#just me and my fake cigarette against the world

[puppyfriedrice]

Happy New Year

[visibleclosedeyes]

Gap in my heart (Literally)

pairing: Mr. Gap x reader

“Hello”

While you prepare to work in your bedroom–doing your makeup and hair, putting on your uniform–ready for the day ahead, a chilling but familiar voice calls you. 

“Mr. Gap? Uh. Me not play,” You said without turning your head toward the voice. Since the day you managed to get out of that  Otherworld, Mr.Gap has consistently shown up in your space in the gap in the wall, in different containers, and so forth. At this point, you kinda have a domestic relationship together. Boyfriend? You wouldn’t go that far, but something is there. 

“Disappointed” Mr. Gap narrowed his eyes before asking another question 

“Where go?”

“Same place every day, Mr. Gap. Working. uh–Me work, same work.”

“Why?” He asks, eyes still narrowed–displaying an unreadable expression that you guess to be some kind of discontentment. It surprised you really–Mr. Gap isn’t a high-maintenance type and he never asked you these questions before. What changed?

“Uh…Work hunger gone,”

“Work stop hunger?” He seems interested now. 

“Not exactly. Work gives things, and things get food.” You try again to explain to Mr. Gap the concept of monetary exchange and bill to the best of your ability. 

“....not understand, residents don’t need work. Why work?”

“Humans need work, me human…Mr. Gap, why curious now?” You ask a question of your own. 

“Me bored, Stay,” 

“Can’t. Need work,”

“Disappointed” He responds, the conversation sounds like it goes back to the very beginning. 

“Give finger?”

“No,”

“Disappointed” He repeats yet again before disappearing. 

Working is hard. Living in the human world is hard. You know this already but it seems like every day her co-workers really remind her of that fact. Today is just another day of demoralizing work days. Getting yelled at by your boss because of your co-worker's mistake is not fun. In the parking lot, you are sitting there with a cigarette between your fingers contemplating whether or not to murder your co-worker, literally speaking. Suddenly between the gap in the wall opposite to you, a familiar pair of eyes pop up.

“Hello”

“Mr. Gap??! How did you..? Oh right, you can show up in any gap,”

“Human trouble?”

“Its nothing, just hard day at work,”

“Me solve problem, give me finger,”

“What? No! Not give finger,”

“Boring. Goodbye,”

Almost every day was the same old same old—your co-worker is an annoying asshole who purposefully caused issues just so he could blame it on you.

“Where are the documents the boss asked you to do?” Speaks of the devil… the most annoying face among the co-workers in this shitshow of a company has shown up like a fucking ghost the moment she starts thinking about her job

“What? What documents?” She answers truthfully. What fucking documents? And why is she hearing this just now?

“Seriously, the boss wants you to be the one to do it. you’re seriously irresponsible. Why did they even hire you?” He said with such a fake shocked expression on his face. Wait, so the boss told him…

"Boss told you this and you never told me?” she asked him in disbelief

"You never ask me to tell you, you should have been more active,” He snickers with a smug smile. Oh, this irritating fucker.

2 months and 1 week. She has sworn off killing people for exactly two months. Like a proud ex-addict, she wears that pride quietly on her mind, unable to announce how prideful she is for not killing some random pedestrians who show up in an abandoned apartment. She wants to keep it that way, but this man seems to be testing her patience. She is going to lose it and kill this guy on his way home. 

"There is still time left. You can take responsibility and be active for once. Give me a call once you are finished!”

your palms curl into a fist full of hate and rage–this man has no idea who he is up against. She fantasizes about the different ways she would go about killing him. Her regular method of a crowbar to the head would be the safest route but this guy is a piece of shit to her so far and she wants to do something special for him.

No, she doesn't want to kill these days. Hunting and killing seems to be a hobby she lost interest in a while ago. Now, she simply wishes for a more simple life after all those lives she proudly took. 

(not finish)

One day, when she was working as per usual–she hears the sound of that asshole screaming from the restroom

"I swear! I saw it there! a pair of creepy eyes between the crack in the wall inside the male restroom!”

"some pervert looking into the male toilet?”

"No! I…I don't think it's human–when I saw it, it just disappeared into thin air!”

"I think you should go see a doctor”

“Yeah, are you I'll or something? Did you hear a voice in your head too?”

“S–shut up! Stop mocking me! I fucking saw it, Ok?!” 

It seems like vacation comes to visit you early this year as she hears one of the best but most shocking of all week. Her asshole co-worker has decided to quit, it also seems like he has been scared shitless and borderline losing his mind at something that most people don't seem to understand. Many think that he cracked under constant pressure but she has a better idea of what might have happened. She didn’t think to ask of him at this current time but it seemed like he could read her mind somehow when she found him manifesting in her bag, a pair of gleeful, teasing eyes with an otherworldly smile somehow made her heart skip beats. 

“Mr.Gap!”

“Hello. Me good resident.” 

“I heard about the haunting spirit between the wall’s gap in the male bathroom—did you do it? The guy who tormented me quit”

“Me solve problems, me good resident,”

“Yeah, that was a good one. Good, thank you”

“Give good resident finger?”

“No”

“Disappointed”

[ghoulbrain]

Happiness is a Warm Gun

18+ 4.5k ghoul x f!reader. predator/prey roleplay, lite bondage lite cnc into enthusiastic consent, heavy gun kink/play, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie, aftercare. ends tender bc i can't help myself. gif credit. written for my darling @luckytiggertalia, who asked for excessive gun kink and captor/captive. thank you! 🖤 written as a successor to Saddle Up, Sweetheart, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Being in a relationship with the world’s most notorious bounty hunter lands you in some strange situations, but none stranger than those you concoct for yourselves. You run, and the Ghoul hunts you.

The Ghoul is one of the fiercest bounty hunters in New California, yet regardless of how terrifyingly efficient he is, everyone knows he only takes on payouts worthy of his time. With his long shadow stretching out across the west, most hunters are reluctant to take on bounties over a certain threshold, lest they accidentally come between him and his quarry.

Which, at this moment, just so happens to be you.

You’ve made it to a Red Rocket truck stop just half a mile west of Junktown. What was once a glorified gas station in a world long-gone now serves as little more than a hollowed out shell providing shade for all manner of miscreants and creatures wandering the dusty wastes, still decorated in tiny reminders of life before the war.

Crouched down behind a counter, your back pressed to the grime painted wall beneath a window, you spot a heavily aged cardboard carton labeled Grey Tortious Famous Cigarettes wedged at the very back of the second shelf behind the counter. Clicking your tongue softly, you reach for it, using the barrel of your pistol to catch the corner of the box. Carefully–and quietly–you drag it close enough to grab.

Your hopes aren’t high, but–

Jackpot.

Smiling faintly, you extract a crumpled but still half-full pack of cigarettes from the carton. You glance around, eyes wandering until you spot the decrepit remains of some poor bastard collapsed against the far wall, still garbed in their threadbare signature Red Rocket uniform. With a slight nod, you fish a single cap out of a small pouch on your belt and slide it onto the shelf.

“Pleasure doing business,” you murmur to the corpse, tucking the cigarettes carefully into the pack strapped to your thigh.

A shrill whistle, the kind you’d call a dog with, snaps your attention back to the moment. You press your back tight against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath to hold.

“Alright, darlin’, y’little goose-chase is over,” the Ghoul calls into the lot. Your heart begins to race. He sounds close. “I’m man enough to admit y’outfoxed me back at the yard, that was clever. But’cha got nowhere to slip to now,” he says, voice gradually growing louder. It’s not long before you can hear the crunch of his boots in the gravel.

You screw your eyes shut, steeling yourself with a silent breath before opening them again. He’ll have to circle the building to get where you are. The crunch of his boots is louder with each step. If he keeps yapping, it’ll be even easier to track the moment he moves out of eyesight of the window you’re hiding under, and you’ll be able to creep out to get behind him. Your grip on your pistol flexes, finger poised off the trigger.

The footsteps outside grow quiet enough that you can no longer hear them over the thundering of your heart. He hasn’t said anything, but you give it an extra few seconds to be safe, holding your breath as you gingerly lift out of your crouch, careful to keep your head beneath the window frame, eyes on the door across from you. Even if he sees you, you’ll have time enough to–

You’re jerked backwards suddenly by your jacket, a scream yanked out of you as you’re pulled against the window, knocking into it.

“There y’are,” he says through his teeth, hauling you up to your feet. Fuck, he faked you out with his steps. He holds you against the window, the edge of it biting into your back, his fist curled tightly in the collar of your jacket. “Give it up, darlin’. Y’all mine now,” he coos, his voice a sinister rasp at your ear. 

Out of desperation, you drop your pistol and throw your arms up, slipping out of your jacket and stumbling forward onto your hands and knees. Your boots skid on the floor as you scramble to your feet, launching into a run. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him vaulting in through the window, scaring you into running faster.

Where you intend to run is a problem to be solved as you go.

Unfortunately for you, the Ghoul is a step ahead. Gunfire startles you halfway out of your skin, but it’s the sign that falls in your path that stops you in your tracks. You look up and see a woven cable swaying, frayed from where the crazy son of a bitch managed to shoot it clean apart. You gear up to bolt to the left, but it’s already too late. The tell-tale hiss of a rope whipping through the air is your only warning before the lasso tightens around your arms and sternum, one sharp yank pulling you off your feet and down onto your back.

The world spins. You let out a soft groan, moving to roll onto your side, but he keeps you from it with a hardy pull, gathering the rope in his hands as he walks to you.

The Ghoul lets out a low whistle, his shadow falling over you. “Close, but no cigar, sweetheart,” he drawls, crouching over you. 

Disoriented, you stare at his upside down face. He’s got his head tilted, lips parted in a crooked sneer of a smile. His eyes are dark enough that you can see yourself in them, glinting with predatory glee. You can’t hide the trill of excitement that runs through you over being looked at like that. He clicks his tongue.  

“N’aw, don’t you look plumb tuckered,” he says, voice laced with condescending sweetness. “No rest for the wicked, m’afraid,” he says, slipping his hands under your arms and hauling you up to your feet.

“You could’ve killed me,” you rasp, throat scorched by the dry desert air.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he deflects, amused. “Y’all in one piece, ‘ain’t’cha?” His breath is a warm tickle on your neck. With the rope tight across your sternum, arms pinned to your sides, he slides his gloved hand up your thigh, over your hip. His fingers tap along as he does, tickling your ribs, cupping your breast before sliding all the way up to your throat. 

The barest hint of his lips brushes the spot just behind your ear, the feeling so faint you could have made it up entirely. You shiver, pulling sharply away, but he pulls you right back in, the worn leather of his glove soft around your neck, his grip firm. 

“Mmhm, seem perfectly intact t’me,” he says, giving your throat a steadying squeeze. “No need t’put up a fight, angel. Y’comin’ with me either way.”

This time he presses his scarred lips properly to your skin, the feel of them warm and wet. Wanting. You swallow the lump in your throat, clench your thighs against the heat building between them. 

“Let go of me,” you say, fighting to put conviction in it. 

“No can do,” he says, his breath prickling goosebumps from your scalp to your thighs. “I’ve struck the motherlode with you.”

 The rope is tied low and tight enough that you can’t elbow him or shoulder your way free. Impulsively, you move to kick at his leg, but he outmaneuvers you, catching your kick with his boot and spinning you around so suddenly you gasp.

“Oohh, y’ve got fire,” he says, lips pulled thin in a devilish smile. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.” Something hard presses into your rib, and you don’t need to look down to know it’s the muzzle of his revolver. He draws the hammer back into place with a distinctive click. 

“Why don’t you be a good li’l captive and mosey on ahead?” He says, turning you until the gun is pressed into your lower back. You suppress a shudder. That’s when the world suddenly goes black, the press of the gun briefly vanishing while fabric is pulled tight over your eyes.

Wherever he’s taking you, he wants it to be a surprise.

The Ghoul walks you at gunpoint. He keeps the rope between you taut, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your back. The venture there is quiet, your gait tense with anticipation. A sick little thrill runs through you every time he yanks the rope or gives you a deep jab with his gun. There’s pleasure in his voice when he tells you, “Mind your step, sweetness.”

He knows precisely the effect he has on you, even if it took him time and a half to believe it.

His knuckles dig into your back as his fingers hook over the rope, holding it like a harness as you descend a flight of stairs. He catches you when you stumble on the last step, but it still startles you.

“A warning would have been nice,” you say, turning your head blindly, angling to try and get any glimpse of your surroundings from beneath the blindfold.

“Apologies,” he drawls, not sounding very sorry at all. He nudges you forward with his gun. “I like watchin’ you struggle.”

“Yeah, you make that very–” A hard tug on the rope cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. The rope comes loose after that, full circulation returning to your hands in a rush that makes them tingle. The Ghoul’s steps resonate in the room–it sounds large, mostly empty–as he walks away from you. You stay still for a hesitant moment, head jerking at the sound of something scraping across the floor towards you.

“Awwh, ain’t you sweet, waitin’ for permission,” he says, making you flush. You quickly reach up and pull the blindfold from your eyes, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. 

It looks like a cleared out storage facility of some kind, with cement support beams lined up in a row down the center of the room, the walls lined with ransacked steel shelving. There’s a wire frame bed braced against one of the beams, heaped haphazardly with some pillows and blankets. 

The Ghoul sits on a rusty wrought iron chair in front of you, staring up from beneath the wide brim of his hat. From his thigh, he has his revolver fixed on you. 

“Atta girl,” he says as the blindfold hits the ground. “Now take off the rest.”

The low resonance of his voice easily commands the room. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down the dark barrel of his gun. Biting your tongue to keep yourself from showing too much excitement, you hurriedly reach for your–

The gunshot is deafening in the echoing expanse of the room, drowning out your scream. Already high on your own anticipation, the shot of adrenaline that goes through you with the startle nearly knocks you off your feet. 

