#i may take cherrys flares away from him....

[piierrote]

playing around with Angels design + a pre getting all dressed up form! his wings are a MAYBE but i do like how they look,,,

[heich0e]

choso/f!reader

The light from the signs that line the street around you makes a dull, irritating ache throb behind your eyes.

It’s a migraine. Or exhaustion maybe. Regardless of the cause, the pain carves its way through you like rot. You lower your eyes to the pavement, hoping that by averting your gaze from the fluorescents you may find some temporary reprieve.

It doesn’t help much.

You fish the little paper packet of cigarettes out from inside the small purse you wear over your arm. There are only three left in the pack, but you swear there should be more. You’d only bought them that morning—no, wait, yesterday morning, since you’d gone a night without sleep. You suck a little hiss of disappointed air in through your teeth, plucking out one of the last lonely cigarettes from inside the pack and then retrieving your lighter too. Though inadvisable by anyone medically qualified, you hope that maybe the hit of nicotine might help the headache while you wait.

Cigarette between your teeth, you lift your little yellow lighter to the end. Pressing down on the safety that covers the spark wheel you draw it quickly back, but the tiny flame that appears momentarily flickers out just as swiftly. You repeat the motion, pressing and dragging your thumb to light it, but you find no more success than you had upon your first attempt. Your lips pull into a tighter line, pressing into the spongey filter of the cigarette in frustration. You shake the lighter a few times, hoping that whatever meagre amount of fluid left in it might suddenly decide to make itself known.

You light it again.

Nothing.

“Here.”

You glance up.

Choso stands before you, his arm extended in your direction with a lighter in his hand. It’s green—a less neon shade than your own lighter—and has something scrawled across it in smudged ink that you can’t make out in the night. Your eyes meet, a momentary look passing between the two of you. Recognition. Greeting, maybe.

You don’t take the lighter from his hand. Instead, you steady the cigarette between your lips in the V of your fingers and lean towards him. He understands without it needing to be said, clicking his own lighter to life and holding it to the end until the cherry flares red on your inhale.

Your eyes meet again as you angle yourself into his space, closer now than before. The same street signs and their glowing lights that had been so irritating to you catch in his glassy brown eyes, framed by long lashes that flutter in a blink.

He looks tired. But he always looks tired, and you’re sure you’re not faring much better—so who are you to judge?

You pull away once your cigarette is lit, taking a drag and then blowing the smoke into the wind. 

“You’re late,” you say quietly. Not a hello, nor a thank you.

“Sorry,” he replies. “My little brother had cram school. I had to wait to make sure he got home safely.”

Itadori Yuuji—15, a high school student, not his brother by blood.

You nod a little bit, dismissive more than it is accepting, and take another long drag from your cigarette. 

Choso watches you raptly, his eyes following every movement. After some time passes, you hold the cigarette out to him in offering, though it’s mostly burned away.

“No, thank you,” he refuses you politely, dipping his head.

You finish the cigarette off, and then drop it to the ground and crush it under the pointed toe of your high-heeled shoe.

There’s a mint in your coat pocket, and you quickly pop it into your mouth to chase away the lingering taste of tobacco. You love the nicotine rush, but you still hate the bitter flavour that lingers on your tongue even after all these years. Choso watches that too—his eyes following your hand until the little white pastille slips behind your lips.

Your gazes meet.

You take a step towards him, wrapping your hands around his arm and tucking yourself against his side. It’s natural. Familiar. Easy. He smells like soap, and this close to him you can see the way his dark hair—down today, and tucked behind his ears, rather than in the two twists he often wears—is faintly wet, like he’s only just showered. 

“Let’s go.” 

Inside the shabby lobby, there’s only one person lingering—a man, standing behind the counter—who pastes on a small but notably insincere smile when you and Choso step through the door. 

“Good evening,” he greets you with a slight bow.

“A room, please,” Choso says to him, to the point but not unkind.

“For how long?”

You feel the man’s eyes on you then, and you know what he must be thinking. It’s not hard to tell, looking between you and Choso, what the two of you are doing—even less so at a love hotel on a seedy side of town where you can book rooms by the half-hour. The differences between Choso and yourself are many and obvious; what with your skimpy little dress and your heels in contrast to his jeans; raggedy, thick-soled combat boots; and windbreaker. And that’s to say nothing about the differences in your countenances: Choso looks stiff, uncomfortable even, under the scrutiny of the man at the front desk, but you’re largely unbothered by the judgement in his gaze. You lean a little more into Choso’s arm where you’re wrapped around it, tucking your face into his collar in a show of diffidence but you meet the man’s eyes with a flutter of your lashes. 

He licks his lips a little, a flush appearing just above the collar of his rumpled dress shirt, and you resist the urge to sneer in disgust.

Once the two of you receive the key to your room, you quietly make your way there—still sticking close to Choso’s side as you depart from the lobby towards the elevator. You don’t cross paths with another soul as you travel to your room on the third floor, the only sound to be heard is the mechanical fwoosh of the elevator as it climbs, the hum of the vending machine selling variously erotic wares you have to pass to make it to your room, and the quiet beep as Choso unlocks the door. 

Just as the two of you are about to step in, a door at the other end of the hall opens, and Choso swiftly wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you in front of him to usher you across the threshold first—using his body to shield you from the eyes of the man who passes down the corridor behind him as the door swings shut. There’s something almost charmingly conscientious about the gesture, though it seems to have been more unconscious than anything.

The room is just what you expect it to be. Plain. Somewhat sterile. Not uncomfortable, but not particularly homey, either. There’s a bed, two bedside tables, a television mounted at the foot of the bed. There’s a door that leads into the tiny washroom, where the shower seems to take up most of the floorspace. The room is dim, likely intentionally, even once you flick the overhead lights on.

“That guy was creepy,” you sigh, stepping away from Choso and further into the room towards the bed. 

“Who?” he asks.

“The guy at the counter,” you sniff, flopping down at the edge of the bed. You throw one leg over the other, crossing them at the knee, and lean back on your elbows against the mattress. The linen is surprisingly soft considering the inexpensive rate. “You’d swear he’s never seen a call girl before.”

Choso is still standing by the door, looking as uncomfortable as ever. He reaches up and rubs his neck, peering around the room seemingly just as an excuse not to meet your eyes.

“So,” you call to him, beckoning his wandering attention back to you. You tilt your head to the side once his gaze connects with yours. “Did you bring it?”

Choso’s hand flutters to the pocket of his dark windbreaker, and part of you wonders if he even knows he did it. You always find that part of him so curious—his sincerity. How easy he is for you to read. You can’t help but question if he’s like this with everyone, or if there’s something about you that makes him this way.

He nods.

The mint you popped into your mouth before entering the hotel has melted away to nothing on your tongue now, but the lingering freshness remains. You feel the mentholated burn as you suck in a little breath, a pleasant tingle in your throat.

“Let’s see it, then,” you say, holding out your hand expectantly.

He hesitates a little but then he approaches, pulling a creased envelope out from his jacket pocket and handing it to you. It’s folded in half, and theres a grease stain at the corner of the white paper envelope—not uncommon for a mechanic, you suppose.

Choso’s hands are always so clean when he meets you, though.

Inside the envelope is exactly what you came here for.

“This is perfect,” you remark, thumbing through the papers as your eyes quickly scan across the pages to surmise their contents. 

Choso is very still as he stands in front of you, towering over where you sit perched at the edge of the love hotel bed and watching as you flick through the papers he’s just delivered into your hands. There’s something sort of expectant in the way he waits for you to speak again.

“And you’re sure this is all of it?” you ask him, glancing up from the pages in your grip.

He nods. “That’s everything.”

“Gojo’s gonna lose his shit when I slap this on his desk,” you remark to yourself with a snort. You can already picture the absolute dismay on Satoru’s face when he realizes that you beat him to the punch in securing the information that he’s been after for weeks now. You’re sure he’ll be whining about it to Geto for days.

Choso fidgets slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Nice work, kid,” you commend him, looking up at him with a smile.

There’s a shift in expression on Choso’s face then—not quite a pout, but a definite air of disappointment or displeasure. He says nothing in spite of the look, and you don’t ask anything, either. That’s not what you came here to talk about, after all. For all intents and purposes, your businesses began and ended with the stack of papers in your lap.

Contained within the pages Choso brought to you is every vehicle (make, model, VIN number and plate) that Choso’s garage has worked on or modified for the crime syndicate currently wreaking havoc in the city under Sukuna’s command. 

“I’ve got your payment here,” you say, fishing out an envelope of your own from inside your purse. There’s enough cash inside the crisp manila envelop that you produce to reimburse the cost of the room he’d paid for and to compensate him for the information. “The rest of it went to the cram school to cover your brother’s tuition, as usual.”

Choso takes it from your hands, his long fingers brushing gently against your own as it passes between your grips, and he doesn’t even bother checking the contents before he slips it into his pocket. 

“Thank you, Inspector,” he says quietly, dipping his head in a bow.

Your lips purse as Choso stares down at his feet, observing the way he seems to be avoiding your gaze.

Choso’s been working as an informant for the past few years. It started off just passing small pieces of information here and there, having established a rapport with your previous chief in his late teens following the murders of his two brothers thanks to the early days of the gang that would eventually grow into Sukuna’s organization now. Choso was born into that life—cursed by his own blood—but he’s made a conscious effort in his adulthood to keep on the straight and narrow, largely for Yuuji’s sake.

You’ve been meeting him like this for a little over a year now, building your own relationship with him now that the chief retired. Choso’s mechanic shop sees all kinds of people coming in and out, good and bad, and he gleans a lot of information in his neutrality. He’s useful to you.

You understand the risk that Choso takes by meeting with you. By working for you. It’s a truth you recognize as well as he does. But he’s never hesitated to get you the information you ask for. Has never denied you anything you seek. All he asks in return is a meagre compensation and the assured safety and education of his little brother. 

You wonder why he’s willing to go so far, and for whose sake he does it.

You flop back onto the hotel bed, one hand resting over the papers in your lap to keep them from slipping onto the floor.

“I’m beat,” you complain, throwing your other arm up over your eyes and hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

“You’re not sleeping?” the soft rumble of Choso’s low voice is strangely comforting like this.

You hum. “Haven’t been home in two days.”

“You need to rest,” he chides you, and there’s something funnily maternal in the way he says it. He’s suddenly every bit the big brother you know him to be. You shift your arm so you can peek up at him from where you’re sprawled across the bed. 

He’s inched closer to you since your eyes were covered, hesitating at the very edge of the mattress beside you. He’s staring down at you with a serious expression on his face, slightly pinched in reproach but softened at the edges with concern.

“Yeah, yeah,” you snort, lifting your hand and waving it dismissively. “I’ll get there eventually, kid.”

Choso catches your wrist in his hand before you can let it drop again, suddenly kneeling against the mattress so he’s looming over you. You’re surprised by the gesture, a sudden falter in the steady thumping of your heart as he stares down at you.

“I’m older than you,” he says quietly, somewhat sullen but simultaneously sheepish. His eyes bore down into yours. “Please stop calling me 'kid'.”

You know he’s right. You know just about everything there is to know about Kamo Choso on paper, having researched him and his background extensively before you got involved with him like this. You suppose you picked up the habit thanks to the chief, since that’s how he always used to refer to him. As Choso hovers over you, his big hand still wrapped around your wrist and his broad frame blocking the rest of the hotel room behind him from view, the truth of his remark rings palpably true.

You suddenly aren’t sure how to respond, your lips parting but no words slipping out.

Choso lets your hand drop after a moment, shifting to sit beside you on the bed. There’s no other seats in the small hotel room, so it’s not particularly unexpected, but you’re strangely conscious of him now in ways you don’t like.

“You should sleep here for a bit,” he says, his eyes glancing over to the clock on the bedside table. “We have the room for another hour.”

You don’t ever leave the hotel room before a realistically inconspicuous amount of time has passed, but suddenly the prospect of spending another hour with him makes your stomach twist.

“I’m fine,” you try to brush him off, sitting up and neatly stacking the papers so that you can slip them back into their envelope and tuck them safely into your purse. Your face feels hot, and that ache between your temples is back again. You contemplate another cigarette.

A gentle touch against your elbow makes you freeze.

You glance over at Choso from the corner of your eye, and find his dark gaze on you. His eyes are imploring, soft, and seemingly fathomless.

“Rest,” he insists again. “I’ll wake you before we need to leave.”

Your eyes scan his face. Your headache throbs.

There are a hundred reasons to deny him. A thousand reasons you shouldn’t listen to what he says.

But there’s one—a distant, whispered reason, that you don’t want to acknowledge—that tells you differently.

“Move over,” you grumble, letting your purse fall to the floor with a dull thud!

Choso obeys immediately, shifting so you can crawl into the bed beside him and rest against the pillows. You squeeze your eyes shut the minute your head hits them.

“You should at least take your shoes off,” Choso remarks. You flinch a little as you feel the warmth of his hand on your ankle, holding it steady as he gently slips your shoe from your foot. He repeats the same motion for the other. 

Your eyes remain shut. 

After a moment of stillness, you feel the mattress shift slightly and the warmth of his body recede. When you crack one eye open to survey what changed, you see that Choso’s slipped down to the floor, resting with his back against the side of the bed and his legs crossed underneath him. His eyes are shut now too, and you watch his profile for a moment as he breathes.

You close your eyes again.

“Wake me up in thirty minutes,” you mumble, and Choso hums in response. “I’ll leave first."

But even in the stillness of that little hotel room, even in your exhaustion, neither of you manages to fall asleep.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Shorts:

A Little Bit Jealous

Yandere Atsushi Suedo x Fem Reader

A snort escaped (your name)’s lips when Atsushi buried his face into her stomach. His muscular arms wrapped around her midsection, a few huffs escaped his lips.

“What’s the matter, big guy?” (Your name) asked in a teasing tone, her eyes lit up in mischief when he picked his head up. His cheeks flared out in a pout. Sometimes he was so cute… especially when he was jealous.

“You complimented Katsumi… do you like him more than me?”

(Your name) couldn’t help but giggle which only made Atsushi tighten his grip on her. Goodness he was cute… she adored this man.

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me… these are important questions-“ (your name) bent down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. The karateka immediately pressed several kisses to hers in return, his arms moved to pull her body flush against his.

“I don’t think he’s nearly as cute as you, big guy.”

“But Katsumi gets a lot more confessions than the other guys… he’s handsome.” (Your name) poked Atsushi’s nose with a smile.

“Do you like Katsumi?”

“No! Ew! He’s like… he’s like my brother!” (Your name) couldn’t help but laugh at Atsushi who curled up into himself like a turtle. His cheeks a bright, cherry red from embarrassment.

“You’re the only man for me, baby.” (Your name) gave him a reassuring smile before she reached forward to give Atsushi’s nipple a pinch. The man quickly released her to hold his sore areola in shock.

“Hey! You know I’m sensitive…”

“You’re my big himbo man and your cute little butt is the only one on my mind.” (Your name) pressed a kiss to each of Atsushi’s cheeks. “You know I love you.”

“I love you too… I just get scared you’re going to leave me for better.” Atsushi expressed his insecurities with sincerity. He may have been the tallest of the karatekas at Shinshinkai, but he was nowhere near the strongest. He couldn’t help but feel inferior to Katsumi at times. He was so inspiring.

“You know I’m with you for the long run. You have never failed to make me feel so safe…” (your name) smiled at her beau who melted into her. Her fingers tangled in his brown locks as she lovingly stroked his scalp. “You can always talk to me, baby. About anything and everything, it’s what I’m here for. I’ll always be here.”

Atsushi smiled, his arms once again wrapped around her body for warmth. Yes… she was his. She was all his! And Atsushi would rather die than let anyone take her away from him. He didn’t want to live in a world where his darling wasn’t around.

Atsushi pressed a kiss to her temple, a dazed look in his eye. What if they just moved to the country side? That way he didn’t have to worry about other fighters possibly catching the eye of his love at the dojo? Yes… that made the most sense.

“Will you stay with me forever then?” Atsushi softly asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“If you don’t get bored of me.” (Your name) giggled when Atsushi began to pepper her with kisses. “Hey! Stop-“

“Then I’ll keep you forever and ever!” Atsushi exclaimed, his hands now pawed at her hips. “I’ll never let you go.”

If only the poor girl knew her adorable himbo wasn’t joking…

[runningfrom2am]

michigan cherry // part one

summary: walking into a saloon in a nowhere town, billy meets a singer who he just can't get off his mind after she slips through his fingers; onto another town, another show- following nothing but the stars in her path. until he sees her again. another nowhere town and equally dusty saloon, but this time, the band of kids who made up her family is nowhere to be found. he's running away from something, and she is storming full speed toward something else, and tangling into each other's lives may just get both of them exactly where they want to be.

pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: singer!reader (she’s giving very much lucy gray), probably a little bit ooc billy but hey i tried- anyway he’s a sweetheart, use of guns and violence, murder and violence but i try to keep it non-descript, oh also she’s an orphan sorry (once again, lucy gray vibes), strangers to friends to lovers trope eee

the song in this chapter is "Second Child, Restless Child" by The Oh Hellos !!

a/n: heyyyy part one here we are!! i was going to post requiem first BUT the second part of btk s2 came out today so i couldn't resist posting this first :) playlist will be up very soon too!! hope you guys enjoy!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist

It was muggy outside when Billy tied up his horse, and even hotter inside the saloon when he entered through its creaky swinging doors.

It was his current life as a bit of a lone wolf that brought him to this town he stumbled across by mistake, in search of a place to camp the night or ideally- a warm bed, but unsure if that was in the cards for him tonight, he decided to grab a drink instead.

He could hear the music before he saw the band, considering the whole town had apparently turned up to hear them play. Or, it was a Saturday night and no one had much of a better idea of what to do. He wasn't sure, until over the loud chatter and obnoxious shouts of men at the bar he could make out the sweet, damn close to angelic tones of the lead singer.

She was beyond anything he had ever seen, when he finally got a look at the owner of that beautiful voice, his blue eyes lit up in the dim light of the saloon. He flicked up the brim of his hat to get a better view as he leans back against the wall, absolutely mesmerized by the rapid pace at which the young woman's fingers strum over the strings of her guitar with expert precision.

"They saw trouble in my eyes, they were quick to recognize the devil in me."

With every word she sang, the smile he had to resist threatened to make itself seen. He could see the trouble in her eyes, even as they scanned the room- crinkled from the grin on her cheeks. It took Billy a few moments to even register that she wasn't the only one up on that old wooden stage- she wasn't the only one playing.

