you were saying. “Go away so I can get dressed in peace!”

“So now you don’t want me around? That’s not how you felt a couple of weeks ago.” You glared at him again, crossing your arms and stomping your foot a little, knowing what he was referring to, and he hadn't been any less affectionate since. At the action, though, he gave in, hands held up in a surrender and his laughter following him all the way around to his locker on the other side, leaving you alone.

Members of the team were still wandering around, and so you tried to be as quick but as discreet as you possibly could, tugging your panties and trousers up under your towel. Your spare shoes were uncomfortable and tight, barely worn in as opposed to your regular ones, and you were cold as you put on the clothes that had been chilling in the metal canister, bag ready to be taken home to refill.

Rubbing your towel across your hair to dry it out better, you left it as it was, towel folding in the bag to be taken home, and you placed it all back inside. Adjusting your fresh uniform to sit a little more comfortably on your body, your fingers smoothed along the collar and flattened it down, before sweeping still damp locks away from your clothes.

The men were all filtering from the room, a faster turn around as they dried, all carrying dirty and sodden uniforms to the laundry room to try and get them sorted, hoping to find themselves with one less task to do when they go home, and not wanting to stink up their cars with the foul smell that came with the water from the dock by trailing the wet garments home.

The dull buzzing of the only hairdryer the fire station had was already in use by Brenda, shorter hair looking a little crazy as she only had her fingers to come through instead of her usual styling brush, and she was scowling at her reflection in the mirror as her hair curved up in the wrong directions at the edges, bangs looking untamed. She glared at your snickering as you approached, finger flipping over the switch to turn it off, clearly deeming the effort good enough, and she stuck her tongue out at you and handed it over, letting you start it up to reduce some of the water trapped in your own hair as she tried desperately to do something to control it a little better.

“Why don’t you just comb it all back?”

“And look like a starring member from ‘Grease’? Want me to start singing ‘Go Grease Lightning’ on the top of one of the fire trucks, huh?” She was so over-dramatic, and yet you loved that about her, shaking your head and smirking a little as she continued to struggle. You weren’t all that bothered about getting it completely dry, just enough that you wouldn’t catch a chill from it. You didn’t really feel like facing the next few weeks with a sore throat and a blocked nose.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’m pretty sure I have a curled brush in my bag?”

She paused her work, arms crossing over her chest, hip leaning on the porcelain of the sink, and you could feel her burning glare on you as you continued to keep your one hair tame just with the use of the machine and your fingers. “You’ve had a blow-dry brush this whole time and you let me suffer?”

“Uh, first off, it’s not a blow-dry brush. It’s just a round brush. Make do. Secondly, you make it sound like I had food and you’ve not eaten for three days.”

“Same thing.” She hissed, playfully through it all, and she didn’t wait for permission, before she was meandering to your locker over hers and letting herself in, beginning to dig through the items in there to find the brush. She let out a triumphant little noise, and as she all but skipped back across the room, you decided you were close enough to dry, shaking your head to tame fly-aways and handing her the dryer back. You turned, walking away from her, and she let out a sound of complaint. “You’re just gonna’ leave me in here, alone?”

“It’s the changing rooms, not a back-alley at a nightclub at 3am.”

“What if I get lonely?” She pouted, turning the heat up and power down, the whirring going quieter so neither of you had to shout quite as loudly to one another, and you shrugged, backing away from her a little more, and smirking.

“Talk to your reflection. I’m going to make a snack.”

She huffed, but smiled, turning back to her plans, and you were the only one to what your soft chuckle as you left, the chill out in the corridor being shocking as you stepped from the steam-filled room to the breeze-filled hall to the main bay, shuddering as goosebumps rose over your arms, and you crossed them across your chest to keep your heat in.

Thomas was standing at the entrance of the laundry room, a basket full of wet clothes, nose turned up a little as Newt and Jeff loaded the machines, and you didn’t envy them at all. The doors to the common room were sealed shut tightly, presumably to keep in the warmth, because Fry had turned on both of the space heaters, and the room was already warming up to being hot. The smell of garlic bread was filling the room, some kind of cheesy pasta following it, and Fry was already singing loudly to the song playing over the radio, almost drawing out the television as Gally watched a movie that was so old it was in black and white, but he wasn’t paying attention, rather, he was texting on his phone and enjoying the background noise.

Minho was sitting beside him much the same, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and Clint was chewing on a pen at the table as he filled out the puzzles in one of the newspapers from last week's stack.

“What’cha making, Fry?”

“Chicken and mushroom pasta, you want some?” Your face screwed up, shaking your head, and he laughed. “Let me guess, you don’t like mushrooms?”

“They’re gross and slimy. No offence to your pasta.”

“They’re delicious, and healthy.” He corrected, and you grunted, opening the fridge, and pulling out a loaf of bread, shuffling through the contents of the fridge to find a topping you wanted. As you searched, a soft bumping at your ankle caught your attention, a sharp and chipper bark to follow it, and you glanced down, finding a wagging tail and a ball of golden fur staring up at you expectantly. “That dog is a bottomless pit of food!”

“He’s a growing boy!” You waved the cook off, taking a packet of ham out and peeling a slice off from the inside of the pack, holding it up at about waist height, and watching as the dog shuffled backwards, staring up at it and preparing himself. “C’mon, Scoot, jump!”

The dog did so, a happy yip sounding from him as he did, snatching half of the slice as it tore in your hands, and chewing down on it happily, pieces falling from its mouth and onto the floor, and he was quick to lick those up too. “He’s never going to learn any tricks if you pamper him like that.”

You looked up, Thomas having come through the doorway, Newt following behind him, your partner raising his shirt to his nose and sniffing at it, trying to determine whether the stench had transferred to his uniform just from doing the laundry, before collapsing down in the armchair. “He just did a trick! He jumped!” Scooter did it again, snatching the rest of the ham from your fingers, and you gasped as teeth brushed over your fingers, your hand snatching back, and Thomas chuckled, coming to a stop before you and taking the ham from your fingers.

“He did not jump on command, he just jumped for food.”

“Fine! You try!” You raised a brow, and Thomas took the challenge, a smirk forming.

“Scooter!” The dog’s head snapped to face him, from where he’d been occupying himself with pawing at one of your undone laces, now focused on Thomas. “Scooter, sit.” The dog remained still for a second, your lips pursing as he continued to pant and wag happily, stood on all four paws.

“What was it you were saying?”

Thomas’ eyes flicked up to you, narrowing for a second, before he was trying again. “Scooter, sit.” Your jaw was slack as the dog did exactly as told, sitting neatly and letting his tail brush over the flooring patterns, hearing the fridge behind you opening and closing, jars and tins rattling as Fry continued to cook. “Good boy, Scoot! No, lay down.” Thomas clicked his fingers, pointing at the floor, and the dog flattened out, staring up at Thomas expectantly, and you huffed. “Good boy. You want a treat?”

A bark signalled that, and Thomas rolled up a piece of the honey-glazed delicacy that Fry was snatching back a second later with mumbles about it being wasted, and Scooter stood up to snatch it, running away across the room in a pitter-patter of movements, scurrying away to his bed in the corner.

“See?”

“How the hell did you do that?” You demanded, washing your hands under the tap and drying them off, before going back to the sandwich you’d been preparing, and Thomas seated himself on one of the island stools with a shrug.

“I’ve been practising. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” You offered, grabbing a knife from one of the drawers, and Fry groaned beside you, shooting you both a dirty look as you began to spread the butter.

“Consider me revolted.” He gagged, and you rolled your eyes, swinging your foot out to kick at his shin, Thomas flipping him off despite the heat that was building on his cheek, and the chef wasn’t deterred from mimicking your conversation. “Seriously, get a room.”

“We have a room. It’s this kitchen. Two out of three, we win, majority rules.”

“Nice.” Thomas grinned, holding his hand out, and you slammed your palm against his in a satisfying high five, before pressing the knife down and cleaning it off, sealing the butter back up and putting it in the fridge, before grabbing your fillings. Layering them on carefully, you started slowly, constructing your sandwich carefully, and building it on your plate, before slicing it evenly down the middle, starting at your lunch proudly.

You only had a second to appreciate it, before a large hand was picking up a piece of it, taking it away and biting the corner off or it happily. “Hey! Who the hell said you could eat my sandwich?”

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” He winked, taking another large bite and speaking through his food, hopping down from the stool, and your face screwed up. You took your now half a sandwich, walking towards the empty couch and hearing Thomas trail after you, the couch the wrong way to the screen, but you weren’t all that bothered about what was happening in this movie anyway, and so you faced away from it, spreading out along the couch. “Move your legs.”

“Give me my sandwich back!”

“It’s half gone now!” He held it up, showing you the evidence of the half-eaten piece, and you shrugged. As if to prove a point, he pushed the rest of it all into his mouth at once, cheeks feeling with food and lips barely able to close, before he was brushing crumbs from his shirt, and picking your legs up at the ankles, lifting them up to be able to sit down.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yep.” His words were muffled, your feet being laid back down across his lap, and you took a more polite bite of the remaining half. His fingers moved to your shoes, finding the undone laces and wrapping them around his fingers, before pulling them tightly and looping them into neat knots. He repeated the same on the other foot, before slumping back into the couch a little, still trying to chew the whole mouthful, and you wiggled a little as you got more comfortable, sliding further down until it was your calves in his lap instead of your feet, and your shoulders could rest on the armrest.

His hand rested on your knee, thumb smoothing over you lightly as his other hand produced his phone from his pocket, beginning to swipe at it absentmindedly.

“You two are honestly sickening. I have toothache.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Newt. You spent a half-hour on the phone to me two days ago talking about Derek.” Newt looked shocked for a second, pale cheeks flushing with warm colour, before he was shrugging it off.

“Yeah, well, at least me and Derek have never cuddled in a waiting room at his job.”

“We aren’t cuddling right now!” You scoffed, taking another bite of your sandwich, and chewing it as you process what to say next. “Besides, it would be unprofessional to cuddle in a waiting room where patients could see. This is totally different because we’re inside the house, an-”

Your words went flat as you heard the siren overhead go off, even Thomas’ thumb on your knee pausing its motions, everybody going silent, only the sounds of sizzling oil and the muted television static to go as the alarm went off. You deflated, only yourself and Newt being called for, and you heaved yourself to a sitting position, Newt already beginning to peel his body back up out of the comfy chair he’d seated himself in.

“At least it’s only a local call, we’ll be back before the shift even ends.”

Your partner’s words did little to comfort you, and he chuckled as you continued to glare, before forcing yourself into action.

Swinging your legs down to sit up, you looked mournfully at your only half-eaten meal, before handing the plate to Thomas, who beamed at the offering, your fingers tousling his hair before you were wandering away, and attempting to pull your hair back into something that resembled a pony-tail using on the bobble on your wrist and your fingers.

Newt grabbed the keys, ready to set off, and you followed after him as the doors remained yet to even start swinging shut in his haste. Reaching the van, you hesitated as you neared climbing in, stripping away the plastic over your seat and dropping it down into the footwell of the van, watching Newt do the same. Starting up the ambulance and fastening your seatbelt, Newt flicked on the SatNav, the machine taking a second to load up, before it was programming in your given destination and beginning to guide you.

“So, that’s something pretty new.”

“What is?” Your eyes flickered over yourself, the same uniform you always wore clad on your body, and a pair of sneakers, your brow raising as you turned to your friend, the silence saying everything, and he scoffed. Switching gears as he pulled out onto the faster roads, he spared you a look, dubious and unbelieving of your confusion.

“You know what.”

“I assure you, I don’t.” You shuffled a little, the radio crackling, but none of the chatter directed toward the two of you was coming through yet, and you waited.

He sighed, flicking on the indicators and pulling out onto the highway. “You and Tommy. That’s what I’m talking about. What’s up with you two?”

Heat flushed over your face, and you sank back a little further into your seat, but your lips wanted to form a smile, and you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek just to contain it. “I’m not totally sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, I kinda’ know. It’s all so new. It’s scary, but exhilarating.” Newt only smiled, eyes flicking to the mirror to check over everything he was looking at, before taking another turn following the SatNav, a side road to leave the highway, and you were still waiting on call details to come through on the radio. “I mean, I know it’s something. He knows that, too. We’ve talked about it, but we’re just, sort of, waiting.”

“Waiting for what, exactly?”

“The right time, I guess.” You sighed, realising how odd it all sounded out loud, to be talking like a teenager to your friend about a guy you liked, but it also felt natural and right. “Everything has just been crazy lately. I don’t think we would be like we were without the craziness, and it’s kinda’ weird to think that this job has changed my life so much, that this house has changed my life so much, when none of the others did before. I think we’re just waiting to see if it’s real, or just an in-the-moment emotional deal.”

“Seems pretty real to me.”

You smiled, knowing that Newt’s words were intended to be soothing, but instead, they made your heart race a little more.

Everything made your heart race nowadays, like you were in overdrive all the time, you were constantly on the edge, and not in an anxious way. You’d spent so much of your life feeling closed off and locked down that you weren’t used to how it felt to be on the opposite end of the scale. You had anxiety, and fear, and loneliness, that was your normal status, but since settling into Firehouse ‘21, everything had been turned upside down.

Your heart would race with thrill and excitement, and the heat flushing over you wasn’t so much from rage - after you’d sorted your problems with Thomas, anyway - but from flustered shyness. On the days when you felt lonely, when the urge to be around someone else was stronger, your phone was there, lighting up with notifications from a group chat and you knew you had friends you could call, someone who would spend time with you, when they weren’t on duty.

It was all still new, and a little scary, and still thrilling.

Then, there was Thomas. You weren’t sure what it was with Thomas, because you had nothing to compare it to. Your previous relationships had been quick and spinning. A fling that ended just as fast as it started, almost always ending after a first date with tumbling into bed and shutting down when the first signs of intimacy began to rear their heads. You moved around and you never stayed put long enough to invest in something, but you had no plans of leaving Firehouse ‘21 any time soon, and so you’d allowed yourself to let Thomas in before you’d even realised it was happening.

Intimate and emotional, a connection that wasn’t physical yet, you didn’t even know what it felt like to kiss him, and yet it still made you feel a little breathless and lightheaded to imagine it because there was a weight and meaning hanging to it now. There was something deeper than you’d ever had, a relationship that wasn’t pinned on sex and quick connections to chase away the cold sheets when you felt truly alone, but instead, left you feeling warm and loved even when no one was around.

“So, what about you and Derek?”

It was Newt’s turn to be embarrassed, the gravel and shale under the tires crunching loudly as the two of you began to trail up abandoned dirt roads, the rickety and deafening sounds of the trains of the metal bridges overhead shooting past were like the banging of metal against metal, hitting a spoon against a pan or steel-tipped work boots on metal platforms.

Pale skin turned dark pink, and he flashed a cheesy grin, eyes sparkling a little, and you already knew how excited he was. “That good, huh?”

“Things with Derek are awesome.”

“I take full responsibility for that awesomeness.” You teased, and he chuckled, the van coming to a halt, and your brows furrowed, amusement disappearing and confusion over as you stared out at the empty scene. The SatNav on the dashboard clicked green and shut down as you reached your destination, clearly telling you both that this was the correct location, and yet there was nothing, and nobody to be seen. “Put a pin in that conversation.”

He only mumbled his response, equally as confused, and the two of you stepped out of the car, a chill sweeping over you as it became eerily similar to the last case you’d received with nobody present, still so recent that the police investigation into it was still open, the court case over Chuck’s death was yet to be closed and the arson investigators hadn't even completed their analysis. “Check the radio. Is it turned on?”

You moved back in, knowing that it was because the static had been playing lowly in your ears all the way through, but there was nothing else. Normally, at a call on the edge of a town like this, the two of you would be greeted by someone, a frantic pedestrian, friend or family member, the person who had made the call would arrive to lead you to the person, and even as you listened, you couldn't hear anything.

No loud groaning or yells of pain, no mangled screams for help or even a blood trail to guide you. There was absolutely nothing to suggest why the two of you would be here, and it all became more and more suspicious as each second ticked by. Newt tucked his hands into his pockets, and you picked up the receiver, sitting sideways on your seat and turning the dial, before pressing the button down on the side.

“House ‘21 ambulance, calling in. We haven't had any more details, can we get an update?”

You waited for a second, eyes narrowing as the machine clicked you through to an operator, and there were muffled voices in the background of the call centre, before a clearer voice rang through. “‘21 ambulance, can you confirm your location, registration number and ID for me.”

Newt smirked at the frown on your face, knowing that every so often a caller came who actually required you to cite the information. While you couldn't deny that it was protocol, and they should be doing it every time, most of them took it simply at your word of being the paramedics, because they knew that most robbers wouldn't be bothering to call in on the radio of they were stealing from an ambulance, they’d just clear out all the medicines and run.

Listing off the information she requested, you listened and waited, the sound of long nails typing quickly at a keyboard sounded out, and you turned up the volume, holding the device out from you a little, so Newt could hear more clearly, even as he wandered a few feet away, looking around some more. “Still there, ‘21?”

“Yep.” You paused, hearing a few more clicks, before the woman was sighing.

“My files don’t have much. The caller didn’t leave a name or an identification, the only notes here are the address, and that you’re looking for a stab wound victim.” Newt's brows raised as he heard the words, and you only felt more confused. If someone had been stabbed, there should be a trail of blood or someone calling for help, you should be able to see them, they couldn't have gotten far without leaving a pathway of where they were, and yet, there was nothing here except the trains on the bridge overhead. “That all?”

“That's all.”

She hung up not long after, and you grabbed for your go-bag, chucking Newt his bag too, and he only just managed to catch it as the breath was knocked from his lungs, sticking his tongue out at you childishly as you grinned, before slamming your door back shut, and letting Newt lock it up, the van chirping and flashing as it sealed.

Swinging your bag onto your shoulder, your partner mimicked you. Wandering away together, you paced a few minutes from the van, staring out across the empty area, and crossing your arms. “I gave up my lunch for this shit.”

“You go left, I’ll go right, we’ll sweep around, and in ten minutes we meet at the van?” You only nodded, kicking at a particularly large pebble under your foot, and turning to face the direction you were told to go in. You heard Newt stepping away, pebbles shifting underfoot, and you followed suit, glancing back at the blond over your shoulder for a second. “Yell if you find something.”

“Will do.” You saluted, a grin thrown over his shoulder to you, before fixing your gaze ahead of you once again.

There were a few old houses, run-down and abandoned, nobody having lived in them for at least a decade. Broken windows were boarded up and front doors were hanging on their hinges, spray paint that was old and faded, drips and chips on the wood that was stained with years of abandonment, and wire fences with chains on that had been long since cut away. The grass was dead, yellowed and brown and overrun with weeds, and spoke spots ere charred blank with ash, where you suspected kids had come to light fires and get away from parents when they were bored; empty bottles of booze and cans of pop littered the ground, among wrappers and boxes for things too old to see the labels on.