His gun smokes in the wake of the shot that narrowly missed your reaching hand.

“Slow,” he tells you, cocking the hammer once again with his thumb.

The pound of your heart is rivaled only by the aching throb between your thighs. Breathing shallowly, you keep your eyes trained on him as you–slowly, this time–reach for your belt, pouches shifting as you unbuckle it. You lay it carefully on the ground, mindful of the treasures you acquired at the gas station, before you kick off each boot.

His gaze is heavy on you all the while, eyes dark and attentive to your every move. Your focus is on the tip of his gun, how it subtly follows along with your hands. You peel each layer off without taking your eyes from him, a shiver moving through you once your hands touch bare skin, purposefully sliding them down your hips, your legs, and then moving them slowly back up as you stand back up, stepping out of the garments pooled on the floor.

He tilts his gun sideways and beckons you forward with it, tipping his head back, dark eyes tracking your every move as you approach him. One at a time, he spreads his legs. “On y’knees, darlin’.” You obey, sinking down–slowly, he told you slow–onto your knees between his legs, bringing yourself to eye level with his gun. The cement floor feels harsh against your bare skin.

“Y’got my gun dirty runnin’ me out into the wastes like that,” he chides, leaning forward, pressing his gun to your sternum. With agonizing slowness, he drags the muzzle up through the valley between your breasts, to the notch beneath your throat, pressing into it briefly. He continues up, the metal cool against your burning skin, though not by much. He hooks the barrel under your chin and tips your head back.

“Clean it for me,” he says, pushing it between your lips.

While you open your mouth too readily for the game at hand, he doesn’t protest. The taste of the gun is bitter and metallic, but what strikes you most is the black powder residue. It’s charred with a sharp tang. A moan escapes you for the way he pushes it deeper, forcing your lips wider apart.

“Don’t be shy. Give ‘er a good spit shine, sweetheart,” he encourages, pulling the gun back only to push it deeper yet. You comply, welcoming the slide of it deeper, pressing your tongue into the grooves on the underside, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. “Good,” he says, voice rough with the effect you’re having on him.

Hands braced on your own bare thighs, your nails bite dull little crescents into your skin. The rock of your body is entirely subconscious, your eyelids fluttering. It’s easy to lose yourself to the work at hand, to luxuriate in the weight of his gaze on you while he uses you, fucking your mouth with the full barrel of his gun. He’s so committed to the fantasy, you can’t help but buy into it wholly.

By the time he pulls the gun away your chin is spit slick and your tongue is tingling where you’d been pressing it to the barrel. He gives an appreciative whistle while inspecting the wet shine of his gun. “That’s better,” he says, gaze sliding to you. He stands, grabbing a thick handful of your hair to haul you up to your feet with him. The noise you make is humiliating. Needy. His answering grin is wicked.

“Time t’oil it,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t let that trace of impatience impact his movements any. He walks you to the bed with that same loose devil-may-care swagger, assured that he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece. 

The mattress’ metal coils groan with your weight as he tosses you onto the bed, standing at the edge of it. The bed stands taller than most, bringing your pelvis parallel to his when you’re on your knees. He grabs your thigh and yanks your ass up into the air, smoothing his hand over the swell of it. He gives a sharp little slap to your rear that wrings a gasp out of you. The way he smooths his leather clad hand over the smarting spot afterwards almost feels like an apology, even if he’s really just admiring his handiwork.

“Spread,” he orders simply. You do so eagerly, widening the splay of your knees, folding your arms to rest your head on. “Look at you,” he breathes with genuine wonder, gripping your ass cheek and holding it firm while he inspects you. You can already feel what he’s looking at, how wet you are from his teasing. “Y’fuckin’ drippin’ for me.”

A shiver rolls through your whole body at the feel of his gun against your inner thigh sliding slowly upwards. Your hips give a reflexive little buck at the first touch of that warm barrel against your soaked cunt, your clit throbbing so hard it aches. “Don’t move,” he tells you. He sounds wrecked. He moves it back and forth, teasing your clit with just the muzzle of it before drawing back, and your thighs tremble with the effort to keep yourself still when all you want is to chase that precious relief.

The hiss of his zipper is the most thrilling noise you’ve ever heard. The gun disappears from between your thighs.

“Up,” he tells you, taking a rough hold of your shoulder and yanking you upright before you have the chance to comply. He holds you still while he lines himself up, the familiar thick head of his cock grinding through the wet slide of you, the length of him rubbing from taint to clit. “Y’made this big mess just from suckin’ down my gun? Christ alive, darlin’. You’re somethin’ else,” he says through his teeth. The ruin in his voice makes it feel like praise, and that feels good.

Almost as good as the slow burn of his cock pushing into you, the sound of it obscenely loud and wet. You tip your head back against his shoulder and reach back over your own, grabbing at his coat, holding onto him for dear life while he sinks deeper and deeper, pulling you back until your bare ass falls flush against him. Feeling his clothing against your bare body intensifies that intoxicating feeling of vulnerability. Never in your life has the thrill of danger been safe to explore.

Not until him.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting almost as soon as he’s bottomed out. 

“Fffuck,” you exhale, eyes screwed tightly shut. You start to lean forward, but he catches you by the throat, pinning you back against his chest at the same time he fires his gun, shocking your eyes wide open. Your body goes rigid, cunt seizing up so tightly around him he hisses out a breath.

“C’mon, little bunny,” he whispers in a vicious grit, pressing the still-warm muzzle firmly against your temple. “Bounce for me.” He cocks the hammer back, the smell of black powder filling your senses. 

You nod fervently, lifting up on your knees and using the mattress to bounce yourself on his cock, gravity bringing you down into every one of his hard thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sighing his pleasure in strained little sounds. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing, thumbing your nipple until you shudder.

“Close,” you moan, fist twisting in the fabric of his coat, your other hand clutching the wrist of the hand he’s fondling you with. “Please.”

His only response is to slide his hand down further, fingers slipping between your thighs. His middle finger finds your clit first, the friction making your hips jerk out of rhythm. He persists, fingering your clit in smooth circles while he fucks you hard.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet on your neck. “All that fight’s gone now, ain’t it? Just a needy li’l thing beggin’ t’cum.” You’re so close you’re starting to shake, breath caught in your throat. “Go on, angel. Lemme hear how pretty you can beg.”

His fingers slow enough that your ascension falters. “Please!” You rasp immediately, squeezing his wrist, begging in every way you know how to. “Please, m’so close, please make me cum, please,” you plead, voice pitchy, your thoughts empty of everything but pleasure. He’s fucking you hard, chasing his own release just as fervently.  

Just like that his touch returns to full force, deftly working your clit until your pleasure crests and your pleas turn to cries. Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice, euphoria turning your vision white and emptying your mind of all thought while pleasure cascades through you in hot liquid waves.

He doesn’t stop, though his thrusts slow. He fucks you deeply through your orgasm, savoring every quiver around his cock while he uses you. You don’t hear him come, but you feel it, the deep rush of heat that he empties into the core of you, his body going still against yours. Your whole body shudders and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all. Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of him pressed against your back, holding you to him, grounds you.

He moves the gun from your temple and holsters it, adjusting his grip so that he can ease you down onto your stomach, slipping from between your legs. You pant hot puffs of air into the bedding, your vision blurry at the edges.

“Coop,” you call, signifying the end of your little game of pretend.

“M’right here,” he soothes, his bare hands upon you not a moment later. There’s a marked difference in the way he touches you now, a subtle tenderness that he’d forced out of his touch for the sake of play. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until now, feeling it as if for the first time. 

He slides into bed next to you, having shed his gloves, coat and bandolier. You find the strength to slip an arm around him, clinging despite the tremble in your limbs. The next several seconds–moments, maybe hours, you can’t be sure–pass by in a haze of touch.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. He makes you aware of your entire body, grounding you with sweeping touches to every part of your body. It’s an intoxicating intimacy that leaves you feeling warm and drunk, still hungry for more.

 At some point Cooper gets the blanket over you, skirting his scarred fingers up and down your arm beneath it. The adrenaline crash that follows your orgasm is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, leaving you exhausted on a level beyond physical.

“Still with me?” Cooper asks after a time, fingertips tapping idle patterns on your skin as if to call you back to your body. “Mhm… Intense,” you say, the lone word slurred by your lazy tongue.

“Warned you,” he gives back, sounding nearly as ruined. His voice is deeper than usual, thoroughly frayed at the edges. It’s true, he had warned you that you were playing with fire. It’s unclear how much of that had been play, and how much was just him. Still, it had been… thrilling. Amazing. Everything you’d hoped it would be. 

“How ‘bout it, darlin’, do I scare you yet?” He asks, making it sound like an inevitability. He must believe it is.

You sigh a low hum, pretending to give the matter great thought. “Mmm… Mm-mm. Not one little bit,” you say, the words hardly legible.

“Shucks,” he says simply, feigning something like disappointment.

“Why’re you so determined to scare me off?” You ask, adjusting where your head lay on his shoulder so that you can look up at him. You’ve grown accustomed to his unique silhouette, but more than that, you’ve started to figure out what it is that makes him handsome. He’s got a wide chin and a fine jawline, and on the rare occasions you see it, a charming smile.

Much of it is in his eyes. They never fail to make your heart stutter.

“A saner question would be why you’re so determined t’stay,” he counters, those very eyes dropping to meet yours. You can’t help but smile, which–as per usual–catches him just a touch off guard.

“I got a thing for pretty men,” you say, caught up in your own musings.

His expression flattens. “Very funny,” he says, and you realize he thinks you’re mocking him.

“Hey, I mean it. I was just thinking about how handsome you are,” you say, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“There’s a specific kind’a philia for finding corpses handsome, y’know,” he says, though in his afterglow the words lack their usual sharp cynicism. They come to him more like habit than anything else.

“You’re not a corpse, Cooper,” you tell him firmly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You don’t need to keep living like one.”

He considers you in silence for a long moment. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes your cheek. There it is again; that deep sadness that sometimes appears in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he’s mourning something.

“What?” You whisper. “Why do you–”

He kisses you, swallowing the words clean off your lips. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you through your meager protests until your lips move with his and you sink back down into the warmth of it. He grows progressively more relentless with it, stealing your breath until you’re forced to break away, turning your head for air.

“You can’t kiss your way out of every–”

“I know,” he interrupts you, lifting his head to level you with a hard stare. “I know, alright? But it’ll come on my terms, in my time, yeah?”

You stare, pinned by the weight in his expression. After a beat, you nod, feeling dazed by both the onslaught and his words. It’s the only time he’s acknowledged that there is something, which you suppose is progress. “Okay,” you say softly, and then again more firmly, “Okay.”

His expression softens, taking in the look of you before he kisses you again. You reciprocate, pressing into his lips with the weight of your conviction, willing him to feel how much you really do mean it. 

“Thank you for today,” you murmur, settling back down against him. “I never thought that I’d be able to… do something like that. And live,” you say, adding the last bit with a rueful smile. “I feel safe with you.”

You wait for some kind of dismissive or self-deprecating remark from him, or even a sly jab at you and your sanity, but neither come. You glance up and find him staring at you, thoughtful and–if your eyes don’t deceive you–a little sentimental.

“I don’t make promises,” he tells you, sounding resigned. “But for what it’s worth, I’d never want t’do somethin’ I thought might hurt you.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, that same sentimentality slipping into your own voice. If not a bit ominous.

“Not really,” he replies, adjusting against the bedding, his eyes falling shut. “Y’standards are just too low.”

You sigh, closing your eyes with an incredulous little smile. “Shut up.”

The two of you drift into comfortable silence, his fingers idly traipsing the contours of your body. It’s like he’s memorizing the feel of you, hyper-aware that these intimate moments together are stolen. You reciprocate, seeking out what bare skin you can with gentle brushes of your fingers. He’s never admitted as much, but you’ve long suspected he struggles with pain. He’s rarely ever unclothed, and sometimes you see him wince when he goes too long between hits of those vials.

Cooper started living on borrowed time long before he met you, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping that he might someday see something more permanent in you. With you.

In the meantime, you’ll make the most of every second.

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Valentine’s Day

Teen!NanamixTeen!Reader

(Part 2)

“Is this some kind of prank?”

That was the first thing to cross First Year Nanami Kento’s mind. Of course it had to be. What other reason would there be for a folded pink note to be on his desk? He grimaced as he picked up the note and looked it over. It was made of construction paper and smelled faintly of perfume and markers, which he could see bleeding through. All signs pointed to one thing: Gojo wrote a fake note and doused it in perfume to trick him.

What a pain…

The thought that someone, anyone, could have written him a genuine love note?! Ridiculous! This Valentine’s Day was going to end with Yu sharing all the sweets he got and Kento was just fine with that. He crumbled the letter up and put it in his pocket to throw away later. Luckily you didn’t stick around to see that far. You had gotten far too embarrassed. Shoko watched as you anxiously walked in circles. It thought of him rejecting you was heartbreaking but if you didn’t let your feelings be known how could you move on!

“Pacing won’t help you.” Shoko stated.

“I know but- ugh!” You slumped onto the bench into defeat. “I hate feelings.”

Shoko hummed in acknowledgment.

“Dude you are going to town on those cigarettes.” You stated

“Oh these? It’s candy from Gojo, I don’t wanna smell like smoke when me and Utahime go karoking later. You wanna come if Nanami rejects you?”

“What? You got a crush on the emo kid?” Gojo laughed. You quickly jumped back in shock. Him and Geto had the annoying hair of appearing anywhere you were. Gojo was of course doing it on purpose but you wished Geto would warn you.