It surprised him even more when he tore his eyes off her to actually take notice of her band, that it was comprised almost entirely of children. Other than her and one boy behind her with light hair and hauntingly dark eyes who was dedicated well enough to his bass, none of the others seemed to be over fifteen.

A boy and a girl, who seemed to be just about the same age side by side playing little hip drums, and a blonde girl on a fiddle who appeared to be just a few years younger than the beautiful young woman taking up front and centre.

The smell of cigar smoke hits Billy's nose and brings him back to focus on where he was. He's not the only one watching this performance, as much as he felt the tunnel vision pulling him in on the girl with the skirt that spun almost as prettily as she did while she danced to her own music.

Completely lost in the song and the noises of the bar, she does a spin holding firm onto the guitar slung over her shoulder. Her hair flares out around her the same way her skirt does, and she has to steady herself as she stops, facing the old and abused microphone again to continue with the next verse.

"Can you hear it hanging on the wind? Can you feel it underneath your skin?"

Her eyes lock with Billy's as she looks around, the wide smile on her face hardly faltering even as his heart quits for a moment. She gives the man with striking blue eyes a small nod, not missing a beat of the song she was singing.

She was absolutely breathtaking to him. His eyes were stuck on every movement she made, every note she sang, and every word she uttered. He had seen pretty women before, but there was something about this girl that was different.

He couldn't help but notice how well she carried herself; with such confidence, and there was also a certain charm to her little nod as her eyes met his. The song and dance of the band were captivating, but his eyes were glued to her.

He raised up one eyebrow and gave her a little smile as he tilted his head curiously. Her voice somehow gave him a sense of home he hadn't felt since his ma passed. A sweet comfort he hadn't had in years.

He was being crazy, he knew as much- so he shakes his head of the feeling and peels himself off the wall to head over to the bar.

When the song was done, your chest was rising and falling heavily as you smile out at the crowd, waving to a few people before moving to set your well-loved guitar down.

"That's all we've got for y'all tonight. Thank you for listenin' to us take up your space tonight, but I sure hope at least a couple of y'all enjoyed it." You say into the mic with a smile, letting out a slight laugh as the crowd does with you.

"My name is Y/N and this is the Covey, and on behalf of all of us, have a good night! But not so good you don't make it home safe." You wink, signalling the end of our set and giving a quick bow to the crowd before stepping back to pack up.

Despite the shouts from saloon-goers and the usual sounds of the space echoing through, it seems quieter now to Billy without her beautiful voice, and he watches until her guitar case is closed and she passes it off the stage to her older bandmate who was helping collect the instruments.

As a matter of fact, he was staring into his whiskey and debating on whether or not he should even bother trying to talk to her when he's blessed by hearing her pretty voice again.

"Excuse me, miss!"

She's calling out to the busy bartender, leaning over the wood surface and resting her arm across it in front of her.

Now or never, Billy supposed.

"You've got quite the voice," He comments, voice rich and dripping with his unique mish-mash of accents- never having quite committed to one from moving around so much in his youth. "I'd wager you could melt even the coldest of hearts."

She turns her head to look at him, giving up attracting the attention of the barkeep. Up close, her eyes pull him in deeper.

"I'm Billy." He continues, extending a hand to her. It was out of character for him immediately- to offer up his name to someone he'd just met without them asking, but something about her made him unafraid to do so. Or... it was the unfamiliar jitters of nerves lowering his inhibitions.

A smile tugs at your lips as you quickly look him over, recognizing him as the man who had been leaning against the back wall while you were performing. You give his hand a quick and polite shake before responding.

"Y/N." You introduce yourself with a smile, despite having just done so on stage. "Was your heart cold 'til tonight then, Billy? Is that what I'm hearin'?"

"It was pretty cold." He admits, laughing. "But it seems like I've stumbled across just the fire to warm it up."

He looks you over again subtly, taking in how you still seem almost a little breathless from the performance you had just finished. It's interrupted by you laughing, shoulders shrugging as you adjust your top a bit, rolling up your sleeves.

"That's a good one, I must say." You giggle, shaking your head.

"Thanks, came up with it myself." Billy chuckles, mindlessly tapping at his almost empty glass. He figured he should at least come by it honestly if you were going to pick up on him so quick. "Tell me something, though. You're not from here, are ya? What brought you in? This isn't exactly the centre of the entertainment industry."

You look around at his final statement, nodding a bit in agreement. "Well, we're musicians by trade- travel about as we see fit. We're not really... city folks." You answer, looking back over your shoulder toward your band as they pack up and the kids play around on the stage.

"I hear that." Billy agrees, following your gaze. "Cities are too cramped for me."

"A bit of fresh air is good for the soul." You hum as you watch little Harvey and Josie chase each other around and behind the wooden stage and Max tries to wrangle them up. Business as usual.

Billy smiles as his eyes drift from the kids back over to you, letting your statement settle in before he spoke again. "Could I buy you a drink?"

You turn back to him again and nod, your smile returning in full. "I was waitin' for you to ask." You grin, waving again for the bartender who this time sees you and begins to make her way over.

He's a little shocked by your confidence in eagerly accepting a drink, but it just makes him more intrigued as he tilts his head at you. "Alright, then, darlin', what's your poison?" He asks, sliding over his glass and nodding to the woman running the bar for a refill of his whiskey.

"Water with a shot of warm honey aside, if ya got it." You smile to the bartender instead of answering Billy directly. "Please and thank you."

You had always had men offering to buy you drinks after your little shows, this wasn't anything new, but you always found a little bit of fun in seeing their subtle reactions to you ordering your water. Sometimes disappointment, occasionally even anger- but this Billy was the first one to ever smile.

"Well ain't you a fancy one." He chuckles, a small smirk on his face as his glass slides back to him over the countertop and he takes it with a nod of thank you to the woman behind the bar. "You one of those religious temperance girls?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.

Your nose scrunches up in response to the thought alone and you shake your head. "Nah." You take the cup of water and the shot glass full of warm honey from the bartender and thank her again quietly. "Just a girl who's overindulged herself one too many times."

Billy takes a sip of his whiskey and nods, watching curiously as you take the honey shot and lick the sweet liquid off your lips delicately.

In theory, that sounded so messy- but you handled it with such grace it honestly could have blown his mind. You must do that often.

"A bit of restraint never hurt anyone." He agrees, watching you dip your finger into what honey clung to the inside of the tiny cup and lick it off your finger before taking your first sip of water to rinse it down. "Hell, sometimes I could use more myself."

You shrug and let out a small laugh at his little joke, looking over at him again and smile as the sounds of the bar are swallowed by the invisible bell jar that seems to have engulfed you both.

"You, uh..." Billy speaks again after a moment, shaking his head a bit to clear his mind. "That song, you write it?"

"That I did." You smile proudly, nodding.

"Ah," He nods, spinning the glass on the counter in front of him. "So, I should ask, do you really have the devil in you?"

The reference to your lyrics makes you smile more and you shrug, taking another sip of your water. "I'd sure hope so." You tease. "I sold my soul to him in an even exchange for our music."

"So your voice is the devil's work, hey?" He laughed, sipping at his glass of whiskey once again.

He took a moment to study you, the way you wiped the inside of the shot glass clean with one delicate finger and licked it free of the stickiness. It drove him crazy just to look at you.

He leaned in a little closer as he continued. "Or are you saying that the whole you is the devil's work? Because I'd agree that you're certainly a little bit of trouble. As the song said, of course."

"That's certainly what I've heard." You giggle, shrugging softly as you put the empty shot glass down. "But I promise you I get into no trouble. We keep to ourselves, The Covey and me."

He smiled at you, the hint of mischief that danced in your eyes, that smile on your face sending chills up his spine.

"Well," He says, leaning in close to you, "You know what they say. The best things in life are dangerous. At least, I'm sure I've heard that somewhere." He chuckles a bit and it comes across with a hint of nervousness as he leans back away from you, not wanting to come across as too forward.

"Says the man with a gun on his hip and two in his coat." You say with a small smirk, nodding toward the inside of his jacket where he had hidden weapons.

He chuckled, admiring your perceptiveness.

There was an understanding about you, one that he was coming to enjoy. It was a quality that was hard to put his finger on.

All he knew was what he had at first glance; a gut instinct about you that screamed, "this will be worth it."

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes glued to your own. "You notice everything."

"Trick of the trade." You shrug, bringing your glass up to your lips again and not looking away from him either.

"What trade?" He asks with a slightly confused laugh. "Does singin' come along with a lot of gunfights or..?"

For the first time while interacting with men at these saloons all across the country, you laughed at one of their jokes. For the first time, it was genuine.

It even catches the ears of your band, who give each other confused but knowing looks as Billy's eyes light up with your laughter, knowing he prompted it to fall from your beautiful lips.

"I didn't take you for a funny one, Billy." You admit after a moment, still giggling as your hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"You've got a cute laugh," He said honestly, almost without realizing he'd said it out loud.

He sees your band mates in the corner of his eyes, watching the interaction unfolding before them, and smiled just a little more. He wanted the whole damn saloon to see that he was winning you over right in front of their eyes.

"I could have the worst laugh in the world and you'd still compliment it. You can't trust a man who's tryin' to charm your skirts off." You say, laugh devolving into giggles as you tip your glass toward him.

"Oh, and here I thought my intentions were genuine, and not just to get in your skirts," He said, laughing again. "Is that what you think I am, some kind of creepy bastard with ill intentions?"

You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised that when it's falling from his lips- you actually believe the denial.

"Men often lose themselves in pursuit of provisional pleasures." You comment, tilting your head at him. "It makes it hard to tell when once in a blue moon there's one who means what they say."

He was intrigued. Not necessarily by the comment itself, but more by the intelligence behind those pretty eyes of yours.

He was usually able to play these kinds of games easily, but you seemed to see right through them at every turn.

"Fair play." He says, giving you a nod of acknowledgement, "How do I know I'm the first man you've told that exact little poem to?"

"You just have to trust me." You say with a small smile. "If it helps, I wrote every word in those songs you heard earlier. I only speak when I have somethin' to say, and singin' is much of the same. You don't gotta believe me, but I'll tell you now it's not your wisest move to imply you don't think I'm smart enough to own the words I speak."

He couldn't deny that he had a weak spot for pretty, assertive women. But you were sweet, too, covered in it like the honey you just shot back a few minutes ago.

Those words, that tone, spoke volumes to him.

His lips curled up in a grin, and the tone of his voice took on a slightly more flirtatious edge. "I guess I should just count my lucky stars then. You don't happen to write songs about sweet talking men you meet in nowhere towns, do you?"

"Only about how they're venomous without the correct antidote on hand." You say, leaning against the counter and shifting your weight onto one hip.

He chuckles, his eyes glued on yours, not looking away.

God, he was in trouble.

The alcohol was making him cocky, but he couldn't help the way you made him feel. "And what if I came to you, hat in hand, asking for a cure? Begging you for a cure, because I'd been bitten by this sweet speaking cowgirl who's left me weak at the knees?"

"I'd tell you the nearest damn thing to anti-venom is just to run." You advise him, taking another drink before putting the glass down and sliding it across the bar. "And you'll find the real thing in the next dead end town you call a home, and then the cycle begins again."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Damn it, she had him. He couldn't even argue with that one.

He wanted to kiss her so bad right now, respectfully, of course, but he knew he should wait for some kind of signal from her. So instead he played it cool, grinning back at her.

"Okay, okay. What if," He said, watching with a smile as you raised an eyebrow at him over the edge of your glass, waiting for him to continue while you polished off your water. "And I'm just saying hypothetical here, theoretically, if he promised to stay in that next dinky ass town for a month just to see the woman he fell for again?"

"Then that would make you a fool." You answer. "Theoretically, of course." You add with a wink, standing up straight again.

You wanted to stay, to talk until last call and learn all his secrets- but you knew better than to fall for it all.

"Well, it sure was nice to meet you, Billy."

His heart drops at the words and he sighs, his expression softening as he saw you standing up from the bar.

He should keep it casual, he reminded himself. Be nice. Don't mess this up.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, darlin'." He stood up again slowly, his eyes lingering on yours for a few seconds, before he spoke again. "I hope we run into each other again, if only for a moment. Take care of yourself, Miss..."

"I don't doubt we will." You smile, giving him a small punctuating bow as your bandmates wave you back over.

You glance back at him over your shoulder as you walk away, giving him one of your winning smiles before picking up your guitar case and following your friends out the back door.

Billy stood there in the saloon for a few moments, watching you go with a wistful, almost regretful look on his face.

There was something about you that made him want to do stupid things.

"Run after her," his other half shouted. "I don't care if you look like a damn fool."

But he just stood there, like a damn fool, until he finally shook his head and muttered to himself. "Damn it."

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[fujoshirat]

+Strawberry Magic! ♡ 30 Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!♡+

Chapter 2: An Extra Boost

Summary: When virgin Pro Hero Shouto turns 30, he gains the magical ability to read the minds of people that he touches. After finding out that his personal assistant has a crush on him, everything changes and Shouto finds himself lost in the stressful game called love.

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: aged up characters, mention of virginity, as usual: this entire fic is and will be written in Shouto's POV. HOWEVER... there is a short reader's POV in this chapter so I hope you enjoy it (hehe)

"Todoroki-san, are you alright?"

The sound of Y/N's voice snaps Shouto out of his dazed state. What was he doing again? Oh right, walking her to the subway. The soft splash of shoes stepping into rain puddles fill Shouto's ears, the rain having stopped a few minutes ago.

"Ah, yes. Sorry, I was just thinking about something."

Y/N nods and continues walking with her boss. After a few minutes, the covered stairs to the subway become visible, quickly bringing a smile to Y/N's face.

"There it is!" Shouto nods and escorts her to the entrance. Stepping under the covering, Y/N turns to Shouto and bows.

"Thank you once again, Todoroki-san! I hope you didn't mind the detour on the way." Shouto shakes his head. "It's quite alright, L/N-san. It's the least I can do for my assistant."

He makes sure that she goes down the stairs, and once she is out of sight, he walks in the direction of his house.

...

After tossing together chicken and whatever vegetables he could find in the fridge, Shouto begins his research. Busy typing away on his personal laptop and halfheartedly eating his dinner, he types the following:

Cherry magic 30 years of virginity can make you a wizard

What happens when you turn 30

Mysterious happenings at 30 years old

Is it possible to read minds

Development of mind reading quirk at 30

Mind reading at 30

Hand crushing and mind reading

Am I possessed?

Finishing his food, Shouto groans when his research hits a dead end.

'I don't understand! Has no one ever experienced this before?' Turning his laptop off, he looks at his reflection in the dark screen.

'Maybe I'm just being silly. It's all in my head.'

...

Spoiler alert: he was not being silly. Shouto really could read minds.

Reaching the scene where a villain infamously known for kidnapping women was on the loose, he looks at his interns behind him.

"Mitsuru, Tsubasa, evacuate the area and check for any others who may need assistance."

"Yes sir!"

As the high school students spread out, Shouto faces the villain chasing after adolescent girls. With his right side, he encases the distracted man in frigid, freezing ice. Once he is rendered immobile, he walks up to him.

"If you don't wish to catch frostbite before being sent to prison, I suggest you tell me where your victims are." The twisted criminal laughs and smirks.

"Why would I tell you?"

Shouto's left side flares up slightly and places his hand on the man's head, eliciting a yelp from him.

"Okay! Okay! Fine! I'll tell you! They're in Yokohama, by the river!" Nodding, Shouto is about to remove his hand when suddenly he hears a voice in his head.

'Stupid pro hero Shouto! The guy doesn't realize I'm lying straight to his face! The dumb chicks are still in Hosu City! He'll never find Club Diamond.'

His eyes widen slightly, and he lets go of the man's face. The police arrive just in time, and the city detective walks up to Shouto.

"Pro hero Shouto! Thanks for taking care of him."

"Ah, it's no problem, Matsuyama-san." The shorter man smiles and takes out his notebook. "Did the villain say anything about the missing women?" Shouto looks at the criminal being escorted into a police van. Once he is out of earshot, he turns back to Matsuyama and speaks.

"Can you find a Club Diamond? In Hosu City."

♡ 3 hours later ♡

"Good evening, I am your reporter, Muramoto Kozue, and here is Tokyo's latest headline news. At around noon, pro hero Shouto and Hosu City's lead detective solved the puzzling disappearance of women in the area. Having rescued five women no older than 26, pro hero Shoto also apprehended the criminal."

Holding her microphone, the news reporter turns to Shouto.

"Pro hero Shouto, eyewitnesses have stated that the villain told you that the women were in Yokohama. What made you decide to check our own city, no less a club?"

Taking a silent breath, Shouto speaks into the microphone the sentences that he practiced in his head.

"No villain would truly be upfront with information that heroes want. With the way that he told me the supposed location of the victims without hesitating as well as his refusal to make eye contact with me were signs that he was lying. Also, the alleyway that the Diamond Club is located in has been known for crime and sketchy mishaps."

'Signs my ass, I knew all of this because of this weird mind reading ability.' Nodding, the reporter looks back at the camera.

"Well, there you have it! Shouto-san, thank you once again for your efforts in keeping Hosu City safe. I'm Muramoto Kozue and this is your latest report on what has just gone down in Tokyo. Signing off." The camera shuts off and the cameraman gives the thumbs up. Shouto bows to the report crew and walks over to his interns on the side.

"Sensei! You were so cool!"

"Sir, I would have never guessed that the victims were in Hosu City!"

Shouto waves his left hand. "It was nothing really. Thank you two for escorting all of the victims. I heard from Matsuyama-san that you both assisted well." Reaching a vacant taxi, he gestures for the boys to enter.

"We did good today. The agency's around 20 minutes away on foot, and since you boys did a lot today, we can take a taxi."

His interns cheer in unison.

"Thank you, sir!"

...

"L/N-san! Is it okay if I ask a few questions? It's about my report."

"Of course!" Y/N walks over to Mitsuru, who appears to be struggling with his report. Tsubasa speaks up.

"L/N-san, what's it like being a secretary?"

"Hm? Well, it's a lot of work, especially here at this busy agency. I'm sure you both see me, running around the building, negotiating, answering phones, collecting and looking over reports, deliv-"

"Buying coffee for sensei!"

Y/N blinks slowly at the younger boy, then starts laughing. Tsubasa snickers in the background.

"B-buying coffee? For Todoroki-san?"

Mitsuru's cheeks turn red. "My bad, L/N-san! It's just- you always buy coffee for Todoroki-san. Do all secretaries do that?" The other intern nods. "L/N-san does always seem to get sensei coffee." Y/N chuckles.