You checked every garden, standing in the gate and calling out to offer help, but nothing except for silence came back. The rusty metal creaked as you stepped out from the last row, three random houses in an area of town that had clearly been skipped in the surrounding gentrification, left to fall into disrepair, and you didn’t blame it. The constant source of trains of the tracks overhead was already beginning to give you a headache, there were no real roads built to this area, and it was miles to the closest bus stop or shopping centre.

Turning back around, you didn’t walk straight back to him, but you walked a little to the side, taking an angle back towards the van just to be sure you were covering the maximum space that you could, checking over it all thoroughly, and just as you’d been giving up, your eyes caught the flicker of movement in your peripherals. When you focused on it, it took you a second to find it again, the trembling of metal stilts holding the bridge up forty feet above you disguising it, but then there was a twitch again.

In the shadows, easily missed, but then there they were. Sitting, leaned up against one of the bars from the other side, hand-pressed weakly over their stomach, head lolled to the side. You weren’t even sure if they had moved, or if they’d simply slumped forward because of the vibrations of the rickety bridge legs, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline race through you as you tried to jump into action.

“Shit!” You muttered, a slight rise on the hill before you as you tried to climb up it, the dust forming clouds behind you as the stones slipped at the sudden and uncoordinated movements, before you were stumbling closer to the person. “Newt!”

Another train shot overhead, drowning out the sounds of your shouts, and you hoped Newt had actually heard it, because you’d walked so far that he was more like a blur away from you, and you certainly couldn't hear his yells as he offered help anymore, they’d faded away a few minutes ago, but you couldn't be occupied with it now. The second the train had passed, you tried yelling again, out of breath and panting as you dropped to your knees before the person.

Their head was lying forward, chin pressed to their chest, fresh red blood seeping out between their fingers in weak bursts, and at least you knew they were still alive. Cupping their face, you pushed their head back, skin sickly pale and flushed with sweat, a very quiet groan leaving his lips, and hooded eyes cracked open barely at all to look at you. “Did you make that call?”

“Call?” He echoed, seemingly confused about what was even happening, but with the amount of blood that was staining the pebbles around you and clumping in the dust and dirt as it turned dark, you weren’t all that surprised.

“Alright, buddy, we’ll get you all sorted out, okay?” You circled a hand around behind his neck, the other on his side, and you needed to lay him down just to be able to get to the wound, because you couldn't see anything with him slumped over like this, daylight partially blocked out from the bridge overhead and shadows forming over the man. “I need to get you laying down, think you can handle that?”

He didn’t even nod, simply made a broken hum under his breath that you decided to take as an acknowledgement, before pulling him forwards. He let out a louder cry this time, the pain taking him over, and you heard the rapid-fire crunches of Newt running towards you, slightly uneven footsteps on his hurt leg, but you didn’t pay any attention to it, grateful that he’d heard you, but focusing on your patient.

His hands had fallen away from his wounds, and you fumbled for your torch, the light designed to check eyes did little to light up the wound but blood was staining the pale shirt he wore, leaving wet red patches as far up as his ribs. Newt skidded to a stop behind you, a hand running through the longer fringe in his face as he pushed it back, eyes wide.

“Well, shit, I’ll be damned.”

“Knife wound, pretty deep, can you hold the torch for me?” He nodded, stains of red smeared across it from where you’d already got blood on your fingers, and you pushed up the edge of his shirt, getting a look at the wound. He sank to his knees, holding the light over it more clearly, and you hoped he could sense your silent appreciation. It helped you to see, but didn’t clarify much, because blood was smeared over his skin and gave illusions about where his injuries started and ended, bubbling blood still leaving the gash. Dropping your bag down to your side, you opened it up, fumbling through for a pair of rubber gloves, and a tissue to be able to wipe away the blood with.

Snapping the latex onto your wrists and taking the folded clump of paper, dragging it delicately but firmly over the spot to try and get a better look. A second, maybe two, was all you got of clear skin before blood was beginning to fill the space once again, the man’s shallow pants and groans getting lighter and weaker, and you knew you had to hurry, lost time in having to search for him taking its toll now, but it was long enough to get a good look.

“We’re going to need some stuff from the van, probably the stretcher, but I don’t know how well we can wheel him across that gravel.”

“I can just pull up the van?” He offered, clicking off the torch to hand it back to you as you put the correct pressure down on the wound to stop the bleeding, pinching around the edges and holding tight to seal the wound, and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good. Pull up the van!”

He nodded, brushing dust from his knees as he stood, and you used your other hand to begin searching through your bag for the disinfectant spray you needed to start cleaning up his wound so you could put a provisionary seal on it.

You found the canister, shaking it carefully and trying to squeeze the lid with two fingers to get it off, a ‘pop’ sounding before the fading footsteps Newt was making came to a sudden halt.

“Woah, woah, woah..” You looked up, eyes widening and blood running cold at the sight. Newt had his hand held up, a man who’d ace you couldn't quite see behind the baseball cap and the hood he had pulled up to obscure his features, sleeves reaching gloved hands, and a gun in one hand, finger pressed over the trigger as Newt took a few steps back toward you both and stumbling slightly, his leg going weak as he stood unevenly on a rock, and you couldn't help the gasp in fear that left you. “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble. We just got a call, for that guy.”

He reached out one hand, pointing to where you were kneeling still, and you leaned forwards, moving very slowly as you tried to press down gently on the top of the canister, spraying gently on the wound, but as the man let out a sudden and pained noise, the gun moved to you, and you froze, jumping back from the actions and dropping the can.

“I know, because I made the call.”

“You made the call?” You repeated, the face of the shadowed man becoming a little clearer, a large tattoo taking up one side of his face, and you shifted, the uncomfortable stones digging into your knees making you wince as you tried to hold still, an ache in your muscles as your heart raced with fear once again. “If you made the call, why can’t we help him.”

“You’re not here to help him, his wound is just to get you here.”

“You stabbed a man to get ahold of a paramedic?” The gun clicked, the safety catch off, and you swallowed thickly, internally berating yourself for asking such a question when the moment was so tense. “Look, we’ll come with you, we’re more than happy to, but just let me help him and then we’ll go wherever y-”

“Lady, if you don’t stop talking, I will blow your fucking brains all over these stones.” Your jaw snapped shut, heart freezing in your chest entirely, and you nodded dumbly. “Great, now get the fuck up, grab your bag, and walk over here real slow.”

You hesitated, only for a second, before lifting your hand from the man’s wound, hearing him groan out a little, and you ducked your head, knocking your bag over and the contents falling out across the gravel. “I don’t know if you’re even sentient enough to hear me right now,”

Your words were as low as you could get them, hoping then standing a few metres away wouldn't pick them up as he focused back on Newt, and you packed away slowly,

“If you can, I’m leaving the antiseptic and some gauze here. You need to pinch the sides of your wound, lay still, take deep breaths, and hold as much pressure as you can. In about forty minutes, we’d be due to make a call in, we’re supposed to every hour we’re out; when we don’t report in, they’ll send another ambulance. Just hold on, alright?”

You nudged the items a little further into the shadows, hoping the man had caught your words and had the strength to hold on, before you were peeling off your gloves, tucking them into your bag, and zipping it up to sit on your shoulder. Holding your hands up to show they were empty, you stepped beside Newt, the look on his face silently questioning if you were alright, and you gave him a subtle nod, raising a brow in return, and he ducked his head once in reply.

He stood behind you both, pushing the edge of the gun against Newt’s head to urge you both forward, and you matched his steps, the three of you walking slowly as you allowed yourself to be guided. There was a sleek black car pulled up, one you’d missed when arriving, and you suspected he’d driven away and waited somewhere for the ambulance to go past before pulling up again, because it wasn’t exactly hidden.

“Look, we’re going willingly, alright? No fight here, I’ll help. Our ambulance is right there,” You pointed to it, hands still raised up, arms beginning to ache and tire, and Newt folded his, resting his hands behind his head, and turning to look at you as you spoke, “Just let me call in for someone else to come help the other guy, they won’t even get here until after we’ve gone anyway, it’ll t-”

Your ears were ringing, the sound of the bang going off, the rush of air, and the way it felt like an explosion had gone off inside of your own head. You stumbled, falling to your knees at the impact as your entire body went weak, and your vision went black for a second as you tried to process it. You couldn't focus, everything seeming a little blurry, and you could feel Newt’s hands on your shoulders, shaking you, a very muffled shout of your name, before it was all torn backwards once again, and you felt nauseous as the shock swept through your body.

The man crouched down, pulling his hood back and directing an angry gaze straight at you as you blinked to clear your vision, barely able to hear a thing. “That was a fucking warning shot, speak again, and the next bullet won’t miss.”

You had to read his lips for half of the words he said, barely processing them, the bullet that had flown past your ear was making everything fade around the edges, and you were hauled roughly to your feet by a hand under your arm, leaning you against Newt as you staggered the final few feet to the car that was your destination. You could barely clear your head, shaking it a little bit finding even that action was too painful.

Blood was rushing, your headache felt like it was about to split your skull in half, and your shoulder ached as you were tossed down roughly into the open boot, unable to catch yourself in time. Newt followed, the lid slamming shut, darkness surrounding instead. You could feel Newt’s hands on you, the flash of light from his keyring over your irises making you wince, his fingers pressing along your jaw and around your ears, checking for any signs of a ruptured eardrum or any bleeding, but as the car rumbled to life, peeling out of abandoned area everything felt like it was slipping.

Your fingers scratched at the flooring of the car, nails digging into the felt, grains and dirt stuck under your fingernails, and then the car jolted, dipping into a pothole on the road, your head hitting against the floor of the car, and everything you were still clinging to was lost as well as you blacked out.

[whump-a-la-mode]

► call me hero, give villain some cheesecake, since they hadn't had any good food in over a year

Oooh, this is a good one. Thank you so much! (Just a reminder, you can send in ►to do a command prompt like this one ^^)

CW//Past trauma, gross food

When Hero finished their explanation, Doctor nodded, leaving a moment, only to return a moment later with a package in their hands.

Whatever it was, it was tightly wrapped in wrinkled, clear plastic, designed to be peeled from the top like a cup of applesauce. On the cover were scrawled lines of text in every language Hero could think, and some they couldn't.

"We called it a Nutriblock." Doctor started, holding the package out to Hero, who took it with hesitance. The texture was that of clay in their hands, able to be squished about with ease. "This is what you saw Villain being fed?"

"Mhm." Hero nodded.

Doctor bit their lip.

"It was never supposed to be used like that."

"What do you mean? What is it?"

"I mean, it's a Nutriblock. I helped develop it, a long time ago. It was a breakthrough, really." They took back the package, beginning to squish it about between their fingers. "You know, there's all kinds of emergency foods out there. Stuff distributed to people after natural disasters, or brought along on ships in case the worst happens.

But they all have the same weakness. Or, they did. They were all dry. You needed water alongside the emergency meal. And in a lot of situations, clean water isn't available after a disaster.

The idea for the Nutriblock is that it contains everything a human needs to survive. Protein, carbs, vitamins and minerals, and, most importantly, moisture. One of these can sustain the average adult for twenty-four hours.

But... This was never the intention. We knew it was gross, everyone on the team did. But it was intended as a last resort."

"And this is all they've been eating for a year." Hero gulped. "Why the hell did you make it grey?"

"I'm a doctor, not a chef."

"I guess." They couldn't bring themself to appreciate the joke-- at least, they thought it was a joke. "It kept them healthy, though?"

"That was the design of the thing. Physically it provides adequate sustenance. But the psychological implications..."

"Mhm." They nodded. "Why do you have any of this stuff, anyways? I didn't know you were a disaster prepper."

"'m not." Doctor shook their head. "What do you think Villain's been eating these last few days?"

Hero stopped.

"What?"

"I-"

"You've been feeding them this crap?"

With a disquieted countenance, Doctor nodded. They placed down the package, the barren contents turned to mush by their fidgeting hands.

"The first day, I couldn't get any water in them. They kept coughing it up, with how much they were crying. But they needed to drink, so I got them to eat a bit of this."

"But they can eat now, can't they?"

"They've been drinking water fine, but, I mean, I've tried to make food for Villain. But they seem disinterested. Upset, really. They just keep tapping on their tablet, no no no."

"But they're eating this?"

"Mhm. It's all they'll eat. I feel terrible, but, I mean, they need to eat, Hero."

"I know, I know." The hero chewed their lower lip voraciously. "What is it that you tried to feed them?"

"I mean, all sorts of stuff." Doctor shrugged, the edges of their ears flushing pink. "Pizza, lasagna, porkchop, chili..."

Hero looked dumbfounded.

"Well, there's your problem."

"What?"

"You think they're gonna go straight from eating mush for a year to eating, y'know, normal food? You need to ease them into it, I think. I mean, I'm not a doctor, but."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, do you have any ideas?"

"I have one."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Before Villain, a plate clacked onto the table, and they prepared themself instinctively for the disappointed look on Doctor's face.

Or, in this case, Hero's, as it was they who offered the meal this time around.

They were going to hate disappointing Hero.

It wasn't that they wanted to. Of course they didn't want to. With how unreasonably nice they had been to them... they couldn't imagine wanting that.

And it was clear, just how much effort went into preparing the offered meals. The kitchen would smell of sauces and spices and liquids and liquors for hours before Doctor would at last be done. They would present their creation to Villain with a hopeful face...

And Villain would not eat.

They couldn't. They just... couldn't.

They were certain that the food would have been delectable to a normal palette. Even the smell was enough to trigger their mouth to drool, even though, to their conscious mind, the scent smelled worse than that of a corpseflower. And when the meal was placed in front of them... They would look upon the offered entree with bile rising in their throat.

Villain wanted to eat, but they couldn't. Couldn't imagine the way something solid and colorful would feel in their mouth, the way the spices would dance over their tongue. The thought alone made them feel sick.

So, inevitably, once the dish had grown cold, it would be placed back in the refrigerator and replaced with something their mind considered edible. A block of grey, wet nutrients. Every day, it was the same routine.

"I know you've been having some trouble eating." Hero began, prompting red to flow to Villain's ears. They didn't need to be reminded of their own shortcomings. "And I think I know why."

What?

"You've gotten so used to that grey stuff, it's hard to eat anything else. I get it. One time in college I had mac and cheese for like, a month straight. So, I made this."

For the first time, Villain looked upon the plate. They expected their insides to revile at the sight, but...

It was a grey block, cut into the shape of a triangle. The scent was far from strong-- in fact, it hardly had a scent.

This time, the drool that filled Villain's mouth was not paradoxical. They moved to their tablet, tapping out:

"What is."

"Cheesecake." Hero smiled. "Just normal, New York cheesecake. It's usually kinda cream-colored, but I added some food coloring. Do you... Do you want it?"

Villain was unsure if they could nod any more enthusiastically.

"Then, bon appétit."

It was the best thing they'd ever tasted.

[whumpmatsus]

aaaa are you still taking the sickfic requests?? maybe "don't speak" with choro as the sickie pls?

SickFic Prompts / ACCEPTING!

Don’t Speak - (character) has a horribly sore throat and is reduced to barely talking while they load up on hot drinks and soup to recover.

yesssss always!!! I had so much fun with this, it hit me right in the Honey Nut Feelios and I hope it does the same for u, sunshine 😩

-

After still feeling like total crap for several days while his brothers were almost completely recovered from the cold they’d all caught, Choromatsu finally breaks down and goes to the doctor.

He doesn’t really want to. Being sick is something they all hate, and continuing to suffer after everyone else felt better is just astronomically unfair. Sometimes he thinks he can will himself back to health if only he sleeps and takes medicine and does everything a sick person is supposed to do.

The others prod at him to get checked out, though, considering the fact that lately every time he’s tried to speak, it’s set off a cough and is painful even to those just listening.

When he comes back home with a pharmacy bag and an informational sheet proclaiming that he’s been diagnosed with laryngitis, it explains a lot.

He has little choice but to hand the sheet over to Osomatsu as Karamatsu comes over to help remove his scarf and coat and walk him over to the kotatsu. The eldest of them doesn’t necessarily know best all the time, but usually when one of them is sick or hurt with more than a cold or a tiny scrape, Osomatsu often slides into big brother mode and shows a surprising amount of maturity.

For once, Choromatsu is actually glad his oldest brother is taking charge of the situation.

“Okaaaay, guys,” he calls as Choromatsu settles in at the table. “So this thing says Choromatsu has… acute laryngitis. The doctor thinks it’s because he had a cold, I guess, since it says ‘viral cause’. Huh.”

Everyone else is already seated around the kotatsu since it’s the middle of winter and freezing. Jyushimatsu’s arm shoots up right away. “Oh! What’s laryngitis? That’s a funny word. Are we gonna get it too?”

Choromatsu opens his mouth to try and explain, like usual. Instead, he manages to get out a weak, “Probably not,” before he starts to cough.

“Hey,” Osomatsu pouts as Karamatsu pats the third eldest on the back, “this thing says you’re not supposed to talk if you can help it, Fappymatsu. So, y’know… shut up.”

What he gets in return for his efforts is an unimpressed glare.

Osomatsu grins, running a finger under his nose before looking back at the information sheet. “Well, I’m not wrong! Okay, so… the cold was contagious, but it says the actual laryngitis isn’t. It’s just some kind of throat thing that happened because of the cold. So it might happen for the rest of us, but I doubt it since we’re all feeling better already. Choromatsu just has bad luck, I guess.”

Karamatsu hums in thought and continues to rub his brother’s back. “Hmph, we’re probably safe then. Which means we just have to focus on taking care of our dear brother. How do we do that?”

Choromatsu holds the bag from the pharmacy up, allowing Ichimatsu to snatch it and dump the contents out on the table. He points toward the things he picked up at the doctor’s recommendation ― over-the-counter painkillers, lozenges, a throat spray, and cough syrup. There’s other stuff mixed in too, like tissues and a jar of yuzu-cha and a magazine. Though he could have lived without everyone seeing that, it’s not a huge deal.

Osomatsu waves the paper before picking through everything on the table. “Well, it says they don’t have any kind of prescription to give him. No antibiotics since it’s viral. Looks like it says the cough medicines and painkillers might help. ‘Home remedies may also provide temporary relief’… like tea and soup, huh? So we should probably try to keep the bastard hydrated with warm stuff.”

Karamatsu gets to his feet, grabbing the jar of yuzu-cha on his way. “In that case, why don’t I go mix up some of this for you right now? After being out in the cold air, your throat could probably use something warm. Want me to add a little honey?”

Choromatsu nods eagerly, mouthing, “Yes, please.”

Karamatsu’s face brightens at being useful, and he gives an exaggerated pose before heading into the kitchen. “What a good patient! Your big brother will be back with something soothing before you know it!”

“Hold on,” Totty comments as he scoots the lozenges, spray, and syrup toward him, “did you get all this stuff to take for your throat?”

His eyes scan over the labels, then roll back in his head when he’s finished. “Ah, Choromatsu-nii-san! You can’t take all of these at the same time. See, look. They all say ‘do not use with other medications containing’ ― uh ― well ― w-well, I can’t pronounce the word, but it’s the same one! They must all contain this ingredient, so you can’t take them all in the same day.”