“Don’t tease them Satoru.” Geto said in a light tone. Something about it still felt mocking.

“Spies! The both of you!” You yelled.

“Nah, you just talk too loud.” Gojo leaned over the benches back. His body slumped against your back as he shook your shoulders. “Come on~ Tell me about your crush~”

“Could you fuck off? You are so annoying.” You sneered.

“It’s cute (Y/N)! I didn’t think you would like the dark and brooding type.” Gojo cooed.

“He’s not dark and brooding!” You yelled, face flushed with embarrassment.

Gojo wasn’t completely wrong, Nanami was a little dark and brooding. He doesn’t really talk to people and always looks annoyed or angry. You would have continued your school days without ever noticing him. He noticed you though. When you were harassed by a group of third years, he told them to back off and helped you to class. He picked up the books you dropped by accident and gave you the treats he didn’t eat. Nanami was very kind and respectful to you despite his dislike for Gojo.

You pushed the bashful thoughts out of your head. The anxiety crept back in. Surely Nanami had found the note. He had to be coming to find you eventually.

“Oi Nanami!” Gojo called over. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

You saw Nanami’s expression change to annoyance as he walked in long strides towards you. He didn’t look at you aside from a quick glance before fixating back on Gojo.

“Ohh~ What’s that? A love note?” Gojo joked. Nanami held up the crumbled pink paper and tossed it towards Gojo. It bounced off his chest and hit the ground, rolling right in front of you.

“Don’t leave notes at my desk again, senpai.” He stated.

Nanami left the four of you in a deafening silence. It was like the whole world had just stopped and you could only hear his footsteps disappear in the distance. Geto cleared his throat to say something but you couldn’t understand it. You leaned down to pick up the note.

“Shoko. I got some homework to finish, come get me when you're ready to leave.” You said blankly.

“Uh, yeah.” She replied.

You quietly walked back to your room.

[chleem]

Flashing Lights #3

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping, (read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy /translate my work

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ chapter2 | index | chapter4

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Early March 2024

Okay. Maybe Drew was a little attractive. 

Or was he always attractive? Or was it because you haven’t seen him in weeks, and you just forgot about how he looked like? Either way, the man sitting next to you in the car was not the same guy that you met with weeks ago. 

He cleaned himself up good, dressed in a nice white button up and jeans, styled his short hair a bit, and sunglasses that he was sponsored for. The watch adds a richer vibe to it, and several rings on his hand. 

Nah. It’s his outfit that makes him look so attractive right now. Definitely not how he looks. 

Worse of all, you were matching with him. Wearing a classy white dress with white heels, and accessories that you sponsored. You visibly cringe at your outfit choice, hating how well it went with his. 

But what bothered you more was your first public appearance with him, as a couple. A few weeks ago, the pictures of you two together on set was leaked out, and the company immediately confirmed that you two were currently dating. The comments online were mostly negative, with some wondering about the woman he ‘impregnated’ and wondering how you ended up with this guy. 

Now, you had to prove to the whole world that you like this guy, that you are in a committed relationship. This is harder than trying to act for dark films. But you had faith that you could wing it, just like how you always wing auditions and films. 

You reach for your purse, opening it and grabbing a pack of cigarettes. You get ready to smoke one, but he takes it out of your hands. “The fuck?” You curse, glaring at him. His sunglasses make it hard to read his expression, but he was chewing gum, with no smile apparent. “Give it back.”

“No; you’ll smell,” he says. 

You roll your eyes. Well, you needed something to calm your nerves down, so you just grab another one. But Drew grabs both the cigarette and the pack out of your hands, and out of your reach. “Hey!” You yell, reaching for it. “Give it back! Seriously.”

“And I’m being serious too,” he replies, before throwing it to the back trunk. 

You gasp at the audacity, anger running through your veins right now. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I needed that!”

He reaches into his pocket, before grabbing a pack of gum out. “Eat this instead. It’s better and doesn’t smell.”

“You think I’m a fucking idiot? I’m not eating that.”

“It’s all I got,” Drew shrugs. “You want or not?”

You glance behind him at the window, and see the thousands of fans outside, all here to watch the Bahrain Grand Prix. Multiple paparazzi are also pulling up. 

Fuck it. You take the pack from his hands, and eat three at a time. The gum is lemon flavored, and minty too. Somehow, it does relax you. You chew on it, focusing on the minty scent of it instead of how much people were outside. 

“Thanks would be nice,” he murmurs, but you heard him. 

“Hey, you threw my shit back there. You owe me,” you say, slapping the bag of gum against his chest. 

Then, the car comes to a stop, and the driver turns around. “We’ve arrived.” You look outside at the entrance of the F1 paddock, a few paparazzi already standing there.  

The bodyguard at the entrance hurries out, and opens the door at Drew’s side. 

He steps out, and stands in front of you. His hand reaches out for you, and you take it reluctantly, knowing that many people are staring. Flashes go off, and you adjust your dress with Drew’s body big enough to cover. 

“Good?” He asks, and you nod. He lets go of your hand after, walking ahead of you. 

Do tall people genuinely walk faster? Plus, why isn’t he holding your hand or walking beside you? The both of you have an image to sell, and thirty seconds in, he’s not selling anything. 

You slightly run to catch up, and when you do, you lock your hands with his. 

He stops and looks back at you, and you just give him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hand is warm, big, and also, very stiff. Has he never held hands with anyone before? “Hey, you’re my boyfriend. Did you forget that?” You tug him down to whisper in his ear. 

His red ear doesn’t go unnoticed, and his grip on you tightens. “Right.”

You pat his shoulder away, and walk towards the gate. Paparazzi aren’t allowed in the paddock, so once the staff gives you your passes, you hurry in. But even in the paddock, you attract attention. Cameras turn over to the both of you, and fans glance over. 

You ignore them, just chewing on your gum. You feel very tempted when you pass by the smoking area, but get reminded by your pack of cigarettes disregarded in the back truck. 

Eventually, some photographer comes up to the both of you. You obviously want to keep walking, but Drew stops to listen to what he has to say. “Y/n, a photo for Vogue magazine?”

You open your mouth to say no, but Drew answers instead. “Sure.”

You mentally roll your eyes, smiling for the camera. But the photographer frowns at the man beside you. “Sorry, just Y/n.”

Drew nods, wanting to let go of your hand but you pull him closer. “No; my man stays in the picture,” you confidently say, to which the photographer just nods. You smile for the camera, and the flash goes off. The photographer thanks the both of you, and walks off. 

“What was that for?” Drew asks you as you two continue walking down the paddock. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face as the two of you walk hand in hand. 

But you turn to face him, wanting to see his blue eyes but his sunglasses cover them. “Don’t do that shit ever again. I hate it,” you say instead. 

“Do what?”

“Responding to randoms. I don’t like that, okay?”

“Why not?” 

Can’t he respond properly? What’s with the questions. “None of your fucking business. Just, just don’t answer anyone, or even acknowledge them.”

“Well that’s just rude.”

“And you’re the nicest person alive?” You snicker, once you reach the VIP building, that leads to the observatory and bar upstairs. “Trust me. Your rookie ass has no idea.”

“‘Rookie ass’?” Drew mocks, once you’re in the building. He presses the elevator button, and takes off his sunglasses, hanging them by his button up. “I debuted ten years ago.”

“Not the fucking point,” you say, and see that no reporters or paparazzi were around. You immediately drop his hand and cross your arms, looking away. “And I only did that to sell this stunt.”

The elevator door opens, and you step in quickly, Drew following in. He presses the third floor, the door closing. 

You don’t say a word in the elevator, part of you angry and annoyed. The door opens, and you hurry in. The staff asks for your names, and you give it to her. You ignore the spark in her eyes as she sees the two of you walking together, and leads you to your seats. 

There was a bar area with seats around them, dining tables, and an outdoor balcony area that gave a perfect view of the racetrack and garages. She leads you to the dining area, but Drew buts in. “Could we sit outside?”

You raise an eyebrow at Drew wondering what he's thinking of, and he just ignores your look. “of course,” the staff smiles, taking you to the balcony. 

The two of you sit across each other once you get to your table, and the staff leaves to give you some time to look through the menu. You don’t; instead, you pull your phone out and start scrolling on it. 

Drew, however, looks through the menu and keeps looking around down at the racetrack. Drivers getting ready, and staff rolling the gear out. You’ve been at these races for countless of times, so you’ve gotten used to what goes on here. But Drew? This is definitely his first time here. You chuckle at his widened eyes, as if widening his eyes could get him a better view of downstairs. 

“What?” He turns to you, his expression mean. 

“So obvious that you’ve never been here,” you chuckle.

“And it’s funny?”

“Yes. I’m sober as shit right now, so anything might as well trigger me,” you give him a fake smile, signaling the staff over. She hurries over, and asks for what you would like. “Um, give me five cups of your strongest alcohol drink.”

She nods, and looks over at Drew. “Uh, two lobster and bison ribeyes, and one red wine.”

“Will be right up,” the staff chirps, walking off.

“Two? What, you got a family of four living in there?”

“No; one’s for you,” Drew says. “It would be weird if you didn’t eat and just drank.”

“No one cares,” you say, crossing your arms. 

“I do; can’t have people saying I’m dating an alcoholic.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” you argue, feeling offended. Yeah you drink, but only because it calms your nerves down. And who is he to judge? He ordered a drink too.

“Really? So people normally wake up and drink what, four five bottles of whiskey? People show up to places smelling like they lived in a basement all their lives? You’re a fucking alcoholic, Y/n,” Drew confronts you. 

You scoff, brushing your hair off your shoulder. “Hey, you’ve only met me for three times. Those three times you just happen to bump into a drunk me. So, don’t accuse people of what they aren’t.”

“The first time we met and you called me a cunt.”

“Because that’s who you are,” you say. “you’re a cunt, and I’m not an alcoholic.”

Drew pokes his tongue against his cheek; your argument sucks. 

“Why are you denying your drinking problem, Y/n? And it’s not just you, but the whole industry. You sure they don’t know a single thing? The people you worked with?”

You look away. Why was he lecturing you right now? Its annoying and it’s getting on your nerves. The last thing you needed was a stranger telling you how to live your life. And while he goes to say something else, you snap at him. “Hey! I didn’t sign up for therapy here. Shut the fuck up. No one knows, okay? Plus, the whole industry knows I’ve been through worse.”

You don’t elaborate; but you’re ninety percent sure he knows. The hell, everyone in this whole world knows. 

The drinks arrive, five pink drinks that you’re sure is yours, and Drew’s red wine. 

You spit the gum into a tissue, then immediately gulping down the first one. You’ve gotten used to the burning feeling that alcohol has, so it was like drinking water. Drew just watches you with his blue eyes, slowly sipping his drink. 

You look over at the paddock. The race is starting, five red lights showing. “Its starting,” you comment to Drew, and he puts his drink down, walking over and leaning against the railing. You look at him with amusement, how he’s watching the race with anticipation. 

You gulp down your second drink, and relax, letting the alcohol slowly take over you. After a few minutes, you feel a bit tipsy, but you get up, standing next to him. “Who do you think will win?” You ask, the alcohol getting you friendly. 

“Max,” Drew replies, looking at the big screen across. “You?”

“Sainz,” you say, since he is your favorite driver and driving the car of the brand you ambassador for. 

“Do you even watch the sport?” He teases, his eyes on the racetrack.

You cross your arms, looking at his side profile, “Ferrari never disappoints.”

“So does Max.”

“Its a new season; anyone can win.”

“Not if you’re in Ferrari.”

“Then let’s bet on it.”

He stays silent, still staring at the racetrack.

“Didn’t take you as a gambler as well,” he says after a few seconds. 

“Well, are you scared to lose?” You tease, shrugging your shoulders. 

Drew turns and looks at you amused, his blue eyes staring deeply into yours. Gosh, why does he have to have the most gorgeous shade of blue to be his eye color? He shrugs too, smirking. “No; just scared that you’ll turn into a vicious bitch when you lose.”

You roll your eyes, before looking around for something to bet on. But your eyes land on his phone on the table. Then, you thought of an idea. “Loser, has to post a picture on their instagram of the winner. Caption and photo of the winner’s choice.”

Drew’s eyes widen, but he nods, holding his hand out. You take it, and you shake on it. You walk over and drown the third drink down your throat. The alcohol was definitely working, because you feel friendlier next to Drew. See? Alcohol does help one’s mental, and in your case, it makes you an entirely different person. One that’s nice and less moody. Of course, Drew notices it. But he doesn’t comment on it, knowing sober you would bash at him like crazy. 

You spot his phone, and you hand it over to him. “Since you’re going to lose, why don’t you take some pictures of me?”

Drew raises an eyebrow at you in amusement, taking the phone. You just smile at him, leaning against the railing, getting some poses ready. Drew reluctantly walks across from you, and does the craziest pose in order to get a photo of you. It actually causes you to laugh, and you cover it with your mouth. 

And that gets Drew smiling too. Feeling tipsy, you definitely thought you were seeing things. You calm yourself down, continuing to serve face for the photos he’s taking right now. 

Aw. The image of a perfect couple? Completely sold.

——

The internet goes crazy once again.

First was Drew’s visit to your set. Second was the confirmation of the relationship. Third? The hard launch that you posted. 

A picture of Drew, who’s hugging you from the back, his arms wrapped around your neck. His face is pressed besides yours, and he’s making the most lovestruck face to the camera. And so are you. Well, with the help of alcohol, you’re smiling as if Drew’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

With the caption, “Mine.”

Drew smiles proudly while staring at the instagram post, your first post in five years. He glances over at you in the car, only to see that you’ve fallen asleep, your head resting against the window. He reaches over and carefully moves your head to lay on his shoulder, thinking it would be more comfortable. 