"I guess it's been a habit for me to buy Todoroki-san coffee. I mean, ever since he hired me, I've always bought him his coffee in the morning!" She starts giggling.

"Do you boys want to hear a story?"

"Yes! Yes!"

She stands between them and starts whispering.

"So one time, I had an appointment in the morning one day..."

...

When Shouto exits the elevator, he hears giggling. Turning to the desks, he sees Y/N huddled with the high schoolers. Leaning over her shoulder, his frame towering hers, he speaks up.

"What are you doing?"

Y/N yelps and turns her head. "Oh! Todoroki-san! I was just bonding with our interns!" She giggles and winks at the boys.

'L/N-san has a pretty laugh', Shouto thinks.

"L/N-san was telling us about the time when the agency was turned upside down because you didn't get your morning coff-!"

"Shh! Mitsuru! How could you betray me like that? After I trusted you with such a delicate secret... Boohoo.." She sniffles, teasing the intern and slip up.

"Mitsuru!" Tsubasa hisses. "You're such an airhead!"

"My bad! Me and my big mouth..."

Shouto chuckles and looks at Y/N, who has a smile adorning her face. "I was helping them with their reports, and I wanted to tell them one of our agency's very fun stories." "And you decided to tell them the story that could destroy the grand image that the two of them have of me?" Shouto jests lightly, the corners of his mouth curved upwards at the thought of the memory.

"That day was the day that everyone in the agency realized that we couldn't function without L/N-san. L/N-san is a very important person here, so please treat her nicely."

"Oh please," Y/N's cheeks turn pink. "the interns are absolute sweethearts and I really only focus on management, PR, finance, meetin-" All three boys look at Y/N, and she laughs sheepishly.

'Y/N has a very pretty laugh,' Shouto thinks again.

"Okay, maybe I do do a lot. But it's worth it! I love the agency and do not want to incur the wrath of my boss without coffee!"

"I wasn't that bad!" Shouto huffs playfully, his left hand resting on Tsubasa's chair.

"Mhm, whatever you say, Todoroki-san."

Shouto lets out a soft laugh-

And then,

he hears Tsubasa's voice in his head.

'L/N-san and sensei act like a married couple. Are they dating?'

...

After clocking out, Shouto goes home. Once he finishes eating dinner, he takes a shower and lays on his bed.

'Today was... interesting.' Looking at his hands, he smiles softly. 'This mind reading ability was really helpful today. I didn't expect the women to still be in Hosu City. Maybe this mind reading thing is a good thing.'

'L/N-san and sensei act like a married couple. Are they dating?'

'Do L/N-san and I act like a married couple? Well... I do think her laugh is pretty.'

'Oh god, I like him so much.'

Shouto's eyebrows scrunch together 'What L/N-san said yesterday... What did she mean by *like*? Was it admiration? Approval?'

Shouto's eyes widen and his cheeks turn pink.

'No way.'

Gaining an idea, he grabs his phone and opens Line. Clicking on the groupchat consisting of two other members, he swiftly types out a message. He sends it out, anxiously waiting for a response.

Kushikatsu. 7:30

-6:42pm

'L/N-san has a pretty laugh.'

A/N: That's it for chapter 2! Can you guess who Shouto messaged at the end? The little reader POV was completely unplanned so it was a surprise to me too when I was writing this OwO I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Once again, thank you everyone who has being showing interest and support in this series so far <3 If you haven't already, you should definitely check out Yuu Toyota's Cherry Magic! series which greatly inspired this series!!!

Also, I'm starting a taglist for this so if you wanna be tagged, just let me know in the replys/comments :] I didn't realize the amount of people that would actually read this messy fic, so I obviously I didn't plan on making a taglist but here we are!! (i'll figure it out eventually, i promise) ^^ Chapter 3 is in the works, so once again thank you all and I hope you all look forward to that ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

~entire fic and notes written by me: fujoshirat!

TAGLIST (thank u!!): @boogiemansbitch

[lyrashifts]

. . . INTRODUCING MY MARAUDERS DR !

ABOUT : this dr is set in the 70s, and begins during my first year at hogwarts. it strays quite far from the actual events of the marauders era, and instead merges with the plot of the lighting era. in this dr, me and my friends work against prejudices and an upcoming war, as well as a very dangerous voldemort on the rise.

౨ৎ﹕[ ABOUT ME ! ]

+ name : lyra a. lavigne

+ nationality : english-french

+ birthplace : cambridge, england

+ languages : english, french

+ blood status : pureblood

+ house : gryffindor

+ moodboard

౨ৎ﹕[ PERSONALITY ! ]

+ likes : writing, playing the guitar, drawing, reading, theater, cookies, poetry, magical creatures and animals, going on long walks, baking, being better dressed than everyone else, jumpers, rainy days, shopping (especially for music and clothes), hozier, queen, david bowie, the smiths, little women, lemon iced tea, stealing james's invisibility cloak, pranking (and actually getting away with it)

+ known for : converse, cherry red, loving 90s muggle movies, being best friends with remus, reading at social events when bored, drinking too much coffee, having cool hair, my style, quoting dead poets society daily, leather jackets, liking hozier and the smiths way too much, being an amazing gift giver, having a new hairstyle every day, being nice to everyone unless they cross me, smelling like cinnamon, coffee, and books, being amazing at school and magic, somehow getting every lead role in plays, wearing jumpers and leather jackets in the dead of summer and not somehow overheating to the point of death

౨ৎ﹕[ BACKSTORY ! ]

+ backstory : i grew up in england where a lot of my family was but by the time i turned 13 we moved to scotland, partially to attend hogwarts and partially because my parents wanted to get away from some of our pureblood family members. my parents, though from a notable pureblood family, don't agree with the views of pureblood culture. because my parents' reputation for their last name still upheld, when we moved we were invited to an event that ended up just being a pureblood society ball. we only stayed out of politeness, but it was there that i met sirius and promised to be best friends with him when we got to hogwarts since we both hated the party.

౨ৎ﹕[ WARDROBE ! ]

+ description : my style in this dr can change a lot, especially taking into consideration the weather or location i'm in. in terms of colors, i wear a lot of neutrals but tend to have a specific color pop (which oftentimes a cherry red). during winter and autumn months, i am often wearing oversized jumpers (whether mine or stolen from remus). i also almost always wear flared or baggy pants. some of my iconic pieces include leather jackets, doc martens, band tees, baker boy hats, plaid skirts, and more. during the summer i tend to wear baby tees and babydoll tops, along with skirts. with my uniform, i pair many accessories to make it look as appealing as possible, and use magic to have different nails every day.

౨ৎ﹕[ LIFE AT HOGWARTS ! ]

+ general : students start first year at 14, so it is a sort of hybrid between highschool and university, where students have much more freedom once 18. school uniforms are only required during classes from monday - thursday, and on friday you may wear your desired outfit underneath your robes.

+ dorms : students are allocated private dorms that have within them a bed, a desk, a private bathroom, and more. once a student is assigned to a dorm, the dorm changes to accommodate that student's taste. once you are given your dorm number, you must choose a password and it is your responsibility to ensure students you do not want to come in cannot. in the case that a student knows your password and you do not want them to, you can ask a professor to change it and they will do so. alohomora will not unlock dorm rooms. dorms are organized by house, but boy's and girl's dorms are not separated - everything is instead organized by house and name.

+ extra-curriculars : the clubs i am part of include music club (which later inspires me and my friends to make a band), theater club, art club, care of magical creatures club, and in later years, the quidditch team

+ houses : the animosity between houses (especially slytherin and gryffindor) is not nearly as prevalent as depicted in the books. it is known that not all students in one house are the same, and so, while some friendly competition is encouraged, it is not uncommon to have friends from every house. students of every house are allowed into the common rooms and dorms (with permission of at least one person from that house).

+ events : all the events featured in this post are included in this dr

౨ৎ﹕[ ABOUT THIS DR ! ]

+ worldbuilding : not a lot changes about the war except for the fact that it's toned down and ends during my seventh year (which we redo since it would be similar to the last year in the harry potter books - looking for horcruxes without actually being at hogwarts). of course, none of my friends die. i haven't accounted for how the war will end exactly, so i suppose i'll let that work itself out organically.

+ main friends : remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, lily evans, regulus black, marlene mckinnon, mary macdonald.

+ relationships : i am a formal part of both the marauders and the valkyries. i became friends with the marauders at the start of the school year, and we were consequently established as a friend group before me and the girls. i tend to spend more time with the marauders but our groups often mingle since everyone gets along (except maybe lily and james at the beginning). i also have some friends in slytherin, such as andromeda and regulus, but i tend to stay away from the anti-muggleborn students.

[clubdionysus]

[THE FIRST BAD DECISION] Prologue

warnings: alcohol, partying, kissing strangers

wc: 2.4k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

Jeon Jeongguk looks devastatingly pretty with cherry-red lips. Smudged and a little faded, they leave the faintest mark on the end of his cigarette—a bad habit, he knows, but one that he picked up as an excuse to flirt with a girl whose lips are far more crimson than his.

Of course they are, though. How else would she stain him in evidence of her existence if they weren't?

Even when he's tarnished in her, there's no evidence of him on her. Nothing to tell new acquaintances to stay away—and Hayun loves making new friends.

A bottle of Jack rests by his feet. Neat. A little lukewarm. Ass perched on the curb outside a house just off campus, he's in no mood to get himself embroiled in the debauchery he knows his friends are partaking in. Just wants to clear his head.

Foolishly hopes she'll do the same. That she'll notice his absence. That her heart will ache like his currently is.

In their final year of studies, his friends are all letting loose for the final time before they have to cram for finals. It's a night of celebration. Of last-chances. Of opportunities that won't present themselves again for a good few lunar orbits.

And so while he may not have the same restrictions, having started his studies a little later than scheduled, he's been making the most of it with them.

Quiet kisses hidden from his friends are fun. He likes them. Loves them, even.

But to then watch her very publicly let a guy make moves on her? To make moves back?

Feels fuckin' awful.

"Oh, you know what?" A voice echoes from the porch of the house behind him. "You can take her violin and shove it up your ass, you ostentatious, pseudo-intellectual prick."

It's a little twisted, but it brings Jeongguk comfort to know he isn't the only one with a shitty excuse for a love life. Knows he shouldn't listen in—but fuck it.

"Where does she keep her violin, huh? In your trousers? 'Cause that's the only way that what I just saw and what you're saying could even possibly correlate," the girl continues, unrelenting in the way she dictates her speech. Barely lets her partner get a word in edge-ways. "No? She not a tiny violin specialist? The rooms aren't that dark, dickhead."

He thinks the tirade is over, but finds himself laughing when he hears, "And not to brag, but my last eye exam went exceptionally well, so don't you dare try and tell me I was seeing shit. Twenty-twenty vision, baby."

It's easy to tell whoever is speaking is deliberating adding a little dramatic flare to their words. Is definitely drunk. Is also definitely not afraid of standing her ground.

Glancing over his shoulder as he stubs out his cigarette, he's surprised to see the girl—you—on the phone instead of confronting someone in person.

In a pretty little party dress, you're just the right combination of hot mess. Even from a fair distance away, he can notice the glitter all over your skin. Not really his type—so different from Hayun—but there's something about you. Something that intrigues him. Makes it hard to look away.

"She could be fuckin' Vivaldi for all I care!" You seethe into your phone. "Does it sound like I give a shit if she's the best in her class? You want me to give her a gold medal or something? Don't piss me off. Prick."

Jeongguk would argue that you're already pissed off. With a tone of voice like that, you must be.

There's a final curse, and then your phone is almost thrown across the front lawn. Almost. You know better. Know that you can't afford to replace the screen if you shatter it. Instead, you have to grit your teeth and scream.

It's only once you finish your venting of frustration that you notice a pair of starry eyes on you.

Raising your brows, you shake your head in his direction. "Can I help?"

And then he fucking laughs. Shrugs. Is pleased to see it makes you smile, too.

"Really hate violin, don't you?"

Shaking your head, far kinder this time, you sigh. "Don't have much of an opinion on them. Not unless it's the strings in the intro of Untouched by The Veronicas. In that case, the violin is the greatest instrument known to man."

"Untouched? The Veronicas?" he laughs, suddenly reminded of a song he hasn't heard in years. "Didn't realise it was still 2005."

"Hey, don't be judgy," you say as you walk towards him, perching down on the curbside, too. "It's a classic."

"Never said it wasn't," he defends, reaching down for his bottle of Jack and offering it over to you. "Boyfriend trouble?"

Shaking your head, you decide that unloading your problems onto a stranger is exactly what this night calls for.

"Girl I've been seeing. Wasn't that serious." Nodding towards the bottle you add, "You first."

"Seemed pretty serious," he mumbles, before swigging down his whiskey. Jack is shit, in his opinion, but it's cheap and it gets the job done. Clearing his throat with a small 'ah', he holds it back over for you to take. "Satisfied?"

You don't vocalise a response—but you do take the bottle from him and ignore the burn as it races down your throat. Of everything you'd choose to drink, Jack Daniels would not be it. You like fruity things. Had been on vodka cranberry juice all night.

"Wasn't serious," you double down, then shrug. "Can't let people think they can get away with bad behaviour, though. Let them do it once, and they'll do it again and again."

It's something you're adamant about. Something you'll do well to remember.

"Anyway, you know why I'm out here like a miserable bitch," you continue as you pass the bottle back. "What brings you here?"

"Something similar."

It's only now that you really take him in for all that he is.

Same age as you, you think, judging by his build. Though his shoulders are broad, he hasn't properly filled out yet—he's trying, though. You can see the definition in his arms. His shoulders. Clearly is trying to shape himself into a man. No longer a teenager, but not really an adult. With eyes like that, though, he'll always look a little younger than he is. His dark hair waves around his features, so casually undone you know he must have put a lot of effort into it. It's sweet.

He tries, and that's more than can be said for most of the boys at the party.

"It doesn't suit you," you tell him.

"Hm?"

"The red lipstick," you nod towards the sheen on his lips. There's a little on his neck, too. His T-shirt is black, but you imagine there's some there, as well. "You'd look better without it."

"It's not mine."

"Guessed as much," you softly smile. "So what, then? Your girlie pissed all over her territory? So no one else would approach you? Then decided she wanted to play elsewhere?"

"Something like that."

"Girlfriend?"

Jeongguk just shrugs. Tells the truth, even if it feels like a lie. "Just friends."

"You kiss all your friends?"

"Just one."

"Ouch," you wince. Friends-with-benefits situations are dumb, you think. Wouldn't ever wanna end up in one. Know they end in unbearable heartbreak. "That's rough."

He nods. Knows how it'll end, too, even if he's been trying to tell himself otherwise.

"Well, we're friends, now," you declare, definitely too drunk to be making good decisions. "You and me. Have bonded over terrible people doing terrible things."

He wants to tell you that Hayun isn't terrible.

Instead, he raises a brow at your fledgling—and fleeting—friendship.

"If she's off making new friends, then maybe you should consider kissing your other friends," you playfully shrug, knowing better than to get involved in a situation like this. "Y'know... make it even."

And Jeongguk is well aware he shouldn't indulge in your flirt, but he's hurting. Wants to feel wanted—and the way you're looking at him? He can't remember the last time Hayun looked at him like that.

The way you see it, you'll never see this man again. You could both do with a little pick-me-up. Confirmation that life goes on, even if the people you date are awful.

A kiss is just a kiss.

Or at least, for now, it is. One day, you'll develop a complex. Blame Seokjin.

But you're yet to meet him. Yet to unlearn all your rules and make far feebler, more pathetic ones in their place.

"Y'know, you're kinda cute," you whisper, edging closer ever so slightly.

"Kinda?" He tweaks a brow, eyes not on yours, but on your lips. There's a little glitter in your gloss. Think maybe it'll suit him better.

"Mhmm," you hum, reaching up to lightly trace your thumb across his bottom lip, ridding him of a little bit of his very own red flag. "Kinda. Never kissed a guy with a lip piercing."

Just a stud, he's only had it a little while. Was trying to make himself look a little older. Sharper. Light from the house catches in it as your thumb pulls back - but Jeongguk pulls closer. Nudges his nose against yours. Holds it there for a second.

"Maybe I should take one for the team," he husks, lips brushing yours. "Just so you know what it's like."

Nodding, you let your nose stroke against his. "You'd be such a good friend if you did."

Lips parted, the end of your sentence grants him permission to sink his lips between yours. Slow as he does so, Jeongguk's scared of fucking it up.

Hasn't kissed anyone that isn't Hayun for months, now. Isn't even sure he knows how to.

And yet as soon as you press down into the kiss, his mind is void of her. Totally blank. Pitch black, until the faintest of stars begin to appear. Sparkle. Shine.

There's a sweetness to you, even despite the whiskey. Maybe it's the cranberry juice. Maybe it's your lip gloss. Jeongguk doesn't have the mental capacity to decipher it, for he can feel your tongue stroking across his bottom lip—and then he's granting permission. Inviting you into his mouth. Stroking his tongue against yours, as if he's in the privacy of the party bathroom—not out front for everyone to see.

Shamelessly, he almost wants Hayun to see—but as quickly as a thought of her intrudes, it's replaced by the way you feel. It makes him pull you closer. Gets him whining into your mouth. Makes you smile.

It's confirmation that there's nothing wrong with you; that the girl you were seeing really was just a dickhead.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you slowly push him away. Are reluctant to finish kissing him. In fact, even as you push him back, your body follows, until you force yourself to pull back.

"There," you smile, a little infatuated with how sparkly his eyes appear. "Now you're even."

"We can make it odd, again, if you want," Jeongguk offers, far bolder than even he realises. Just doesn't wanna stop kissing you. Maybe it's just the whiskey. Yeah. He'll blame it on that.

"That's a bad decision waiting to happen," you laugh, getting to your feet, because you don't trust yourself to stay. "My purpose is served. Friends don't fuck you over. Stop wasting your kisses on people who are gonna fuck you over."

Your message is clear: she's not your friend.

It's a lesson he'll learn far too late in life.

"But you're ditching me?" He says as you begin to walk away. "That's not friendly!"

For a girl who should really be wallowing in self-pity, you're surprisingly chirpy. Jeongguk envies it. Wishes he could stop caring in the way that he does —he just doesn't realise your situationship really was as simple as they're supposed to be. The feelings were yet to fully develop.

If love is a choice—which you think, to a degree, it is—then before it can develop, choices have to be made. Your partner is supposed to choose you. The girl you'd been seeing has just demonstrated that she wouldn't choose you, and so why should you choose her?