Ichimatsu makes a gesture for Totty to hand them over, then nods after reading them. “Yeah, he’s right. If you take all these in the same day, even if you use each one like the directions say, you’ll be basically overdosing on this shit. Your mouth’ll go numb. Be drooling all over the place and maybe having trouble breathing.”

All the medicine is plucked from his hands by Osomatsu. “Okay, so we’ll rotate ‘em, and I’ll take care of giving it to you whenever you need medicine. Y’know, so that fever doesn’t fry your brain and make you forget which one you’re taking for the day. Which one do you wanna use today?”

Choromatsu lets out a soft groan which only serves to irritate his throat further. He could seriously just kick his own ass for not checking that before he bought all of those. The only excuse he has is that he’s in a lot of pain and not thinking like he normally does. He points to the spray, thinking maybe it’ll feel kind of like sour spray candy; once it gets sprayed on, it melts and lingers for a minute, which might be a nice quality in a medicine for sore throats.

“Alright, open up.” Osomatsu tears off the plastic packaging. “Totty, Ichimatsu, did either of you see how many times I’m supposed to spray this?”

“Two sprays every two hours as needed. But it’s only supposed to stay for fifteen seconds, then he has to spit it out. He’s not supposed to swallow it or it might give him a stomachache. Totty, you wanna go get an empty cup for him to spit in and a glass of water to wash the taste out of his mouth afterwards?”

“What?? Why can’t you do it? Your legs aren’t broken!”

“Yeah, but I’m busy.”

“Are you kidding me? Doing what?!”

Ichimatsu shuffles himself closer to Choromatsu and puts an arm around his big brother. “I’m his emotional support Ichimatsu.”

Choromatsu chuckles a bit, though it turns into coughing pretty quickly.

“Oh, my God. Now you know why you’re not first in my brother rankings, right?” Totty grumbles, but gets up anyway. “Fiiiiine, I’ll be right back.”

The idea of an emotional support anything is nice, though, so Choromatsu leans into the contact, resting his head on Ichimatsu’s shoulder. As it is, the fourth eldest is almost like a cat, warm and cuddly when he feels like it.

His fever must be getting to him, because he could even swear he hears Ichimatsu purring.

-

The next three days in the Matsuno household are, predictably, a little wild.

Although Choromatsu sleeps on the couch in the other room so that his coughing doesn’t wake his brothers, it’s pretty much all for naught. At least one of them ends up missing him in the night and coming to camp out with him anyway; he just counts his lucky stars that when he needs them most, they show themselves to be pretty great brothers.

He also practically lives on soup and tea. Mom and the others try to switch it up a little, because otherwise eating and drinking the same things every day would drive him nuts. Plain miso and zosui were fine for the first day, but after he could breathe through his nose and smell things again, they started offering him other stuff.

Honestly, shogayu and negi-miso-yu have never tasted so good. Now that he can taste the yuzu-cha, too, and Karamatsu prepares some for him at least once in the afternoon, it’s like a small slice of heaven. He’s pretty sure Karamatsu can tell how grateful he is even without words, if the stupidly proud look on his older brother’s face whenever Choromatsu drinks it is any indication.

His throat still hurts like hell for a while. It’s difficult to speak, so Osomatsu, in his infinite wisdom, has relegated his brother to using a mini dry erase board and marker if he needs to say anything. That doesn’t mean Choromatsu doesn’t try to talk. He does his best not to if he doesn’t absolutely need to, however, since he wants to be rid of this thing more than anyone.

Thankfully, everyone is apparently using this as an excuse to treat him nicely. He gets to sit in front of the TV watching Nyaa-chan concerts almost nonstop, while nestling in against his emotional support Ichimatsu. Karamatsu in particular keeps checking every twenty minutes or so to see if there’s anything he can get for his little brother, and whatever Choromatsu asks for, he gets. Hell, at one point he’s craving ice cream, even though milky things aren’t a good idea for someone who’s coughing, and Karamatsu comes back with a melon ice pop, which is almost as good.

Totty even manages to do something nice while typing away on his phone. He says he’s got Choromatsu a date. With a girl. Who likes pop idols. Who’s really excited to meet him as soon as he’s better. He says he texted her a picture of Choromatsu and she thinks he’s really cute. It’s perhaps a good thing that he can’t say much right now, because he’s sure he’d scream loud enough to lose his voice a second time.

Jyushimatsu even sits there on Choromatsu’s other side, and reads magazine articles to him whenever they’re not watching TV. Of course, he doesn’t read the dirty articles… well, he doesn’t read those out loud after the first time he tried and everybody ended up crying with laughter. They all joked that even when he was sick that would be Choromatsu’s main priority, and for once, he laughed along with them despite the fact that it made him cough.

The one who surprises him the most is Osomatsu. Maybe that shouldn’t actually be a surprise, though. He fills the role of diligent oldest brother with a lot more ease than one might expect; he breaks out the thermometer every few hours to make sure Choromatsu’s fever isn’t getting higher, he keeps track of which medicines Choromatsu is supposed to take and when, he helps Mom cook things that will help Choromatsu feel better, and if he’s not doing any of that other stuff, he’s positioned with Choromatsu sitting on his lap, with Ichimatsu and Jyushimatsu on either side, running his fingers through his little brother’s hair. It almost feels like the way things were when they were all kids.

Choromatsu is easily tired out when he’s sick, and he’s 99.99999% sure that it’s Osomatsu who carries him to bed every night when he inevitably falls asleep.

Despite the fact that he gives them a lot of shit, and none of them are perfect people, he knows he’s got some pretty amazing brothers.

Today he’s feeling nearly back to his old self, and his throat is less sore than it’s been in over a week. He knows it’s partially thanks to rest and partially thanks to how well his family has been taking care of him. Despite that he’s starting to recover, the others are still treating him much the same as they have been. Tea whenever he wants it ― as well as Karamatsu shoving it in his direction, urging him to drink with that pathetic puppy dog face of his, even when he doesn’t quite want it ― and lots of head pats and the TV turned to whatever he’s in the mood for.

He’s not quite as tired as he’s been lately, so it would be all too effortless to just take advantage of all this. Instead, his thoughts have just kept turning to how grateful he is to have so many people he can count on.

There’s some small part of him that has to admit he can be just as bad as they all are sometimes. He can be selfish and rude and lazy. But when one of his brothers is sick or hurt, he knows he steps up to the plate to try and take care of them. To know that they’re all willing to do the same for him when he’s the one in need makes him happier than he thinks he’s been in a long time.

He’s still got the dumb little whiteboard Osomatsu gave him, because his voice isn’t back to normal just yet. For a moment, he scribbles on it, then he holds it up for Osomatsu who’s sitting behind him. “Hey, Oso,” he speaks up in a quiet, breathy, raspy voice.

“Uh…! Hey, dumbass, you’re not supposed to be talking yet,” Osomatsu laughs, then lifts his head to look at the board. “… Huh? Choromatsu… hey…”

He laughs in a way that makes it sound like he’s about to cry, then takes the board and waves it to get everyone else’s attention. “Hey, guys! Haha… look! Look at this shit!”

Four other pairs of eyes turn in their direction. Practically as soon as everyone has processed what Choromatsu has written, he’s buried in a pile of brothers. He gets arms put around him, and kisses on his forehead, and everyone nuzzling against his face. They’re all laughing in that same way Osomatsu did…

… Well, until they all start actually crying. Including Choromatsu himself.

The whiteboard falls to the ground, mostly forgotten, but the words written on it hanging over the sextuplets like a rainbow.

Thanks for everything. I love you guys. 💚

[stab-the-son-of-a]

And We’re Live

“This ought to be fun.”

The man, the being, the figure, doesn’t introduce himself, of course not. He needs no introductions, not because he’s notable or particularly renowned, but because he refuses to. You may call him the announcer, capital and article optional, as that’s what he is, and all he will be. 

The Announcer adjusts the display on the screen for the optimal viewing experience. On it is a dim, possibly damp even, basement, with a small crowd of people huddled inside. Three is company, but four is a crowd, and this collection of people is certainly a crowd crammed inside. 

Three men, one woman, but only one of the men stands. He’s one of the only ones who can, as one man is clearly too weak to, and the other, the older man, has a broken leg. The woman could stand, but her faint wavering even while sitting down belies the fact her balance is not yet restored from the head injury that left a streak of blood dried in her hair.

“You recognize these, don’t you?” The Announcer asks. He asks you, in fact. You can’t recall the color of his eyes, the tone of his skin, or anything, though you can recognize his attentions on you even through the screen. “Yes. You. It’s been some time since you’ve last seen or heard from them, but I’m sure you remember.” 

The Announcer smiles. It appears, a flash of expression, but you can’t remember the emotion behind it or recognize any other feature of his before he fades away in your mind again to nothing more than a vehicle of your entertainment. He knows this. He is not the star. Your gaze slips back toward the more interesting people. Thom nods off, cradled against Dale’s side opposite to Jaden, and Summer is half hidden behind Dale’s bulk. Half, because her focus, even as fuzzy as the concussion leaves her, never wavers from Jaden. Focus, and wariness.

“When last you saw the unfortunate guests of the Pierce couple, they were not enjoying their stay. I’d wager they enjoy it less and less as the days pass. How long?” The Announcer laughs. It’s as unremarkable, and unmemorable as the rest of him. He answers his own question. “Long enough, let us say. Such trivial matters don’t lessen your enjoyment of the main event, does it?”

You feel like maybe the announcer winks, inviting you in on some inside joke or exclusive club.

On the screen, Jaden Pierce towers over a floor-bound Dale Gibson, an ugly smirk on his features, and dangles a water bottle in front of them. 

The Announcer speaks a final time. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your show, my whump aficionados.”

Jaden slowly uncaps the bottle, the seal crackling being the loudest thing in the room. Preening under the cumulative weight of his captives’ stares, he asks, “Aw did you guys want any? There’s only one bottle and really it’s like, unsanitary as hell and super nasty to share so. Take your pick, babes, which of you is desperate enough to earn it?”

“Go to hell you bastard,” Summer croaks. Clearing her throat, she glares, as if that would cow him. Instead, it seems to encourage him, a smirk growing on his face.

Jaden rolls his eyes at the display. “Ooooh I’m so scared.”

“Please. You can’t mess with this like you have our food,” Dale reasons. “We can’t last as long without water. I’ll- I won’t eat. Just please, they need water.”

“Pretty sure you’re showing every sign of dehydration too, so why aren’t you arguing for more water for all of you?” Jaden shifts the bottle to hold it in the crook of his arm before he crouches down and cups Dale’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. “Oh that didn’t occur to you, did it? Look at those eyes. Anyone ever tell you that you got eyes that tell a story?”

Dale doesn’t justify that with a response, setting his jaw and silently returning Jaden’s curious stare with a furious glower. 

“Get your disgusting hands off him,” Summer snarls. Jaden’s attention flickers to her, and Dale immediately moves to reach out for Jaden’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing their gazes together once more. Or at least, it did, but surprise has Jaden jerking back from the contact, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Unsure of what to do with his hand, or if his impulsive action just ruined any hope of good will from their captor, Dale slowly withdraws his hand back to cover Summer from Jaden’s potential retribution. 

After a few more tense moments, he seems to find whatever he was looking for, or come to some sort of decision.

“Jesus H Christ but you’re boring these days,” Jaden grumbles half-heartedly, but he does shove Dale back. The older man tips, just barely catching himself from dragging an semi-conscious Thom to the floor with him. Noticing the fact Thom barely reacted to the motion, the young man stands back up and takes a few curious steps to the side, an odd expression on his face as he studies his collection from a new angle, and especially the branded man. “So… Uh. What’s up with Thommy boy? He seems a little... not poggers.”

“You branded him,” Dale points out evenly, forcing his panic down. “He needs proper medical attention.” 

“Well, yeah, he got branded sure, but Sunshine there looks right as rain after her little Jack and Jill impression down the stairs, and she didn’t even need anything. So why hasn’t he gotten over it yet?”

“He’s starving,” Dale explains, right as Summer snarls, “Are you really that dumb?”

That’s the perfectly wrong thing to say, as Jaden flips- his eyes dark and hateful, lips twisted into a sneer, focus entirely on her now. Dale flinches back on instinct, free arm extending to block Jaden’s path to Summer. Dale knows, Summer knows, Jaden knows, that it won’t do anything concrete to stop him, but the younger man still does not advance.

Silence descends on the room, heavy and oppressive like the midday heat leaching into the basement.

Though Dale pushes her back, bodily places himself between Jaden and his two charges, Summer continues. “How could you be this... stupid? I can see your report card now. ‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Moron, look into McDonald’s applications’.”

Emboldened by the silence, and undeterred by the way Dale whispers for her to stop, Summer adds, “Now I know we’re going to go free. You’re going to forget something so fucking simple and get yourself in trouble. And the whole world will forget all about you, you miserable mistake of a human being.”

At the almost petulant look on Jaden’s face, Summer bursts into short, sharp laughter. “I can’t be the first to point out you’re a failure! You’re going to ruin your worthless life-”

“Be quiet,” Jaden orders. Growls. His grip on the water bottle has the plastic bloating and deforming, the flimsy packaging crinkling. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you. Do not test me.”

“You’re too incompentent to make me do anything, idiot,” Summer fires back.

“Fucking BITCH!” His shriek ends with an abrupt and solid crack.

Dale hurries to gather Summer in his arms, to check her neck and her head. A heavy, purple bruise blooms on her face and jaw even as the swelling shuts her eye. “Come on, Summer, come on,” he whispers, “just open your eyes and look at me.”

Thankfully, despite the lurid color, she is only a little unsteady and dazed and forces her clumsy arms to prop herself up properly. Swallowing a furious sob, Summer screams at Jaden’s retreating back, “You’re fucking pathetic!”

-

Three hours later, Lab Coat Lady entered the basement, flanked by Jaden bearing that damned pistol. When Dale tried to get his attention, Jaden silently raised the gun to the center of the older man’s forehead. Only when Dale slumped and allowed the woman in pink access to Thom, even as his heartbeat climbed ever faster and higher in his throat, did Jaden lower his threat. 

Sluggish and flushed with fever, Thom struggled to cooperate as the woman ordered, except for her last demand- to remain still- as she readied to pour a faint yellow liquid down his throat. She glanced up at Dale, then Summer. Quietly, she offered little explanation (“Hydrocodone”) before tipping it back, and, when Thom realized what had hit the back of his throat, she expertly covered his mouth and nose and held his jaw shut. 

Dale watched it all, feeling like Judas.

Only after his motions slowed and his eyelids drooped did the woman in pink release her hold enough to settle him onto his back. 

From there, she debrided his burn, slathered a generous amount of antiseptic cream, and bandaged the wound with a silvery material, all under Dale’s watchful eye. 

The woman approached Summer next- and again, as soon as either she or Dale moved, Jaden leveled the gun at Thom’s head. Both captives froze, a single, too long moment of realization that despite this effort, he might still decide to blast a bullet into Thom’s skull; blissfully unaware, Thom dozed in a drugged haze. 

He kept the gun trained on Thom the whole time the lab coat lady attended to Summer’s head injury, cleaning out blood from the wound and her hair. Summer, even if only for a moment, leaned into the rhythmic sensation of fingers gently carding through the freshly detangled locks. After that was settled, the pink coated woman checked her pupils and eye tracking, and apparently gave her a clean enough bill of health. Her carving on her lower stomach received the same treatment Thom’s branding had. 

The silence began to itch, like a week without a shower, and Dale clenched his fists as best as his broken wrists allowed. He just wished someone would speak and explain this abrupt change. Was it because of what Summer said? Had they gotten through to him somehow?

Dale stared at Jaden, expecting him to say something, make some sort of joke or verbalize his threat or name what they owed for this kindness. Jaden acted like Dale didn’t exist at all. It was unnerving, the same way it was unnerving to see teachers outside school hours, or parents when they were children- someone with a previous persona acting entirely differently from what one could expect of them. Unexpected was never a good sign when it came to Jaden. 

“On your back,” Lab Coat Lady directed him, pushing him back, powerless, helpless in everyway. He couldn’t defend himself on a good day, let alone stuck supine. He couldn’t even fight back as she pushed down on his chest and drew his hands away from his body. “Cooperate. Things will go smoother.”

They did. His wrists were rebandaged, and his leg braced. That simple act alone brought tears to his eyes, both from the metal pressing against the swollen flesh, and the relief of loose bone finally finding stability. Again, he tried to find Jaden’s gaze, to lock eyes and try to understand, but the man didn’t glance in his direction at all, though he had to feel the weight of his stare. 

Wiping her hands down with sanitizer again, the pungently clean smell permeating the poorly ventilated basement, Lab Coat Lady pulled out three prescription bottles. Haphazardly, Boomer, Thom1, T2, and a sun were written on the bottle lids in sharpie. The lids themselves had timers on them, presumably counting down to the next doses. Next to emerge from the bag was four more water bottles. Just as silent as Jaden had been the whole time, the pair left the basement and latched the door behind them.

“What the hell was that?” Summer whispered after a few minutes. 

“I don’t know,” Dale admitted, struggling to sit back up, even as Summer reached over and helped him to change positions. His gaze dragged back to the locked door, and his mind to the man who had walked out. He didn’t know that man at all. He hadn’t considered that sort of behavior in Jaden’s abilities. His palms began to sweat and shake as he checked the bottles left behind. 

Thom’s was more hydrocodone and an antibiotic. The instructions were clearly detailed on the side of the bottle. The same for Summer’s, another antibiotic. Dale had been… not prescribed, but given, pain relief. Tylenol-3, codeine. The bottles were light, and almost more full of air than medicine, but they contained an unimaginably heavy question within: Why.

[artificialqueens]

Forget Me Too (Taywhora) - Cashmere

A/N - A smutty yet angsty one shot dedicated to junosjukebox for encouraging me to play in the world of the DRUK. Love you, love your work. Can also be found on Ao3 under the pen-name crygiankie-trash

You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too You tell me you hate me Baby, yeah, I bet you do

“I fucking hate you” the words are mumbled against Tayce’s shoulder as she’s pressed against the wall, skirt hiked up around her waist as Tayce’s hand slips into her underwear not looking at all surprised when her fingers slide easily through the arousal that graces her fingertips before giving a low chuckle, one that has no business going straight to Aurora’s pussy, clenching pathetically around the single digit that Tayce has slipped inside her. “Is this all for little old me?” her tone is low, husky, lips pressed to the shell of her ear. “Don’t fucking flatter yourself Tayce” the words however don’t have the desired effect when they leave Aurora’s lips, her usually venomous tone, breathy and weak as her hips give an involuntary jerk as Tayce easily adds another finger, her thumb brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves already heightened from her  earlier ministrations. “I fucking hate you” the statement leaves her lips again, shaky and uncertain but it’s not at all surprising when Tayce’s nose brushes hers, dark eyes that are positively feral boring into her own; “I bet you do baby, but you’re still going to come all over my hand like a good girl, aren’t you A’whora?”