You’re deep in sleep that you don’t even care, and Drew just stiffens his posture, to make sure even his smallest movements won’t wake you up. 

While you sleep, Drew just continues to stare at the photos he took of you today, an unexpected smile on his face. Which was just weird, so fucking weird. 

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

word count: 2.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: does the ending look familiar? 😚 hoped you enjoyed the first date with Drew! i saw new photos of him at loewe he looked tooooo good. edited till late last night bc i was so excited for you guys to read this one!

other | index | ch2 | ch4

[svnluns]

It was late afternoon in Rome, the kind of day where the sun is too bright and everything feels a little too loud. The city moves on, buzzing and unapologetic, but I can’t shake the weight pressing down on my chest.

I’m sitting on the edge of a fountain, picking at the hem of my sweater, trying not to cry in public like some pathetic cliché. My phone buzzes in my bag, but I already know it’s my mom. Another lecture, another list of ways I’m screwing up. University deadlines, bills, the argument we had last night about me “not having a plan.” I’m trying, but it’s like trying to breathe underwater.

I glance up and catch sight of Niccolò.

Of course. The golden boy, sauntering down the cobblestone street like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s wearing that effortless smirk, hair tousled just so, like he didn’t spend ten minutes in the mirror perfecting it. He spots me and raises an eyebrow, probably surprised to see me looking like this—a total It was late afternoon in Rome, the kind of day where the sun is too bright and everything feels a little too loud. The city moves on, buzzing and unapologetic, but I can’t shake the weight pressing down on my chest.

“Ehi,” he calls out, strolling over. His voice has that lazy confidence I can never quite figure out. “You lose something?” He gestures to my hunched-over position like I’m a stray dog.

I roll my eyes. “What do you want, Niccolò?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans against the fountain, arms crossed like he’s posing for a magazine. “Relax. Just saying hi. You look…” His eyes trail over me, and for once, they’re not teasing. “…not great.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Thanks. Super helpful.”

He tilts his head, studying me with a flicker of curiosity. Normally, Niccolò is all charm and games, the guy who knows exactly how to push your buttons and does it just for fun. But today, there’s something different.

“What happened?” he asks, softer now.

I hesitate. The last thing I want is for him to know how bad things are. Niccolò doesn’t do real. He does surface-level, parties, expensive clothes, and flirting with anyone who’ll let him.

“Nothing,” I mutter, avoiding his gaze. “Just a bad day.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

I glare at him. “Why do you care, anyway?”

For a moment, he looks like he might shrug it off, but then he surprises me. “Maybe I don’t like seeing you like this,” he says quietly.

My breath catches. That’s not the Niccolò I know.

“Look,” he continues, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with practiced ease. He takes a slow drag before speaking again. “You think you’re the only one who feels like they’re drowning? Newsflash, princess. We’re all faking it.”

I scoff. “Yeah, sure. Must be real hard being you. Perfect Niccolò with his perfect life.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think I’ve hit a nerve. Then he exhales, the smoke curling in the air between us.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he says, almost defensively.

“Then tell me,” I challenge. “If your life’s so hard, let’s hear it.”

He hesitates, looking down at the cigarette like it holds all the answers. “Doesn’t matter,” he says finally. “Point is, you’re not as alone as you think.”

I want to argue, to tell him he doesn’t get it, but something in his expression stops me. For once, he’s not performing. He’s just… real.

Before I can respond, he straightens up and holds out a hand. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Let’s go,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Go where?”

He shrugs, that smirk returning. “Anywhere but here.”

I hesitate. This is Niccolò we’re talking about. The guy who never takes anything seriously, who’s probably just looking for an excuse to skip whatever family obligation he’s avoiding today. But there’s a spark in his eyes, and for some reason, I trust him.

Against my better judgment, I take his hand.

We end up at some little café tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It’s nothing fancy, but the espresso is strong, and the sunlight filtering through the windows feels warm on my skin. For the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe.

Niccolò doesn’t ask me to spill my life story, and I don’t ask him for his. We just talk—about stupid things, like the ridiculous tourists we passed on the way here or the overpriced sneakers he’s been eyeing. It’s easy, effortless in a way I didn’t expect.

By the time we leave, the weight on my chest feels a little lighter.

“Thanks,” I say as we walk back toward the fountain.

He glances at me, surprised. “For what?”

“For… I don’t know. Not being a complete jerk today.”

He grins. “Don’t get used to it.”

But there’s a softness in his smile, a hint of something more. And for the first time, I think maybe Niccolò Govender is more than just the careless, cocky boy everyone thinks he is.

Maybe we both are.

[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | chapter four: lights, camera, and…

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)

Series trope: Fake dating 

Chapter four summary: Cue plan to bother Mattheo at a Slytherin party. It works just a little too well.

Warning: Alcohol, swearing, angst, slight violence, blood, minor injury, characters are aged up, no use of y/n. Reader acts annoying as part of the plan.

♡ main masterlist

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“Are you ready for phase one of The Book?” Enzo asks.

I raise my fifth glass of firewhisky. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I gulp it down and let the heat settle in my system.

“How’s my outfit?” I ask.

He eyes me again in my black leather skirt and black lace top, his throat bobbing. “Gorgeous as always. You’ll be fine, I can fight,” he reassures me and I smile at him.

I grab his arm and we head off to the Slytherin party. I don’t miss the eyes that drift towards me, making my skin crawl. Enzo notices my discomfort and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You okay?” He checks in.

I lean into him and nod. “Mattheo’s over there,” I point my chin to a dark corner of the room where a girl lights his cigarette.

We casually circle around and by the time we near, the girl is all over Mattheo.

Enzo whispers to me, “lights, camera, and…”

“ZOZO, you have the softest hair!” I squeal as I run my hand through Enzo’s hair.

He laughs a full laugh, caught off guard by the nickname. He sits on the nearby sofa and I trip on my way, the firewhisky hitting harder than I expected. 

Enzo catches my waist in time, bringing me to his lap. “You have got to stop falling for me, dear,” he says.

I blush. “Maybe I don’t want to,” I giggle. Enzo shakes his head, brushing off my firewhisky declaration.

“You like my hair?” He asks as he runs his fingers through my hair. He then pushes it behind my left shoulder, exposing my neck.

“It’s the best!” I exclaim and he plants soft kisses on my neck as I giggle. “That tickles, Zozo!”

I look over at Mattheo. He tries to hide it, but I notice his clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes.

“What do you think, Mathay-to? Or is it potay-to?” I ask, giggling. “Doesn’t my Zozo have perfect hair?”

“I’m not going to even dignify that with an answer,” he grumbles.

“You’re no fun,” I pout at him.

I turn back to Enzo, “Zozo, I want to dance!”

He releases his hold as I stand up and climb on to the table. Enzo leans back into the sofa to watch me with a lazy grin on his face. I move my hips to the beat of the song, eyes locked on his as he dares me to go further.

I move my hands to my top, teasing the lace as I bring it up and —

Gravity shifts and I’ve hit a hard wall. What the hell? The world spins and I realize I’m moving, a hand cradled down my ass. Enzo? I’m hit with the familiar scent of mint, cigarettes and cologne. It’s Mattheo.

He grabbed my legs from the table and swung me over his shoulder. Mattheo Riddle is holding me.

I missed his touch and yet everything feels so wrong. I pound my hands on his back. “Put me down!”

The music fades as he brings me to the hallway, setting me down against a column to lean on for support.

“What the hell happened to you?” He demands.

You did.

“None of your business,” I bite back.

Enzo approaches us enraged and Mattheo charges toward him, grabs the collar of his shirt and shoves him. “What the fuck were you thinking? Why did you let her drink?”

“She can make her own decisions and she wanted to. Besides, she’s safe with me,” Enzo snaps.

Mattheo throws the first punch and Enzo responds, catching him square in the jaw.

“What? You care about her now?” Enzo asks Mattheo, blood spilling from his split lip.

“Stop it!” I scream.

He shoves Mattheo away, “stay away from my girl! You had your chance. I can take care of her better than you can.”

I run into Enzo’s arms. “Please stop, let’s go,” tears spill down my cheeks. 

He wraps his arm around me and we head back to his dorm.

I dry my eyes as he opens the door. “Come here, let me heal you,” I lead him to the bed and cast episkey to cure his split lip. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry this happened, I didn’t mean—” I start, tears welling up my eyes again.

“Hey,” Enzo cups my face. “You’ve met Mattheo, right? We’ve thrown punches for lesser reasons.”

I lean into his touch and let out a small laugh, “hmm so phase one was a success?”

“Did you see the look on his face?” Enzo grins.

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

♡ main masterlist

A/N: I love cliches. A lot of my writing is influenced by early 2000s movies and rom-com novels. Writing these is such a guilty pleasure.

I actually wrote the next chapter before this, but this makes more sense as chapter four.

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05 @enha-stan @skb4000 @nat1221

[abibliophobiaa]

Eddie Munson- Keys

just fluffy eddie vibes. eddie munson x f!reader.

“Got the keys, sweetheart?”

And you do, perched in your fingers. You jingled them for emphasis, tossing them over to your boyfriend, holding aloft his lighter as he propped a cigarette between his lips.

The graduation gowns you both wore swished about your thighs, the remaining bandages covering the worst of Eddie’s scars shifting as his jaw moved, as his throat bobbed.

You’d done it; both of you had done it, and Eddie had done so against all odds.

You were proud. So damn proud your cheeks were practically splitting from it, body curling against his as he tossed his cigarette onto the gravel below and pulled you close, nose pressing into your cheek before he kissed you soundly. A hum spilled from you, body nearly melting into his as your friends hooted and hollered in the distance, whoops and whistles joining them from the kids.

“Assholes,” Eddie snorted, plucking his graduation cap from off the top of his head and holding it to block out the sides of both your faces, forehead pressing against yours. “Couldnt give me one minute with my girl.”

“Hmm.” You grinned, bouncing on the heels of your feet. “You’re about to have a whole five days with me, Munson.”

“And even that isn’t long enough, sweetheart.”

“Where to first then?” you asked, ignoring Dustin’s shout of Eddie’s name. Ignored him calling “shotgun” when you knew Eddie’s front passenger seat belonged to you these days. “The world is our oyster, or so they say.”

“Promised the kids we’d go to the diner,” he grumbled, curling you nearer to his chest as the kids in question piled up around the both of you, followed closely by Steve and Robin.

“I said I called shotgun!” Dustin argued.

“You got last time!” Mike grumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

Your palm splayed over Eddie’s abdomen where his graduation gown had parted enough to show the tattered Dio shirt beneath. “Sorry, you dorks get back seat.”

“Say who?” Dustin argued.

“Says me.” Eddie’s voice made the kids grow still, eyes locked on his expressive face. “Girlfriend gets front seat. Sheepies get back seat. Capeesh?”

At that, the group clambered in the van one by one. Heads tipped down, murmuring annoyed comments to themselves about the unfairness of girlfriend privileges. Once they’d all disappeared in the back seat, Steve and Robin approached, letting you both know they’d be taking Steve’s car and following the two of you along the way.

It afforded you a moment alone. Albeit brief, where you turned back to the curly headed metalhead before you and leaned up to kiss him once more, beaming brightly. “As I was saying, the world is our oyster. Where to first?”

“Well first, I think there’s a little hotel down the road…”

“Uh huh…”

“And suddenly, it seems I have come into some money.”

The hush hush money from the government, how could you forget?

It was what afforded you both the little five day road trip, and the apartment you’d both planned on leasing at the end of the summer on the outskirts of town.

“And we haven’t exactly had a lot of alone time between my extended stay in that prison—”

“Eddie, it was a hospital.”

“Same difference.” He kissed your cheek. “Plus all the studying. Can’t forget the studying.”

“Mhmm,” you mused, nosing along his jaw, grinning as you moved across the slope of his neck and nuzzled the uninjured side of his throat. “So much studying.”

“So really, I think we’ve earned ourselves a little time in the pool. Maybe one of those drinks with the umbrellas.”

“Ooh, fancy.” You stepped closer, hips bumping into his.

“A comfortable bed,” he sighed, and you faked a shudder, earning a laugh from the man. “And some of those super fluffy robes.”

“Oh yeah?” You practically purred the words, fingers running along the sides of his waist. “And then what?”

“And then…” He leaned down and brushed his lips over your temple. The hollow of your ear. Grinned against your skin as you actually shuddered. “…I think we take the best nap of our lives.”

“A nap?”

He cackled gleefully, earning a middle finger from one of the kids out the window for making them wait any longer than they already had been for lunch.

“What did you think I meant?” he teased. At your glare, he laughed again, a bright bursting sound that made your heart grow warm. “Sweetheart, what kind of man do you take me for? Did you think I intended to take you to a hotel and have you every way under the sun I’ve been thinking long and hard about if I’d only had a single moment of privacy in these last few months?”

Your cheeks burned, and a gasp slipped free from your parted lips. He swooped down and kissed you, before bounding over to the passenger side door of the car and opened it for you. Bowed at the waist and helped you up into the vehicle, closing it shut behind you.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he said, just as he appeared once more and dropped down into the seat beside you. Curled his fingers in your own and squeezed. “Congratulations to us.”

“Congrats, Ed,” you whispered back, tears clouding your vision, thinking back to everything you’d all had to overcome to get to this moment. “Love you, too.”

He leaned over and brushed a stray tear with his thumb. “Ready to go?”

You nodded and the car roared to life.

Summer had finally started.

——

[storm-angel989]

Outside the Office Part Six

Hi All!

A trigger warning before you begin. It's only fair to reader that she learns the dark side of Valentino- the side he's so far he's kept hidden from her. This was a difficult one to write, but I hope you enjoy the juxtaposition between who Valentino is with reader, and the V's, and who he is with the rest of the world.