Life is simpler before Seokjin; before you really know what it is to love.

Or, to love, and to not be chosen.

To choose, even when you're never chosen.

Sort of like how Jeongguk is, now.

"I'm doing you a favour!" You call back, tipsy smile just as radiant as you seem to be. You're jovial in your tone, and the attitude rubs off on him. Gets him smiling, too. "Saving you from yourself. If I kiss you again, you'll fall in love, baby. They always do!"

The way you jet off is spritely. Happy. Abundantly clear that you're yet to know what heartbreak really feels like.

The girl getting a little too friendly with the star violinist will be long forgotten by the time you meet Jeongguk once again, and so will he. In fact, the scar left by Seokjin manages to mangle just about all of your romantic memories prior to him.

You'll become folklore; a girl Jeongguk doesn't know the name of, but who Hayun is pretty sure is legally named 'Desperate Skank'. Someone they argue about on a few too many occasions. A memory he barely remembers, but in the heat of their drunken fight later that evening became a permanent sticking spot in their situationship.

'Cause while Hayun was off making friends, that's all she was doing. Getting numbers. Getting a little touchy-feely. Getting her ego stroked. Getting zero kisses, because she had been reserving them for him.

Why she was only making friends with six-foot-something muscle pigs with more protein powder in their system than common sense is another thing they'll argue about—but he's the one in the wrong this time, or so she makes sure to tell him.

He'll think of you sometimes. The memory will be hazy. Blurry, like driving down a midnight highway with astigmatism.

He'll think of you, and he'll see stars.

And when he sees you again in the dark of Dionysus a few years later, with no recollection of who you are, his brain will scream at him. Beg him to remember.

He won't.

But he will, inevitably, see stars once more. 

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[hbyrde36]

Caught in the Undertow

Chapter Five

WC: 4574 | R: Explicit | TW: Suicidal ideation/depression | Ch 5/10 | AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 <-

There may actually be something to this whole talking about it thing, Eddie thought as he leaned against the wood siding of Steve’s house, pulling smoke into his lungs from the first cigarette he’d had in days as he gazed out over the covered pool and at the trees beyond.

He felt… lighter somehow. 

Not like all the bad stuff inside him was gone exactly, but more like he wasn’t carrying it alone anymore. 

He’d played with fire earlier though, coming out to Steve like that. A bit of self destructive tendencies come back to rear their ugly head for a moment, he supposed. Or maybe, once you’ve opened yourself up to someone, told them you think about dying on a semi-regular basis, telling them you like to suck cock wasn’t that big a deal.

And Steve had been… kind, accepting.

Perfect. 

Eddie flicked a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette as the glass door to his left slid open, and Steve stepped out onto the patio. He joined Eddie wordlessly, taking up a post right next to him, propped up against the house, close enough to bump their shoulders together. 

Eddie’s stomach did a little flip at the touch, the skin under his sleeve growing hot.

The thing about finally snapping out of it, about feeling better, was that now he could feel everything again. Those flutters he’d had all through that week in March whenever Steve’s eyes met his, or his hands reached out to offer a reassuring touch. Whenever Eddie swayed into his space and Steve didn’t move away.  

Yeah.

Those butterflies had reawakened the moment Steve burst into his room all pent up and pissed off this morning, and taken flight with a vengeance when Steve had let him take care of him, let Eddie cradle him in his lap while he worked through the worst of his migraine.

Ah well. 

It wouldn't be his first crush on an unattainable straight guy, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. He’d get over it. He wouldn’t subject anyone to a… relationship with someone like him anyway, least of all Steve. 

Eddie slipped the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, half-heartedly holding it out to the other boy in offering, surprised when Steve dipped his head in thanks and took it.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Eddie said, the white smoke coming off the end of his own still burning cigarette curling around them as it bobbed between his lips.

Steve shrugged, tapping one out of the pack with a practiced hand. “I don’t much anymore.”

Passing over his lighter, Eddie raised a questioning brow.

“Robin hates it, but I still sneak one every once in a while when she’s not around.” Steve flicked the little wheel half a dozen times but the lighter refused to catch.

Eddie patted his jacket pockets, sure that he had another stashed somewhere, but froze as Steve leaned in close.

“Do you mind if I…?” Steve said softly around the unlit cigarette still hanging from his mouth, reaching out to steady himself with a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

Eddie stopped breathing. 

They stared into each other’s eyes, faces only inches apart as Steve touched the tip of his own smoke to the still burning cherry on the end of Eddie’s. The flare of light when Steve inhaled to make it catch illuminated his face like candlelight, making his captivating hazel eyes even prettier somehow. 

It was Eddie who moved back first. Who broke the stare and the moment, his heart thumping so loudly against the walls of his chest that if he didn’t Steve might hear, and know it was beating for him. 

He leaned back against the side of the house and resumed staring out into the darkening sky as dusk turned to night, and tried to regain his composure. 

Steve cleared his throat, mirroring Eddie’s position in turn, his attention back on their shared view. 

“Must be nice out here in the summer. I bet the gremlins bug you to use the pool all the time,” Eddie said after a while. 

“They’ve asked, but, uh...” Steve reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I haven’t opened it since ‘83.”

It took Eddie a second to remember why that year held such significance. When he did he still couldn’t fathom the connection between Steve’s pool and Will’s disappearance into the Upside Down, but surely it wasn’t good. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to like,” Eddie waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the pool, waffling as he pinched the last little stub of his cigarette between his fingers to snuff it out. “I didn’t know.”

“No, man. It’s—it’s okay. I hadn’t thought about it, but there's probably so much you don’t know still.”

“Only the basics. There wasn’t time for Dustin to really fill me in before, and it’s not like I’ve given him much of a chance since.”

Steve hummed in acknowledgment, but was quiet for long enough that Eddie wasn’t sure if he was done talking for the night, or if Steve was simply working up to it. Either way he wouldn’t push, letting a companionable silence settle between them.

“Barb Holland.”

The two words rang out like a bell in the quiet air, deep and affecting. Steve paused to take a long drag from his cigarette, blowing out a thick plume of smoke with his head tossed back.  “She was Nancy’s best friend. They were here one night, after Will… I think a day or two after he went missing? I was—” He squatted down to crush his own cigarette out on the concrete, rubbing at his face as he straightened back up. “God I was so far up my own ass, I don't even know. And of course I was more worried about hooking up with Nancy than what might be out here stalking that poor girl. Demogorgon got her. I didn’t find out till later, but she was pulled through a gate in the pool, and killed on the other side.”

“Shit, Steve.”

Steve gave a little shrug as if to say, it is what it is. “I failed her and Nancy that day, and I've been… trying to make up for it ever since.”

“You were just a kid. You couldn’t have known what was coming for her.”

“I guess not, but that doesn’t make me feel any less haunted by it.”

Eddie shivered, the short hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He felt the same way about Chrissy, sure that it would be much worse if he’d had to go back and live in the same trailer where she died.

“Why did you stay here?”

“I could have left after graduation. Not for college, I never even sent in my application, but my dad took early retirement, and my parents moved to their summer home full time. They wanted me to go with them, but—” 

Steve bowed his head, shaking it. “Everyone was convinced it was over. El closed this gate at the lab, and they got whatever was infecting Will out of him, but I—I couldn’t shake the feeling that it might come back, and I’d be miles away and Dustin would for sure get right in the middle of it and get himself hurt or worse.”

“And you were right.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve breathed.

Eddie ached for him all over again, for the weight of the world he seemed determined to carry.

“I hate this house,” Steve went on. “This whole town really. I’d leave it in a heartbeat if I could.”

“Well it really is over this time, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it finally is.” 

The bike beneath Eddie creaked as he pedaled, going as fast as he could, his thighs and calves screaming that they weren’t made for this, but he had to get the bats away. Every time he looked back the advancing flock were closer and closer. He was so tired, and absolutely fucking terrified, but none of that mattered now.  He had to keep everyone else safe. The trailer was lost from sight when the bats finally caught up, knocking him from the bike, and making him eat shit. He could only hope he’d lured them far enough.  Eddie picked himself up, feeling a bit like he was in a horror movie as he turned slowly, wielding his spear and shield to face the hoard, but the sight that greeted him was far worse than any number of flying monsters. Because it was Dustin, doing his best to run with a pronounced limp.   It didn’t make any sense. How did he even make it out here so fast? Little shit was going to get himself killed. “What are you doing, Henderson?!” Eddie hissed, swinging his shield to knock away one of the demobats as it tried to dive bomb them. “Never split the party!” Dustin shouted, positioning himself behind Eddie so they were back to back, slowly rotating with the swirling cloud of beasts that flew around them.   Eddie didn’t point out the obvious—that they already had split the party, several times in fact, before this moment and Dustin hadn’t had a problem with that. And now he was gonna… Eddie swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. It was hopeless, but he’d do whatever he could to keep that from happening.   They fought tooth and nail, watching each other's backs as they speared, kicked, punched, and dodged, but there were simply too many of the vicious creatures.  Then Dustin’s spear broke. Eddie spun suddenly, curling his body around the younger boy’s, holding his shield up behind Dustin to try and cover him completely. He held strong through the force of the impacts as one-by-one bats slammed into his back… until one of their tails wrapped itself around Eddie’s neck from behind, ripping him away, and dragging him to the ground where a number of its brethren descended on him at once. Through the searing pain of being eaten alive, Eddie still fought, still tried to shake the creatures off and get to Dustin, but his arms were pinned to his sides.  Over the cacophony of screeches and squawks Eddie heard Dustin scream—wordless, high pitched, blood curdling, before something hit the ground hard with a heavy thump at his side. And the screaming stopped. Eddie shouted Dustin’s name over and over, but heard nothing in return. He turned to look as soon as he could, finally able to as the bat that had been feeding on his cheek moved away to search out the meatier flesh of his chest, and wished he hadn’t. The boy’s face was a bloody mask, his unblinking eyes—wide and lifeless. His mouth didn’t move, could not move any longer, but still a voice began calling Eddie’s name. It didn’t sound like Dustin either, it sounded like… “Eddie? Eddie? Can you hear me?”  Steve.

Eddie woke with a gasp to someone gently shaking him as they hovered. To Steve looking down at him, his mouth pinched with worry.

One of Steve’s hands left Eddie’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “It was just a nightmare. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Dustin is fine, everyone is fine.” He spoke so softly, as though he were addressing a frightened wild animal, which in fairness wasn’t too far off. 

Eddie could do nothing but stare at first, still dazed and a little breathless from the absolute nightmare his dream had been, and maybe a little more so for the way Steve was touching him, warm and gentle, but eventually he managed to nod.

Steve gave him a small, sad smile and started to pull away. And before he could stop it, before he could consider what a terrible idea it was, Eddie reached out, gripping tightly onto the hem of Steve’s t-shirt. 

“Stay?” Eddie choked out. He felt like a pathetic baby even asking, but the image of Dustin laying bloody and broken was too fresh, and though it had only been a dream, the very real tears he’d cried in his sleep were still drying on his face, his fresh scars throbbing with the renewed memory of so many tails and teeth. “Just for a little while… please?” 

Steve bit his lip, something unreadable flickering across his face for a second, or maybe it was a trick of the shadows, as he whispered, “scoot over.” 

Forcing himself to let go, Eddie shuffled backwards on his side, raising the covers while Steve slid under, facing him. 

Eddie itched to bury himself in Steve's neck, his chest—to be wrapped up in the safety of his arms, but he was acutely aware of the fact that he'd come out to Steve only a handful of hours ago. So he kept a polite distance, still grateful for the simple comfort of not being alone.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Steve asked, snuggling down into the spare pillow.

“Not really. It was—” Eddie exhaled deeply. Awful? Terrible? Horrifying? None of the words that came to mind were enough. 

Somehow Steve's hand found his under the covers, resting between their bodies, their fingers lacing together automatically. 

“I know.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the feel of Steve’s hand in his instead of the pain of what he’d seen. “How do you deal with it?” 

“I wish I had better advice to offer but I don't think there's much you can do but just get through it.”

“Lovely.” Eddie grumbled, but knew he was lucky the nightmares hadn’t found him till now. He’d barely been sleeping as it was, and when he did he was usually in a blackout, before he came to Steve’s at least. Now he couldn't help wondering if he was in for the same thing he’d heard Steve go through night after night.  

Steve let out a breathy laugh, rubbing his thumb along the back of Eddie’s hand. “Sorry. You just gotta try and go back to sleep when you can, and on the nights when you can’t, find ways to distract yourself.”

Eddie could think of some things he’d like to do to distract himself right now. A few sure fire ways to shut his brain off, and all of it far more pleasurable than laying here and trying to go fall asleep again, but that was too dangerous a line of thought to follow.

It wasn’t long before Steve’s eyes fell shut, his body relaxing, and his breath evening out. Surprisingly, Eddie found himself following close behind, his own eyelids growing heavy as he watched the wrinkles in Steve’s forehead smooth out, their hands still clasped firmly together when he finally drifted off.

Over the next week, he and Steve developed a loose routine of sorts. 

They made breakfast together in the mornings, which really only consisted of Eddie making toast, with butter this time—elevated cuisine—and Steve brewing a pot of coffee on his overly complicated machine that Eddie refused to even touch, before separating for the day. 

As he continued to work on reclaiming himself, Eddie still spent a lot of time hiding away in his borrowed room with his book and his music, and a notepad Steve dug up for him from the bottom of a kitchen drawer. 

He started writing again. 

Struck with inspiration for a new campaign he began taking copious notes, smiling at the idea that he might actually be able to run a game again one day soon. Something that would go a long way towards making up for lost time with so many of the friends he’d been neglecting lately.

When bits of lyric popped into his head he wrote those down too, humming simple tunes he hoped he’d remember later when he actually had a guitar handy to strum them on, his fingers itching to play for the first time since the Upside Down. And tried very hard not to think about the fact that they all sounded a little more like love songs than anything he typically played with the boys in Corroded Coffin. 

Eddie didn’t really know what Steve did with his days, besides talking to Robin on the phone, occasionally checking on him, and cleaning compulsively from the sounds of it, as though someone might show up at any time and expect a spotless house. 

Sometimes he got in his head about it, wondering if Steve was annoyed at being stuck here babysitting. If he was bored. If he’d get tired of waiting for Eddie to be normal and resent him for holding him back. But when Eddie came downstairs each day around five or six to call his uncle, Steve lit up, looking so genuinely happy to see him that Eddie was forced to remember and believe that Steve wanted him here, wanted to help him heal and find some kind of peace. 

By some miracle, it even seemed to be working.

While Steve put their dinner together Eddie would sit on the kitchen floor, curling the cord around his finger as he spoke to Wayne on the phone, the two of them catching up before the older man went to work for the night. There were other phones in the house he could have used, even ones that offered a comfy seat and more privacy, but none that had as nice a view of Steve’s luscious backside.

Honestly it was one of Eddie’s favorite parts of the day.

After dinner though, that was when they actually spent time together, and Eddie discovered what a dork Steve truly was, and how much he liked being around him.

They’d sit and talk while watching movies mostly, or on one memorable night a baseball game, of all things, an activity Eddie never thought he could find enjoyment in, and if Wayne ever found out he’d done so voluntarily, he’d never live it down. While Eddie still didn’t exactly see the appeal of sports in general, he could appreciate the fit of their uniforms, and seeing Steve smile so much and slap his thigh whenever something good happened wasn’t half bad either. No matter what they were doing Steve's presence never failed to leave him feeling warm, like sitting in the sun, and it was impossible not to bask in it a little.

All in all, It was easy enough for Eddie to be normal about his unfortunate crush during the day, but—

Okay, maybe he wasn’t being super normal about it, but he was at least managing to hide the worst of it from Steve, he was pretty sure anyway, but at night things were… a little more difficult. 

Night after night like clockwork Eddie woke in near hysterics.

Sometimes it was him and Chrissy standing in the trailer, where he’d try in vain to wake her, and have no choice but to stand by and witness her body breaking to pieces right in front of him all over again. 

Or it was Steve, getting strangled to death by demobats after being pulled into the depths of Lover’s Lake. He, Robin, and Nancy following behind far too late to save him. 

But more often than not it was his own gruesome near death experience he was made to relive, alone or with Dustin dying by his side. Those were always the worst. 

And every night, without fail, Steve was there when Eddie lurched awake, crying and gasping. There to soothe away the pain and heartache, touching Eddie’s face and hair with gentle hands, uttering soft sweet words, and each time, like the first time, Eddie asked him to stay, and Steve would simply say, “scoot over.”

The nightmares never came back once Steve was with him.

And in the morning, no matter how tangled together they were when they woke, they separated without a word and went about their days as normal. 

And it was fine. 

It wasn’t complete fucking torture or anything. 

It continued to be fine until one morning Steve came downstairs in jeans—obscenely tight jeans, not that Eddie noticed—and a polo shirt. The first time either of them had put real clothes on since the ill-fated party. 

Maybe he was expecting someone?

Eddie wasn’t sure how Steve had managed to keep the kids and everyone else away for this long, but he was grateful for the time to get his shit together within their private little bubble while it lasted. “Who’re you all dressed up for?” He asked.

Steve held up a grocery list scrawled on a notepad in answer, smaller than the one stashed under the bed in Eddie’s room—

Not his room, though, he had to remind himself. Steve's guest room. He had to stop thinking of it as though this living arrangement were a permanent one. Had to remember the reason he was here in the first place—because Steve and Wayne were afraid he might hurt himself. He wasn’t bitter about that fact anymore, really he wasn’t, but he was feeling pretty good now, and maybe it was time to start acting like it. 

Eddie hadn't forgotten Hopper’s warning to avoid public places, but the grocery store in the middle of the day on a random Tuesday hardly seemed like a risk.

“Can I come?” He asked.

Eddie pushed the cart, following behind Steve like a lost puppy, providing minimal commentary while he shopped. It was nice, in a way, to be out and about, but he also felt a little jittery about being so exposed, and was grateful for something to do with his hands. 

It was impossible not to notice the lingering stares and whispers being thrown in his direction from the other customers, as few and far between as they were, but he was determined not to let it bother him.

Steve had seen it too, making sure to never get too far ahead, and more than once Eddie saw him staring daggers back at some old lady until she was forced to look away with a huff. 

Just as Eddie was starting to relax, knowing they were in the home stretch and might actually get out of the store without incident, they rounded a corner and came across a boy wearing a familiar green and white letterman jacket.

It was Andy, because of course it was, and he wasted no time getting right in Eddie’s face, spitting with each hate filled word he spewed. “Who let you out of the house, Munson? You should be locked up, I don’t care what the police said. You’re a fucking murderer.”