I saw you walk in the room and I tried my best Not to panic while I’m lookin’ for the back door I smell the perfume and it’s obvious I’m gonna stay and put my key in the back more

Kryptonite. She might have been a self confessed ‘bad bitch’ but the minute Aurora flashed those sultry eyes at her, Tayce knew she was a goner. The small miniskirt that rides up toned thighs that have been draped over her shoulders and bracketed her head countless times, the breasts that she knows will harden to dusky peaks under the smallest touch, lips that press against hers and throw every sense of self preservation she has out the window. It’s all wrapped into a delectable package that she knows Aurora deliberately chose to taunt and tease, in the game of give and take that they fall into over and over again.

Her outfit covers everything that it needs to, unlike Bimini who honestly runs a very real risk of being arrested for public indecency, but Tayce can’t keep her eyes off her. A cup of Ginny’s latest vaguely lemon scented concoction is raised to her lips, and from her vantage point across the room, she can see the smear of red gloss it leaves behind on the white plastic of the cup in her hand, the same one that’s smeared too many of her good shirts, that she’s scrubbed off her skin and washed out of her pillowcases. She’s got give or take 45 seconds to get out of the door before Aurora pounces, though the brief moment of hesitation has cost her time, and before she can make it across the room. The statuesque blonde is in front of her, makeup immaculate and Tayce wants nothing more than to force her to her knees, and not only wipe that look off her face but destroy that lipstick and perfect facade, and have her begging to be touched. Ruined. “Going somewhere?” Aurora’s voice sing-songs out, a teasing lilt to her tone as a groomed brow is raised, one hand tipped with talon like nails brushes against the buttons of her shirt, flicking one open with practiced ease, dragging the tip of her nail against the skin she uncovers. Her perfume; strong and heady permeates the air around them and overtakes Tayce’s senses, her hands coming to grip at the blonde’s hips, relishing in the soft gasp as they’re pulled together, bodies pressing against each other; fitting seamlessly, lips chasing the daring neckline of the scrap of material that Aurora’s trying to pass off as a top, before rasping out “Your room or mine?”

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t pretend to forget you The reason I punch a hole in the wall back home For the amount they fucked? They could double that amount with fighting. A screaming match here, an argument at the local pub, Aurora being carried out of the club by a bouncer as she screamed obscenities at the girl who dared put her hands on Tayce, or the time Tayce punched a hole clean through the plasterboard because Aurora dragged someone through the door after yet another disagreement and gave Tayce the bird from the top of the stairs, her moans deliberately carrying through the halls. Fucking, fighting. Not talking for days on end before crashing back together in a flurry of clothing, snapped comments of ‘I hate you’, and harsh bruising kisses that left their lips swollen and red and their chest and thighs with marks that took days to fade.

And then a couple hours later we’re in Room 29 at The Chateau

A glass of champagne sits next to her on the bedside table, as Aurora perches on the end of the bed painting her toenails a soft shade of baby pink, her face devoid of makeup bar a swipe of hydrating lip balm,  her hair bundled into a messy top-knot, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her lips as she concentrates, pushing the sleeves of the fluffy white robe past her elbows before huffing a sigh and wiggling her toes in Tayce’s direction. “Taaaayce! Help me?” the whiny tone would be annoying if it was anyone other than Aurora, but since it is? Tayce finds it almost endearing and allows the blonde to rest a slender foot in her lap and takes over painting her toenails. “So needy A’whora” her tone is gentle, teasing before pressing a soft kiss to the blonde’s ankle. It’s just  them, unguarded and a little champagne drunk, from Veronica’s rehearsal dinner, and once again? She’s lured in by the platinum haired siren.

A series of soft kisses start at Aurora’s ankles, peppering up well defined calves, and along tanned thighs until she reaches the apex of her thighs, and she can see how much Aurora wants her, she can smell her, can see the way her pussy glistens wet, and warm and when she unties the robe and lets it fall to the bed? Aurora looks nothing short of ethereal in the glow from the lamp. “Tayce, Tayce, Tayce” the words flow from her lips like a wanton mantra when Tayce delves into her as if she’s a starved man gorging himself at a banquet bringing the girl above her to incoherency over and over again, the familiar taste of her against the flat of her tongue, arousal slick around her mouth and sticking to her chin as she diligently works to bring the blonde undone over and over again leaving her shaking like a leaf and reaching out, their hands entwining as they catch their breath, Aurora’s movements languid and lazy as she sits up and moves Tayce’s robe off her shoulder before murmuring quietly “…my turn’.

I left before you woke up I don’t feel right, seeing you sober

She looks angelic, all pale skin and cosmetically enhanced pouty lips, her hair spread across the pillow in tangled blonde waves, her lashes flutter against high cheekbones with a smear of highlighter still stubbornly stuck on the skin there, and Tayce feels guilty, and does what she does best. She runs before she has to feel what waking up to Aurora’s eyes feels like, before she can be convinced to curl around her and feel the press of lips against her neck. The quiet laughter and the sleepy demands to stop thinking and spoon her that little bit longer. The way she’d hold the sheet to her chest, the swell of her breasts visible underneath the thin cotton and ask her to stay. Because Tayce would, but then she’d have to acknowledge her feelings, and she’s not at the point of doing that, because Aurora deserves so much more than what she can offer her. So she does what she does best and runs pointendly ignoring the pitying look Tia gives her as she puts on her sneakers and shoves her airpods in her ears before heading out the door.

You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too You tell me you hate me Baby, yeah, I bet you do

Sometimes the tables turn and Aurora plays Tayce at her own game. They’re both needy, possessive in their own way. Though Aurora is always more vocal about it, her naturally nasal tone gives her a whiny edge. Whereas Tayce in her anger is for the most part silent, with icy eyes and a harsh set of her jaw, one particular look that Lawrence notices directed at a girl that comes around to take A’Whora on a date. Cherry, a dark eyed nurse with waist length black hair that swings around her shoulders and a distinctive laugh that rings through the thin walls of their sharehouse. She’s pretty, funny and caring to boot and doesn’t seem to mind Aurora’s filthy humor or occasionally acerbic commentary. She stays around for longer than the others and Aurora seems almost content for a time, avoiding Tayce’s eyes, being alone with her. Though in company? She seems almost coy, her tanned manicured fingers weaving between Cherry’s pale ones, her gaze flicking over to Tayce from time to time and full of either feeble excuses of why she can’t come into Tayce’s room to watch Derry Girls for the 8th time, knocking on the bathroom door before she comes in.

She overhears a conversation between them, a laugh coming from Aurora, and a “shhh babe, you don’t have to worry about that. Tayce and I are just friends, barely’ before giving a scornful laugh. “No seriously babes, forget it. Tayce and I weren’t ever anything. Lawrence just wants everyone to have some sort of sexual tension because she wouldn’t be able to get it for herself if it smacked her in the mouth’, before their voices trail off and the soft smacking sound of lips connecting takes it’s place, and Tayce silently fumes, carrying her sandwich back to her room, teeth gnashing at the soggy bread angrily. “I hate you, I hate you” an ongoing loop in her head, despite knowing she really doesn’t and that if the moment arose? She’d end up back in A’Whora’s bed before the night was through.

I’m keepin’ you waitin’ But I won’t wait on you You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too

Drunken words are sober thoughts; at least according to a very inebriated Lawrence Chaney, which is why Tayce is currently sitting in a gutter, shoes next to her with a half eaten kebab in her handbag before Lawrence rambles in eloquently about how great her ‘fun bags’ looked in her new bra, how cute Ellie looked in her pink dress; though what pink dress confused Tayce since 98% of Ellie’s wardrobe consisted of pink dresses giving Tayce not only a view of the mouthful of masticated kebab that Lawrence was yet to swallow but also an earful of Lawrence’s thoughts.

“She’s nee gonna wait for you hen. Not if you keep up this shite” Lawrence’s voice is slurred, but the conviction is strong. “She loves ya you know? But yee keep running. Now I’m a runner too see? I run from me problems, and I run me mouth” before she leans forward, silvery coloured hair covering her face as she violently retches into the gutter under them. “When are youse going to sort your shite huh? Literally making me sick” and Tayce refuses to reply, instead focusing on gathering up Lawrence’s hair and holding it back refusing to let the words sink in until she’s lying in bed with Aurora snoring gently next to her, an arm draped across her torso.

I’ve wasted so much time Waitin’ around for your phone calls every night Aurora knows she’s an idiot, from insisting that her blonde is natural and that she just happened to be born with dark roots and eyebrows, that she can’t do maths, and that it took her a grand total of five times to get her drivers licence. But she’s also an idiot emotionally. She sits at home, the rapid click of her overlocker becoming a soothing beat as she feeds garment, after garment through the machine, the little metallic tap of her needle hitting the silver thimbles that protects the pads of her index fingers and thumbs as she painstakingly threads through another tiny bead, the ancient grandfather clock against the opposite wall showing the time as 3.55am.

“I’ll be home by 11, Asttina and I are gonna have dinner and I’ll call you after!’ Tayce’s empty promises run through her head before she sets the nearly constructed dress aside sighing, another night gone to waste, another broken promise before heading into the cake scented kitchen where Ginny is zipping around like she’s just downed a handful of uppers before offering a still steaming slice of tea cake to her. “Fancy a slice Babs?” her gaze still full of concern, but wisely choosing to say nothing already too familiar with the situation unfolding.

‘Cause I taste blood when you bleed It’s eatin’ me alive We’d both be better off alone Still think I’d get you on the phone With one last breath in me I’d die before I’d let you leave

They come crashing together again, a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing, their hands making quick work of Tayce’s trousers and Aurora’s skirt, their underwear carelessly discarded and their shirts following in quick unison. It’s rough, needy and everything they ever were, and will continue to be. Tayce raises her hand and brings it down hard on Aurora’s ass, the handprint blooming scarlet on the the pale flesh, with the hissed order to prepare herself as Tayce pulls the harness over her hips and adjusts it, lubing up the silicone as she moves back towards the bed, and where Aurora waits for her, three fingers deep in her own cunt, arousal webbing between her fingers and her opening when Tayce guides them out before pressing in with the strap.

The resounding moan from this both can only be described as primal. Her hips snap, thrusting into the blonde as Aurora bucks back into her, giving as good as she gets, her words mashing together in a cacophony of swears, please and Tayce’s name, before coming with a scream as Tayce’s teeth sink into her shoulder in a bid to muffle her own orgasm, the coppery taste of blood heavy on her tongue and flipping their positions. She looks like a queen, her usual platinum hair glowing golden in the lamplight, swept back like a lion mane as her hips move confidently, her posture perfect, like the very strap she’s sitting on is a throne, long lashes fluttering as she rides to another orgasm before flopping on the bed next to Tayce, an acrylic nail tracing the ebony areola of Tayce’s nipple asking plaintively  “….Don’t leave tonight?’

You left before I woke up Why don’t I ever see you sober? You want me to forget you Okay, forget me too

She wakes up in her own bed, swathed in pale blue mulberry silk sheets with a stomach of churning liquor and a head as heavy as an elephant. A manicured hand reaches out blindly next to her feeling for the warmth of the body next to her only come back empty, the sheets retaining a hint of warmth and the faint scent of perfume. No note, no nothing. Her other hand reaches out, locating a glass of lukewarm water that tastes faintly of dust but that clears the cotton balls from her throat and gives her the strength to open her eyes. No note, no nothing. Just a faint indentation on the pillow and a strap on the floor still streaked with the remnants of her orgasm. Her eyes roll, a breath huffed out between filler filled lips before she settles back to sleep, waking up hours later when Tia sneaks into her room and sits on the end of the bed, all gangly limbs and kind eyes before asking concerned ‘You okay bitchtits?’ and Aurora gives a tight nod in return before shrugging ‘fuck ‘em right?’ though she can see in Tia’s eyes that she doesn’t believe her but Tia ever the faithful friend; squeezes at her knee over the covers echoing “Yeah. Forget her’

You tell me you hate me Baby, yeah, I bet you do I’m keepin’ you waitin’ But I won’t wait on you You want me to forget you? Okay, forget me too The sound of a hard slap rings across the lounge room and Tayce winces, holding her jaw knowing a bruise will bloom to fruition by tomorrow, and she can’t even fault Aurora knowing that she deserves that and probably so much more. That turning up to Bimini’s party with Pippa on her arm was a dumb idea, especially since the girl was wearing a dress that could only be described as low rent version of Aurora’s, her veneers gleaming harshly under the ambiance lighting connected to the google home assistant that perches on the bench pulsing out a spotify playlist that Lawrence had dubbed ‘every good LGBTQIA, LMNOP party anthem of the past decade’ and Aurora had kept her composure until they’d come face to face, the old magnetic pull still there as strong as ever, their gazes locked in a staring contest before Aurora had commented plainly ‘You left, again. And then ghosted me. Again. God I don’t know why I keep waiting for you to change” before Tayce had shrugged plainly in return, a smirk touching at the corner of her lips unsure how to react to the situation before panicking as Pippa approached. “Sounds like a you problem Girl” immediately regretting the words as they leave her mouth, as a pained expression flits across Aurora’s immaculately painted face and her hand rises making contact before she swivels on her heels and storms away, the click of the front door somehow rising above the music, a sudden iciness that has nothing to do with the blast of January air that permeated the room and chilling Tayce to her bones as the party rolls on around her.

Hey you Tell me why you do the things that make me hate you? It’s an emotional kaleidoscope when I face you Permanent calligraphy, I just tattooed your name on me forever Her hand stings, though so does the biting wind that cuts into the bare skin of her arms and she’s not sure what pain she’d rather feel. The cold, or the emotional turmoil of seeing Tayce again, or the fact she knows deep down that she’d go back over and over again and that the hazel eyed beauty has gotten so far under her skin that she’s essentially tattooed her name over Aurora’s heart, and that each time she leaves? She stomps on it before closing the door.

A weight sits down beside her, a robust purple clad arm wrapping around her and warming her up as she leans into the familiar figure, giving a smile at the thick Scottish accent asking something that sounds distinctively like ‘U ok hun?’ before shrugging and not at all surprised when Lawrence sheds her jacket and draps it over her before passing a flask of whisky over, content to sit there for a little longer before Lawrence stands up. “Now c’mon. I can’t go freezin’ me clit off. Ell’s will kill me. Lets get you inside aye. Ignore her. We’ll go get Bim’s vodka and get you buzzing off ya tits.You know you’re not gonna get an answer off her Hen’ and so Aurora goes back into the house, trying to avoid the eyes that keep meeting hers, not at all surprised when Tayce slips outside without saying goodbye.

She hates her, but god she wants her, and when she’s tucked back into bed. The silken sheets now a stone grey flannel for the winter caress her skin as her hand moves between her legs, lips moving soundlessly as she brings herself undone, mouthing the same word over and over again. “Tayce”

You want me to forget you? Okay, forget me too

They meet in a coffee shop, somewhere neutral that isn’t enveloped in memories of them, and when things were easier. Aurora’s lips are still glossy and red streaking the white mug in front of her. Tayce’s hair hangs to her waist, bleached a vibrant shade of blonde that makes her look more striking than ever, especially when paired with the scarlet trench-coat that streamlines her figure. Their conversation ebbs and flows between them. Work, weather, their friends, a cocktail bar that just opened up, holiday plans, Aurora’s grandparents before it turns to a more serious discussion. Them.

“Do you think you’ll ever be ready?” Aurora; ever the brave one finally asks, sending Tayce lapsing into silence giving a shake of her head once, twice. Her lips pressing together as she works to find an answer, an apology, an excuse even but draws a blank each time, and Aurora can’t hide the look of disappointment that marrs her features, a deep crease appearing between her eyebrows in a display that she hasn’t gotten her botox recently. “Then forget me Tayce, whatever we had, or whatever we were? Forget me”

[dennou-translations]

K SIDE:GREEN – Chapter 1 (Part 2)

Feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, please support the creators by purchasing the official releases.

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“‘Electricity’, activate!” Letting out a resonant voice, Hikotarou raised his PDA up high.

Isn’t this guy reading too much manga? Should I stop looking up to him after all? Sukuna thought, hands buried inside his pockets, yet the PDA’s screen started glowing green before his eyes.

“Eh?”

As if to sneer at his foolish reaction, a green shine burst from within the terminal. Drawing a zigzag track in the empty air, the green lightning pierced a PET bottle about five meters away. A chemical-like smell of melted plastic drifted from it.

Sukuna approached the burned PET bottle, and as if to say that he was acting without thinking, he touched it.

“Hot!”

Instantly, he flung it away. The PET bottle made a loud noise as it hit the ground. White smoke dissipated in the wind. A blistering appeared on Sukuna’s hand.

“What’re you doing?” Hikotarou cackled a laugh.

With his back turned to that laughter, Sukuna was looking down at his hand, forgetting to even blink.

That was real. It was neither magic nor a trick. A real supernatural power.

He had never even imagined that something like it existed in this world. Games were games, not reality. It was exactly because he usually played many of them that Sukuna was perfectly aware of this much – or at least he intended to be.

However, the words that Hikotarou had said to him one day came back vividly. A video game that one could play in the real world. That was most certainly a fact, not a metaphor or anything of the sort.

Sukuna heard an unfamiliar noise. A steadily pulsating beat. That was something Sukuna could hear from nowhere other than his own chest. A fragment of a world that had only ever exited within fiction and fantasy was unmistakably floating before his eyes – this truth was making Sukuna’s heart beat loudly.

“How’s that? It was true, wasn’t it? You believe what I said now?”

It was a wholly different story that Sukuna was annoyed at Hikotarou, who, in a stark contrast with him, was smirking proudly and pushing his PDA against Sukuna’s cheek. He gave quite some thought to knocking down the device, but that would be lashing out while being in the wrong, which was pathetic. After reflecting a little, he decided to attack from a different opening.

“You said you’d bought this thing, right? How much was it?”

When asked, Hikotarou quickly averted his eyes and said in a low voice, “1k.”

“So expensive! Ain’t that the same amount as the promotion points!?”

1k was a short for 1000. In order to rank up within JUNGLE, the points had to be consumed, and the points required when an E-rank was promoted to an L-rank were exactly a thousand. When thinking about earning that many points in an honest manner, it would likely take almost a month.

“Also, didn’t you say this was disposable or something? Don’t tell me this is the end.”

“O-Of course not! I said it was disposable ‘cause there’s a frequency limit! We can still use it!”

“How many times more?”

“Four...”

Meaning that item cost 1000JP for five times of use. Unfair overcharging was an understatement for it. And out of all things, Hikotarou had spent a valuable opportunity to make fair use of those 200JP on a PET bottle. Most likely with the sole purpose of showing Sukuna something nice.

The moment he thought this, something welled up within him.

“Fufu,” he snorted as if about to burst out, a roar of laughter following suit. “Ahahahahaha! What’s with that? Such a waste! Aren’t you an idiot!?”

“Sh-Shut up! It’s fine! Those are my points after all!”

“Even so, you—for something like that—”

“It’s ‘cause you wouldn’t believe what I said if I didn’t do something like this!”

A worked-up Hikotarou was so amusing that Sukuna laughed even louder. If his classmates saw him now, they would be wide-eyed and shocked. Sukuna himself had just found out for the first time that he could laugh with such a strident voice.