Enjoy- and as always, let me know your thoughts!

I stood in front of the mirror, Velvette behind me as she fixed a button on the back of my outfit for the day. Wonderment washed over me as I saw myself, my real self,  for the first time since I entered hell. 

I didn’t recognize the reflection. 

My features had grown clearer since my arrival. My hair, once broken and cut in a shaggy trim, was now blonder than blonde and my blue eyes seemed sharper. Velvette had stopped gluing fake nails on and instead opted to cover my natural nails in a hard polish. Gone was the exterior rough and tough soldier my father had raised, replaced by something ethereal, something beautiful.

“Totally different than when you first came here, right?” Velvette asked as she saw me stare at myself. “Hell looks good on you.” 

I couldn’t argue with that. I had fully settled into my life with the V’s. Each morning I woke up alone in my bed, ate breakfast, hit the gym and the shower and went to see Velvette. She dressed me to her pleasing and either she or Vox had my assistance for the remainder of their work day. 

“Alright. Vox said he needs you today, so off you go. Oh! And check out last night's posts. You looked lit, girl.” 

My head buried in my phone as I reviewed the sinstergram photos, I hit the elevator button without looking and stepped out onto what I assumed was Vox’s floor. 

It was the scent that hit me first, a mix of sweet strawberries and sweat. 

I looked up from my phone,  expecting to see the entryway to Vox’s studio. Instead, I came face to face with a bed surrounded by lights. In the center of it lay a demon, naked, bound and gagged. He struggled as two larger demons held her down. 

His screams were muffled, but piercing. I watched as blood trickled out of him, its source unknown. I watched the demons fumble as they ungagged him and he looked straight ahead to the directors chair. 

“Punish me, Daddy.” 

The larger demon grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the bed. From where I stood, his eyes grew larger and he laid back as the demons mounted him again. From the side I watched Valentino backhand another demon before taking the glass on the tray. The demon flinched and skittered away. 

What the fuck had I just walked into?

“Cut! That’s a wrap!” He demanded, his voice sharper than I had ever heard it. He stood up, glass in hand as he made his way down the hallway.

Against my better judgment, I followed him. Much like the hotel I had once stayed in with my father, numbered doors lined either side of the hallways, some open, some closed. I caught a glimpse of what was inside the open ones. Bedrooms, lounge areas and even a hospital bed. The walls between rooms were decked out with photos of naked actors, all with Valentino’s name at the bottom. I felt a sick feeling in my gut as I continued to trail behind him quietly. This wasn’t my Valentino. 

He pushed open a door and I peered in from the doorway. I watched him study a group of demons, taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling a cloud of red smoke into one of their faces. The demon inhaled deeply and gave him a dirty smile, reaching out and grabbing his jacket. “Thank you, Daddy.” 

“Her. She’s perfect. Bring her to studio two. Now. I want that cunt I signed on earlier today in studio one. Be rough. Our deal needs to be finalized, and she better get what she signed up for.” He growled to the demon behind him. He yanked her hands off of him, and turned as if to walk back out the door.  I saw him turn towards me and I quickly stepped back, skittering across the hall, stepping inside the room and behind the open door. 

Thankfully, Valentino hadn’t seen me. I held my breath as I waited for him to pass by. I stepped out from behind the door and he was gone. I looked around the room I was in, my instincts screaming that I was in danger. The inside was dimly lit.  White powder was spread in neat lines all along one table. Another held vials and what looked like used syringes.  I started to put Valentino’s narcotics comment from all those weeks ago together with the scene. 

Fuck, Val wasn't joking.

“Hey! New girl! What are you doing out of your room?” I heard an angry voice behind me. 

I turned to face them, preparing to defend myself. I landed a few blows before rough hands grabbed me, pinning me to the wall. Adrenaline rushed through me as my instincts kicked in. Face to face with two giant, hairy demons, I punched, kicked and fought as best I could. 

Unfortunately, I was no match for them. One twisted my arm and I heard myself cry out in pain. 

“Aw, did Daddy not give you your fix?” the demon taunted, leaning in closer. “Aww, poor little thing. You asked for this, sweetheart. Just remember that.” 

“Valentino!” I screamed. 

The sting of being backhanded knocked the wind out of me. I gritted my teeth and kicked as I continued to struggle. It was like being in my prisoner of war training camp all over again. Much like my father had taught me, I did my best to shut down and let my survival instincts take over. They would not get what they wanted from me. 

“Stop being a fucking bitch.” He snarled, picking me up and slamming me into the wall. “Or I will bring you to Val. Let him deal with the worthless slut you are.”

“That’s what I want you fucking moron!” I snarled. “Bring me to Valentino!”

Both demons snorted in amusement. 

“I’ve had enough of this shit. Just drug her. I’m not fighting dirty whores in front of Val.” The bigger demon snarled and shoved a cloth over my nose and mouth. I held my breath as I kicked, trying my hardest to get away from whatever it was they wanted to do to me.  

“Fucking dumb bitch!” he snarled. I felt his fist make contact with my chest and I involuntarily gasped as I fell to the ground. My world went dizzy, and I felt my body hit the hard floor.  

“Yeah, that’s it. You like your high don’t you, you little slut?” I felt cold chains wrap around me and my body, helpless under the influence of whatever they had given me, was dragged out of the room. 

“Hehe, you can tell she’s fresh meat. Look how little it took to get her there.” 

I felt my body being pushed down and the next time I came to I was sitting upright in a chair, my arms bound behind me and my legs tied together. I realized though my haze that I save for the chains around my neck and body, was totally and completely naked. 

“Hehe. The little slut comes to..” 

My throat felt parched and I could taste blood. I struggled against the bonds that held me in place. My entire body tingled, swollen and bruised. No amount of workout during my time in the military could have prepared me for this. I tried my best to look around, to figure out where I was.  I could barely make out the bed next to me, bright lights and empty directors chair I had seen earlier in the day. 

Another hot slap across the face. 

“Wake up. Otherwise, you’ll piss off  Mr. Valentino.”  The demon yanked on the chain around my neck, choking me with each painful breath I took. He leaned in closer. “Remember, you’re the bitch who scratched her dumb name on the line.” 

I wanted to struggle, but my body wouldn’t let me. I felt harsh hands on my thighs. No! Angel’s didn’t- I didn’t and I hadn’t. My back arched from the pain as he spread my legs wide open before walking away. 

“Hehe, look at her. She’s already dripping. Val will be pleased."

“Alright, let’s take it from the top!” Valentino’s familiar voice echoed across the studio. “Fucking bitches, this the new girl? God, she better be worth more than the last three fuckwits you assholes brought in.” His smile flowed across the studio. “Alright sweetheart, give me a reason to sign you on.” 

I could smell the familiar smoke and tried to fight against my restraints. Val promised he wouldn’t hurt me. Val wouldn’t do this to me. Val wouldn’t… 

Realization struck. He didn’t know it was me. 

“And action. Show me some struggle, babydoll.” 

I couldn’t struggle if I wanted to. The bright light burned my eyes as I willed myself to move, even a little. A few seconds passed and Valentino cursed again.

“For fucks sake, how much did you give her? Christ this isn’t a corpse film. Though I’m sure there is a kink for that. You there! Write that down. Could be a fucking million dollar idea.”

The shrill shriek of Valentino’s phone cut through the air. I closed my eyes and somewhere in me I felt my body start to grow cold and my thoughts drift away. Fuck. That wasn't good. 

“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Valentinos voice roared across the studio. The familiar voice, except this time full of anger screamed and I watched a glass shatter against the wall. From the directors chair, Valentino stood, surrounded by a cloud of red smoke. 

I could barely see Vox’s face popping up on the big screen to the left. Vox’s voice echoed across the room. 

“Her vitals are linked to my watch, but something is jamming the location signal. Based on the past half hour of data, wherever she is Val, she’s hurt- bad. And there is only one teeny tiny place in this entire building that could jam that signal.” 

I heard the crack of a gunshot and the TV went black. I heard Valentino stomp around the studio, his boots coming closer to the chair where I sat. 

Valentino stood in front of me at full height. I felt the familiar claw grab my face, could feel the warmth of the red smoke burn against my skin and heard the slew of curse words rush out of his mouth. The chains that held me down vanished as sharp as the gunshots that went off next to me. In as much as I could move, I cowered and watched the expression on his face melt from anger to absolute horror.  

“Fuck!” 

Six gunshots went off as he lifted me up, tossing his red jacket over me as he held me against his body. I could feel the cold metal of his second gun press against my bare hip as he carried me across the studio into a smaller room. I gripped him, the raw feeling of security running through me as my skin touched his. I closed my eyes. It wasn’t him who hurt me. It wasn’t him who hurt me. 

 He slammed the door behind him, shaking the entire frame. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He cursed. 

He set me on a desk and I pitched forward into his shoulder, closing my eyes. Please don’t let me go Val, the thought flitted through my mind. 

“Fuck. No, stay awake.” he commanded frantically. 

I heard banging, the sound of frantic rummaging through drawers and then his hands rubbing my thigh. A pinch. 

“Come on babydoll. Stay awake for me.” 

“What the fuck Val?” Vox’s voice echoed through the room, electricity cracking. 

The rush and the buzzing in my brain slowed. The fog that had threatened darkness only moments ago began to drift away. I opened my eyes just enough to see Vox rush across the room.  His usual suit jacket and red bow tie were gone, and instead his white shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He must have come running out of his office to be seen in such a state. 

“What the fuck have I told you about shooting up the studio? What was the reason this fucking time? And where the fuck did she go?” A pause and another angry yell. 

“What the fuck happened?!” 

Valentino pulled me against him, lifting me up off the desk. “I won’t know until she tells me. But if you can’t control your anger Vox, you need to leave. Go review the fucking cameras and try to figure out how the FUCK she ended up gagged and bound in my studio!” 

Vox cursed and I heard the crackle of electricity as he stormed out of the room. Valentino looked pained as he cupped my chin, tilting my head towards him.  

“You won’t be able to walk, mi a more. I’m sorry. I don’t know how long those drugs were in you, but I’m sure I didn’t stop them soon enough.” He cradled me against his chest, and each step he took sent a jolt of pain through my body. “I’m going to take you upstairs, princessa. Alright?” 

I couldn’t have protested if I wanted to. I laid limp as I heard him open the door. He stopped moving, my line of sight blurring as I tried to make sense of the office we were about to leave. 

“Don’t look.” He commanded, using a free hand to cover my eyes before he started walking again. “You don’t want to see.” 

He was probably right. It wasn’t like I could open my eyes up very far anyway. I could feel the bruising start to set in, washing me in pain. I felt the motion of the elevator and I blacked out.

“This is going to burn, I’m sorry mi amor.” Was the next thing I heard Valentino say.  

I yelped as the hot water touched my skin and tried to hold onto him as he lowered me into the bath. 

“We have to get you cleaned up.” He said evenly, almost as if to himself. “I’m sorry- it won’t feel nice.” 

I whimpered as he carefully titled my head back under the running water. Almost instantly, the water went from clear to red. Panic began to set in. 

Vox’s voice behind him. “Lucifer knows.” 

“And?” Val asked steadily. “ You’re safe now, love. I’ve got you. Keep your eyes closed for me.” 

I felt his fingers move gently through my hair, moving my head out from under the water. “You’re alright princessa. You can open your eyes now if you want to. I’m here.”

I blinked a few times, trying to make out his features. They were still fuzzy. 

“He wants to know who is responsible.” Vox’s voice continued. 

“That person is dead.” Valentino replied flatly. 

“He wants to see the video. He wants heads, Val.” 

“Then he can have mine. After she’s taken care of. And for fucks sake, close the door behind you, Vox. Give her some shred of dignity.” Valentino lifted up my arm and ran the cloth over it. His thumb ran over the bruises that had bloomed, and anger boiled in his eyes, but he kept the gentle touch. 

I tried to choke back the panic as he ran his hands over my body. Flashes of the studio, my mind fuzzy. No, it wasn’t Val who hurt me- but I needed him away from me. Just for a minute, while I tried desperately to make sense of it all. 

“Never thought I’d hear the day you’d say someone is deserving of that.” Vox stated. “Shit, she’s really beat up.” 

“Please, Val- please. Don’t touch me. I need a minute. I’m sorry.” I finally choked out, pushing myself as far away from him as I could.

The realization came across his face and I watched his expression turn even more upset. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. You’re all taken care of for now, I’m going to let Vox take my place- alright? Vox. Please.” 

I watched him step back from the tub and Vox leaned over and gently ran his arm under mine, as if to help me stand up. 

A rush of darkness swept over me. I felt his power before he entered the room. Valentino moved to stand in front of Vox and I. 

“Where is she?” Lucifer’s voice echoed through the room, danger and power crackling as the air swirled around us, tinged in black and red.  

The door slammed open and a burst of outside air hit my face. I winced against the sting, my mind clearing up even more. I reached for Valentino, my hand touching the back of his leg. He glanced down and took a step closer, shielding me from Lucifer. 

“She’s right here. She’s suffered enough without having another person see her without coverage. Lucifer- I promise you she’s being taken care of. Please. Let me finish with her and get her covered up. Then you can have her.” Valentino answered calmly. 

The voice that was Lucifer roared and a flash of red and black flames wrapped around Vox and Valentino. Something inside my mind cleared up and I willed myself to yell. 

“No. Uncle Lucy, stop. Please.” I choked out as best I could, sinking beneath the water as I tried to hide myself. “Uncle Lucy! Stop!” 

The flames vanished. Silence filled the room. 

“Just…just stop. He didn’t do it to me. They didn’t hurt me, Uncle Lucy.” I felt my voice grow stronger. “Please, stop!” 