Before Eddie could even react Steve was there shoving Andy away from him. The other boy stumbled back into a chip display, sending a dozen or more bags falling to the ground, a few crunching underneath him as he regained his footing. 

“Back off man, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Steve snarled.

Andy recovered quickly and pushed into Steve’s space next, puffing up, and trying without success to loom over him. “Harrington, I knew you’d changed, but you’re hanging out with freaks like him now?”

A sound not unlike a growl came crawling out of Steve’s throat, making Andy take a step back. It looked involuntary, and Eddie wondered if he even realized he’d done it. He was tempted to let the scene play out, but, as hot as it would be to see Steve beat the ever loving shit out of someone like Andy—someone who’d hurt a little girl while following the orders of his deranged leader—Eddie knew he had to stop this before someone called Hopper. He wasn’t really in the mood for a lecture today. 

Eddie reached out, wrapping a hand around Steve’s bicep, gently holding him back. “Forget him, Steve. He’s not worth it. Let’s just go, okay?”

For a split second Steve tensed at the touch, then leaned into it, shaking himself. “Yeah, okay.”

Thankfully Andy seemed to understand that he’d gotten lucky, not so brave when his opponent was the same size as him, and let them pass with nothing further than a few more dirty looks.

Steve stuck close to Eddie’s side, guiding them right to the checkout though Eddie was sure there were a few more things on his list, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue. He was ready to get out of there, and go back into hiding for the day. 

They drove back to the house in an awkward silence that continued on even as they pulled into the driveway and carried all the bags into the kitchen, neither of them quite knowing what to say. Eddie knew better than to think Steve was mad at him, and maybe going along had been a bad idea but it could have been worse. He was actually feeling remarkably calm about the whole thing now that it was over, except for the fact that Steve kept sneaking these long glances at him whenever he thought he wasn’t looking.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Eddie mumbled as he started to unpack the groceries, unable to ignore it any longer. 

Steve’s cheeks went pink. “Sorry,” he breathed, shaking his head at himself as he reached for one of the bags, taking out the milk and butter, and putting them away in the fridge.

“Hey,” Eddie said softly, ducking his head to catch Steve’s eye as he turned back around. “I'm okay, I promise. I'm not gonna go off the deep end or whatever you're worried about, ok? Screw that asshole and everyone who agrees with him. We know the truth, and that’s all that matters.” 

He wasn’t sure he wholeheartedly believed that yet, but he was trying.

“Sorry. You’re right,” Steve sighed. “You did great. I'm the one who lost it. I just—I hate that anyone thinks that way about you.” He dragged his feet as he crossed back to the counter, rifling through another of the bags. 

“Steve–” Eddie bit his lip, something like panic swelling in his chest even as his stomach did somersaults over Steve’s words. “Why… and I swear I'm not being a dick this time, but—why are you doing all this for me?”

Maybe Steve really was just that good of a friend, that caring of a person. Eddie could believe that—did believe that, by this point. But, no one had ever looked at him the way Steve looked at him, and all of it was becoming too much to ignore. Too many late night rescues and soft voices in the dark. Too many mornings of waking up on the same pillow, arms and legs wound so tightly together, as though their separate bodies were trying to become one while they slept. 

And now, ready to fight some dickhead in the middle of Kroger in broad daylight to defend his honor.

Eddie was scared to death of the answer to his question but he had to know, even if the answer might have the power to destroy him, no matter what it was.

“Eddie…” Steve’s face crumpled, like it broke his heart that Eddie had even asked the question. But there was something else too, something peeking out from behind his eyes, that thing Eddie couldn’t bring himself to admit was real, that he hoped wasn’t real because, that would be a very different kind of torture. Cruel and unusual punishment from the universe.

“I care because it’s you. Because you’re one of us. Because you’re my friend. Because…” Steve took two steps forward, standing so close that the toes of their sneakers were touching as he gently took the can of Spaghettios out of Eddie’s hand, and put it back down on the counter.

Eddie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—wouldn’t have wanted to if he could, but also he did kind of want to run from the room screaming. Kind of wanted to take the question back and resume pretending. Put his head firmly back in the sand.

“Because…” Steve’s eyes flicked down to Eddie’s mouth, completely unaware of the war raging in his head, before stepping impossibly closer, bringing their bodies flush as he pressed Eddie back into the countertop, and slotted their lips together.

Chapter 6

Thanks and love to @penny00dreadful and @pearynice for all your help and encouragement with this.

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 37

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You lazily eat the penne, noodle by noodle, from the plate balanced on your stomach. The evening air cools as Suzanne sits close by, her pasta mostly untouched as she sips non-alcoholic wine from a glass.

Lloyd has been elusive since his return, though you've heard some telltale banging. He continues to haunt you like some Poe horror.

"I couldn't do it," Suzanne trills, "I can barely stand more than an hour with the jackass and I get paid to."

"Mmm, yeah, wasn't exactly my first choice, but accidents happen. Actually, you know him, no such thing as an accident, more a lack of accountability."

"Oh, ew," she scrunches her nose, "he didn't strike me as the baby type." 

"Me either which is why… well, nevermind."

You spear another noodle and carefully angle it past your lips, trying not to dribble any sauce. It's been a while since you had someone you could just talk to. Dottie is a great support but she's still Lloyd's mother.

"What?" She prompts as she leans her chin in her hand.

"Oh, you know, I'm the mother. Means I'm gonna be doing all the work. And why? Because he thought it would be fun… he gets to have the shiny bright moments and I'll be changing diapers and cleaning up puke."

"Typical," she snarls. "Never likes to get his hands dirty."

She takes another sip of wine and she slowly puts the glass down. Her lips slant as a thought sparks in her eyes. She points at you and clicks her tongue.

"What happened with the mustache?"

"What do you mean?"

"He shaved. Months ago. Was that you?"

You cackle as you recall that. It was rather amusing to witness the shame and panic of his drunken mistake. You rest your fork against the rim of the plate.

"Did it himself. Got blitzed off his face and just, shoop, gone," you make a motion above your lip, "idiot."

“Ha, wow. Damn. I was hoping you had a bit of vengeance on the prick. I mean… you still could. Wait til he falls asleep…” she smirks, “you know once, were were on a flight and I probably could’ve done it.”

“I’m already expecting one baby, I don’t need another,” you scoff. “Here, can you get this?”

You lift the plate and hold it out to her. She’s quick to take it and puts it beside her own. You plant your hands on the sides of the chair and grunt, pushing yourself up with excruciating effort. You manage to sit forward, breathless.

“Jeez, you need help?” She hovers near you.

“Probably,” you struggle to turn your legs over the edge.

“Is it really that miserable?” She asks.

“What? Being with him?”

“I mean, that too, but being pregnant,” she offers her arm.

“Eh, it’s just the cherry on top of an already stacked shit sandwich.”

“I see why he’s with you,” she snorts, “you are both very creative. Disgustingly so.”

You roll your eyes and grab onto her arm. Before you can stand, you hear your name. Not ‘peaches’, not ‘baby face’, not ‘sweet cheeks’, your name. Lloyd stomps out, waggling his finger.

“Suzanne, step away from my wife.”

“Huh?’

 Suzanne twists to face Lloyd, “Christ, I’m helping her.”

“No, you’re not,” he storms down, shoulder back, nostrils flaring, “she’s not supposed to be walking around.” He comes up to you and puts his palm up to stop you, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Lloyd, I can make it inside.”

“The doctor said–”

“God, I know what the doctor said,” you hiss.

“So listen. Neither of us wanna end up back in the hospital, now do we?”

You sigh. You and Suzanne share a look. You recognise the dull twinkle in her eye. You’re kindred spirits. Cursed with the nuisance of this man, only she gets to walk away.

“So, Suzanne,” Lloyd plants a hand on your shoulder as he faces his colleague, “you on your way out?”

“Um, I guess, but–”

“That’s great, I don’t need to show you out, do I?”

She smiles dryly and tilts her head, “not at all. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Lloyd sputters.

“Oh yeah, we’re doing lunch, right, babe?” She looks at you expectantly.

Your brows lift and you take a second to register what she’s doing. You nod. “Uh, yep, yeah, that’ll be great.”

“Peaches, you should be relaxing. You’re all tense,” Lloyd squeezes your shoulder, “I can feel it–”

“So that probably means she needs a nice back rub, huh,” Suzanne suggests with a devilish glint in her eye.

Lloyd clucks, “yeah, I guess it does so… leave.”

Suzanne chuckles. She raises her palms and backs away. “Fine, I’ll fuck off. For now.”

Lloyd sneers at her as she slowly turns and she struts off proudly, fishing in her pocket until her car chirps and unlocks. You watch her get in and deflate, just a little. It’s just you and him. Again.

You shrug Lloyd’s hand away and rub your stomach, keeping one hand on the lounger. As Suzanne backs down the driveway, you issue a glum sigh. Without her to distract you, you feel ever pang and pinch in your muscles.

“Alright, where to?” Lloyd faces you.

“Huh?”

“Sofa, bath… bed?” He winks, “I think I could help ease the tension.” 

“Just… inside,” you mutter, “please.”

He pauses. You avoid his gaze as you look out across the yard. It’s only then the heavy epiphany settles over you. This place is a prison. It’s the last place you’ll live for the rest of your life. With him and soon his child. You’ll never be without a warden to keep you in line.

“Alright,” he bends and scoops you up, slowly, with effort. You feel horrible as he turns cautiously, steps stunted and stiff. 

“Lloyd, you’re going to hurt yourself doing this,” you hook your arm around his shoulders and try to ease the weight.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as he gets to the door.

You reach for the door to open it. He turns and sidles in awkwardly. It’s a tight shuffle but he makes it inside. He carries you back to the living room and sits you on the couch. He stands, cheeks tinged and forehead sweaty.

“Tea?” He offers.

“No,” you recline with a groan, “why are you being nice?”

“I’m your husband.”

“You were yelling at me an hour ago.”

“Because I’m worried.”

“About me or the baby?”

He sniffs and grips his hips, “both.”

“Eh, sure,” you dismiss him flatly, “I just wanna lay her. Alone.”

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Lloyd states.

“Of course,” you grumble.

“I am going to rub your back and you’re going to relax. You need to, peaches, for yourself as much as the kid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “Really, don’t bother–”

He pushes you up, grasping your shoulders as he angles onto the couch behind you. He sits between you and the arm, hooking his leg around you as he settles in. He rolls his thumbs into you, forcing a moan from your lips as you muscles contract in response.

“Feels good?” He asks.

“Erm,” you refuse to indulge him.

“Come on, baby face.”

You’re quiet as you hang your head forward. You’ll enjoy it but you don’t have to admit it. You hug your stomach as he slides his hands down your back, pressing his knuckles into each knot.

“Do you always have to ruin everything?” You ask at last.

“What?”

“Chase away everyone. What am I not allowed to have friends?”

“What–”

“If you don’t want me… like this,” you gesture helplessly, “you have to give me something, anything, that doesn’t make me absolutely miserable.”

He exhales and his hands keep moving. You let your head drift to the side as you laze into his touch.

“You don’t know Suzanne. She’s… well, she’s a lot like me.”

“Funny, cause she said the same about me.”

“Oh, really,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, think you’ve rubbed off on me.”

“Hell yeah I have,” he snickers, “rub off to you and over you, on you…”

“Would you– do you ever just stop?”

He hums and puffs out through his nose, “alright, peaches, you’re right. You can’t be all alone all the time. Just…keep those walls up. You got good instincts.”

“Mmm, yeah, just bad luck.”

[alphabetboyluvr]

A time before DB and JK meet officially where they crossed paths but don't remember or almost but missed each other by seconds. You know, typical kdrama missed meet cutes lol.

🪩 WORDCOUNT | 2.4k 🪩 NOTE FROM HOLLY | so... that thing about me and finding it impossible to write anything short.... yeah that. lmao. this is bd lore in the BEST possible way imo. something that neither of them remember and likely never will. this is set about four years before the events of BD. JK would have been 20-21, and B would have been 21-22 (give or take a year). thank you SO much for this request. i had so much fun with it!!

🪩 BD DRABBLES MASTERPOST 🪩

Jeon Jungkook looks devastatingly pretty with cherry-red lips. Smudged and a little faded, they leave the faintest mark on the end of his cigarette—a bad habit, he knows, but one that he picked up as an excuse to flirt with a girl whose lips are far more crimson than his. 

Of course they are, though. How else would she stain him in evidence of her existence if they weren’t? 

Even when he’s tarnished in her, there’s no evidence of him on her. Nothing to tell new acquaintances to stay away—and Hayun loves making new friends.

A bottle of Jack rests by his feet. Neat. A little lukewarm. Ass perched on the curb outside a house just off campus, he’s in no mood to get himself embroiled in the debauchery he knows his friends are partaking in. Just wants to clear his head. 

Foolishly hopes she’ll do the same. That she’ll notice his absence. That her heart will ache like his currently is. 

In their final year of studies, his friends are all letting loose for the final time before they have to cram for finals. It’s a night of celebration. Of last-chances. Of opportunities that won't present themselves again for a good few lunar orbits.

And so while he may not have the same restrictions, having started his studies a little later than scheduled, he’s been making the most of it with them. 

Quiet kisses hidden from his friends are fun. He likes them. Loves them, even.

But to then watch her very publicly let a guy make moves on her? To make moves back?

Feels fuckin’ awful.

“Oh, you know what?” A voice echoes from the porch of the house behind him. “You can take her violin and shove it up your ass, you ostentatious, pseudo-intellectual prick.” 

It’s a little twisted, but it brings Jungkook comfort to know he isn’t the only one with a shitty excuse for a love life. Knows he shouldn’t listen in—but fuck it.

“Where does she keep her violin, huh? In your trousers? ‘Cause that’s the only way that what I just saw and what you’re saying could even possibly correlate,” the girl continues, unrelenting in the way she dictates her speech. Barely lets her partner get a word in edge-ways. “No? She not a tiny violin specialist? The rooms aren’t that dark, dickhead.” 

He thinks the tirade is over, but finds himself laughing when he hears, “And not to brag, but my last eye exam went exceptionally well, so don’t you dare try and tell me I was seeing shit. Twenty-twenty vision, baby.”

It’s easy to tell whoever is speaking is deliberating adding a little dramatic flare to their words. Is definitely drunk. Is also definitely not afraid of standing her ground.

Glancing over his shoulder as he stubs out his cigarette, he’s surprised to see the girl—you—on the phone instead of confronting someone in person.

In a pretty little party dress, you’re just the right combination of hot mess. Even from a fair distance away, he can notice the glitter all over your skin. Not really his type—so different from Hayun—but there’s something about you. Something that intrigues him. Makes it hard to look away.

“She could be fuckin’ Vivaldi for all I care!” You seethe into your phone. “Does it sound like I give a shit if she’s the best in her class? You want me to give her a gold medal or something? Don’t piss me off. Prick.”

Jungkook would argue that you’re already pissed off. With a tone of voice like that, you must be.

There’s a final curse, and then your phone is almost thrown across the front lawn. Almost. You know better. Know that you can’t afford to replace the screen if you shatter it. Instead, you have to grit your teeth and scream. 

It’s only once you finish your venting of frustration that you notice a pair of starry eyes on you. 

Raising your brows, you shake your head in his direction. “Can I help?”

And then he fucking laughs. Shrugs. Is pleased to see it makes you smile, too. 

“Really hate violin, don’t you?”

Shaking your head, far kinder this time, you sigh. “Don’t have much of an opinion on them. Not unless it’s the strings in the intro of Untouched by The Veronicas. In that case, the violin is the greatest instrument known to man.”

“Untouched? The Veronicas?” he laughs, suddenly reminded of a song he hasn’t heard in years. “Didn’t realise it was still 2005.”

“Hey, don’t be judgy,” you say as you walk towards him, perching down on the curbside, too. “It’s a classic.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” he defends, reaching down for his bottle of Jack and offering it over to you. “Boyfriend trouble?”

Shaking your head, you decide that unloading your problems onto a stranger is exactly what this night calls for. 

“Girl I’ve been seeing. Wasn’t that serious.” Nodding towards the bottle you add, “You first.”

“Seemed pretty serious,” he mumbles, before swigging down his whiskey. Jack is shit, in his opinion, but it’s cheap and it gets the job done. Clearing his throat with a small ‘ah’, he holds it back over for you to take. “Satisfied?”

You don’t vocalise a response—but you do take the bottle from him and ignore the burn as it races down your throat. Of everything you’d choose to drink, Jack Daniels would not be it. You like fruity things. Had been on vodka cranberry juice all night.

“Wasn’t serious," you double down, then shrug. "Can’t let people think they can get away with bad behaviour, though. Let them do it once, and they’ll do it again and again." 

It’s something you’re adamant about. Something you’ll do well to remember. 

“Anyway, you know why I’m out here like a miserable bitch,” you continue as you pass the bottle back. “What brings you here?”

“Something similar.”

It’s only now that you really take him in for all that he is. 

Same age as you, you think, judging by his build. Though his shoulders are broad, he hasn’t properly filled out yet—he’s trying, though. You can see the definition in his arms. His shoulders. Clearly is trying to shape himself into a man. No longer a teenager, but not really an adult. With eyes like that, though, he’ll always look a little younger than he is. His dark hair waves around his features, so casually undone you know he must have put a lot of effort into it. It’s sweet. 

He tries, and that’s more than can be said for most of the boys at the party.

“It doesn’t suit you,” you tell him.

“Hm?”

“The red lipstick,” you nod towards the sheen on his lips. There’s a little on his neck, too. His T-shirt is black, but you imagine there’s some there, as well. “You’d look better without it.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Guessed as much,” you softly smile. “So what, then? Your girlie pissed all over her territory? So no one else would approach you? Then decided she wanted to play elsewhere?”

“Something like that.”

“Girlfriend?”

Jungkook just shrugs. Tells the truth, even if it feels like a lie. “Just friends.”

“You kiss all your friends?”

“Just one.”

“Ouch,” you wince. Friends-with-benefits situations are dumb, you think. Wouldn’t ever wanna end up in one. Know they end in unbearable heartbreak. “That’s rough.”

He nods. Knows how it’ll end, too, even if he’s been trying to tell himself otherwise.

“Well, we’re friends, now,” you declare, definitely too drunk to be making good decisions. “You and me. Have bonded over terrible people doing terrible things.”

He wants to tell you that Hayun isn’t terrible.

Instead, he raises a brow at your fledgling—and fleeting—friendship. 