“Damn, it ain’t something to laugh so much for. You’re always making such a sour face too,” Hikotarou said with a strained smile. It was apparently influenced by Sukuna’s burst of laughter.

And so, for a while, the two players laughed together.

“But how does this thing work?” After laughing for some time, Sukuna scanned Hikotarou’s terminal with his eyes. “Doesn’t seem like there’s any mechanism planted in your PDA. It’s the same model as mine.”

“Yeah. Everything is apparently thanks to JUNGLE’s personal use app. Everybody calls it ‘ESP app’.”

If one could use psychic powers upon signing in, then there was indeed no social media more revolutionary than this one. It was about enough to become explosively viral, but it had its own reasons to remain as underground.

According to Hikotarou—

“There are these two types, the ‘skill’ and ‘item’, in the ESP app.”

“Skill” referred to powers that could be used constantly. If people called something a “psychic ability” in JUNGLE, it normally indicated one thing. That when rising to G rank and above, they could choose only one power and use it limitlessly. From among many abilities, they would select just one that matched them and nurture it in their desired direction.

On the other hand, any player could use an “item”. However, it was disposable – as Hikotarou had just showed, one had to spend copious amounts of points for each time of use. In exchange, it could be used in combination with skills to develop various strategies.

“You can clear high-level missions by combining those two – that’s what the upper-rankers are doing, it seems. Well, this is just what I heard, since I’m still in a low rank.”

“Huun. Sounds like you can do a lot, depending on the combination.” Looking through JUNGLE’s store, Sukuna nodded as if impressed.

“Yeah. Sukuna, you should think now about which you’re gonna pick when you turn into a G.”

“That so? I can also use it?”

Up until the present, Sukuna had lived a life where “things that he could not do” did not exist. Which was why he had never once thought that he wanted superhuman powers like those from mangas or movies.

The reason for Sukuna to have butterflies in his chest when he saw the “ESP app” was that JUNGLE had destroyed his world.

It was such a wholly different world that it could completely overturn the things imposed on him until now – the tedious common sense and reality – by his parents and the people at school. Coming in contact with a power none of them could imagine and racing to a place their hands could never reach – how thrilling that was!

When he realized, Sukuna was gripping his PDA strongly. This was neither him fleeing from suffocation nor rebelling against parents. Sukuna had just now come to know the true appeal of JUNGLE.

“Right. Aah, that’s right! I’ll rise too! Then, I’ll use even more amazing powers and accomplish bigger missions!”

“Yeah! That’s the spirit!” Hikotarou nodded, laughing.

Sukuna was also grateful that he existed. Hikotarou was the one who had told him about JUNGLE and showed him its real charm – it was all thanks to him.

If he could one day clear up all sorts of missions using various kinds of psychic abilities with Hikotarou, it would surely be extremely, tremendously fun.

It was Sukuna’s first time being excited ever since he was born.

◆

“Well, see ya tomorrow,” Hikotarou said at the three-way junction on the way home that day, waving his hand.

Sukuna stopped walking involuntarily, as their talk had been at the most interesting part. They had looked into the JUNGLE store list, discussed about this and that combination and just as he figured out the best combo, he had started talking about it.

Sukuna’s house was on the right side of a Y-shaped three-way junction. Hikotarou was about to walk toward the left side. Wordlessly, Sukuna went to Hikotarou’s side.

“Sukuna?”

At Hikotarou’s surprised look, Sukuna pouted and turned away. “It’s fine to go the long way around sometimes, ain’t it?”

Hikotarou blinked repeatedly. That gaze was annoying. Enough to make him almost unwittingly forget the invisible combo that he had finally come up with.

“That so? Then hang out with me for a bit.”

Hikotarou did not try to tease him for it. His countenance surly, Sukuna replied with nothing but a “fine by me” to that grinning face.

And so, Hikotarou took a detour. The place he stopped by was a drugstore in front of the station and what he bought was cat food.

As Hikotarou held two one-kilogram dry food packages with both arms, Sukuna asked as if skeptical, “You had a cat?”

Hikotarou averted his eyes with a rather subtle expression. “It’s not like I’m keeping it.”

Through that single sentence, Sukuna was somewhat able to understand the situation. He followed behind Hikotarou, who was walking mutely.

Eventually, the two arrived at a vacant lot on the outskirts of town. In a corner of said vacant lot, where weeds grew boundlessly, there was a cardboard box. Cries of “mew, mew” that seemed to beg for something could be heard coming from inside the box.

“They were four at first,” crouching down and opening the food package, Hikotarou whispered as though talking to himself. “One was the mother and the others were kitties. But one day, the mother was gone, and when I came to see them after a while, the two other than this one were dead.

Sukuna looked around. On a spot at a short distance from there, he could see two small stones lined up beside the block wall.

“This guy here was about to die too, but I did a bit of research, and after I gave him milk and brought him something warm, he managed to recover one way or another.”

“Won’t you try to take it home?”

Still crouched, Hikotarou looked up at Sukuna. He had on a weak smile. “We can’t have pets at my place. My da—my father hates this kinda stuff.”

“Then—I know; how about you use JUNGLE? Send out a mission to find him a foster parent.”

Hikotarou laughed dryly, “I think whoever takes it on will probably just take the points and send the cat off to a health center.”

Sukuna went silent, crouching down.

The little cat was dirty. Its fur and skin were muddy, its tail bent. It was engrossed in eating the food, but once it looked up, its eyes had hardened mucus on them.

Hikotarou took out a tissue and gently wiped it off. “Wanna pet it?”

“That okay?”

Hikotarou raised his voice as he laughed at the dumbfounded question. With a sour face, Sukuna reached out a hand and touched the kitten. Perhaps thinking that he was food, the kitten thrust its nose onto his palm and sniffed it incessantly. It was ticklish. His mouth distorting, Sukuna endured the sensation. Finally, the kitten pushed its body onto Sukuna’s hand and its sleeping breath began to ensue.

As if not to disrupt the revolving, throaty sound, Sukuna complained in a low voice, “Hey. What do I do about this? I can’t move.”

“Won’t it be fine if you don’t move?”

“You!” He let his anger show, but the kitten might awaken if he moved recklessly. As if having bitten into a bitter-tasting bug, Sukuna looked down at the kitten. “Does it have a name?”

“Yeah. He’s also Nine.”

That was Hikotarou’s handle name. Sukuna stared at him with a look that said, “Don’t give it such a confusing name”, yet Hikotarou was gazing down at “Nine” and laughing.

“I’m glad it’s summer right now. A parentless kitty wouldn’t survive if it were winter. Even then, many dangerous things will likely happen to him, but if he grows up just a bit more, he’ll get by on his own—”

“I’ll,” Sukuna opened his mouth before thinking of anything. “I’ll keep it.”

Hikotarou looked at Sukuna with wide eyes.

“My parents probably won’t allow it, but even so, I’ll keep it. I think I can do it. My house is big. I can think of lots of places that neither my parents’ nor the servants’ eyes could reach.”

“Sukuna—”

“That should be better for this guy than here. I can put up a box, a blanket and things like that in our unused warehouse, and a toilet too, I guess. I don’t know about that stuff, but I’ll look it up later. You can also come over when you feel like seeing him.”

As if angry, Sukuna was making a surly face. Hikotarou looked at that expression of his with rounded eyes. Unable to bear the gaze, Sukuna stared down at the little cat once again.

“Of course, only if you’re okay with it.”

Hikotarou replied to Sukuna’s mumbled words, which sounded like an excuse, with a smile that seemed to shine, “It is! I’m counting on you, Sukuna!”

Sukuna laughed sheepishly. The kitten’s sleeping breath ensued windingly from within his hand. While feeling its body temperature on his palm, Sukuna inferred his opinion by muttering a few words, “By the way, can’t you change the name Nine?”

“Nope.”

◆

The home of Nine the kitten was soon found.

There was a wooden shack in a corner of the Gojou estate. Originally used as the gardener’s warehouse, it was now abandoned as the garden tools had been moved to a storehouse in the main residence. The shack, which Sukuna’s parents obviously did not go anywhere near and neither did the servants, was perfect for his purpose. He had arranged the kitten’s needs in a corner of the cramped and dim shack.

He could not possibly bring that cardboard box home, so he had laid a blanket over a basket woven from wood, making it into an improvised bed. The kitten Nine had raised its voice in protest against being moved from its former location, but it soon quieted down after being tossed into the blanket.

He had left it with a box of food, a water bowl and litter for its toilet. He could not take it outside, so he would have to raise it there for a while.

Looking around the small shack, Sukuna had nodded to himself. The kitten would surely be okay there. Nobody would find out. Convincing himself of this, Sukuna had cautiously left the shack and returned to the main house.

Today was the day to eat dinner with his mother.

“How was school, Sukuna?” such words came out of her red lips.

His knife, which had been carefully cutting the meat, stopped moving completely.

Sukuna looked at her with upturned eyes. The appearance of his mother enjoying an elegant dinner on the other end of the pure white tablecloth and silver candlesticks, with two servants at her left and right sides, was almost like the queen of a nation.

“Just normal.”

“‘It was’.”

“It was normal.”

His mother titled her neck a little. With a slight movement from her gaze, one of the servants moved soundlessly and poured wine into her glass.

“Have you been getting along with your friends? Your face has been bright lately. Are you having fun?”

Sukuna was silent.

If she was asking if he was having fun playing with a friend, the answer was yes. But not with the friends she had provided for him – Ninomiya and his former followers. It was with a smart and lively boy named Kue Hikotarou.

What would his mother do if she found out about Hikotarou?

She did not approve of anything that did not act in accordance with her will approaching him. Needless to recall the matter with Ninomiya, if his mother knew about Hikotarou, she would certainly try to keep him away. He could not think that she would be appreciative of things like JUNGLE.

Hikotarou might have to transfer schools because of him. As this possibility crossed his mind, Sukuna was horrified.

After thinking a little, Sukuna answered, “Yes, I am having fun, Mother.”

So you have nothing to worry about. So don’t meddle in anything and leave it as that. Leave me alone—

His mother drank a sip of wine, smiling. “Is that so? Then I’m glad. Your happiness is my happiness—”

Suddenly, the smile disappeared.

She stood up from the chair as if kicking it away. The glass collapsed with a smashing sound, the wine spilling and dyeing the tablecloth red. Approaching the frozen Sukuna with big steps, she firmly grabbed the hand that was still holding a knife and raised it with force.

A raspy voice came out of her lips, which were once tightened into a thing line, “What is this?”

Stock-still, Sukuna looked at it. He had a burn on his right hand. It was the wound that he had earned himself right after school today, when Hikotarou showed him the ESP app.

It had happened due to his own carelessness, and until just now, Sukuna had even forgotten that he had a burn. After all, it did not particularly hurt and he thought it would heal soon.

But his mother was different.

“Explain, Sukuna.”

Sukuna’s mother thought of him as a treasure. He was her property, like gemstones and rings. Of course his mother would be angry if said property was damaged. Whatever the property itself thought did not matter.

Sukuna spoke with a voice that sounded like a gasp, “It—is nothing, Mother. This is just—”

“‘Just’ what?”

“I was eating something hot during lunch and... I touched the food with my fingers...”

It was a painful excuse if he were to say so himself, but he could not think of anything else. Talking about Hikotarou was out of question. If he said he had borne it in class, there was no mistaking that she would check with the school for confirmation. If the lie were exposed, Sukuna’s mother would thoroughly investigate his surroundings.

If this happened, Hikotarou’s existence would definitely be revealed. And if she found out about Hikotarou, farewell would be waiting in the not-too-distant future.

Sukuna’s mother stayed dead-silent, peeking at his face fixatedly. Halting his breath, Sukuna accepted her gaze.

“Is that so?” muttering these few words, the mother let go of Sukuna’s hand.

Sukuna pulled his hand to his chest as if stealing it back. His heart was beating with strong thumps.

As a Crescent Moon-like smile once again crept on his mother’s red lips, she reached her hand out to caress his head. “Mother has an urgent matter to take care of. I will be going now, but you can eat dinner by yourself, right?”

Swallowing saliva as if swallowing lead, Sukuna answered, “Yes.”

“Really? You are a good child, Sukuna.”

Stroking Sukuna’s head in a noticeably rough manner, his mother turned on her heels. The way that the wine splashed on the back of her skirt looked like a spurt of blood was forever seared into Sukuna’s eyes.

◆

Five: You there?

Nine: I am. Got any business with me?

Five: Nothing that you can call “business” in particular.

Nine: Then what is it? Can’t sleep?

Five: Hey. Didn’t anything happen to you?

Nine: I don’t get what you mean.

Five: I mean, like...

Five: Didn’t anyone, like your parents or people from school, say anything to you?

Nine: Aah, I get it. Is it about JUNGLE?

Nine: I told you, didn’t I? That the level of anonymity is super high in JUNGLE. You can change the app icon anytime so nobody can tell who you are just by looking, and you can also hide that you installed it if you feel like it. You’re scared of being found out ‘cause you’re from a good family, right?

Five: No! That’s not it!

Nine: Then what is it?

Five: Like I said...

Five: It’s nothing.

Nine: What’s up with you?

Five: I said it’s nothing!

Five: Just, if anything happens at school, make sure to tell me. ‘Cause I might be able to do something about it.

Nine: Don’t say such creepy things out of nowhere... What, you mean something’s gonna happen to me?

Five: I don’t know. But this is a what-if.

Nine: Yes, yes, thank you for your kindness.

Five: I’m serious!

Nine: Then I’ll answer seriously; I won’t rely on you even if that happens. JUNGLE players are independent by default. No matter if they have friends, they don’t do that kinda thing. Aren’t you the same?

Nine: ......

Nine: Sukuna? You awake?

Five: I am.

Five: I get it. It’s just like you said. Forget about that.

Nine: Ah, that so? Then are you done? I ain’t done with tomorrow’s homework yet.

Five: Haa? You should finish homework the moment you get it.

Nine: Shaddap! G’night!

Five: G’night.

◆

The next day and the one after, Hikotarou did not show up at school.

Sukuna was fretting about all sorts of things, yet it was not as if he could do anything. Hikotarou had said that in the chatroom, but if Sukuna’s mother attempted to keep him away, there was surprisingly little that Sukuna could do.

Sukuna’s mother loved him and tried giving him whatever he wanted. However, it was completely impossible to change her opinions through his. Plead as he might, his mother would do as she willed. His voice would not reach her.

But that did not mean he could fold his arms and watch.

He was the first and only friend that Sukuna could respect ever since he had been born. Just thinking about this friend having to go somewhere far away because of him made chills run through his spine.

Until now, he had never experienced so much fear and anxiety. Although he did feel suffocated and disturbed by his mother’s actions, he had never felt dread.

Before he realized, Sukuna had sneaked out of his room and headed to the shack. He opened the door gently. Relying on the light of his PDA, he found the basket he had left in a corner. Wrapped in its blanket, the kitten Nine had been sleeping soundly.

However, perhaps noticing Sukuna, Nine looked up at him with its round eyes. Raising a sweet cry of “mew, mew”, it scrambled its way up the basket, crawled out and ended up rolling down to the floor with a thump.

“Ah, h-hey—”

He frantically picked Nine up, but this time, it climbed up his arm. As he let it do as it pleased out of not knowing what to do, Nine reached Sukuna’s shoulder, rubbed its head against his neck and curled up on the spot. It was warm and ticklish.

Sukuna’s cheeks slackened. Supporting Nine with one hand, he made sure it would not fall. Sitting down in a corner of the shack, he whispered in pauses, “I gotta protect him, huh.”

As if to respond to his talking to himself, Nine cried out a “mew, mew”.

◆

Even though he had consolidated his determination, on the very next day, Hikotarou popped up in front of Sukuna as he was getting ready to go home.

“Hey, Sukuna. Have you become an L ranker ye—ouch, owowowowow!”

As Hikotarou waved his hand lightly with the same bright smile as usual, Sukuna forcibly grabbed his wrist and went out to the corridor.

Hikotarou raised his voice in protest, “Wh-What’re you doing?! That hurts!”

“Shut up! Why did you take days off!?”

While Hikotarou was not coming to school, Sukuna had imagined all sorts of bad things. Such as, he could be preparing to be transferred or his parents could have told him to stay away from Sukuna. That was why he was awfully irritated by Hikotarou’s carefree smile.

However, Hikotarou, who had no idea about that, said while cackling a laugh, “My bad, my bad. I was just a bit busy with missions lately.”

Apparently, Hikotarou had been absent from school due to fake illness. As he said that he had been running around town while pretending he was at school in order to accomplish JUNGLE missions, Sukuna was flabbergasted.

Feeling spent, Sukuna leaned against the wall. He gave Hikotarou a sharp gaze. Fretting had made him look like an idiot.

At that moment, he realized something. Hikotarou’s forehead was just slightly swollen above his right eye.

“What’s that?”

As Sukuna pointed at it, Hikotarou raised his voice with an “aah” and said, “I hit it in the middle of a mission. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nobody’s worried.”

“Thought so. That aside, wanna go on a mission now?”

At Hikotarou’s shining eyes, Sukuna asked curiously, “Missions can be done in duos?”

“What, you didn’t know? There’s an urgent mission coming out now!”

“‘Urgent mission’?”

Despite finding the unfamiliar term strange, Sukuna tapped on JUNGLE and opened the “mission” tab. As he did so, the words “urgent mission” were indeed dancing over the top row. Unlike the other missions, a large red font was used for it.

The title was “Urgent Mission: Uwagami Town Survey”.

“Activating urgent mission. The mission content is a survey around Uwagami Town. Please record the cityscape and roads of Uwagami Town in photos and videos and upload them. For the photos, the reward is 5 JP each, and for the videos, 50 JP per minute. We will pay double the reward for videos near Uwagami First Street. Details are as follows─”

Sukuna dry-swallowed. “This is around here?”

“Yeah! So it’s a chance! It was activated just now, so most of the players haven’t noticed!”

Hikotarou was excited. Of course he was. Uwagami Town – moreover, the First Street – was precisely the surroundings of Uwagami Elementary, which Sukuna and Hikotarou had to pass through. Meaning that they would earn JPs just by taking pictures of this area. It was as if dirt had turned into gold.

“All right! Let’s go!” Squeezing his PDA, Sukuna gave a broad nod. As if he were infected by Hikotarou’s enthusiasm, his chest started throbbing.

◆

Uwagami Town was a high-class residential area located in the heart of the city center. The adjacent Shimogami Town was a government district where governmental facilities were concentrated, and many people who belonged to government agencies lived in it. In particular, there were police officers stationed in front of mansions where important people lived, watching for suspicious figures.

To start off, Sukuna took a picture of one of said police officers. The police officer merely squinted without saying anything.

“First, 5JP!”

“Let’s go steady! Steady!”

Talking loudly to each other, the two took pictures one after another. A two-lane main street that ran from east to west through Uwagami Town, an enormous building under construction, a vast parking lot, commercial buildings lined up as if to jostle one another, a spacious park and the children playing tag in it.