“You weren't kept safe either.” He snarled. “They didn’t do the one FUCKING thing they needed to do!” 

“Uncle Lucy, please.” I begged as loudly as I could. “It wasn’t their fault. Free will, remember? I- I hit the wrong button. I went into the studio. I followed Valentino- they told me not to! They told me to stay out of his work area and I disobeyed. It's my fault.” 

I could feel Lucifer’s power recede. 

“It was not your fault.” Valentino said softly, reaching down and offering his hand. 

I took it and gave it a gentle squeeze. No, if anything it was the demons who pinned me down. I had questions, questions that needed to be answered. But now wasn’t the time. 

“Angels see the best in everyone, don’t they?” Lucifer snarled, frustration evident in his voice.

With each passing second I remembered more and more of how I had ended up in this situation in the first place. 

“Half angel. Not everyone.” I answered finally. “But it isn’t Valentio’s fault. Or Vox’s I made those decisions- despite being warned not to. And besides, this is nothing compared to what I’m used to. Being battered and bruised is nothing for a former exorcist angel.” 

Lucifer sighed heavily and turned away. “When she’s cleaned and covered, bring her out to me.” The door slammed behind him and I jumped, wincing from the pain. 

“Do not blame yourself.” Valentio said softly. “What they did to you…shouldn’t have happened.” His voice dropped an octave. “Let me help you up, princessa. Please. I need to see how badly you are hurt.”

I used what strength I had to lean into Valentino and slowly stood up, shaking as pain once again flooded through my system. I gripped his arm as I tried to steady myself, stepping out of the bathtub.  

Both he and Vox cursed at the same time. I caught sight of myself in the full length mirror. My face sported bruises and two black eyes. My shoulders, chest, belly and thighs were a mix of bruises and cuts. Valentino gently turned me around and I saw him shake his head. 

“Mi amor, this should not have happened to you.” 

Vox quickly wrapped me in a towel and with another, Valentino gently dried my hair before sliding his tee shirt I slept in last night over my head. I leaned into him as he helped me step into a pair of loose pajama pants. I leaned into him for both balance and comfort. 

“Tell Lucifer that she’s covered.” Valentino said to Vox. “And that he should come assess her injuries.”  

I closed my eyes and leaned my full weight into him. The door opened a moment later and Lucifer walked in, radiating the black and red energy.

“It’s bad.” Valentino said to him simply. He turned his attention to me. “Princessa, will you let me lift up your shirt to show him?”

All three waited until I nodded. Carefully, Valentino lifted the hem of my shirt, exposing only the bruises on my belly. 

“She needs to go to the hospital. Now.” Lucifer said sharply. 

“No.” My voice wasn’t loud but it was audible. “I don’t. Angels heal quickly. I should know. This isn’t the worst I’ve ever been beaten. I promise.” I grimaced. “ My dad would have told me to throw some dirt on it and get back out there. I promise, I’ll be fine in a day or two.” 

All three looked horrified at the idea. 

Lucifer gritted his teeth. “Angels may be fucked up like that, but down here sweetheart, you’re my responsibility. And this isn’t a matter of your decision. Sorry to say.” Lucifer’s voice grew louder with each word, the anger pulsing in his voice.

 I shrank back against Valentino. The idea of letting someone else see me naked today was mortifying at best. “I thought I had free will.” I said shakily. 

That seemed to resonate. Lucifer gave me a hard, frustrated look. “Fine. Let’s make a deal then. I get a doctor over here right now- a real doctor. And a nurse. They can examine you here. And if he says you need to go to the hospital, you go without complaint. Do we have a deal?” 

I looked at Valentino, then to Vox. Both nodded. 

“Deal.” I whispered. 

Bright red and black tinged chains appeared on both my wrist and Lucifers’ vanishing as soon as they appeared. I looked at Valentino, hoping he would elaborate. Neither he nor Vox seemed to even notice their brief existence. 

“For fucks sake.” Lucifer said as he walked out of the room, dialing on his phone. 

I could hear him barking orders from the other room. 

“Let's get you to lay down.” Valentino suggested, gently guiding me out of the bathroom. He laid me on my side on my purple blanket and I did my best to bite back the pain that shook me. I gritted my teeth. Of all the questions I had,  I needed to know exactly what they had done to me. 

With Lucifer out of earshot, I looked to Vox. “What did they do to me? I need details. All of them.” I paused. “I deserve to know what happened to my body.” 

Anger pulsated through Valentio’s eyes. 

Vox put his hand on Valentino’s shoulder, and then turned his attention to me. “If you’re asking if you were raped- you wern’t. Just drugged and beaten. You’re lucky they mistook you for Valentino’s newest employee, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so fortunate.” He glanced at Valentino. “Despite appearances, every person in that studio is required to consent to what happens to them. His newest conquest hadn’t yet- not all the way. And that’s what saved you. Otherwise…” His voice trailed off. “That’s why I told you to stay the fuck out of his studio.”

“It isn’t her fault,” Valentino said sharply. “Her mistake did not earn her this violation. I should have made it clear at the start that she is one of us, and not part of my business.” Anger and frustration cracked through his voice. “You can be sure I will make it known going forward. This will never, ever happen again. I promise, princessa.” 

Vox opened his mouth to say something but closed it as the door opened. Two demons walked into the room, escorted by Lucifer. 

“One look at her belly and you’ll agree with me,” he mumbled to the doctor. He turned to me. “Sweetheart, let the doctor examine you. Please. I promise you, it's much more…technologically advanced than heaven’s version of medical care. And much less invasive.” 

I nodded my consent and let the doctor examine me, mindful of the three sets of watchful eyes on him as he worked. I winced as he gently pressed on my stomach, trying my hardest to maintain composure. The doctor took a small screen out of his bag, along with a small white wand. He ran a wand over my belly, and then to my chest. He studied the small screen with a practiced eye. Finally, he pulled the wand away.

“Shockingly, the injuries I thought I would see are not there. Everything is intact, none of her major organs are swollen or ruptured. Not even a cracked rib.”  He stated as he pulled his gloves off and tossed them to the side. “She’s very fortunate she’s only bruised.” 

He nodded to his nurse. “I’m going to put an IV in, take some blood and push a round of painkillers and  antibiotics, and hang a bag of fluids to rehydrate you. Just to be on the safe side, and make the next twenty four hours more comfortable. Otherwise, a week or two of rest and you should be fully healed.”  The doctor caught Valentino’s eye. “I’m sure you can take it out when the bag is empty.”

Lucifer gave Valentino a hard look. Valentino nodded, an expression I couldn’t quite read flitting across his features. 

“I told you guys, Angels are tough.” I said lightly as I held out my arm for the nurse. “We heal fast too, just fyi.”

Lucifer looked at me, clearly displeased. “That’s good to know dear. Thank you for sharing.” 

The nurse slipped the IV in and pushed two vials of liquid before setting a bag above my head. The doctor stood up, and talked quietly to the three of them. After a few moments, he turned to me. 

“If something doesn’t feel right, let Lucifer know and I’ll come back. Otherwise, I’ll be back in two weeks.” 

Across the room, Lucifer opened the door to walk them out. I could hear the scrabble of frantic footsteps and Velvette burst into the room, shoving him aside.

“The fuck?” Lucifer demanded, watching as she darted across the room.

“With all due respect, go fuck yourself, your highness. How dare you keep me out of the room?” Velvette snarled, standing next to me. “Jesus fuck, are you alright reader?”

Lucifer’s expression turned from annoyed to amused. He, the doctor and nurse walked out of the room, the door closing behind them.

Vox grabbed her waist. “Hey hey, calm down Vel. She’s fine.”

“She doesn’t look it. Who did this? I’ll fucking kill them. Touching my reader.”

“I already took care of that Vel. Breathe.” Valentino said gently. 

“Doc said I’m fine, so I’m fine Velvette. I’ll be okay. Trust me- I’ve been through worse.” I said lightly.

“Toughness has nothing to do with it,” Velvette added, arms crossed. “Though I’m glad you’ll be okay. Gotten used to having a fourth V.”

“My name is reader though, I can’t be a V.” 

She snorted. “Being a V doesn’t mean your name has to start with V, you know. It’s about power, and toughness and you…ugh! I can’t believe this fucking happened.”

She turned to Valentino. If looks could kill, he would be dead on the floor. 

“And you. You need to come up with a plan so this never, ever fucking happens again. Bestie or not I will kill you my fucking self!” She reached up as high as she could and jabbed him with two fingers. 

Valentino gently took her hand and handed it to Vox. “I know Vel. Believe me, I know.”

“Alright, sweetheart, settle down. You’re right, she’s one of us.” Vox said softly, taking her hand and gently pulling her away.  “We’ll come up with a plan, the four of us. Tomorrow morning. I promise.” He glanced to me. 

“I have questions that need answers.” I said firmly. “So whatever plan you want to come up with is fine- but I want honest, full answers. From all of you.” I looked to Valentino meaningfully. “No ducking out or giving me half assed explanations. Is that fair?”

“Of course, princessa. Whatever you want.” Valentino answered immediately. 

Vox raised an eyebrow at Valentino. “Right. Agreed. Come on Vel, you need to settle down and reader should rest.”

“Don’t you tell me to settle down!” 

With that Vox lifted her up and hoisted her over his shoulder. She flopped against him and Vox sent me an apologetic look as he carried her out of the room, leaving me alone with Valentino. 

“Can I get you anything?” He asked softly, sitting next to me. 

I shook my head no. “I’m good, Val.” 

A few seconds later, Lucifer walked back and stood next to my bed, arms crossed. He shot Valentino a look and Valentino stood up and stepped off to the side. Lucifer reached forward and put his hand on my forehead. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Unless you want to come home with me? After this, I won’t force you to stay here.” 

I shook my head. “No. Lucifer, I stand by what I said. This was my fault.”

“It. Was. Not.” Valentino hissed. 

Lucifer raised an eyebrow to me and then looked at him. An expression crossed his face that I couldn’t quite read. 

“If you’re sure honey. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” 

And with that, he vanished. 

“Valentino.” I said softly. 

“Reader.” He returned to his seat next to me on the bed. 

I reached for him and he hesitated. “Princessa, you don’t…”

“Hold me. Please? Val…please.” 

He laid down next to me and carefully laid my head against his chest. The feeling of security once again flooded through me. I pushed my head into his chest. 

“Careful, mi amor. When the….” he hesitated, searching for the right word. “Medicine the doctor gave you wears off, you’re going to feel every bruise.” 

“I’ll heal fast. Don’t worry. Again…not the worst beating I’ve ever taken.” 

He tilted my chin up, studying my face. “You’re asking the impossible, mi amor. After tonight, I don’t think I’ll do anything but worry.” He guided my head back to my chest. “You said you had questions, my love. Your reaction to this….event, the things you have said…lead me to have questions for you. I promise to answer honestly if you promise to answer mine the same. In the morning. Tonight, I need you to sleep. Do we have an agreement?”

I noticed he didn’t say the word deal. 

“We do.” 

“Good. Then please, princessa. Sleep.” He tucked his head against mine.

 I closed my eyes against his chest, listening to his heart beat steadily. 

“You’re safe, as long as you’re in my arms. I promise.” I heard him whisper, feeling him kiss the top of my head. “I promise.” 

[sidekick-hero]

I'll keep you like an oath (may nothing but death do us part) - my contribution to the @steddiesummerexchange for @starryeyedjanai can now be read in full 🥰

Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Robin/Chrissy Characters: Steve, Eddie, Robin, Chrissy, Max, Dustin, Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, idiot4idiot, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, Humor and Fluff and a smudge Angst

Summary:

When Steve's grandmother dies, he finds out that he can only get his inheritance - half a million dollars - if he marries someone. It's her way of forcing Steve to live a heterosexual life. Sucks for her that gay marriage has been legalized since she wrote her will. Sucks for Steve that he doesn't have a man or woman in his life to marry. Cue Eddie Munson, roommate and best friend of Robin's girlfriend Chrissy and the guy Steve has had a crush on for years.

What could possibly go wrong?

Read on AO3

Chapter 1| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 4 (5k) under the cut

The day of the wedding arrives with an almost surreal sense of calm. The venue, a charming garden nestled behind a quaint bed and breakfast just out of town, is adorned with delicate fairy lights and fresh flowers. Eddie stands in front of a mirror in a small, cozy room, adjusting his tie for the tenth time. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous energy buzzing through him.

Chrissy, his best person, just like Robin is Steve’s, stands beside him, offering a reassuring smile. "You look great, Teddy. Steve’s going to swoon when he sees you.”

He looks at his best friend in the mirror and gives her a small smile. "You know it's not like that, Chris."

She hums. "You keep saying that, but I don't know. Yeah, you're getting married so he gets his inheritance, I get it. But that's not what the way he looks at you says, honey."

"Chris -"

"I'm just saying. He was flirting with you when you two first met, so he must think you're hot."

"Yeah, and I blew it," Eddie reminds her, his voice forlorn. He's still kicking himself over how stupid he was, how prejudiced he was, not realizing that this great guy was hitting on him and blowing his chance by being a jerk to him.

By the time he finally realized that Steve was actually a good guy, he had already backed off and stopped all his earlier attempts to get to know Eddie. Eddie had gotten the message loud and clear. He was too late, and Steve had already moved on.

A knock on the door interrupts their conversation. Eddie is glad, especially when he sees who’s standing in the doorway.

"Wayne!" he exclaims, jumping into the older man's arms. "You made it."

The man’s laughter rumbles against Eddie’s chest. "I told you I would be here, son. It's not every day your nephew gets married, is it?"