“If she’s off making new friends, then maybe you should consider kissing your other friends,” you playfully shrug, knowing better than to get involved in a situation like this. “Y’know… make it even.”

And Jungkook is well aware he shouldn’t indulge in your flirt, but he’s hurting. Wants to feel wanted—and the way you’re looking at him? He can’t remember the last time Hayun looked at him like that.

The way you see it, you’ll never see this man again. You could both do with a little pick-me-up. Confirmation that life goes on, even if the people you date are awful.

A kiss is just a kiss. 

Or at least, for now, it is. One day, you’ll develop a complex. Blame Seokjin.

But you’re yet to meet him. Yet to unlearn all your rules and make far feebler, more pathetic ones in their place.

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute,” you whisper, edging closer ever so slightly. 

“Kinda?” He tweaks a brow, eyes not on yours, but on your lips. There’s a little glitter in your gloss. Think maybe it’ll suit him better.

“Mhmm,” you hum, reaching up to lightly trace your thumb across his bottom lip, ridding him of a little bit of his very own red flag. “Kinda. Never kissed a guy with a lip piercing.”

Just a stud, he’s only had it a little while. Was trying to make himself look a little older. Sharper. Light from the house catches in it as your thumb pulls back - but Jungkook pulls closer. Nudges his nose against yours. Holds it there for a second.

“Maybe I should take one for the team,” he husks, lips brushing yours. “Just so you know what it’s like.”

Nodding, you let your nose stroke against his. “You’d be such a good friend if you did.”

Lips parted, the end of your sentence grants him permission to sink his lips between yours. Slow as he does so, Jungkook’s scared of fucking it up.

Hasn’t kissed anyone that isn’t Hayun for months, now. Isn’t even sure he knows how to.

And yet as soon as you press down into the kiss, his mind is void of her. Totally blank. Pitch black, until the faintest of stars begin to appear. Sparkle. Shine.

There’s a sweetness to you, even despite the whiskey. Maybe it’s the cranberry juice. Maybe it’s your lip gloss. Jungkook doesn’t have the mental capacity to decipher it, for he can feel your tongue stroking across his bottom lip—and then he’s granting permission. Inviting you into his mouth. Stroking his tongue against yours, as if he’s in the privacy of the party bathroom—not out front for everyone to see. 

Shamelessly, he almost wants Hayun to see—but as quickly as a thought of her intrudes, it’s replaced by the way you feel. It makes him pull you closer. Gets him whining into your mouth. Makes you smile.

It’s confirmation that there’s nothing wrong with you; that the girl you were seeing really was just a dickhead.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you slowly push him away. Are reluctant to finish kissing him. In fact, even as you push him back, your body follows, until you force yourself to pull back. 

“There,” you smile, a little infatuated with how sparkly his eyes appear. “Now you’re even.”

“We can make it odd, again, if you want,” Jungkook offers, far bolder than even he realises. Just doesn’t wanna stop kissing you. Maybe it’s just the whiskey. Yeah. He’ll blame it on that. 

“That’s a bad decision waiting to happen,” you laugh, getting to your feet, because you don’t trust yourself to stay. “My purpose is served. Friends don’t fuck you over. Stop wasting your kisses on people who are gonna fuck you over.”

Your message is clear: she’s not your friend. 

It’s a lesson he’ll learn far too late in life.

“But you’re ditching me?” He says as you begin to walk away. “That’s not friendly!”

For a girl who should really be wallowing in self-pity, you’re surprisingly chirpy. Jungkook envies it. Wishes he could stop caring in the way that he does —he just doesn’t realise your situationship really was as simple as they’re supposed to be. The feelings were yet to fully develop.

If love is a choice—which you think, to a degree, it is—then before it can develop, choices have to be made. Your partner is supposed to choose you. The girl you’d been seeing has just demonstrated that she wouldn’t choose you, and so why should you choose her?

Life was simpler before Seokjin; before you really knew what it was to love. 

Or, to love, and to not be chosen. 

To choose, even when you’re never chosen.

Sort of like how Jungkook is, now.

“I’m doing you a favour!” You call back, tipsy smile just as radiant as you seem to be. You're jovial in your tone, and the attitude rubs off on him. Gets him smiling, too. “Saving you from yourself. If I kiss you again, you’ll fall in love, baby. They always do!”

The way you jet off is spritely. Happy. Abundantly clear that you’re yet to know what heartbreak really feels like. 

The girl getting a little too friendly with the star violinist will be long forgotten by the time you meet Jungkook once again, and so will he. In fact, the scar left by Seokjin manages to mangle just about all of your romantic memories prior to him. 

You’ll become folklore; a girl Jungkook doesn’t know the name of, but who Hayun is pretty sure is legally named ‘Desperate Skank’. Someone they argue about on a few too many occasions. A memory he barely remembers, but in the heat of their drunken fight later that evening became a permanent sticking spot in their situationship. 

‘Cause while Hayun was off making friends, that’s all she was doing. Getting numbers. Getting a little touchy-feely. Getting her ego stroked. Getting zero kisses, because she had been reserving them for him.

Why she was only making friends with six-foot-something muscle pigs with more protein powder in their system than common sense is another thing they’ll argue about—but he’s the one in the wrong this time, or so she makes sure to tell him.

He’ll think of you sometimes. The memory will be hazy. Blurry, like driving down a midnight highway with astigmatism. 

He’ll think of you, and he’ll see stars.

And when he sees you again in the dark of Dionysus a few years later, with no recollection of who you are, his brain will scream at him. Beg him to remember. 

He won’t.

But he will, inevitably, see stars once more.

[ash5monster01]

Goes On Chapter Nine

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, depression, mentions of suicide, heavy topics, eventual smut, slow burn romance, fluff, gender themes/stereotypes.

Summary: Against his best efforts Charlie has to start at a new preparatory school after the tragic events that took place at Welton. The very events that led to the loss of his best friend and getting expelled in the first place. He has no plans to make friends let alone get close to anyone ever again. That is until he meets Evelyn and her interesting group of friends. No matter how hard he tries to push them away he finds it to be impossible. So he caves and in the end learns that life can still be enjoyable even if it feels like everyone is against you.

word count: 3.2k

Eight ←→ Ten

Masterlist

Ridge Academy, NY

2/14/60

It was completely surreal, Charlie thought as him and Nate walked into the school's gym. He had heard of school dances while he was in Welton, how they would dim the lights in the gym, a live band playing music a touch too loud, and kids actually have a good time while supervised. It sounded fake to him, especially because he couldn't picture Nolan watching him as he swung some girl around the dance floor. The longer he was at Ridge the more he realized it was more like public school than private, which may explain why it was more frowned upon than others. No one would take a private school seriously if they acted so much like a public one.

Yet Charlie didn't entirely mind. It was as if he had obtained the best of both worlds and even if he ended up here through a traumatic experience at least he was finally getting a chance to do all the things he fought for. He was a Ridge Reject and for the first time since he got here, he didn't really mind. So he walked into that gym, black dress pants, white button up, and red tie, ready to take it head on, and have the best night.

"Ev killed it again" Nate states matter of fact as he eyes the decorations her and Charlie had spent all yesterday putting up. Charlie remembered it looking cheesy and out of place, but now in the dark gym and flashing lights it looked as if professionally done.

"She really loves this stuff" Charlie said and Nate nodded, eyes wide as he spotted a balloon arch and photographer to take photos of all the Ridge couples on their happy night. He knew it wouldn't be long until he had to go through them for yearbook.

"Thank God you're here!" Evelyn says practically barrelling into Charlie. He catches her arms, eyeing her quickly. "I need someone to watch the punch bowl and Violet ripped her dress and is crying. I have to help!"

She's frantic, eyes wild, and stressed. Hence why she had mellowed out so much the night before. Yet Charlie can't register her words because in front of him the girl looks more beautiful than ever. Red dress vibrant against her tan skin, shoulders on display from the low hung fabric, cinched at the waist, and ruffle skirt flared to her knees. He almost feels his kness buckle when he spots her cherry red lips and brunette hair curled to perfection.

"Wow" is all that comes out and Evelyn is quick to whack him. He snaps out of it quickly.

"Please, just watch the punch bowl and I'll be back soon" she says and Charlie nods as the girl scurries off to go and help her friend.

"You can catch flies like that, I would know" Nate says with a pat to Charlies back before going off in search of his other friends. Charlie takes a moment for his mind to get back on track before going straight to the punchbowl just as he was told. Not without grabbing some for himself in hopes to help his dry throat just from looking at the girl. This was going to be a long night.

It’s not long until he sees Evelyn scurry back into the gym, Violet behind her now wearing a smile instead of tears. Charlie feels his throat dry all over again, especially when those dazzling eyes land on him and soften when they realize he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. For the first time since meeting Evelyn he almost isn’t sure what to say as she approaches him in that God damn red dress.

“How’d it go?” she inquires, still not catching on the way Charlie is looking at her. Charlie takes a moment to even form a response.

“Fine, I guess. I don’t understand why a punch bowl needs to be monitored anyway” Charlie says, trying desperately hard to make sure his eyes don’t travel down the neckline of her dress and to the cleavage that’s on display.

“People spike it Charlie, it’s one of the most notorious things to ever happen to a punch bowl” Evelyn tells him, shock covering her features because she somehow forgets how sheltered the boy was in that school of his.

“And you left me in charge of it? If I had known I would’ve been the one to spike it myself” Charlie says and Evelyn laughs, bright red lips a stark contrast to her perfect white teeth. He wanted to kiss her so badly. Seeing how perfect she looked he almost felt silly for even thinking he had a chance to wrap his arm around her last night.

“Of course you would have been, normally it’s Marty but based on that hangover he’s still sporting I figure he has nothing left” Evelyn tells him, eyes glancing to the boy who stood across the gym with Nate and Violet on either side of him. The boys eyes are hooded, dark circles underneath them, and his smile never completely fills his face.

“You look beautiful by the way” Charlie suddenly says, eyes stuck on the girl. He no longer cares about the dance or anything around him. His only consistent thought was about her.

“Thank you, I worried it was too much” she says, eyes searching his own. Charlie watches as she covers her mouth slightly, feeling subconscious about the makeup that matches her dress. “I figured it was a 50/50 shot I’d look good or like a tomato”

“Not a tomato at all” Charlie says, practically a whisper as he reaches forward and brushes some of her chocolate curls behind her shoulder. The off the shoulder design of the dress has Charlie’s mouth watering, thoughts of what Evelyn would sound like as he kissed his away along that expanse of skin.

Falling nervous under his stare, Evelyn realizes how distracted Charlie is as he drinks her appearance in. His behavior had changed drastically in the last few days and for the first time she was becoming nervous around him. She had been the flirt and now she wasn’t and she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“Do you have spare lipstick on you?” Charlie asks, eyes glued to the perfect pouty lips of hers. Evelyn see how he doesn’t look away and fumbles for his small purse that holds the exact tube she had used earlier.

“Here” she says, sliding it into his hand and Charlie smiles. She watches as he releases the button on the end of his sleeve and slowly pushes it up his arm.

“This is an Indian Warrior symbol for virility” he tells her, popping the cap of the lipstick and dragging it across his wrist in a zig zag pattern. “It’s supposed to drive girls crazy, I call it getting red”

“And has this getting red bit worked before?” she asks, eyes cast along the red symbol on his wrist and Charlie smiles, knowing he made her nervous.

“I don’t know, but I hope I’m going to find out” he says ducking down, whispering the response in her ear, and Evelyn nearly shudders at the suggestion of it all.

“You’re trouble Charlie Dalton” she tells the boy, fingers curling in his sleeve as she pulls it back down over the red mark and buttoning it close. “But if you wanted my lipstick on you, you should’ve just asked”

Charlie finds himself at a loss of words as she says this and turns back to the punch table as if she did not just make the most suggestive comment he has ever received in his life. He doesn’t understand how she can act so normal, smiling as she hands off a fresh cup of punch to another student. Repeating the presidents in his head and picturing Nolan in his boxers is enough to calm him down and bring him back to reality as he joins her.

“Having fun?” Laurie appears, giggles falling past her lips and arms wrapped around Eli. She wears a purple dress much different from Evelyn’s, form fitting all the way down to her knees and either she hadn’t been busted yet or already received detention.

“It sure looks like you are” Evelyn tells her, passing a cup of punch to her. It’s then Charlie realizes the girl has most likely snuck a few drinks with the boy beside her and Evelyn is trying to sober her up.

“Looking good Charles, but have you taken a look at Evelyn?” Laurie grins at the boy and Charlie chuckles.

“Thanks, and trust me. I have and she’s ethereal” Evelyn’s heart flips at the sentiment and honesty in his words. All Laurie does is crack a grin at the girl because in all the years she had known her she had never dated anyone and now the guy she finally liked, liked her back.

“You two are cute, don’t work too hard” she says before pulling Eli back off onto the dance floor and leaving the two alone again. Charlie chuckles at Evelyn’s friend, the one who always seemed to be up to no good.

Soon the punch bowl is empty and after a quick fix to an incident with the photographer, Evelyn and Charlie both finally found themselves with nothing to do. Some of the guests had already fled out but Evelyn’s friends were still on the dance floor enjoying their night. Charlie didn’t miss the forlorn look on her face, the desire to be out there with them and not in charge of anyone or anything. At least Nate had found Amy, Charlie was unsure if he actually liked her or it was distraction from Evelyn. Either way she deserved to be out there with them.

“Do you want to dance?” He asks curiously and Evelyn glances up at him, hazel eyes shining brightly in the dimly lit gym.

“We have to monitor though” she begins to defend but Charlie shakes his head, hands circling around her arms and starting to guide her away from the table.

“The punch is empty, half the student body has left, the photographer is packed up, and you’re wearing a dress that deserves a real night out” Charlie assures her, hands sliding slowly down her bare arms until his fingers interlock with her own. He’s positive he could never get sick of the way he feels when he touches her.

“Is that was you call it, a night out?” She muses and Charlie rolls his eyes.

“Yes, even if we don’t have to leave the building to go to bed tonight. Plus I’ve never been to a school dance before, I need a professional to show me” he tells her and Evelyn giggles as they finally reach the spot beside her friends.

“Do you even know how to dance?” She curiously asks and Charlie shrugs, hands settling on her waist.

“I guess you’ll find out” he tells her and Evelyn giggles just as the band starts the next song, coincidentally a slow dance, and Charlie starts to sway her like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I’ve never danced with anyone before” Evelyn sheepishly admits, glancing at her two girlfriends who whisper to both their dates about this unusual sight they’re seeing.

“If it makes you feel better the only person I ever have was with Meeks” Charlie tells her and Evelyn giggles lightly, trying not to become nervous under his stare.

“That would have been a sight to see” she tells him and Charlie shrugs, lifting her arms lightly that were wrapped around his neck.

“It was an etiquette class we were required to take at Weston. For a week we were taught the proper way to dine, hold business conversations, and dance. We were told it the sign of an intellectual man and the best way to woo a women while finding a future wife” Charlie tells her, recalling the week where Meeks has been subjected to being his dance partner, Neil got yelled at for using the wrong fork, and Knox sneezing while practicing proper conversation with Mr. McAllister.

“What, they couldn’t find any girls to volunteer?” Evelyn curiously asked, hands subconsciously playing with the hair at the back of Charlie’s neck. The action drying out his throat.

“More than likely Nolan decided they would be better off without any female volunteers especially if I was there. I have a tendency of not keeping my mouth shut” Charlie informs her and Evelyn grins, happy to know she was finally getting to know that Charlie even though Charlie was fairly positive he would never entirely come back.

"Evelyn, come quick. The balloon arch fell and is blocking the doors" a student came rushing over before she could pry further into Charlie's past. Coming back to reality she is quick to move into business mode but before she can fully panic Charlie has grabbed her face and turned her back to him.

"I'll handle it, I'm on planning commitee too. Spend some time with your friends" he tells her and her features instantly soften towards the boy. Charlie gives her a sweet smile before going off with the student in search of the balloon arch disaster of 1960. Evelyn watches him walk away until Nate appears at her side.

"Mind if I cut in?" he asks and Evelyn smiles and nods, stepping into the boys arms as the slow song continues. Nate tries his best to not feel sad towards the situation he's in. He had dreamed of taking Evelyn to a school dance since he was thirteen and the one time he finally gets the chance her heart lies with someone else, even if she's in his arms.

"You did a wonderful job, again" Nate tells her, nodding to the decorations and party around them.

"Thanks, I can't take all the credit this time though. Charlie helped a lot even if he didn't want to be on the commitee" she says, thankful he didn't bail on her like she thought he would once he realized her club was nothing but an easy credit.

"He's a good guy, as much as I hate to admit it" Nate says, eyes casting behind Evelyn where Charlie was lifting the balloon arch, helping students secure it back onto the wall.

"He's not what I expected, that's for sure" Evelyn says, head shaking as she looked down to her shoes and Nate took a deep breath. He had waited for this girl for so many years, wasted so much time, and in the end missed his chance. Yet during all of that time he got to know her, be friends with her, and even if things weren't going to turn out the way he always hoped, at the very least she should be happy. He could learn to move on. At least he might've finally gotten his very own friend out of the deal, one he didn't make because of her. Then again, isn't she half the reason he ended up on common ground with the boy?

"You should go for it" Nate whispers and Evelyn looks back up, confusion painting her features.

"What do you mean?" she asks and Nate sighs, eyes searching her hazel ones, trying to convey how much he loved her into a single look. It would be wrong to tell her now when she had already fallen for another guy.

"Go for him Evelyn. I know you, we all do, and it's a great thing you finally found someone you connect with. He understands you and for some unknown reason you understand him. You deserve to be happy and he makes you happy. In fact he's good at the one thing I've been trying to do my whole life" Nate says and Evelyn is shocked by the words coming out of his mouth, head shaking as she tries to comprehend the words he's saying to her.

"What’s that?" she asks, trying to wrap her mind around the fact he had read her so clearly. Noticed her feelings and fears without her even coming to terms with them yet.

"Take care of you" he says and Evelyn's heart cracks just slightly. Seeing the sadness in one of her oldest friends eyes. A friend she had been close with but never let inside. In fact until Charlie she had never quite met anyone who could calm her down with a single look. Even Violet had spent years trying. It was as if her and Charlie had been cut from the same cloth and there was nothing she could do when it came to who understood her or not.

"I'm sorry Nate" she begins to mutter but he just offers a sad smile, taking a step back from her as he see's Charlie leave the now fixed balloon arch and head their way.

"Don't be, just be happy" he tells her earnestly, offering one last squeeze to her waist before letting her go literally and figurativey. He figures some part of him will always love her but at least this way she can be happy and he can learn how to be too.