Upon a more careful look, there were countless other people taking pictures like Sukuna and Hikotarou. Salary men, high school girls, housewives and even elders who, no matter how one looked at it, were over 70 were positioning their PDAs to photograph and record the streets. Amongst them, there were also those who were being interrogated by police officers due to taking pictures too unreservedly. They indeed looked suspicious.

The chances that Sukuna and Hikotarou would be questioned were slim, but they somewhat did not want to be regarded as the same as those people, so they started moving to less popular locations.

“Let’s go, Sukuna!”

“Ah, wait!”

The main street of Uwagami Town stretched through a beautifully maintained city, but when one entered one of the back streets, an old townscape spread out. The back alleys, so narrow that it seemed people would have a hard time just passing each other in them, had branches and leaves hanging over them as if they were tents. Hikotarou and Sukuna sprinted under the sunlight coming through the gaps between the leaves, storing everything that caught their eyes in pictures.

At the veranda of a wooden house, an old woman was napping with a cat on her lap. Just beside the gutter stood an outdated red post. In front of a mysterious shop, there were three lined-up statues of tanuki. Sukuna photographed them all with refreshing surprise.

“It might be my first time coming to a place like this.”

Hearing the whisper that leaked from Sukuna while taking pictures, Hikotarou made a skeptical face. “Your house is around here, ain’t it? Never went exploring?”

Sukuna shook his head. The only part of Uwagami Town he knew was the main street up to the school and its surroundings. He had never made side-trips or eaten outside – he was never given the choice to go “exploring”.

Because by no means would his mother allow such a “vulgar” conduct.

Head tilted, Hikotarou said with a nonchalant voice, “Hu~n... Welp, that’s okay. Then, I’ll be your guide!”

“You know much about it?”

“This area’s my backyard!” Hikotarou said, full of confidence and grinning.

With just a step, they jumped over a stream fortified with concrete. As an unknown dog barked at them, Sukuna laughed at Hikotarou for dropping his PDA. They hopped onto the block walls and rushed through as if to sew the gaps between the houses.

All of it was a new world that Sukuna did not know about. Every time he took cuts of said world, his JP went up. He was accumulating the power to open novel worlds. Absorbed in it, Sukuna pressed the shutter over and over.

Eventually, by the time that this unfamiliar world began to dye itself in the colors of sunset, an electronic sound suddenly echoed from the PDA.

“Urgent mission concluded! The cumulative JUNGLE Points will be calculated now. Please note that any subsequent shooting will not be converted into points!”

As the end of the mission was announced, Sukuna and Hikotarou looked at each other’s faces at the same time.

“How many did you take?”

“About 200, I guess. I’ll probably rank up with this!”

As Sukuna said so, Hikotarou grinned. “Then let’s celebrate!”

Hikotarou turned around, going back the way they had come from. Sukuna followed behind him.

Two arrived at the shop with the tanuki statues that they had seen on the way. The sign that the tanuki were holding had the words “snacks shop” on it.

Sukuna stared at it in puzzlement. “What’s a snack?”

“For real?! No, well, that’s right. You’re a rich kid.”

Sukuna was offended by the disbelief in the way he spoke. However, Hikotarou opened the glass door unconcernedly and stepped into the store.

It was small and dim. The objects tightly crammed into the cupboards and baskets were all things that Sukuna did not get very well.

When he picked one up and inspected it, he found that it was a bag with richly colored gummy-like things inside. It looked like some new type of poison, but he could not rule out the possibility that it was food.

“Sukuna, you’re taking that? Then me too,” Hikotarou said, stealing it from Sukuna’s hands.

“No, hum—”

“Granny~, I’m leaving the money here~.”

“Aight~.”

Ignoring Sukuna’s voice, Hikotarou put money on the front edge of the unattended entranceway and then took cider from the refrigerator. Without time to do as much as be surprised at this innovative system, in which the owner of the shop did not have to even show her face, Sukuna was taken outside by Hikotarou and the two sat down next to the tanuki.

“My treat. We’re celebrating your raising of status!”

Being handed the colorful gummies bag, Sukuna stared fixatedly at it and opened his mouth in hesitation, “Hey, is this...”

“Edible?” was what he intended to ask, yet Hikotarou was devouring them without paying him any mind. Apparently, it was really food.

He opened the seal. If his mother knew Sukuna was eating something that had any foreign substance in it, his mother would probably pass out. That was why Sukuna closed his eyes, readied himself and threw it into his mouth.

“How is it? Good?”

As Hikotarou asked innocently, Sukuna said with an indescribable facial expression, “Tastes like chemicals.”

“That’s what’s good about it. Feel like you’re gonna get addicted to it one of these days?”

“Don’t wanna be.”

Sukuna washed his throat with the cider. Heaving a breath, he looked at the tanuki statues beside him.

“I didn’t know this kind of store existed at all.”

“Told ya that this area was my backyard, didn’t I? There’s lots of other places like this one!”

Earnestly impressed with an “eeeh”, he casually asked, “So your house is around here?”

Hikotarou’s smile instantly thinned. “Hm, well, kinda like that.”

Hikotarou’s complex facial expression caused Sukuna to hesitate asking any further, so he kept his mouth shut. It might be that he did not want to talk about his home circumstances. It was not as if Sukuna wanted to pry either.

Hikotarou was completely different from his “school friends” of until now. He knew Sukuna was a member of the Gojou family, but was not swayed by that. He saw Sukuna for what he was.

So his home circumstances did not matter.

“I see,” Sukuna replied with a mutter, looking up at the sky.

A large airship was crossing the sky, which was painted in sunset colors.

As he ate the mysterious gummy candy and drank the cider, a question left Sukuna’s mouth out of the blue, “By the way, what was so urgent in that urgent mission?”

“Eh?”

“Well, ain’t it kinda weird to make a survey of the city into an emergency? Just what’s the reason to investigate the city in such a hurry?”

Folding his arms, Hikotarou began to think. “Now that you mentioned, it’s indeed suspicious. The reward’s too high in the first place.”

“For starters, who issued that mission? I’d never heard of an urgent mission until now, y’know?”

Sukuna opened his PDA, which was in the middle of charging, tapping the “mission” tab. Even if a mission had already ended, one could check the details from the history category.

Hikotarou explained while doing the same as him, “Just like the name says, urgent missions are missions with a high level of urgency. They’re easy to spot ‘cause they come from the top of the list, but they charge a lot, so not many people issue them. To begin with, only upper rankers can activate these. Well, the one who issued it was—”

“H. N”.

That was the name of the player who had triggered the urgent mission. Apparently formed of just initials, the handle name was tasteless and dull. Even as they tried jumping to the user page, most of the information was private. There was no doubt that this was a top ranker, but they found out nothing more.

Staring in a daze at H. N.’s user page, Sukuna opened his mouth, “Since we’re at it, let’s try to guess. This guy’s objective, I mean.”

“I’m in.”

Meaning that, just as when Hikotarou’s mission and Sukuna’s JP gains had been speculated about, they would try to conclude what goal this H. N. person had that warranted issuing an urgent mission.

“It told us to take pics of the city. Is he a cameraman or something?”

“There’s no way a pro would use photos taken by amateurs. He’s better off doing it himself on that matter.”

“So, in any case, he just needed a big amount of them? He used lots of users for it ‘cause he wouldn’t be able to handle it on his own?”

“If he were taking a bunch of pics alone, he might be warned off by the police. But if it’s done in large numbers, he’d get the pics even if one or two people were caught. Besides—” Sukuna pointed to a sentence in the mission details. “Here says, ‘back alleys that aren’t on the map will give you bonuses’. So he wants info on backstreets, secret paths and the like?”

“For what?”

“The only thing that comes to mind right off the bat is, well – a preliminary investigation, I guess.”

“Of what?”

“Let’s see; some kind of data—��

“Like an escape route?”

The duo’s smiles disappeared at this casual phrase.

Those were disturbing words. As they could not grasp the whole picture, their imaginations were awfully agitated. Pulling their faces close to each other’s, the two continued the “speculation”.

“Escape route for who?”

“If he gotta run, he must be a criminal.”

“Like, say, a robber?”

“There’s government buildings here, so ain’t it more possible that he’s a terrorist?”

Silence.

The “caw, caw” cry of the crows echoed comically. The two burst into laughter at the same time.

“N-No way! There’s no chance that’d be it!”

“Y-Yeah! None, none! No way there’d be terrorists in Japan!”

While laughing, they were aware there a somewhat dry ring was mixed in it. Indeed, something of that sort was, first of all, probably impossible. However, it was not as if it did not exist.

Most importantly, there was nothing they could do now. They had already submitted the photos. No matter what H. N. was scheming, they could do nothing about it.

Even so, unable to erase the vague fear he had once acquired, Sukuna peeked at his PDA. In that moment, a fanfare-like sound played from the PDA. A holographic image of a deformed parrot character – Jumpy – appeared, dancing around Sukuna and Hikotarou’s general area.

“Urgent mission accomplished! 2745 points added to your JUNGLE Points! Rank up! Five has been promoted to JUNGLE L-ranker. Congratulations.”

Just like dates changed, the rank display in his own page was replaced with a flashing noise. From E-ranker to L-ranker. Along with that, the functions that had been restricted until now were unlocked as well. New rank mission ordering rights, mission activation rights, AR function usage rights—

Sukuna felt that his world had expanded yet again.

When he looked to the side, Hikotarou was raising his cider bottle with a cheerful smile.

“Congrats on your promotion, Sukuna!”

“Thanks.”

As Sukuna gave a lopsided smile, he and Hikotarou had a toast with their cider bottles.

Yeah, that’s right.

JUNGLE was the source of Sukuna’s power. It was a window that showed a new world to someone like him, who was bound hand and foot by his parents and simply made to walk the rails that had been decided for him.

No matter how shady it was, he could not think of losing it. That was about as terrifying as losing Hikotarou.

“Hey? Sukuna?”

He came to his senses. It seemed Hikotarou was calling him.

“A-Aah. What is it?”

“Just wondering how the cat Nine is going.”

“Aah, he’s so well that it’s a problem. He climbed on my shoulder a while ago—”

“Eh~, what’s up with that? He’s never done that with me!”

Laughing at Hikotarou’s sullen face, Sukuna said, “Then come see him next time. He’ll be happy too, for sure!”

“Yeah, true. One of these days.” Hikotarou laughed faintly, filling his mouth with cider.

◆

He woke up early that day.

“6AM?” as he whispered, a yawn came out. Sukuna turned off his PDA, put it in his sleepwear’s pocket and got up from his bed.

He had to wake up earlier than usual ever since bringing Nine in. That was the expected, as he was the only one looking after it. He had to set up a time to take care of Nine before going to and after returning from school.

He quietly slipped out of his bedroom and headed to the first floor, sneaking out through the window of an unused guest room. He had secured this “escape route” by making use of Grass Root. He picked places where the servants would not be and times when they would not be around, rushing within the stipulated period.

Therefore, he was at ease. He had made sure that by no means would anyone find out about it.

Upon opening the door, Sukuna learned that this was nothing but an assumption.

Nine had disappeared from the shack.

His heart resounded with a strong thump.

He wondered if it was hiding somewhere. It was a kitten. It might have crawled into a spot that would not cross his mind.

However, he could not find such a breach anywhere in the shack. Neither could he hear its voice. It would always come crying loudly and cling to Sukuna whenever he arrived.

There was only an empty basket and a blanket that had grown cold in there.

He peeked into the bowl that he had filled to the brim with water. It had not decreased in the slightest. Was it not going thirsty or hungry, wherever it was? For starters, where had it even gone? His own expression full of anxiety was reflected over the water in the bowl.

As he looked at himself in blank amazement, a sweet voice coiled around him from behind, “Sukuna.”

His body trembled with a start.

As he turned around with eyes wide-open, his mother was standing at the shack’s entrance. Her red lips were forming a smile. Both her arms were holding a basket with a pure-white kitten on it.

“If you want something, you can just tell your mother.”

Grinning at him while he was motionless as if frozen, Sukuna’s mother left the basket with the white kitten by his feet. Not making the littlest movement, the white kitten stared fixatedly ahead, as if already disciplined to do so.

Words finally spilled from his dry mouth, “Where’s Nine?”

His mother tilted her head, but after catching on, she at last said, “If you mean that filthy one, it has been disposed of.” She spoke while smiling, “You wanted a cat, right, Sukuna? If so, you should purchase a proper one.”

Her hand caressed Sukuna’s hair. As though she were admiring a treasure.

“You mustn’t touch such a dirty stray cat like that one. What if you were scratched and contracted some disease? My dear Sukuna, I can’t let you do that.”

Sukuna looked down at the white kitten. It was well-manneredly, quietly sitting in the basket. There was a luxury accessory, adorned with a golden chain and red ribbon, fitted around its neck.

It was a choker.

While he was looking down at the kitten, a dark emotion gushed forth within Sukuna. It was a sensation that he had tasted countless times until now. When those people had tried to provide him friends. When he found out that those people were watching his room. That was the feeling that welled up inside.

He had managed to swallow it down until now. He had been able to control it. Because he was aware, somewhere in his heart, that there would be no going back once he laid it bare.

But he believed that, if he gulped it down now, something within him would definitely end up broken.

Therefore, Sukuna reached out and took the bowl full of water in his hand. As he glared at his mother, the smile disappeared from her red lips. Fear did not surge even as he saw this. More strongly than that, the dark emotion – “hatred” – was filling Sukuna from the inside.

“WHO—” He swung up the water bowl. “—SAID I WANTED A CAT?!!”

Sukuna slammed it at the kitten.

The bowl did not hit it directly. It collided with the nearby wall, bouncing off a big splash. Struck by said splash, the kitten let out a cry and jumped off the basket. It ran to a corner of the shack and gazed up at Sukuna as if scared of him.

When he saw that look, the dark feeling was gone like a retracting tide.

The kitten was not at fault for anything. It was simply brought here unknowing of anything and made into a replacement for some stranger. It was shameful and pathetic of him to take his anger out on it. He felt like he had become the same kind of person as his mother. Sukuna sensed that his own hatred was aimed at himself.

On the other hand—

Any facial expression had vanished from his mother’s face. She was as expressionless as a Noh mask. Lips sewed into a thin line, she stared intently at Sukuna.

Sukuna did not return the gaze. However, he did not attempt to explain himself either. It was not that he feared doing so. But because he was repulsed of even speaking to her.

After a moment of silence that could be deemed as an eternity, his mother muttered in a few words, “Really? I see.” She then turned on her heels, exiting the dim shack.

Left behind, Sukuna did nothing. He crouched on the spot, burying his face in-between his knees. Recalling Nine’s voice whenever it called for him, the softness of its fur whenever it snuck up to him and the ticklishness of its breath whenever it sniffed him, Sukuna cried with his shoulders shaking.

The white kitten was observing Sukuna.

◆

The next day, Sukuna found the collar that the white kitten had been wearing inside his residence’s trashcan.

That was what happened to the things Sukuna said he did not want.

◆

What should he say to Hikotarou? Lying on his bed, that was all Sukuna could think about.

The answer did not come to him. There was no way it would. The one who had offered to take in the kitten Nine, which Hikotarou found and had been taking care of, was Sukuna himself. There was no way he could tell him that his parents had found out about it and gotten rid of it.

Ever since losing Nine, Sukuna had secluded himself in his room, refusing to go to school or even eat, thinking about this all the while. His parents had knocked on his door and spoken words mixed with persuasion, and every time he heard their voices, he desperately had to overcome the urge to clear them away using the ESP App.

What should he say to Hikotarou? This question without an answer occurred to him whenever he opened JUNGLE and saw messages from Hikotarou piling up.

Amidst his spiraling thoughts, Sukuna became someone who did nothing but fiddle with his PDA. After all, he was able to escape from this reality just by staring at the several lined-up missions in JUNGLE.

The reality was catching up quickly.

It was no coincidence that Sukuna had activated Grass Root at that moment. He was wary of his parents perhaps trying to force him out of the room if he kept shutting himself in it.

Only the security surveillance cameras of the lowest floor could be viewed on Grass Root, but it could detect if someone were to break through the door of his room. He had not decided what to do when that happened, but he imagined that he would likely have to use an item from the ESP App.

However, that did not happen.

The one projected in the surveillance camera was not the robust guard-man. It was a man clad in a wrinkly suit and a boy who he was bringing with him.

“Hikotarou? Why...?”

With the words that he had whispered in a daze, Sukuna awoke at once. There was no “why”. It was because his parents had found out that Hikotarou existed.

Sukuna felt goosebumps. He jumped out of bed and rushed to the door of his bedroom, but gave up on opening it.

There were lookouts on the other side. His mother had arranged a sleepless watch so that she could deal with Sukuna whenever he came out. If he came out, he would quickly be caught and transferred somewhere else. And then, he would never get to see Hikotarou again.

The door’s no good. I need a different means of escape—

He looked back. Outside the window, he could see the trunk of a garden tree about three meters away. Even if one jumped off the windowsill, they would not be able to reach it.

That was the case for ordinary humans. However, Sukuna was a JUNGLE player.

Taking out his PDA, he opened it without hesitation. He activated the item “physical strengthening”, which was within the power of L-rankers.

Instantaneously, a green electric current burst out from the PDA, ran through Sukuna’s whole body and then disappeared into thin air. However, that strength remained within Sukuna. Each time his heart struck a beat, a force that was not his own circulated his blood vessels, his muscles absorbing it.

A countdown appeared on his PDA. He did not know the reasoning behind it, but once this period was over, his power would be gone as well.

In short, he had no time to waste.

Sukuna opened the window and jumped up. The unbelievable jumping power more than compensated for the three meters. The momentum was so strong that he almost missed the tree trunk, spiraling around it when he reached out and clung to it. His eyes spinning from the gymnast-like maneuver, Sukuna jumped from branch to branch and landed as if rolling down.

Sukuna broke into a run barefoot.

It was not as if he could do anything by running. Sukuna’s parents would not listen to his opinions. Rather, they may consider Hikotarou even more dangerous as a cause of his rebellion against them.

However, he had a feeling that he would resent it for the rest of his life if he just watched the current situation with a finger in his mouth.

From the position of the surveillance cameras, he calculated the place where Hikotarou would be at right now. It was one of the normally unused reception rooms. He ran along the outer walls, taking a wide turn around the mansion. Holding onto the reception room’s window, he quietly peeked inside.

And so, Sukuna experienced a lifelong regret.

“Good job on your report,” his father said, sitting on an extravagant chair.

The middle-aged man and Hikotarou were standing opposite to him, on the other side of the office desk. The middle-aged man was giving his father a toadying smile. Hikotarou, standing next to him, was merely staring at his toes with a mask-like expressionless face.

Sukuna’s heart began to beat copiously fast. If he kept looking at this scene, he would lose something important. Even though he knew this, he was unable to take his eyes off it.

“You might be poor, but since you have enough brains to be able to talk to him as an equal, we have selected you to be his friend as a special case.��

Sukuna’s breath caught. The conversation he was hearing through the window was as vague as a nightmare, with no sense of reality to it.

“Make sure to do your job modest and humbly. I have already transferred this month’s payment.”

“Thank you very much! Hey, you show gratitude too.”