Eddie sinks deeper into the warm embrace, inhaling the smell of Old Spice, cigarette smoke, and the laundry detergent his uncle has been using for as long as Eddie can remember. It smells like home.

Eddie reluctantly pulls away from Wayne’s embrace, his heart feeling lighter. “I’m really glad you’re here, Wayne. It means a lot to me.”

Wayne pats Eddie’s shoulder affectionately. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Now, where’s this Steve fella I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Eddie’s stomach tightens at the mention of Steve. “He’s probably getting ready~~.~~ Let me introduce you.”

They make their way through the cozy hallways and out into the garden. The atmosphere is cheerful, filled with laughter and the scent of blooming flowers. They turn left to Steve's dressing room and when they knock, Robin answers with a busy expression, a tie pin between her teeth. Eddie spots Steve in front of the mirror, nervously adjusting his tie.

“Steve!” Eddie calls out, his voice steady but with a hint of excitement. He's unexpectedly nervous about introducing Steve to his uncle. Wayne is his only family, the man who raised him like Eddie was his own son, and his opinion means a whole lot to Eddie. He's always wanted Wayne to be proud of him, and he can't help but hope that he'll approve of Steve.

Steve turns, his eyes lighting up when he sees Eddie. He walks over, his smile widening as he notices Wayne but Eddie can tell by the crinkling of his brows and the tense line of his shoulders that Steve’s just as nervous as Eddie is. “Hey, Eddie. This must be your uncle.”

Wayne steps forward, extending a hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Steve. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That makes Steve pause, even as he reaches for the offered hand. "You did?" he asks, sounding way too surprised and incredulous, and Eddie winces.

Well, yeah, Wayne may have had a front-row seat as he went from being angry about how unfairly hot the jock who invaded their apartment is to being distraught when he realized that said jock is actually really dreamy and sweet and that Eddie is such a fucking idiot for blowing his chance with him.

Not that Steve needs to know any of this. Eddie had told Wayne an only slightly altered version of Steve's cover story, so he hopes Wayne won't bring up Eddie's pathetic pining and mooning.

Steve catches himself, and as he shakes Wayne's hand firmly, his expression becomes warm and welcoming. "I wanted to say: Nice to meet you too, Mr. Munson. Eddie's told me a lot about you, too."

Wayne just chuckles at Steve's fumble. “Please, call me Wayne, you’re part of the family now,” he insists, his eyes twinkling with genuine interest. “So, you’re the one who’s been making my nephew all starry-eyed, huh?”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up, and he tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Wayne!”

Steve chuckles, a slight blush coloring his own cheeks. “I guess so. Eddie’s been pretty special to me too.”

Wayne’s smile widens, and he looks between the two men with approval. “Well, it’s good to see you two together. Eddie deserves someone who appreciates him.”

Steve’s eyes soften as he glances at Eddie. “I appreciate him more than he knows.”

Eddie’s heart skips a beat at Steve’s words, and for a moment, he almost forgets about the ruse. The sincerity in Steve’s eyes makes him wonder, just for a moment, if maybe he isn’t the only one harboring some very real feelings.

Wayne claps Steve on the back, breaking the moment. “I’m looking forward to seeing you two tie the knot. If you ever hurt him, though, you’ll have to answer to me and my shotgun.”

Steve nods solemnly. “I understand. You have my word, Wayne.”

Wayne gives a satisfied nod before turning to Eddie. “Alright, I’ll let you two finish getting ready. Just wanted to say hi before the ceremony.”

Eddie watches as Wayne heads off to mingle with the other guests, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. He turns to Steve, who’s still watching him with that same warm expression.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly.

"Yeah, just nervous," Eddie admits, running a hand through his hair. "This all feels so... real, it's fucking with my head a little bit, I guess. It's weird that our friends and family are all celebrating this special day with so much, I dunno, enthusiasm. They're all so happy for us, Steve."

Steve steps closer and puts a reassuring hand on Eddie's shoulder. "I know. And I feel bad about lying to them, too. I wish we didn't have to, but..." he trails off, and Eddie knows he means to say that he doesn't want to get any more people involved in what is really a scam. But Eddie can't help wishing they didn't have to lie because it's real.

"I get it, Stevie. And I'm fine. All in, right?"

Steve takes his hands and squeezes them. "All in."

The ceremony itself is a quick affair. The officiator is an elderly woman, who speaks in a warm and calm voice about marriage and promises, about sickness and health, about sacrifices and the blessing of a life full of love and joy and laughter. Eddie can hear a few sniffles from their friends and family, but he only has eyes for Steve. Steve, who looks so handsome in his black suit and fitting bowtie, his hair tussled artfully and his hazel eyes shining with emotion. It’s not real, a voice inside his head reminds him, but just for this moment he quiets it and enjoys the feeling of having the man he’s actually in love with look at him like that.

When it’s time for the vows, Eddie’s voice trembles slightly, but his words are steady and heartfelt. He talks about how much Steve has been surprising him again and again, showing him so many unexpected sides of himself. When Eddie had thought Steve to be just another rich asshole jock he’s proven to Eddie how he’s caring and brave, opening his heart to Eddie when all his previous experiences taught him not to.

“And I can’t wait for you to keep me on my toes for the rest of our lives,” Eddie ends. He means it. If he has any say in it, he’ll happily have Steve prove him wrong for as long as he lives.

Steve blinks back tears as he takes Eddie’s hands. His vows sound just as heartfelt, just as real and tomorrow, Eddie will probably overthink what it all means. But today, he lets his heart enjoy them.

After their vows they exchange rings, and the officiant pronounces them married. As they kiss, the garden erupts in applause and cheers and Eddie can hear Dustin whoop and Jeff whistle loudly. He feels a wave of happiness and relief wash over him and sees the same sentiment reflected on Steve’s face.

He nudges him, the grin loud in his voice. “That wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it?”

Steve shrugs, aiming for nonchalant and failing miserably because of the answering grin splitting his face.

“You think your grandma would’ve liked it?” Eddie asks and Steve laughs out loud.

“Oh she would have hated every second of it.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Suddenly, Steve’s much closer than he had been seconds ago, their noses almost touching. “Thank you, Eddie. For everything.” And then Steve kisses his cheek, his soft lips gracing the arch of his cheekbone in a way that feels more intimate than the quick kiss they exchanged when the officiant told them to.

The reception is a blur of laughter, dancing, and heartfelt toasts. Robin and Chrissy’s are both hilarious, while Wayne chokes up a bit when he asks Steve to take good care of the only son Wayne’s ever had. Steve takes Eddie’s hand and squeezes it while looking at Wayne and promising him to always look out for Eddie and care for him.

Even Captain Hopper says a few words, and Eddie can tell how much that means to Steve.

The night ends when Eddie falls asleep with his head on Steve’s shoulder, slightly drooling on his husband's lapel. Steve half-drags, half-carries him to their room and helps him undress to his underwear before Eddie crawls under the sheets. When Steve offers to sleep on the ground, Eddie is too tired to argue. Instead, he just pulls back the blanket on the other side of the bed and makes grabby hands at him.

Steve chuckles softly and slides into bed next to Eddie. The last thing Eddie feels is Steve’s breath against his nape as he tells him goodnight. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

The next morning, they enjoy breakfast with their closest friends and family. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of dishes as everyone shares stories from the previous night. Wayne presents them with their wedding gift - a two-week stay at a cabin situated by one of the Great Lakes in the area. It's the same place where Wayne used to take Eddie for fishing trips when he was a boy.

“The cabin,” Wayne tells Steve, “has always been a special place for Eddie and me. I thought you two could use some peace and quiet after all this excitement.”

Eddie’s eyes glisten as he accepts the gift. “Thanks, Wayne. That means a lot.”

Steve places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, his own smile warm and genuine. “It sounds perfect. Thank you, Wayne.”

As breakfast winds down, Eddie and Steve find themselves surrounded by well-wishers. They say goodbye to everyone, exchanging hugs and promises of phone calls and visits.

Wayne pats Eddie on the back. "Take care of each other up there. And don't forget to fish.” He adds with a deadpan look.

Eddie groans in embarrassment. "Oh my God."

When everyone but them and Robin and Chrissy have left, Eddie feels a mixture of excitement and nervousness. They're supposed to go back to Steve's apartment, while Chrissy and Robin will go back to Chrissy's apartment. He moved in with Steve the week before, and they both helped Robin move in with Chrissy. He was glad that the wedding had taken up a lot of their time and energy, enough to distract Steve from missing his other half too much.

That will change now, but at least they have two full weeks at the cabin for Steve to get used to having Eddie around a lot more.

The drive to the cabin two days later is filled with lighthearted banter about music and comfortable silences as Steve and Eddie enjoy the scenic views on their way to their destination. It feels easy between them, and Eddie curses himself once again that he could have had this for years. Like Elizabeth Bennet, his own pride and prejudice got in the way.

When they finally arrive, they're greeted by the sight of a quaint cabin nestled on the shore of one of the Great Lakes, its surroundings offering a sense of peace and seclusion. There are no other cabins in sight, and Eddie knows from all the times he's been here with Wayne that the nearest neighbors are about 15 to 20 minutes away on foot, and the nearest store is in a small village about 20 minutes away by car.

"Your uncle was right, it's perfect here after all the stress and excitement of the last few weeks," Steve says as they gather their belongings from the car and approach the cabin. The lake is right in front of them, the sun reflecting off it in a way that Eddie has come to associate with endless summers spent here fishing with his uncle.

"Yeah, don't tell him I said that, but Wayne's usually right about things."

Steve mimics zipping his lips, earning a laugh from Eddie.

As they step inside, they take a tour of the small cabin. There's a decently sized open kitchen and a living room with a small couch and a dining table. No TV, which won’t be a problem because Eddie brought his laptop. The bathroom is equally small but has a rather big walk-in shower, something Eddie can’t help but imagine testing out with Steve. Him on his knees in front of Steve, while droplets of water rain down on them, catching in the thick patch of chest hair and running down towards…

“Eddie,” Steve calls, ripping him from his fantasy.

“What’s the matter?” he calls back, quickly hurrying out of the bathroom and towards the only room they haven’t checked out yet—the bedroom.

Which he quickly remembers has only one bed. Eddie had slept on the couch when he had been still small enough to do so and later on an air mattress they brought along.

Steve glances at him with wide eyes and then back at the small couch in the living room, immediately offering to take it. Eddie shakes his head.

"It's fine, Steve. We've shared a bed before," Eddie tells him with a reassuring smile. His cheeks heat with the memory of Steve’s warm breath against his nape before he fell asleep on their wedding night. When he had woken up the next morning, Steve had already been gone from the bed, something he mourned for the five minutes or so it took Steve to step into their room with only a towel slung around his hips. The sight had been the best consolation prize he could’ve asked for.

Steve looks at him, relieved. "If you say so. Just don't hog all the blankets."

Eddie grins. "No promises."

They unpack their bags and settle in, the cozy cabin quickly feeling like home. The first few days fall into a blissful routine—swimming in the lake, taking long walks along the shoreline, cooking meals together, and watching "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" on Eddie's laptop.

On their second afternoon, while preparing lunch, Eddie tries to impress Steve with his nonexistent proficiency in making pancakes. This earns him the heavenly sound of Steve’s laughter as his sad attempts to flip a pancake end with batter splattered everywhere.

"You're supposed to flip it, not fling it," Steve teases, wiping batter off Eddie’s cheek. Eddie's cheeks heat under his gentle touch.

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. "Hey, I'm trying. Cooking was never my strong suit."

Steve smiles, handing him another spatula. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a great teacher."

And he is, even if the way he presses himself up against Eddie's back, the way his big hand rests on Eddie's wrist as he holds the pan, is unfairly distracting. Eddie messes up a few more times, mostly because he gets caught up in the way Steve feels, smells, and sounds every time he gives Eddie instructions in a soft yet firm voice.

When Eddie finally gets it right, Steve's praise sears itself into his brain, altering his brain chemistry irrevocably.

“See? You’ve got it!” Steve exclaims, his voice filled with genuine pride.

Eddie grins, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the stove. "All thanks to my amazing teacher."

Steve laughs, leaning in close. "I knew you had it in you."

Eddie can’t help but flirt back. "Guess you'll have to keep teaching me things, then."

Steve’s eyes sparkle with mischief. "Oh, I plan to."

They fall into an easy rhythm, working together in the kitchen, their movements synchronized as if they've been doing this for years. The cabin becomes their little sanctuary, where the outside world seems to fade away. It's easy to forget that this is all just part of their ruse because nothing about the way they act around each other feels fake.

One evening a few days later, they walk along the lake, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the water. Steve skips stones across the surface, watching the ripples spread outward, and Eddie is once again reminded of Steve's past as a high school jock. However, the thought doesn't bring up the old resentment. Instead, he feels a little jealous and a lot turned on by the competent way Steve masters things like flipping pancakes or skipping stones.

"You know," Steve says, breaking the comfortable silence, "this place is really special. I'm glad Wayne thought of it."

Eddie nods, admiring the way Steve's eyes reflect the fading light. "Yeah, it brings back a lot of good memories. When I first came to live with Wayne, I was angry all the time. At everyone. Mostly at myself, I guess. It probably wasn't easy for Wayne, the way I shut him out and acted like it was such a burden to live with him. He brought me here about a year after I moved in, and at first, I thought it was his way of punishing me for my bad behavior. Turns out, forced proximity helps you get over some stupid hang-ups pretty quickly. We've been here every year since, until I moved out at 20."

Steve listens to the story in silence. When Eddie’s done, he says, “I’m glad you had Wayne growing up.”

"Yeah, me too. The old man's got a big heart and he loves taking in strays. Before you know it, he'll be calling you ‘son’ and forcing you to watch baseball with him every season.”

“That sounds pretty awesome, actually.”