Evelyn watches as Nate walks away, passing their other friends who dance together and towards a table to take a break from the night. Her mind is spiraling in a hundred different ways and she doesn't have time to process when out of nowhere Charlie's arms wrap around her waist and pulls her into his chest. His chin lands over her shoulder, hot breath fanning on her neck. She relishes in the feeling of his warm chest pressed against her back and for the first time she accepts that the somersaulting feeling in her stomach is completely normal. All because she finally liked someone in a way she imagined she never could with anyone.

"Crisis averted" he tells her and she just smiles, turning in his arms to face him, and fighting the happy tears that burn at the back of her eyes.

"Thank you" she tells him for so much more than just the balloon arch but Charlie doesn’t catch on because when the next upbeat song starts he's locked his arms around her waist and lifted her from her feet. She laughs loudly as he swings her around the dance floor, her own friends laughing before he sets her back to the ground.

"Nice moves Charles" Violet calls out, hands interlocked with Marty's, and Charlie flashes her a cocky grin.

"What, Marty doesn’t have these smooth moves?" he teases right back and Marty scoffs even though there is amusement in his eyes.

"Oh she knows all my moves" he defends, not realizing how the sentence sounds and the group laughs loudly. Marty's ears burn red as he registers what he's just said but joins in on the laughter anyway.

"It was the best first, school dance. Thank you" Charlie ducks down in a whisper and Evelyn smiles, arms coiling arund his neck and pulling him closer. She knew there was more lying underneath Charlie Dalton's surface but for the first time she knew she had all the time in the world to figure it out. For now she'd get to know him at the speed he was comfortable with and pray that maybe when she did learn it all, she got to keep him.

"Anytime Char"

Taglist: @eden-punk @linmichea1 @pursuedbyamemoryy @mynameisjxlia

Comment if you want to be added to the tag list :))

[karisomk]

Attorney! Attuma x Ex Mob- Wife Okoye AU Pt. 1 (Possibly teaser?)

Characters: Attuma x Okoye but mentions of W'kabi prior relationship. Child from their prior relationship. Tags: Angst, Romance, some fluff moments, alluding to abuse and some verbal. Possession. Manipulation. Comfort and possibly death later.

Author's notes: So the muse hit me with this one a while back but I never posted it. I AM VERY AWARE that it is not realistic. But that's fine. I re-read it and still like it. So I'm sharing it afterwhile. And IF you would like to see PART 2 OR more etc. Let me know! Summary:

Attuma A. A well-known attorney for the mob gets a client that needs help with a custody case. W'Kabi desires to take his daughter away from Okoye just to show her he's unhappy about being divorced and because he gets what he wants.

Attuma looked up from the folder he was slowly building for his new client, the urge to show his annoyance was becoming vastly difficult. He should have known how W'Kabi's assistant, argued with his front desk operator this morning, that he was going to be a pain in the ass when here. The soft jazz music that was playing in the spacious office, could be heard by overhead speakers in the front sitting area.  The lulling sound of bubbles, from his built-in wall large aquarium filled the silence in his office. The office was spacious, decorated with a black leather lounge that looked brand new near his aquarium. Two large cherry oak wood bookshelves, filled with various books along with a few small office plants. Various oil paintings of the sea were hung up on the wall around his office, fitting the water theme he often favored.

"So just to make sure I heard you correctly, you want full custody of your daughter even though you work seventy hours a week?" Attuma questioned.

"Yes."

W'Kabi's response was quick yet so smug in regard to talking about his daughter with his ex-wife.

"May I ask why when you spoke about how she has more time for your daughter anyway?"  Attuma lifted a brow, tapping his pen on his desk.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't fucking aware that the fifty thousand dollars check, that cleared into your account needed an explanation as well!" W'Kabi snapped.

Attuma stayed silent but merely looked at W'Kabi over his small black rectangle glasses, unphased by the insult. But part of him should have shut the folder right then and there. And advised him, the money that was processed will be given back to him promptly.  But instead, Attuma straightened himself leaning back into his black plush leather chair. W’Kabi’s attitude wasn’t new to him after all he worked with several clients that served the mob, but this level of spite was a little different.

"Mr. W'Kabi this is more in regard to the judge. He or she will ask you the same question so it is better to tell me now or at least tell me what you would like to tell the judge."

This seemed to cool W'Kabi's flaring temper, the brief scowl on his features now replaced with a smile. "My wife. Well, my ex-wife, she insisted on pushing for.  Wants to file for full custody and says that I do not have the time for our daughter."  He started to explain.

"I am filing for full custody because I want to. Because I get everything I want.  And because my fucking ex-wife needs to learn, it was a mistake for even divorcing me. So, until she recognizes that, my child will be staying with me.  And if she changes her attitude then maybe she can see her daughter.  "  The spite filled in W'Kabi's words made Attuma's skin crawl, his grip on his pen tightening slowly while he fought to be stoned face.

This wasn't his first time being selected to be a representative in a post-messy divorce and wouldn't be his last. But this pitiful excuse of a man beforehand chooses to hurt his ex-wife by using their own child.

"Understood, so the true answer to the judge would be that you are the better-fit parent in other words. Rather it is by being there more financially. But the judge will not hear any of this if you are not showing proof of being there for your daughter. But I am sure the judge can be convinced that you are now working a lighter schedule by the first hearing."

W'Kabi hummed in approval, "See and this is why you are the most recommended legal firm here in the city. If you get Namor and his gang out of lifetime sentences, this should be a breeze for you".

Attuma hated that W'Kabi was at least correct about that, with the right evidence or holes in cross-examinations he always got cases thrown out with ease.

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

After an hour of debriefing with W'Kabi, Attuma was ready for a drink if he heard one more story about why his beautiful ex-wife didn't want him anymore. He was going to toss this man out on the street and his folder.  Any information about Okoye, left little room for him to argue in court about how she was a unfit mother.  W'Kabi knew that Okoye did everything for their daughter, she was the one that took her to school and practice. She was the one that their daughter preferred living with even as W'Kabi offered for her to stay with him.  The two didn't want anything to do with him, so this entire case was just sheer pettiness.

And yet somehow, W'Kabi expected Attuma to argue this down and have the judge favor him.  Attuma mentally called to Chacc, asking for patience for himself and for dealing with his fool of a client.

Once his contract of service started with W'Kabi, a notion was filed to get a peace officer to serve Okoye.  This settled the disgruntled man, after leaving his assistant's desk number and his personal line for Attuma to call him he left the office.

Attuma’s gaze was on the manila folder that still sat on his desk, his gut twisting in knots about his discussion with W'Kabi. Warm brown eyes flickered up once a soft knock was heard.  An elder dark-skinned woman stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark blue blazer with matching pants.  Her blouse of a cream color that matched her cardigan that was thrown over her shoulders.  Her grey coils were styled in a pixie cut.

"I don't mean to bother you and you know most of the time I do not pry. But you didn't just really take that man's case, did you?" she quietly asked. 

"I did, Mrs. Gia and hopefully you don't mind but I think we should close early today" Attuma sighed softly before moving to get to his feet.  Turning away to close the blinds in his office, he knew she was still watching him.

"Mr. Almehen-" Gia started to say, that familiar tone typical to that of what a mother takes before scolding their child.  A tone he knew well whenever he came into work sick, or just simply overworked himself.

Attuma moved to grab his briefcase afterward, still avoiding her gaze before he finally looked at her. And just as he knew from the tone, that light glare was in place.

"I could hear him in the front, that was how loud he was and the way he spoke about his wife." Gia gave a frown and shook her head. "Look, this should be an open and shut case no matter what Mr. W'kabi thinks. The sooner the cases start the better and then I won't have to see him anymore. Now please lock the doors for now until we’re both ready to leave, so no more inquiries for today.”

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Wild (4/4)

Pairing: Lycanthrope!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Hinted SteveNat

Summary: Over the years, Y/N has found that in times of great need, a wolf appears to aid her. She relies on its presence until one day, her wolf is in need of her help instead.

A/N: This is the final part of the Wild miniseries. I hope you’ve enjoyed it and that this fluff is the perfect little cherry on top for you. There’s a little bit of Russian in this and the translations can be found at the end of the fic. Thank you for reading and supporting me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Previous Part | Miniseries Masterlist

“Good morning, Маленький,” Bucky murmurs, and you groan when he nudges his nose against your cheek, not wanting to let go of your dream. He chuckles, his breath soft and warm over your skin, and you scrunch up your face before reluctantly opening your eyes. 

Morning sunshine filters in through your bedroom curtains, but Bucky’s body and the long brown hair hanging down like a second curtain blocks most of it. He’s propped a few inches over you and smiling. Though you’re tired, it only takes a second for you to smile back at him.

“Good morning, my love,” you reply. Your own voice scratches with sleep but he doesn’t mind. Bucky never minds, not as long as it’s you.

“Do we have plans today?” He shifts positions, staying over you but giving you room to rearrange the blankets and get comfortable again now that you’re awake. Or rather, now that you’re half-awake. “I want to go for a run.”

Humming gently, you reach up and cup his cheek in your hand, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. “It’s been a while since we’ve run together, hasn’t it? Work keeps you busy.”

“And you,” Bucky replies. “And you’ve been spending a lot of time with Nat lately.”

You grin. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

It is, you can sense it through your shared bond, and you squeal when his irritation flares at your teasing. Bucky flips you, blankets and all. You settle on top of him with a grin, your legs straddling his waist with the comforter in between you. His hands slide up your thighs to your hips to help keep you steady.

“Run with me today?” he prods.

A knock cuts your answer short before it’s even started, and both you and Bucky look towards the door. You hadn’t been listening to anything outside your happy little bubble, but you know it’s Natasha. Even with Bucky now living in the cottage, you never have any visitors, especially not early in the morning.

“Y/N, Bucky, are you awake?” Natasha asks when nobody answers. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and her spoon clinks against her mug. 

You shake your head to get rid of the extra thoughts clouding your brain. Having enhanced senses is normally a wonderful thing, but it still overwhelms you after waking up each day. Sometimes even the tiniest of sounds and smells are enough to overstimulate you. Bucky squeezes your hips in sympathy. He knows all about the adjustments you’ve had to make in your life since finding out you were lycan. Some of them are small, like the enhanced senses, but others are larger, like sharing an emotional bond with him. You may be connected on a deeper level than most couples, but you’re still a relatively new couple. There are times where you want nothing more than to bury yourself in a hole after profusely embarrassing yourself in front of him, and nothing he can do makes it better.

“We’re awake!” you call back, sliding off Bucky’s hips. He groans in protest, making you chuckle, and you head over to open the door. You shiver once you’re away from the warmth of the bed and you make a mental note to turn down the air conditioning in your room—you and Bucky run hotter than Natasha, so you keep a window unit to add some extra chill now that it’s summer. He must have gotten up in the middle of the night to turn down the temperature, making it extra cold in your room.

When you open the door, Natasha is, predictably, dressed for the day with a cup of coffee in hand. She smells like sweat and you know even without your enhanced senses that she’s already been for her morning run through the forest. You’ve shown her all the best trails and Bucky has joined in on carving out the paths for her during your own nightly runs, as infrequent as they’ve become lately.

“You might want to get dressed,” Nat says, not even bothering to greet you. Her expression is grave and your face falls. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Me?” you ask. “Who?”

She shakes her head and her gaze shifts over your shoulder to look at Bucky, then back at you. “Both of you.”

You know Bucky can feel your anxiety before you’re even aware it’s there, but as you nod and shut the door again, you can sense his own. He’s normally the person who steadies you and the feeling is odd. Forcing away a comment about it, you turn to get clothes, not meeting his eyes.

“Y/N?” Bucky says. You pull open the top drawer of your dresser and pull out a shirt. “Y/N, can you look at me?”

Reluctantly, you turn slightly and lift your head to peer at him. He stands beside the bed, watching you.

“What?” you ask.

“We don’t know who it is. Maybe it’s something good,” Bucky suggests, and you shake your head.

“No one comes to see us here, James.” He stands a little straighter when you use his real name. “Not unless they want something or it’s bad news. The last time someone came here to see me, it was to ask me more questions about HYDRA.”

“Do you think they might be back?” Bucky closes the distance between you to pull clothes from the dresser as well, though he gives you space to change out of your pajamas.

You shake your head again, then lean down to pull the rest of your outfit from the other drawers. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t think of anything I haven’t told them, with the exception of you, and I’d never tell them about what they did to you, not in a million years.”

The two of you fall silent as you dress. Once you’re ready, you head out to the living room together, where Nat is standing near the front door with her mug. She’s watching the porch through the windows. Whoever came to call on you is standing off to the side, just out of view from where you’re standing. Her lips are pressed together in irritation and worry, and you try not to let it rile you up.

“Did they say who they are?” Bucky asks. He reaches down to take your hand and you let him lace your fingers together.

Natasha glances over and shakes her head. “No. He didn’t want to talk to me. He said he’d wait outside until the two of you were ready to talk.”

You frown. “It’s 90 degrees outside. They really didn’t want to come in?”

She shrugs. “I tried. I wasn’t going to force a stranger to come into our home if they didn’t want to, not unless it was an emergency.”

Outside on the porch, the stranger moves, standing from the swing and blocking some of the light coming in through the windows. Their shadow shifts across the living room floor and in that moment, Bucky tenses. He lets go of your hand, shoulders past Nat, and barges out the front door. He pauses for a moment just outside the doorway.

“Steve?” he asks, and your heart lurches. Only seconds later, your mate is released from his shock and he charges forward to hug the other man.

You murmur your own surprise and carefully move past Natasha as well, tentatively stepping out on the porch. The birds are already chirping and swooping down to eat from the bird feeder you’d hung on the tree in the front yard a few weeks ago. With the summer sun shining high in the sky and the grass lush and green, it’s an idyllic scene for Bucky and Steve’s reunion. You’ve heard a lot about their friendship. Bucky has told you story after story of their escapades as kids, and even some after they’d grown up. You can’t count the number of nights you’ve fallen asleep to those stories.

“How are you here?” Bucky finally asks as he pulls away. “I thought…” He keeps Steve within arm’s reach as you watch from a distance, giving them space until he’s ready to introduce you.

“I was looking for other lycans. I heard about a community of them near New York, but it turned out to be a trap. Once I got away, I wasn’t able to travel. I needed time to heal, so I laid low until I thought it would be safe. Then I had to track you down.” Steve chuckles and squeezes Bucky’s arm. “You were hard to find, pal, though I suppose you’ve got a good reason for that. Hi.” He looks over your mate’s shoulder and meets your eyes, a small, knowing smile on his face. It’s fond, but you still feel your cheeks grow warm at the acknowledgement.

Bucky turns and smiles wide when he sees you. He holds out a hand and you close the distance between you, lacing your fingers together again.

“Y/N, this is Steve, my best friend. Steve, this is Y/N, my mate.”

The final word holds a quiet emphasis that only lycans and their companions know. Steve’s eyebrows raise slightly as he holds out his hand for you to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope this punk’s been good to you,” he says.

You laugh and shake his hand. “He has. I’m glad I finally get to put a face to the name. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things I hope?” Steve asks. He glances over at Bucky, who only shrugs. He’s grinning, though, and neither you nor Steve are surprised by the unapologetic expression.

The breeze blows through the yard, making heat prickle across your skin as the chimes hung near the porch steps play. You squeeze Bucky’s hand.

“I know we’ve only just been introduced, but I want to tell you that seeing you as a lion was probably one of the strangest moments of my life. I’m not sure if knowing that you weren’t a normal lion would’ve made it better or worse,” you tell him. 

Steve seems surprised and he looks between you and Bucky. “We’ve met before?”

Slipping an arm around your waist, Bucky presses a kiss to the top of your head and replies for you. “Only once. You want coffee, Steve? Or something to eat? It’s getting hot out.”

Steve nods. You and Bucky lead him to the kitchen, where Natasha is sitting in her normal seat at the kitchen table with her coffee. She casts you all a cursory glance before going back to the newspaper crossword. While she looks entirely uninterested in what’s happening, you know she’s listening, so you quickly interrupt her charade to make introductions.

“Nat, this is Steve, Bucky’s friend. Steve, this is my friend, Natasha. She’s trustworthy, even if she doesn’t always look at it.” You gesture between the two of them before continuing into the main part of the kitchen, but you watch out of the corner of your eye as they exchange polite smiles and a handshake. Their hands linger a moment longer than necessary and you shoot Bucky a look.

He shakes his head, a teasing look in his eyes. “Don’t try anything,” he whispers. “Just get to know him first before you try and set him up with Nat.”

“Oh, come on!” you hiss.

He shakes his head again. “You don’t know as well as I do. I don’t want you to blame yourself if it doesn’t work out.”

“Is your girl already scheming, Bucky? I can see why you get along.”

Steve’s voice from behind startles you, and Bucky rubs a soothing hand over the slope of your back when you tense. It’s strange to have another person in your tiny home, especially someone so large and with such a booming voice. He may be kind and genuine in nature, but it was still an intrusion, at least right now. You’d forgotten that he, unlike Nat, can hear almost everything you say.

“You still drink your coffee with a little cream and sugar?” Bucky asks, and Steve nods in response.

Bucky maintains physical contact with you when you stop by the counter so he can pour three cups of coffee, whether with his hand, elbow, arm, or hip. You don’t move away even when you know your presence is an inconvenience to the process. Besides, even if you wanted to, Bucky would protest and pull you back. He likes having you near and you’re not going to complain.

You watch in silence as Bucky prepares your drink first, then slides it in front of you. Smiling softly, you pick it up for a sip, then give him your nod of approval. His expression softens and he smiles again. It’s your smile, the one he gives only to you when he’s basking in your presence after a long day or when he particularly feels the deep love and appreciation your connection as mates provides. Steve can’t bring out that smile, only you. Lycans can’t fly, but you certainly feel like you can now that Bucky’s looked at you like that.

When he goes back to making his and Steve’s cups, you glance over at the kitchen table, where the other lycan has sat down across from Nat. She’s pointedly ignoring him as she works on the crossword, and you can tell even without knowing him long that he’s trying to figure her out. Part of you wants to tell him that he never will, but most of you wants to watch him try. 

With the two coffees in hand, Bucky breaks contact with you and heads over to the kitchen table. You take your time, gathering up breakfast as he gives Steve one of the mugs and leans against the end of the counter. 

“You and Y/N met back in the city, after I first found you again,” Bucky explains.

A beat passes before Steve asks, “The girl from the alley? That’s you?”