While bowing repeatedly, the middle-aged man put his hand on the back of Hikotarou’s head and squeezed it with force. Unresisting, Hikotarou let himself be handled and bowed his head. He weakly muttered incoherent words.

He was extending his gratitude. To Sukuna’s father. To the power of the Gojou household.

His father leaned his body against the backrest and looked down at the two. “However, your interactions seem to be going too far lately. My wife is worried that Sukuna might have become defiant due to bad influence from you.”

The face of the middle-aged man quickly turned pale.

“Who was it that put in word so that someone from the fallen Kue family could somehow attend that school? I would like you to be a bit more aware of that.”

“M-My deepest apologies! Hey, you!”

The middle-aged man grabbed Hikotarou’s head violently. Hikotarou let him do as he pleased. He was mumbling something – perhaps apologizing?

Enough already. I don’t wanna see any more of this.

He did not want to see Hikotarou – his friend – like that. Still, in the end, that “friend” was also nothing more than something those people had arranged for him.

After watching Hikotarou receive punishment for a moment, his father raised his hand. “Do that somewhere my eyes can’t reach.”

“Yes! I-I always—”

“Enough of that. Sukuna is what matters now.”

Hearing the name, Hikotarou sluggishly raised his head.

“He has been confining himself in his bedroom all the time lately. I called you here to convince Sukuna. Talk him into it and bring him out of his room.”

“O-Of course! Hiko! Get ready at once!”

“Hum.” At that moment, Hikotarou’s voice sounded clear for the first time. “Sukuna has been absent from school all this time... Is he sick or something like that?”

Snorting, Sukuna’s father narrowed his eyes as if to poke fun at Hikotarou. “There seems to be no problem with his health. Apparently, he had picked a stray cat recently. By the looks of it, he got angry because we disposed of it. Honestly, children are so...”

Hikotarou went stiff. His small hands balled into fists.

“If he wants a replacement, we can provide anything he wishes. So hurry and do something about this. It will be bad for our reputation if the current situation continues as it is.”

Hearing the words of his father, who thought of no one but himself, Sukuna slammed the windowsill with his hand, reinforced by JUNGLE’s superhuman abilities. The only one who noticed the sound was Hikotarou. His eyes alone moved, taking in Sukuna’s figure. Their gazes met for just an instant. Yet Sukuna would probably never forget those wide-open eyes.

Sukuna peeled his body away from the window. He had lost all reason to stay in that place.

The “physical strengthening” was still within its effect time. Making full use of that power, he ran. Tears spilled as he rushed through the estate’s garden.

That was the first friend he had made ever since he was born. For the first time ever since being born, he had admired someone and thought of him as even cooler than himself. He had taught Sukuna about many things. Such as the enormous power that he had never even imagined and a new world that he had never so much as noticed, even though it was lying right next to him. He deemed the memories of breathing in the air of freedom and of playing around shoulder-to-shoulder with him as brightly sparkling jewels.

However, they were not jewels but glass marbles arranged for him by the adults.

He had nothing. The resounding beating of his heart, the new world that shone so vividly – everything had disappeared. Right now, the all that surrounded Sukuna were adults so filthy they made him want to throw up, as well as the fakes they had provided for him—

No.

“That’s not true,” Sukuna muttered little by little.

At the same time, an electronic voice echoed from the PDA in his hand, “The effect time of item ‘Physical Strengthening’ has expired. If you wish to extend the effect time, please add extra JUNGLE Points—”

“Extend effect.”

“Voiceprint authentication confirmed. Consuming JUNGLE Points in order to maintain effect duration.”

Hikotarou was a fake. A fake that his parents had prepared for him. Whenever he was with Sukuna or whenever he laughed, he had been probably making a fool out of Sukuna deep down.

Nevertheless, it was not as if everything was fake.

Only this power, JUNGLE, was real. True strength. A tangible world. Beyond that window, a new world was spreading out. That was the sole truth.

And right now, having wiped the tears away, Sukuna was seeing yet another world.

In that world, Sukuna was free. Sukuna was lonely. Having lost his only friend, Sukuna figured that there was no longer anything chaining him to that place now. The exciting world that he had once had a glimpse of together with Hikotarou was lost forever, and the only thing spreading out before Sukuna was a desolated, perishing world.

Yet he had no options anymore but to jump into it.

Strengthening this resolve, Sukuna set forth while gritting his back teeth.

◆

On the day that Sukuna used JUNGLE’s superhuman abilities to the fullest, stealing everything he could take and vanishing from the Gojou house, a large number of thieves attacked Uwagami Town.

Multiple government officials’ homes were raided at the same time. After suppressing the police officers guarding them as if it were nothing, the thieves robbed all houses of information related to secrets of the state and disappeared into the back streets and alleys of Uwagami Town.

The Metropolitan Police Department identified the case as a large-scale beta case due to the clear criminal techniques and the testimony of police officers describing them as “physical abilities that would usually be impossible”. The command of the investigation was transferred to Scepter 4.

Sukuna only came to know about it much later.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Painted Windows 6

Warnings: violence, trauma, allusions to abuse and noncon, isolation, torture, further tags to be added.

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle to make sense of your captivity.

Note: Alright so we’re seeing things amp up and I hope you all enjoy it. I have up to part 8 planned out and then brainstorming the rest lol. I honestly don’t know what this series is. I always appreciate you and thanks for all your patience. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Day fourteen. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of the interminable routine. Wake up; if you slept at all, breakfast, lunch, dinner; sometimes alone, sometimes not. In between, you opened your notebook, or watched television, or walked around in circles until you were dizzy. Other times, you did nothing at all and wondered at the principles of time.

Bucky was no different. Mercurial, albeit amenable since his little victory. Since your acceptance; your surrender, had become obvious. You were quiet, not that you had been eager for conversation before, and listless. You hadn’t had a purpose in years, no hopes, no ambitions, but something about this place felt so final.

That day, the door finally budged after lunch. You watched it fall open and listened to the grunts that announced your visitor. Bucky dragged in a box almost as big as himself. He dropped it in between the bed and table. He turned and closed the door before he knelt beside the large package.

“You wanna help?” He asked as he tore open the box. 

Several metal parts, a small screen, a seat, nuts, bolts, a screwdriver; everything you needed to piece together the stationary bike. You were stunned that he remembered. A passing comment about your inactivity; cramped legs and an impenetrable restlessness. You neared and stood on the other side of the box.

“If you want me to,” You answered.

“Are you busy?” He asked dryly.

“Never,” You dropped to your knees and helped him unwrap the contents.

You took the instructions and sat back on your heels. You search for Part A among the mess. You grabbed it and the other part listed in the first step and slid them over to Bucky. 

“You need one of the flat-topped screws it says.” You read carefully.

He considered you above the thin booklet. “Alright.”

You carried on as such. You read out the steps and helped sort through the pieces and he screwed them together. Almost an hour before you finished. A silver exercise cycle was your prize. You couldn’t help but be excited.

“There,” He stood and gathered up the packaging. “It should keep you busy; fit.”

“Thank you,” You touched the handlebar and walked around it.

“Well, go on,” He neared the door. “I’ll be back for dinner.” He opened the door and glanced back at you. “I can order something. You like Chinese?”

“All the way out here?” You peeked over at the window.

“Yes, all the way out here,” He grumbled. “Might be a bit cold but that never killed anyone.”

“Sure,” You shrugged. “Chinese is fine.”

He left. That was what you hated. The acquiescence. It was so easy to treat his control as courtesy. This wasn’t truly to make you happy, only to appease you. To make your captivity easier for him; not for you. You huffed and climbed up on the bike. You adjusted the resistance and pedalled as you lost yourself in thought.

You went until you were out of breath and achy. You slipped down onto your feet and ambled over to bed as you yawned. It was the most exercise you’d had in… well, you were still trying to figure out that math. 

You sprawled out and clicked on the television. Your latest addiction was a comedy about an office. It made you wonder where you’d be if you hadn’t ended up in the cell. Would you be at a desk wiling away the time staring at a computer? Or maybe you’d be a teacher or librarian. You liked animals; you could’ve been a vet.

You let yourself melt into the pillows and soon your eyes closed under their sudden weight. You fell asleep with the buzz of dialogue in your ears; the words vaguely familiar to your idle brain. Your snores rose too and mingled with the steady drone. You rolled over onto your side as you began to rouse and shadow passed through the slit of your eyelids.

Your eyes fluttered open through the haze of your unexpected nap. You looked at the table; a big white bag pulled taut over several cartons, beside it, a familiar set of pages laid open beneath a metal hand and you followed the arm to its owner. Your heart leaped and you sat up as Bucky pored over your journal. He didn’t seem to notice you as he was so wrapped up in the words. Your words. Private words. Secret thoughts.

You hurried across the bed and stormed over to him. You tried to wrench the book from beneath his hand but his grasp was stronger than yours. He merely looked over at you and ripped the notebook free. He held it away from you as he blocked you with his other arm.

“You can’t--” You slapped his arm. “How could you read that? It’s mine. You…. you…”

“You started writing,” He said plainly as he closed the book in his hand and set it down. “That’s good.”

“Why would you read it?” Your voice was brittle as you pushed away from him. “Why? It’s not for you.”

“Sit. The food’s going to get cold,” He gestured to the other chair. 

You frowned and he cleared his throat. You dragged yourself to the chair and sat heavily. You stared at the notebook. He untied the plastic bag and began to unpack the cartons one at a time. You were livid and speechless. Worse, you were helpless. He would always win. 

He rose and got two plates from the cupboard. He set them out and grabbed a carton. 

“Rice?” He asked. You ignored him and crossed your arms. “Noodles?”

You reached out and slid a plate in front of you. “I can serve myself.” You snarled. “You might think I’m weak but I wouldn’t be alive if that was true.”

He chuckled and spooned out rice onto his own plate. “Sure,” He scoffed as he set it aside and grabbed the box of veggies. 

You scowled and scooped out some noodles and waited for the veggies. You only took a little of the chicken and sat back with arms crossed. The food smelled great but you just couldn’t focus on the faint tickle in your stomach. You were angry. For the first time, you weren’t scared or sad or sickened, you were absolutely enraged.

He lowered himself into the other chair and started to eat. You watched him with a sneer. You recalled he said he knew what you felt because he had been kept once. It sure didn’t seem like it. It seemed like he was an expert at keeping others. His empathy was nothing more than manipulation. You dropped your arms and fiddled with your fork but didn’t use it.

“Why don’t you write about… before?” He swallowed. 

“What?” You spat.

“You write about the cell, about what they did to you,” He shifted in his chair, “But not about what came before. Your home, family… your life?”

You looked away embarrassed. You twirled a load of noodles around your fork and shoved them in your mouth to avoid answering. You chewed as he watched. As you took another bite, he dropped his fork and grabbed the notebook. You froze and watched as he flipped it open.

‘The man who came most often was tall but skinny. Still, he was cruel and too strong for me. I remember the first time he visited. It hurt and every time after, it did as well. It wasn’t just sex though. He would take out this little folding knife and draw lines down my stomach as he used me. Or he would choke me until I passed out. One time, he held my head in the toilet and I thought I would drown.

But I dreamt of that knife. I still do. I thought of how to steal it from him so that I could use it myself. So that I could finish the job he always left half done.’

Bucky closed the book and reached across to place it beside your plate. You were stunned as you gulped down the noodles and stared into his eyes. They were as dark as that night he returned. Savage and resolute. You shivered and looked down at the notebook.

“Do you miss the man with the knife?” He asked.

You shook your head but couldn’t look at him. Your chest knotted and you let your fork fall against the plate. You twined your fingers in your lap and bit your lip.

“But you write about him?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You whispered.

“Why do you write about those men and not your family?”

“Because…” You croaked and meekly looked up across at him. “Because I can remember those men. I can’t…” Your voice trailed off and you lowered your chin again. “Please, I can’t--”

He was silent. You stewed in the tension as you fought to hold back the tears. You pressed a hand to your stomach as you hunched in the chair. There were scars still; you ignored them as you passed by the mirror before your showers. Your cheeks twitched as you resisted the sob caught in your throat.

You sensed movement and your eyes were drawn across to the other side of the table. You made sure not to move your head as you watched along the edge of your vision. You could see Bucky’s arms as it disappeared below the table. You could tell his hand was moving in his lap, slowly. His breaths rasped and he suddenly seemed to recall himself. His hand came up and gripped the edge of the table.

“You should eat.” He said. 

“I’m not very hungry,” You lied.

He sighed and his fingers tapped on the table. “You know I can tell when you’re lying. I was trained to. It’s part of my job.” He grabbed his fork again and stabbed a piece of broccoli. “Among other things.”

You sat up at the foreboding in his words. You stared at him and he stared back. He chewed and nodded to your plate. 

“Go on.” He jabbed his fork towards your plate. “Eat.”

Bucky didn’t leave after dinner as he usually did. You cleaned up to keep yourself busy and ignored him as you hit play on the television and balled yourself up against the pillows. He lingered at the table but rose as the second episode began. He kicked off his boots and climbed up next to you. He said nothing as he watched the screen. His arm touched yours but he only sat with you.

He slumped down and began to snore several episodes in and you glanced over at him startled. You crawled off the other side of the bed as you kept your eyes on him. He didn’t wake, didn’t move. You left the television on as you tiptoed around the bed. You went to the washroom and closed the door behind you. There was no clasp to lock it.

You went to the tub and pulled the curtain across the bar. You laid down across the porcelain with your arm beneath your head. It was cold like your cell. Your heart slowly petered out and the pounding retreated from your ears. You closed your eyes and you were back behind the concrete walls. Waiting.

But your mind wouldn’t stay behind the bars. It slipped past them and returned to the padded room. To the table where the metal armed man sat, hand in his lap as he bent over your scribbled memories. You bit down on the heel of your hand and tears leaked down your nose and temple.

You wept until you fell asleep. Until the memories turned to nightmares; though they were barely dissimilar. Only your visitor differed. The shadow at the bars; broad shoulders, rifle, shining arm, hair to his shoulders. He kicked in the door but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t shield yourself from the new monster creeping through the dark.

Bucky stood over you as he set aside the rifle. You followed the barrel’s nuzzle with your eyes longingly. Your small cot trembled as he climbed over you. You were naked against his bloody leather jacket. The zippers and buckles cut into your skin as his metal fingers wrapped around your throat. You peered up into his eyes; blue like the ocean and just as endless..

You were woke by the sound of the rings sliding across the bar above. You looked up as Bucky stood by the tub and stared down at you. You shielded your eyes from the bright bulbs above the sink. He knelt and tilted his head as you crossed your arms over your chest and drew your legs up.

“What are you doing in here?” He asked. You shrugged. “Come on.” He grumbled and grabbed your arm. 

He pulled you until you stood. He forced you to step out of the tub and back into the bedroom. The sky outside had begun to lighten. He guided you to the bed and turned you to him. His hands rested on your shoulders and he pushed until you sat on the mattress. He frowned at your reluctance.

“Sleep,” He ordered as he drew away and bent to grab his boots. “I’ll be back at noon.”

You didn’t say anything as he crossed the room. You didn’t move even after he was gone. You just sat there on the edge of the bed. You closed your eyes and saw his again; the depths of terror. You quaked and balled your fists around the blankets. How long could he restrain the monster within? He was no different from your former wardens and this was no different from that frigid cell. It was all just as hopeless.

[ubemango]

commission 4: slow burn/best friends/college au w/  jin

(+or: we’re best friends and you’re literally So Great and i suck at knowing what i want but anyway i’m starting to think i like you ??????? au)

note 1: For my very very sweet and understanding friend @yeuj​ who helped me out when I needed it most .... I hope you enjoy 🥺🥺💕!!!!!! And thank you to Micah + Clove for helping me with my questions—thank you for your thoughtfulness, insight, and love!!!!! 🌷🌷🌷

note 2: I tried to make ramen-making as unboring as possible but it really is just....water and spice. If you’re confused about eating ramen at convenience stores please search that up on Youtube, I’ve exhausted my link resource skills (except for when I want you to listen to songs.) Also, the songs I mention are titanic/the end by cehryl and Subside by Eloise. I actually listened to Sweet Night on repeat while writing this so if u wanna listen to that... ;_;

note 3: everything about this story is in medias res. I realized I had no proper beginning or conclusion and I didn’t wanna change the flow of the story by concretely adding one or the other... so if the story feels incomplete/fragmented then please understand that this was a conscious and intentional decision done on my part :,) It’s slow burn!!!! I Love you ha ha!!

(i)

The library is open twenty four hours. The convenience store in the student centre is not.

“Please use your car,” you assert.

Seokjin huffs. “Then pay for my gas.”

It’s an empty threat. He’s got no business driving hard bargains when he has capital in the form of a rich CEO dad. He ignores your glaring, calmly closing his laptop, shoving it into his bag. Closing up shop after a derivative crisis you’d called him up for because he lives on campus, plus he never sleeps early. You appreciate that he gives into you so easily.

“Fine.”

So you go, searching for a convenience store that has those instant noodles you suddenly came up with a craving for this late at night. Seokjin’s used to it by now. You get things done when you want to, even if it means making a home of the pillowy chairs in the library you’d claimed for studying purposes.

The mathematical theory of chaos. You don’t want to think about it, and you click your seatbelt with a yell, throw your bag in the backseat with as much strength your anger allows for. “I hate school!”

“Please don’t scream in the car.”

“I hate it!”

Seokjin slots the key in. “Can you look up where the convenience store is?”

He tosses you his phone to unlock. You jab at the screen with more grumbling and colourful cursing, pulling up whatever Google Maps says is the nearest store open.

“Plug in the AUX cord,” Seokjin urges next. He merges into traffic, which is really only one car and the late night bus. A quiet night for your suffering.

“Can I play my—“

“Nope.” You sneer. Tapping open his playlists, you pass under orange lamp post after orange lamp post and scroll in silence before Seokjin groans. “I made a new playlist, pick that one.”

“What���s it called?”

You can see that he’s stiffened up. You don’t comment. “The one with the three heart emojis.”

Simple enough. You don’t care to sift through the songs, and the first one plays with one more indulgent tap of the screen.

Why don’t you tell her? I think you should. You know how you’re feeling, you can’t fight the truth…

Google interrupts the soft voice with the indication of the next right. Seokjin eases on the gas pedal. You watch him nod his head to the softness of the stereo. “I can’t pay for your gas.”

“I know you can’t.”

“I can pay for your ramen,” you suggest. Seokjin makes a quiet noise, like he’s amused by your generosity, or maybe he just thinks you’re dumb. You think it’s the latter.

“I don’t want you to pay for my ramen.”

“Then what do you want?”

The lamp post light striking Seokjin’s face gives way to the harsh red of the stoplight. In the stillness, he sends you a hard look. It makes you feel weirdly vulnerable, like he’s stripped you bare.

To make things worse, Seokjin says:

“Nothing you don’t want to give me.”

He doesn’t heed your confusion because he presses on the gas, looks straight ahead. You do too, and you try not to contemplate the cool brevity of his attention you suddenly want back. You push your uncertainty aside.

(He has a handsome face, you think.)

Seokjin interrupts, “So why’d you wait till now to study?”

“You know me.” Procrastination. The complete and utter mistake of underestimating the allotted time needed to get a successful grasp of concepts for your midterm. In not so convoluted terms, this class sucks ass.

“Yeah but that was—a lot of notes.”

It was. You probably pushed five weeks of material in the span of three hours. You can feel the very tips of your nervous system frying up as you pass through gas station-lit intersections. But there’s a real answer to his question, and you have the intense need to curl in on yourself in this leather seat.

“Well I would have started yesterday, but I was busy,” you counter.

“With what?”

“So you know Hyukjae from Psych?”

Seokjin pauses to listen to Google’s instructions, and immediately makes a left onto another main intersection. “Sure.”

“We went out yesterday,” you admit.

He hums a tight sound, tapping on the wheel. “Hm. How’d it go?”

It wasn’t bad. You shared butter tarts and laughed at his anecdotes and Hyukjae-from-Psych paid for your Uber home. He gave you a very weak hug before you slipped into the car. It was in that seat you’d decided you wouldn’t be sending him an I had fun! text that night.

“It was okay. Like, nice to me and stuff. But nothing…”

“…Worth revisiting.”

“Sure,” you mimic, and you wonder why he’s right.

“The guy’s okay,” he says. Almost like it’s with relief. “It’s—not to sound rude, but. Uh. I think it’s, uh—good. That you weren’t… interested.”

You think he’s gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. “Why?”

“Can’t trust guys with bad handshakes.” Seokjin chances a glance at you, and laughs at the confused scrunch of your eyebrows. “I met him during that networking conference in third year. Limp-wristed me. Like a chump.”

“Ew.” You can’t say he’s wrong. That hug Hyukjae gave you really was weak. The dude has noodles for arms. “But yeah, I guess you’re right. Wasn’t really my type.”

“Hm,” is all Seokjin comes up with. You watch him pass right through the turn Google tells him to take. “Oh shit. Sorry. I’m just. Thinking. About… limp… men.”

You snort. “What?”

“Like a man. A limp man. Hyukjae. Not me,” he clarifies fast—proudly— “just. Anyway! Back to you saying what your type was.”

“I wasn’t,” you accuse.

“Yeah well now I’m asking because I don’t wanna think about limp men. Your type, please.”

He sounds weirdly inquisitive. Demanding, almost. You chalk it up to the near-delirium of being awake past 1AM.

“I—don’t know,” you start. Somehow you feel like you’re messing something up. “He was kind, I like… kind. And soft. Sweet. You know Kim Taehyung? From Neuro? Like, almost big shoulders but not really. I like big shoulders. Yeah. Guys like Kim Taehyung-ish.”

Seokjin just hums again. There’s another song playing, and you don’t know how many you’ve rotated through in this playlist. You didn’t think it’d take this long to get to the store.

Google says it’s just two minutes away now. Seokjin says, “Cool,” and then sings along to the stereo.

You got me losing sleep over you… I usually sit still but now I can’t help but move… When I see you, I don’t know what to do…

(ii)

“Spicy or not spicy?”

“Whatever keeps my stomach lining intact,” Seokjin says.

You don’t say anything more and grab two of whatever ramen packaging isn’t scarily red. The convenience store is void of any customers, and the cashier rings you up with a very sour face for interrupting the show he’s got playing on his phone. His face shrivels up even more because all you can pay with is coins. Seokjin laughs behind you when you apologize for clattering the dimes too harshly on the counter.

“Enjoy,” the cashier announces, and he doesn’t mean it one bit.

The hot water machine at the back is a very intimidating thing next to the tiny display of cookies.  Too many buttons and knobs you don’t understand, so Seokjin takes on the chivalric role and prepares everything for you. He rips the plastic open with gentle hands. Dumps the powder with too much conviction.

You both watch the water stream hot into the noodles. “Do you like macadamia nuts in your cookies?”

“I guess,” you say.

“Wanna split a cookie?” He hands you chopsticks to stir the ramen with, gestures at the cookie display with a jut of his chin.

“Are you paying?”

“Can you imagine if I made you pay after I asked to split,” Seokjin spits at you. “Yes I’m paying.”

“Then I want chocolate chip.”

He freezes, then jabs smartly at his noodles for a tense ten seconds.

“You make me mad,” he finally answers. “Should we eat in the car?”

“The bowl is too hot to hold.”

The counter at the window it is. You’re sad that you didn’t buy pickled radish, but your coin purse has weeped all its coinage out. Seokjin leaves you as Noodle Guard, going off to pay for that bonus cookie with a crumpled five. In the next second you contemplate the evaporation of ramen soup, the cookie is duly dumped right next to you, and Seokjin takes a huge bite of what still appears to be extremely hot noodles.

He promptly chokes, and makes sputtering noises.

“Holy shit,” Seokjin cries.

You take a much, much slower bite. “You’ll be fine.”

“I thought I could be cool for you,” he cries some more.

“You don’t need to be cool for me. Who eats ramen in a cool way?”

Seokjin nods his approval, that tear of theatrics sliding down his cheekbone. He eats carefully. A noisy car roils on outside, and passes quickly outside your periphery.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you remember to say.

“I love standing at counters and eating things hot,” Seokjin retorts. He dodges the fist you aim at his abdomen with swift ease. “It’s no problem.”

“I—“ You don’t really know why but you need to talk. “You know—you’re really, um, kind.”

Foolery. Absolute foolery that sentence was, and the cashier probably heard that foolery, and Seokjin definitely heard that absolute foolery, and he’s laughing. Like really laughing, caught with the noodles dangling from in-between his teeth. That’s all you had to say? The guy drove you out to get cup noodles out of his own volition. That’s kindness maxed out, and he deserves better than you fumbling between your teeth. Your nerves have fried up so bad, you guess.

Seokjin’s giggles dwindle down. “Thanks,” he says, smiling small.

You blame the heat of your cheeks from the heat of your soup.

Neither of you are desperate to get to that last quarter of noodles to broth ratio. The knots of your shoulders loosen with the sound of your slurping combined, and silently you are reminded of Seokjin’s warmth, standing so close to you.

The easiest path to a nice ending involves a happy belly and Seokjin driving you home with nothing more than a goodbye and a thank-you as you slam the car door shut. This is not unknown to you, because you and Hyukjae-from-Psych took that easy path yesterday.

You just don’t do this often, contemplating all the routes of romance. When is it appropriate to laugh at a joke, to wipe your mouth on the napkin? To smile and peel at your heart and grant that person access to all your inner workings? You belatedly notice that Seokjin did not bring napkins.

(The moment in the car—nothing you don’t want to give me—you want to laugh at his jokes, and smile, peel and peel and peel at your heart, but slowly. Slowly, you put your chopsticks down.)

How funny it is to come to very sound conclusions within a split second, because all you know is that it feels good, being with him like this.

Seokjin, in your quiet realization, takes it upon himself to decide the cookie-eating rights.

“Want the first bite?” He asks, propping the chopsticks horizontally on his bowl.

You nod. Desperately you try not to look at him because you might make more realizations, and you don’t think you’re ready for any more unleashed and unknown emotions. “Please.”

He gives it to you. The right side decidedly has more chocolate chips, and  it’s a very nice explosion on your tongue. So nice you groan into it. “Oh that’s really good.”

He snatches the cookie away before you can take another bite. “I get bigger bites because I paid for it.”

“That—? Uh, that’s not how sharing works.”

“Yes it does,” Seokjin argues. But he just takes as normal a bite as ever. You can’t say you don’t focus on his mouth for too long, though—

—And you immediately seize up at the thought. Horrified, you shriek: “Actually just—have the rest of it!”

He looks alarmed. “O…kay?”

“You’ve got a nice mouth,” you blurt out next.

An absolutely awful feeling settles heavy in your stomach. Because almost immediately you realize that this is a kind and soft boy with nice anecdotes that have yet to be uncovered this night (he likes telling you stories) and he’s got wider shoulders than Kim Taehyung and you’re not sharing butter tarts but you’re sharing a cookie with him.

Another realization: does Seokjin have limp arms?

He puts the cookie down. (His arm looks very strong, doing that.) “I—thanks?”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” you note.

He watches you slump over the counter. Purposefully burying your face in your elbows to muffle your betraying mouth. “It’s late,” is all he says.

“Did that make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.” You don’t think you’re breathing. Your lungs have evaporated, like those steamy ramen noodles you just ate. Seokjin probably notices you’ve stopped moving, so he says, “Really.”

“Okay.”

“Did it—did it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” you say.

“Cool. Do you wanna go—“

You stand up straight, grab all your garbage before he finishes. You don’t look at him. “Yep, yep, please.”

(iii)

He puts the key in the ignition, and doesn’t budge.

“Somehow I feel like you wanna say something else,” Seokjin says.

You curl your hands into fists. “It’s late.”

“I’m aware.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.” You are acutely aware of how garbled you must sound. It’s starting to get on your nerves, how flimsy you’re being. “I’m not… thinking.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re being pretty articulate for someone with an empty brain.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Seokjin sighs.

The seat squeaks where you tense up. “I don’t want to think about your mouth.”

“Do you wanna know what I think?” You nod. Jesus. You’ll just let him do the talking from now on because your tongue can’t be trusted this early in delirium, late in the hour. “I—I…”

Seokjin struggles some more, then deflates. He starts laughing.

“I… don’t drive just anyone out to convenience stores at two in the morning for ramen. You have to know that.” He clears his throat. His eyes are shiny with the harsh glare of neon signs. “I guess I just—wanna know… what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking…” Your lips part. Searching for words feels like a physical thing—your stomach is swimming with what feels like a billion thoughts but nothing comes up for air. “I’m thinking I—don’t want to say the wrong thing.”

Seokjin turns to look at you. “I won’t make fun,” he whispers.

“I think. I think, you look—um—really… Good. Um. R-Really… good, right now.”

“Thanks.” He looks up like he wants to say something but his eyes harden where he gazes, locking in on the dust motes of the windshield. Your lungs swell small in the quietude. “I think you really look good, too.”

If baser compliments already have you burning then you don’t know what you’d do if he tried anything more romantically complex. Some people are meant for loud love stories and grand gestures and you—all you can do is think too much and you want to say more but Seokjin understands. He understands your silence, your ineptitude.

In a fit of controlled passion, you reach over the console, grasping at his knuckles till he flips his palm right into yours.

“Feels… ”

You wait for something to come to mind. A phrase, a proper thought to give utterance to, all the failures and successes of the night. Faithfully, nothing comes.

It just feels.

And Seokjin seems to agree. He holds tight between the grooves of your fingers.

“You’re very pretty and it hurts,” he says, and he doesn’t try to meet your gaze, and one feeling comes resolute: it feels right.

[eleventhdoctorsangel]

The devil within

Summary: Summer time is supposed to be fun and worried free right? Not when you live in Derry. The capital of kids going missing. But what could cause all these kids to go missing? I think it has something to do with the clown I keep seeing.

I hopped on to the back of Stan’s bike putting my hands on his shoulder. “Do you thing that you going to be able to fix him up?” Stan asked. “If it’s not too deep. I just need more rubbing alcohol to clean it. You saw that state he was in. The cut needs to be clean to prevent infection.” I said. “You’re starting to sound like Eddie.” Stan said. “Shut up. My dad works in a hospital of course I would be like this.” I said. Stan just let out a chuckle.

We rode into town and I could Eddie going off about something but I really wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. We stopped in the ally way between Keen’s drug store and the butcher shop. I got off Stan’s bike pulling my bag to the side and pulled out five dollars. “Here get me a couple of bottles please.” I said as I held out my money. Eddie was the one who took the money from me. He, Stan, and Bill left to go inside the store leaving me and Ben with Richie. “I’m glad I got to meet you before you died.” Richie said. “Richie shut up.” I said as I motion to a crate for Ben to sit down as I pulled out my first aid kit from my bag again. I pulled out some gauze, medical tape and a pen of dermabond. “What’s that for?” Ben asked pointing at the dermabond pen. “Oh this? It’s basically like superglue but for wounds. They use it in the operating room instead of stitching sometimes.” I said. “Does it hurt?” Ben asked. “No not really it does sting for the first couple seconds but that’s it.” I said. Ben gave me an unsure look but nodded anyways. “Don’t worry Ben my dad showed me what to do. You’re in good hands with me.” I said patting him on the knee.

It was a few minutes later the boys came back with the rubbing alcohol in a plastic bag. “Here Y/n.” Stan said as he handed me the bag. “Thanks boys.” I said taking the bag from him setting it on the ground and pulling out on of the bottles opening it. I grabbed a piece of gauze and put some of the rubbing alcohol on it. “Okay now Ben this going to sting.” I said. Ben nodded. I started to clean the wound and I got hear Ben start to let out small whimpers of pain. It took three piece of gauze with rubbing alcohol to clean the wound. I grabbed a fresh piece of gauze and pressed against it. “Ben can you keep pressure on the gauze while I get the dermabound ready?” I asked. Ben nodded and kept pressure on the gauze while I grabbed the dermabound pen taking it out of its packaging and cracked it. “Okay you can let go now.” I said as Ben took his hand off of the gauze. I took it off the wound and started to apply the dermabound. I could hear Ben suck in his breath. “I wasn’t lying about it stinging was I?” I asked letting out a small laugh. “Yeah you’re right it does really only last a couple of seconds.” Ben said. I ended up using two dermabound pens. “Y/n?” Ben asked. “Yeah.” I said. “I wouldn’t need to go see a doctor or anything to get this off do I?” Ben asked. “No you don’t as this heals it will just come off itself. I recommend keeping it covered to keep from picking at it. I’ve had to use it before and my dad would always get on my case when I picked at it. If you do it when come off and that hurts like hell trust me.” I said. “Got it.” Ben said. I put something over it the wound to protect it. “There you go you’re all fixed up.” I said as I started to pick up. “Are you okay? That looks like it hurts?” I heard a female voice say. I looked over to see Bev walking over to us. “Oh. No I’m good. I just fell.” Ben said lying through his teeth. “Yeah right into Henry Bowers.” Richie said. “Shut it Richie.” Bill said. “Why it’s the truth.” Richie said. “You sure they got the right stuff for Y/n to fix you up?” Bev asked. “Yeah she just needed more rubbing alcohol.” Ben said. “Well boys I got other places to be. You think you got it from here?” I said. “Yeah we got it from here.” Bill said. I nodded as I got up from the ground walking away and threw the trash away as I made my way back home.

Along the way I texted Henry to see if we could talk. He texted back saying that he was at his house with Belch and Vic. He asked if he needed to send Belch to come and get me. I texted him back saying that I didn’t mind walking. Which he didn’t like to hear with the all the kids that went missing and he was sending belch anyways and to stay where I was. I let out a sigh as I waited on Belch to come to get me. I only had to wait for about five minutes Belch came and got me taking me to Henry’s house. I didn’t want to tell Belch about the reason that I wanted to talk to Henry. But I think that he knew why I wanted to talk to Henry. He and Vic seem to know how close Henry and I were. The two also knew that I was friends with the others.

When Belch pulled up to Henry house I saw that Henry and Vic were outside. “I think I know what you need to talk to Henry about.” Belch said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about I just want to spend some time with you guys.” I said. “Y/n I know that you know what happened today. Is he okay?” Belch said. “Is who okay?” I asked. “That kid. I knew that you might be the one to help fix him up.” Belch said. “Yeah I did fix him up. We just had to go into town for more rubbing alcohol.” I said. “Thank you.” Belch said. “Of course come on we better go join the others before Henry gets upset.” I said. “Yeah you’re right.” Belch said parking his car and we both got out.

I went over to Henry giving him a hug. Usually when I did this around the other boys he would pull me away form from him. It was always because of Patrick who would always make some sort of comment about me which would piss Henry off. Henry would get pissed if anyone made a sexual comment about me. If I didn’t say anything about it Henry would. I would always have to pull him away from beating their ass. Since I noticed Patrick wasn’t with them he hugged me back.

We spent the next few hours just hanging out around Henry’s house. Not long after Vic and Belch left just leaving me and Henry. We were in his room sitting on his bed. I put my head on his shoulder and he put his hand on top of mine. “Did you fix that kid up?” Henry asked. “Yeah I did. Why did you do it?” I said. “I don’t know and I know you hate when I give you that answer. It’s just.” Henry said but stopped. “But it’s about what you’re dad puts you through isn’t it?” I asked. “I just hate him so much.” Henry said. “I know. Once we graduate we’ll leave this town.” I said. “You and me against the world.” Henry said as he kissed my head. “You and me.” I said. I pulled out my phone to check the time. I saw that it was getting closer to curfew and that Butch would get home soon and I wanted to leave before he did. “It’s getting late I should head home.” I said. “Yeah I don’t what you to be here when he gets home.” Henry said. “I’ll text you when I get home.” I said as I got up from his bed. “I’ll see you later.” Henry said. I walked out of his room and made my way to the front door but the sounds of a car door closing made me stop in my track. Henry was quick to appear at my side pushing me behind him as the door open and Butch walked in. “Well what do we have here?” Butch asked as he closed the door. “She was just leaving.” Henry said. “It is getting late why don’t I get you a ride home sweetie.” Butch said as he stepped closer to us. “Oh no sir that not necessary I don’t mind walking.” I said. “Not with all these kid going missing. How would you folks feel if you went missing next because you didn’t let me take you home?” Butch said. Of course he would go there knowing that I wouldn’t have a choice but to let him take me home. I didn’t want him to take me home. I hated being in the same room with him. I definitely never wanted him to give me a ride home because I’m so scared that he might try something. “Alright.” I said quietly. “Come on now sweetie.” Butch said motioning me to follow him. As I followed him Henry was holding on to my hand until he couldn’t reach me anymore.

I followed him out of the house and to his police car. I got into the car and was basically sitting on the edge of the seat to be as far away as I could. “Come on now sweetie you don’t have to sit like that.” Butch said as he grabbed me by the arm pulling me onto the seat. My heart was beating so fast I was surprised that he couldn’t hear it. As he started to drive me to my house he had put a hand on my leg and started to move it under my shorts. I closed my eyes as I turned my head away. I just wanted to get home and away from him. “I don’t get why you hang out so much with that boy. He will never make you feel good that way a man would.” Butch said moving his hand further up my shorts. “I c-ca-can wa-w-walk the rest of the way.” I said. “It still some time away.” Butch said. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” I said. Butch had stopped the car and roughly grabbed me by the chin forcing me to look at him. I could feel the tears start to well up in my eyes. “Now come on sweetie how do you think I feel. I’m a police officer. It’s my job to protect people.” Butch said as he put his face just inches away from me. “Please don’t.” I said as tears fell from my eyes. “None of that sweetie.” Butch said wiping away the fallen tears. I tried to pull away from me but he grabbed the back on my neck keeping me in place. “You sure can make a man go weak.” Butch said as he put his other hand on my stomach and moved it up roughly grabbed my breast. I needed to get him to let me. I quickly bite him on his arm which made him let me go. I took that chance and got out of his car running all the way home.