You glance over and nod, smiling a little. “That’s me. You were definitely a surprise that day. It’s not every day you see a lion in the middle of the city.”

If you hadn’t known her better, you wouldn’t have noticed Nat’s pencil faltering slightly as she writes in an answer, but you see it out of the corner of your eye. She’s dying of curiosity inside, you know she is. She knows, however, that asking a lycan about their animal form is impolite, especially if you’re a human, which means she won’t ask until she’s got you alone. Nat’s smart enough not to get mixed up in something she doesn’t understand if it can easily be solved by cornering someone and grilling them for answers later on.

Steve laughs and takes a sip of the coffee, then gives Bucky an appreciative nod. “I didn’t realize you were lycan, Y/N. Usually we can tell right away, but you seemed fully human,” he says.

“I didn’t realize I was lycan then, either,” you explain as you plate the breakfast you’ve scrapped together for you and Bucky. Natasha has left out a plate of pancakes and you carry that, as well as the other plate, over to the table. You slide the pancakes over to Steve. “Do you want syrup?”

He nods and you turn to get it, gesturing with one hand towards the second plate on the table.

“Go ahead and eat, James.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you nod, kissing him on the cheek.

“I’m sure. I’ll find something later if I need it.” You get the syrup, picking up your coffee from the counter on the way back, and then settle in the seat Bucky has left empty for you. “To answer your question, Steve, I didn’t realize I was lycan until I shifted in my sleep one night after Bucky started living here. I woke up as a wolf and Bucky was quick to explain most things that went along with the discovery.”

“You let him live with you even though he was a lycan?” Steve asks, surprised.

Bucky reaches over your shoulder to set the plate down in front of you. More than half the food is gone. “They didn’t know I was a lycan,” he answers. “Y/N and Natalia saved my life. I kept my identity a secret until after Y/N shifted, and then I realized why I felt so drawn to her all those times.”

There’s a wide grin on Steve’s face as he sets down his fork and knife. The pancakes are already demolished. Lycans eat fast, but Steve seems to be quicker than normal. That or he was just incredibly hungry. If he’s anything like Bucky, he’ll soon be eating you out of house and home. One lycan means some extra groceries, two means an extra trip a week, but three? You can’t imagine the amount of food you’ll be going through if he stays any longer than today.

“Drawn to her? You wouldn’t shut up about her for months before we ran into her in that alley, and it was even worse after,” he says. “Drawn to her’s a bit of an understatement.”

“Punk,” Bucky huffs, and you laugh. He leans down and wraps his arms around your shoulders from up above, and you hold onto his arms with one hand while you eat with the other.

“I thought your name was Natasha. Is it Natalia or Natasha?” Steve asks, addressing Nat for the first time since entering the room.

She looks up, her face neutral. “И я думал, что у тебя никогда не хватит смелости заговорить со мной.”

Bucky chokes and sputters as he attempts to hold in his laughter. He presses his face into your hair, and even you have to duck your head to hide your smile. Your Russian’s gotten much better with two speakers in the house, if only out of necessity. Poor Steve looks obviously confused, and you feel a little bit bad for enjoying his misery.

This time, Nat leans forward over the table, crushing her crossword against the wood. Steve’s drawn into her web, a hopeful expression replacing the confusion as she raises her eyebrows.

“Do you like to read, Steve?” she asks, and he nods, then shakes his head.

“I do, but I don’t. I like art more. Sketching, mostly. The only thing I like to read is classic novels, but those are harder to carry around than a single sketchpad,” he answers. He’s babbling. It’s endearing, and you and Natasha exchange a split-second glance before she turns back to him.

She hums in approval and then sits up straight again, picking up her pencil. “If you’re staying in town, you can borrow some of my books. I’ve got stacks in my room.” She points towards the hallway with her eraser, her smile softening from sly to friendly. “And I’d love to see some of your sketches.”

Steve practically melts under Natasha’s warmed gaze and you tilt your head back to look up at Bucky.

“I told you so,” you murmur.

“We’ll see,” he whispers back, then leans down to kiss you on the forehead. “You wanna go for a run later? With Steve?”

You hum and smile at him. “If you’ll have me. I don’t want to get in the way if you want time to catch up…”

Bucky shakes his head and straightens, then grabs your hand and leads you to stand. He pulls you closer until your noses are almost touching and your eyelids flutter at the proximity.

“You’re never in the way. I’ll run with you till my legs fall off.”

Movement at the table makes you take a sudden step away, cheeks warm. Even though Steve knows you and Bucky are mates, it still feels wrong to be flaunting your relationship right in front of him. Bucky is his best friend, after all. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, not so soon after their reunion. You’d do so many things just to get him to stay. You never want him to leave Bucky’s life ever again.

“It’s okay,” Steve quickly reassures you, his smile genuine. “You can be yourselves around me, I promise. Just because Bucky’s my friend doesn’t mean I don’t expect you to act like his mate when I’m around. I’ve lived with other lycans almost my whole life. I know how these things work.”

Sheepishly, you nod and step back into Bucky’s personal space. His arms immediately encircle you and you try to relax at his touch.

“If it’s okay with you guys, I’d like to get a lay of the land. I’m not going to intrude on your space, but I was thinking of getting a place nearby…” Steve trails off. He looks out the glass sliding doors at the neat rows of vegetables, herbs, and flowers that the three of you planted earlier that spring. They’re growing well, thankfully.

“We were just talking about that,” Bucky replies. “We planned on going for a run today anyway. Y/N and I can show you all the best spots.”

Natasha stands from her seat as well, the crossword and pencil in one hand and her empty mug in the other. “You know, Lucas mentioned that Joseph’s cabin by the river is for sale. Maybe you could take Steve down that way. I’m sure I can get him a showing tomorrow if he wants.”

Joseph Cherub’s old log cabin is nestled in the thicker part of the forest less than a ten minute walk away. It hasn’t been occupied in years, not since the owners moved to the city, but it’s in good shape. The owners paid a local to drive out and keep up the property, especially when the weather is bad. Not only is the cabin near the river, but there’s an area for a small garden. Steve would be able to fish and grow his own food, if he wanted.

The little cabin is close enough that it would allow the three of you to meet up and run together. You would have another lycan nearby—one who’d been a part of your past, no less—and it would be Bucky’s dearest friend. There’s no better combination than that. Plus, if Steve moved into the cabin, Nat would be able to see him a lot more.

“No viewing needed,” Steve answers, shaking his head, and your smile falls. “I’m good at fixing things, and if Bucky vouches for it, then it’s fine.” He looks pointedly at his best friend, and you lift your gaze to look at Bucky as well.

After a moment, Bucky nods, then smiles wide. You grin too.

“Looks like we’re neighbors again, Stevie,” Bucky teases, and you laugh. He gives your waist an affectionate squeeze at the sound.

Steve groans. “Don’t call me that.”

Translations:

Маленький = Little One

И я думал, что у тебя никогда не хватит смелости заговорить со мной. = And I thought you’d never have the balls to speak to me again.

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Wild Tags: @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

[themarginalthinker]

Little Talks

(prompt from @roseate-lagomorph, for my two Nosferatu ocs Jen and Fen! Conversations in the dark, about many things unspoken of.)

-

Jen watches the curl of smoke drift upwards into the darkness of the tunnel.

He was alone, among the 'front lawn' of his haven. The tiled walls and flooring - not done by his own hands. He was a craftsman, but not for the pretty and aesthetically pleasing in the world. The star-burst patterns in mosaic the swirled around each other in van Gohg dizziness had been placed by hands that still saw use for the beauty.

Mm. Jen huffs out the last of his grey, nicotine-laden breath in one go. The menthol is the only real sensation he actually feels from it, tingling at his lips and throat. The actual drug in the tobacco having long since lost any effect on his dead system, when not laced into and metabolized in blood.

Jen flicks the used butt of the cigarette away, landing perfectly in the metal coffee can that was a constant presence outside the door. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the little paper carton for another. They may not actually do anything for him anymore, but a habit is a habit.

"Three in a row. What's sticking the gears tonight?"

Jen's face is tensing, growling before he even looks up to the voice. The old voyeur.

"Fuck off," he hisses, sticking the new cigarette in his mouth, but not lighting up right away.

From the darkness down the way, melting out of the shadows and the twisted nets of internet and electrical wires that lead into their haven (one of the youngers had set all that up - Jen wouldn't touch any of it with a ten foot pole, thanks) came a body. Long, lacking the body fat that many of their clan did with the Rot having stolen it from them, teeth like tusks sticking out at odd angles as he smiled that stupid grin.

Fenster comes to stand before Jen, hands in his pockets looking for all the world like the bastard belonged there.

Jen stares at him head-on as he flicks the clicker of the lighter, the flare of golden light dancing in shadows across their faces. Fen doesn't flinch. He's been with Jen too long for a mere lighter flame to startle his Beast.

The cherry of the cigarette glows as Jen starts it with an inhale, and keeps staring at Fen.

"Four."

"Fuck off, where were you," asks Jen, redirecting the point away from his chain smoking.

Fen leans against the wall, the colorful mosaic. His sleepy-eyed smirk is as infuriating as it is impossible with his teeth, but he somehow always manages. Jen pretends he doesn't see it.

"Out."

"Out where."

"What are you, my mother? It's past ten o'clock, but none of us know where our kids are."

Jen moves to stand, (to do what, he's not really sure, but like hell is he going to stand here listening to the fool fool at him) but Fen's too quick. Like a shadows slipping through water, Jen suddenly finds himself pushed back against the wall, a body thinner than his but taller, enough to keep him still, standing over him.

Those long, protruding teeth are near his ear, a hushed whisper.

"Calm down. It wasn't anything big, just...some assholes who needed a reminder that even if they can't see us, that block belongs to us."

Jen breathes. A clear breath, free of smoke. Fen is so close, he can smell him instead. The faint traces of paint chips, the constant, lingering scent of the Mesh, and something...unique. All himself.

Fen can feel Jen's shoulders relax under his hands.

"Am I gonna get word about it later?" Jen asks.

Fen shrugs. "Maybe. Not really a clan thing, just something I thought I'd take care of."

Jen rolls his eyes. "I'm sure he'll have a field day when he finds out."

Fen clicks his tongue in something one who didn't know him would almost call sympathy. "Been on your ass?"

"Alfred wants three new levels. All individual chambers."

Fen pulls back, and together, the pair makes to sit on the little bench just outside the door, where Jen had been earlier.

"Is he...you know. Finally giving into the idea of..?"

Jen remembers his vice, and takes another, much longer drag of smoke. He lets it linger inside for a while, curling blackly around his dead lungs. No feeling. Using the action as a distraction.

Fen waits.

"I don't know," Jen eventually says. "I don't ask. I just do."

He's the only one who really can. Rotschreck at the sight of a welding torch and beam cutter would send any work team into a frenzied pack. But not him. And because of that, the old codger kept him close. Always expanding. Always building something. Jen's always been a good worker.

Fen must notice his silence, because clawed hands come to rest on the one not holding the cigarette.

"Maybe it's not what we think."

Maybe. Maybe those little metal boxes aren't being made with the intent Jen knows they are.

He doesn't know. He won't ask. They'll see in the end, he supposes.

"Could I have one?" Fen asks.

Jen hums in assent, and starts to reach for the carton in his pocket, but before he can, the lit cigarette is plucked from his mouth, and being drawn on by Fen. Jen blinks, and watches.

Jen raises an eyebrow at this display.

Fen grins.

"Want a better distraction?"

The night is long. Work is never far from the door.

"Might as well," Jen says, with his own small smile.

[sagemoderocklee]

As the last leaf drops

was gonna go to bed but then you sent this and honestly it's givin "as the leaves blow through the wind" which was the first gaalee fic i ever wrote and is very much locked for public viewing because it sucked oh my god i actually had someone reach out to me via email to ask me about that fic not too long ago it was wild... cause i wrote that fic 14 years ago (a few months shy of 14 years at the moment in fact)

anyways.... to actually give you a fic idea for this... veering away from melodrama i think this lends itself to something like sweet and romantic, maybe bittersweet but not like fatalistic per say. something with a poetic flare...

okay lets say there's a tree in a secret grove of Fire that Lee stumbles upon on a mission. for lack of research we'll just say it's a cherry blossom tree that's always in bloom and it like grants wishes--it's probably like an old chakra fruit tree tbh--and the town nearby has legends about it and Lee thinks what the hell, why not? and he's feelin a bit wistful because he's nearing 30 and all his friends are settling down but he's still single and thinks there's no harm in making a wish at this tree

and it's an innocuous enough wish. there's no specifics to it. he doesnt wish for sakura to love him, he doesn't wish to change anyone else's life by altering the past so he can finally be loved. he just wishes to finally meet that special person, whoever they may be; wishes he could stop losing years with that eventual lover to loneliness.

and... nothing happens. he didnt actually think it would, of course... okay maybe he did a little. he's a romantic after all, and all he's had his whole life are flights of fancy, so it's not really out of character for him to be a little gullible.

he goes back to the village, finishes up his mission, gets a cryptic message from a woman in the village about the tree and his wish and goes back to konoha. he thinks about his wish from time to time, fantasizes about it coming true, but ultimately just... moves on from the wish itself.

and then one day while training tenten notices something on Lee's back that he obviously cant see. it's a tattoo. a large tattoo he never got of that very tree. its branches are covered in leaves and flowers, but as tenten watches, a single leaf falls away from a branch.

lee remembers the woman's cryptic parting words about the tree and his wish.

'when the last leaf falls, you'll have what you desire'

how long will it take for the tattoo on his back to shed its leaves? it seems like it'll take forever. but Lee's already waited this long, and if at the end of this he really does meet the love of his life, well what's waiting a little longer?

so he tries to put it out of mind, but he obsesses over the tattoo, constantly checking for changes. there are none. it feels like its frozen in time like any normal tattoo and lee starts to wonder if maybe there isn't anyone for the tree to help him find...

blah blah something something i have no idea how this will eventually lead to Gaara and Lee being romantic but that's the basic premise and not at all what i was really going for, i kinda just... let my mind wander here. def could use some polishing up but im sure i'll shove this into my ideas doc and figure something out with it

[more-than-a-princess]

Seated at the antique vanity table in her suite, Sonia had just finished sliding the last of the bobby pins into her hair when one of the windows interrupted her focus with a groaning creak. The sort that came from too much weight or pressure on ancient wood furnishings, something she was all too familiar with at home, in her younger years, as she devised various ways to sneak away from the various royal residences. In contrast, whatever was making this sound didn't want out: it wanted to get in.

In the span of a second, she'd made two decisions: one, that she did not have enough time to notify her security several doors further into the building that there was a trespassing underway and two, she remembered she'd chosen to keep one of the pistols in her possession in the bottom right drawer of the vanity. In a swift movement, she'd retrieved it, gotten to her feet, clicked off the safety, and took aim at the window before she realized who exactly it was who had disrupted her morning pre-breakfast, admonishing him with a reminder of proper window usage.

 "This was not exactly how I anticipated my morning to begin," She replied with a heavy sigh, flipping the safety back on before putting the pistol away in its proper place. "I apologize: after the first two kidnappings, my family refuses to take chances, especially when I travel. I'm protected by diplomatic immunity wherever I go, and they'd rather me safe than risk a third attempt."

She took a seat back on the upholstered cushion in front of the mirror, moving to affix a pearl barrette into her hair. The front sections had been pulled away and fastened behind her head, giving her some relief on what was anticipated to be a warm, end of spring day in Florence. She'd dressed for it too, with a linen sundress in a pale shade of lavender that was fitted in the bodice and flared at the waist ending just below her knees, complete with thin straps that tied into bows atop each shoulder. Beige espadrilles had been tied into similar bows around her ankles and a pair of white sunglasses, a straw hat, and a wicker basket bag had been placed on a chair nearby, a pink and red silk scarf tied to the bag's handle. Decidedly casual for royalty, right down to the gold pebble and freshwater pearl earrings in her ears.

"What sort of services would those be?" She asked, perhaps far too casually to someone who had just climbed through her window without warning. Though at this point, she was often expecting Shirou Emiya to turn up unexpectedly: in a private villa in the Maldives, in a casino in Monaco, and now, a villa-turned-hotel in Florence. "I don't suppose you're going to sneak into this hotel's kitchen next." She turned from her mirror then and grinned at him, having just finished dabbing a bit of cherry red lipstick onto her lips with her fingertip before wiping it on a handkerchief.

"I don't suppose I may ask what you're doing here, considering how we usually cross paths now," She continued, slipping both the gold compact and the handkerchief into the handbag before securing the tan leather top in place. "But I believe any situation may be perceived as strange as I had specific instructions to my staff that I wanted a day on my own in Florence before tomorrow's official schedule. I was just about to find a café for coffee: that's what they call breakfast here, regardless if you're drinking the beverage or not."

@more-than-a-princess ❝ People here don’t normally enter and exit through windows, okay? You should probably remember this information for future reference. ❞ (definitely for an older Shirou)

❝ Ah, it is just you. For a moment I thought I’d be in trouble. ❞ His nonchalant tone hid his genuine relief.

There are a few things one must know about Florence. It was once one of the richest places in all Europe during the Renaissance era, its most affluent citizens were so above everything else that their mansions weren’t located on the street level but always at least one flight of stairs above. It even became an intricate network of above-ground passageways connecting one villa to the next, its inhabitants hardly having to ever touch the streets during their lifetimes. Almost like an entirely different world right above everyone’s head, literally. Another thing is that many of the affluent families that held power during that time also holds power to this day. An old lineage that upholds its traditions hidden from the outside world. Shirou didn’t take any of that into consideration. The man recognized a few individuals from a previous run-in and didn’t want to have an unnecessary scuffle amidst a bustling street, so he climbed up the nearest drain to reach a balcony, pressing his body against the window. However, it wasn’t latched on properly and due to its uneven flooring he ended up inside the house – he barely had any time to curse his clumsiness when realized that there was a woman in there! – that was it. He was ready to accept his face and get into trouble. But it seems fate had a silly sense of humor and he soon recognized the person in question, which left him without reaction as spoke.

❝ My apologies. I didn’t expect to run into you or anyone for that matter. ❞ in fact, he was trying to avoid people when he got himself in this situation. ❝ Wouldn’t it be weirder that an unknown man is seen leaving the premises but wasn’t seen getting in? Perhaps I should offer you my services so at least you have an explanation if inquired about it.  ❞ … He had no idea where he was at. Was it one of the Novosonian royal family’s proprieties outside their country? An embassy? The house of one of their connections? Either way it didn’t sound too good for him. It was downright trespassing (again).