Eddie laughs. "It is. Though I have to warn you, he's a die-hard Cubs fan. There’s no escape from it."

Steve chuckles, tossing another stone. "Well, I’m a White Sox fan, so I’m sure we’ll have plenty to argue about."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "Oh, a White Sox fan? This is going to be interesting."

Steve grins. "Trust me, I can hold my own in a baseball debate."

Eddie smiles, feeling a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the setting sun. "You're a good guy, Steve."

Steve looks at him, eyes softening. "So are you, Eddie."

They share a quiet smile before continuing their walk, the air filled with the sounds of nature and the occasional splash of a fish jumping.

Eddie cannot remember the last time he felt so at peace with himself and the world.

Later that night, they find themselves sitting side by side on the bed, sharing a bowl of popcorn as they immerse themselves in yet another episode of Buffy. By now it has become part of their routine, all their days ending the same way. The first night, they had kept their distance, but the small screen and the growing familiarity between them soon made them sit closer and closer.

Now their backs rest comfortably against the headboard, their shoulders occasionally brush against each other, and their legs rest comfortably together under the blanket.

"I gotta say, Angel was always meant to be with Buffy," Steve suddenly supplies, apropos of nothing.

Eddie scoffs and turns to look at him in disbelief. "Oh, come on! Are you still stuck in the 90s? Spike was the one for her, no doubt about it."

They both reach for the popcorn bowl, their eyes never leaving the screen as Buffy and Angel dance together at Buffy's prom.

"But, Eddie," Steve insists, "Angel had depth. He understood Buffy's inner turmoil like no one else."

Eddie shakes his head, a smirk on his lips. "Depth? Please. Angel was brooding half the time, and when he wasn't, he was busy being melodramatic about his curse. Spike, on the other hand, embraced his vampiric nature and challenged Buffy in a way that Angel never did."

As the scene ends, Steve gestures to the screen. "But Angel had this epic love story with Buffy! They were soulmates, destined to be together."

"Soulmates, shmoulmates," Eddie retorts, leaning closer to the laptop. "Buffy needed someone who could stand toe-to-toe with her, someone who wasn't afraid to call her out on her nonsense. Spike did that and more."

Steve reaches for the beers on the floor next to him and hands a fresh one to Eddie, who gives him a grateful nudge with his shoulder before taking a sip.

"Yeah, but Angel was her first love. You can't deny the significance of that," Steve argues, taking a sip of his own beer.

The argument makes Eddie smile involuntarily because it's such a Steve thing to say. He's a romantic at heart, one who doesn't do a very good job of hiding it.

Eddie nods in agreement because he can see Steve's point, but then he remembers Steve's story about the first girl he loved and how the breakup left him pretty messed up. "First love doesn't always mean forever love, Steve. Buffy grew, she changed, and so did what she needed in a partner. Spike wasn't always what she wanted, but he was what she needed and I think deep down she knew that and it scared the hell outta her."

Steve looks at him with an unreadable expression and says, "Maybe you're right. I guess love is pretty scary."

Feeling like they're no longer talking about Buffy Summers, Eddie clears his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, it is," he agrees, reaching into the popcorn bowl just to have something to do.

Steve seems to have the same idea, because suddenly their fingers brush against each other as they reach for the same handful of popcorn.

The moment their fingers touch, it ignites a spark, an electric charge that leaves them frozen in the moment, their eyes meeting in the dim light cast by the laptop screen. The world seems to pause, time standing still as Eddie recalls the story Steve had told everyone. It had sounded like such a funny cover story to explain their sudden and unexpected marriage, but now Eddie doesn’t feel like laughing.

His heart hammers against his ribcage as he leans in closer, his gaze instinctively drawn to Steve's lips.

"Steve," he whispers, his voice a soft undertone barely audible against the background noise of the laptop.

"Yeah?" Steve's voice matches Eddie's in volume, his breath a warm whisper against Eddie's skin.

His heart still pounding, Eddie swallows, nerves and anticipation causing his voice to tremble. He knows what he wants this moment to mean, but once he acknowledges it, there's no going back.

Steve's courage must be rubbing off on him because he still asks the question that's been on his mind since their conversation in his apartment. "Do you... do you ever wonder what it would be like if this was real?"

Steve's eyes search Eddie's face, his own a complex mix of hope and uncertainty. Eddie feels like he's seconds away from a heart attack as he waits for Steve's answer. When it comes, Steve's voice is barely audible; Eddie reads it as much from his lips as he hears it.

"Every day."

Hearing Steve's answer, Eddie's breath hitches and he feels a tidal wave of emotions he can no longer suppress. "Me too."

Later, Eddie couldn't tell who leaned in first, and honestly, it doesn't matter because in that moment, it's clear they both want it. As soon as their lips meet, it feels like the universe has aligned and everything falls into place. The way Steve's lips feel against his is nothing short of divine, so maybe Eddie needs to rethink his stance on soul mates and destiny.

While the first press of lips is soft, even tentative, the kiss quickly deepens as they pour years of unspoken feelings into it.

When they finally pull away for air, they are both breathless. Eddie laughs softly, the sound a mixture of disbelief and pure joy.

"Just like your story, huh?" he whispers, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

Steve grins in return, his thumb gently tracing Eddie's cheek in an intimate gesture. "Yeah. Only this time it's real."

"It better be," Eddie says before leaning in to capture Steve's lips once more. They share another kiss, and then another, until the bowl of popcorn between them is forgotten and the laptop screen goes dark.

The next morning, they wake up tangled together under the sheets. Eddie’s head rests on Steve’s broad chest, their legs entwined and Eddie hugging Steve’s torso like a pillow. Steve’s left arm is wrapped around his waist while his right hand cards through Eddie’s hair, indicating he's awake.

Last night was real, is his first coherent thought.

When Eddie lifts his head, he feels Steve’s breath hitch and his arm around his waist tighten. The hand in his hair stops its gentle ministrations, and Eddie makes an involuntary noise of protest.

Steve laughs softly at him and continues. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?” Eddie half asks, half yawns.

“Almost noon. I was waiting for you to wake up because you were using me as your own personal teddy bear and I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up and hastily tries to untangle himself from Steve, but is stopped by strong arms.

“I wasn’t complaining. In fact, I really like it. You’re cute like that, even when you’re drooling on my shirt.” The soft kiss to his forehead matches the fond tone of Steve’s voice.

Snuggling deeper into Steve’s embrace, he asks, “So yesterday…?”

“...has been something I wanted to do for a long time.”

It’s hard to believe, Steve wanting to kiss him for so long. Maybe for as long as Eddie has wanted to.

“Why didn’t you do it before yesterday then?”

He feels Steve shrug underneath him. “Figured you didn’t want me to. When I tried to flirt with you, get to know you, you made it pretty clear that you weren’t interested. So I stopped. Tried to act like I didn’t think about kissing you every time I saw you.”

This time, Eddie lifts his head to look down at Steve. “I am such a fucking idiot, Steve. You shouldn’t want to kiss me. When we first met I was so sure you were—” he pauses and Steve helpfully adds, “a rich asshole jock.” “Yeah. Took me a while to get over myself and realize you were nothing like that. When I did, it seemed like you already moved on. I was too scared to get rejected, especially because I would’ve deserved it. So I acted like I didn’t think about kissing you every time I saw you.”

Gazing into each other’s eyes, they both burst out laughing.

“God, we’re idiots,” Steve laughs, rubbing his nose against Eddie’s. Then, his eyes suddenly widen. “Max can never find out! I had to promise her that I wouldn’t let this turn into ‘one of those rom-com clichés where everything goes horribly wrong because no one just talked to each other.’”

The sound that leaves Eddie’s mouth is half laugh, half groan. “We shall never speak of this then.”

And just because he can, he steals another kiss from Steve before his face and tone turn sober.

“Only Chrissy and Birdie know about our idiocy. In a way, your story about how we got together is true, just the timeline is a bit different. How about we just come back and live the married life we’re supposed to?”

Wrapping his strong thighs around Eddie’s waist and bringing their groins together, Steve smiles up at him. “I’d love that,” he says, kissing Eddie. Deep and dirty and hungry.

They don’t leave the cabin for the rest of the day.

One afternoon a few days later, lying on a blanket by the lake, Eddie turns to Steve, propped up on one elbow. "What's next on the agenda when we get back home?"

Steve thinks for a moment, then smiles. "Honestly? I don't know. I just want to be with you. We'll figure the rest out as we go."

Eddie feels a warmth spreading through his chest. Still, he has to ask. "Who are you and what have you done to Steve?"

Tracing Eddie's slightly sunburned cheek with his finger, Steve laughs softly. "He just learned that good things can happen when you don't plan for them. Like falling in love and marrying that person before learning that they might even like you back."

"Love you back,' you mean," is all Eddie says. He presses a quick kiss to the soft skin of Steve's stomach before settling back down on the blanket.

As the sun sets, casting a warm glow over the water, they sit in comfortable silence, watching the world change colors.

[3-2-whump]

Falling Like Snow

<prev next>

The penultimate chapter, can you believe it? Break out the tissues for this one, folks.

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz, you two are the best!

Obligatory Author's Note: This is it, folks, the end of Tom's story. Sorry to those who wished for a miracle, and congratulations to those of you rooting for his demise. You know exactly what to do if you desire a different ending. Fanfiction, canon divergence -the world is your oyster, so just go for it! I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But anyway, here we go

TW/CW: major character death, blood, gore (?) (tagging it just to cover my bases), aftermath of torture, cigarette whump (brief), emotional angst, slave whump, noncon nudity (in the first half), Stockholm Syndrome (maybe?) (like the beginnings of it), but more so, emotional angst. So much angst. Please let me know if I missed anything though! Enjoy

From: Master Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

Khaled noted the time the message was sent, and compared it to how late at night/early in the morning it now was. He wondered if his master was out drinking, or whoring, or whatever it was he got up to when he’d stay out late on short notice. Not like it was his business anyway.

Khaled yawned, shaking out the numbness in his legs from his kneeling position next to the couch. He put away the plate of food on the table that had long gone cold by now. His own stomach gurgled with the need to eat something, but he dared not touch any of the food he carefully stowed away.

With the leftovers sorted out, there was nothing to do but put the dishes in the dishwasher and start the cycle. The kitchen, as well as the rest of the apartment, was spotless, since now he had nothing else to do but keep it clean. Khaled returned to his place on the bare living room floor, grabbing a blanket off the couch as an afterthought as he wrapped it around his nude frame. He was forbidden from wearing any clothes now, as the man who owned him was just a little too eager to see his ‘beautiful body,’ as he called it, and did not want anything obstructing its form. He’d watched in abject horror as all but a few changes of clothes were burned before his eyes and the rest had been locked in a safe. It had been a cold February ever since.

“I like you more like this,” his master had told him. “You’re far more cuddly like this, love, far more tactile.”

That’s another thing; Master was saying the word ‘love’ a lot more, averaging at least one “I love you Khaled” per day for the past two weeks. More than a little overwhelming, the frequency at which he’d expressed his affections seemed just this side of insincere. The three little words Khaled had craved for so many years now sounded so flat and fake, given everything else that had happened to him. How could anyone who isolates a man from his friends, from his job, from the world itself claim to love him? How was any of what he went through love?

What was more unbearable was when he was expected to say it back.

And he would say it back, a strained ‘I love you too’ that grated against his throat like swallowing broken glass. Yet, with a defeated resignation, Khaled realized it had gotten much easier to say, with enough repetition. If he said ‘I love you too, Master’ enough times, he may actually begin to believe it. It was only a matter of time until he would say it and mean it, if his enforced isolation continued much longer. Thomas Costa and Luca Bianchi were the only other human beings he had seen for two weeks now; he had no idea how he was strong enough to deal with this for more than a year when he was a child!

He positioned himself on his side, his sore back facing the door and his head facing the wide windows of the living room overlooking the city skyline. Outside it began to snow. The white, fluffy flakes were a vision of beauty flying against the heavy gray sky. Khaled’s eyelids drooped as he watched the snow fall in the greyish-white winter night. It was cold, yes, but beautiful, like him, he guessed.  His last conscious thoughts were wondering when his master would come home to him. Regardless of whether he loved him back or not, he was cold, so cold without him.

-

It was cold, so cold, on the dirty concrete floor. Not even the blood pouring out of his lacerated wounds could keep him warm anymore. Above him, Julio circled him like a vulture, taking a long drag of his cigarette before throwing it lit-end first at Thomas’ face. The beaten man was too far gone to even flinch.

Damn, is this how Khaled felt when I cut him? he deliriously wondered. With all that Julio and the Juicio Divino boys had done to him, he doubted he’d ever get the chance to ask.

Khaled. There are so many things Thomas now wished he did differently. He should’ve been kinder, more patient, should’ve protected him from the world, from his men -even from himself. Especially from himself.

“Khaled…” he moaned.

A blood-speckled Nike connected painfully with his side. “You dare call out to him, even now?!” Julio growled icily. He kicked Thomas again.

“Julio, just kill him already, for fuck’s sakes,” a voice shouted from the corner of the warehouse. The traitor –Nico- stood off to the side, icing his bashed-in face with some snow wrapped in shirt fabric. “You’re worse than a cat that plays with the mouse it caught!” he admonished. As furious and confused and disappointed as Thomas was about the Clemenza boy betraying him like this, the primal animal part of him was grateful that he was asking for mercy on his behalf.

Although he could no longer raise his head to see past Julio’s ankles, Thomas could feel the assassin roll his eyes above him as he cursed in Spanish. The next thing he knew, Julio was crouching down to his level. He tried to mentally prepare for whatever would happen next.

Julio sunk his fingers into his short, blood-soaked hair, wrenching his head back as he held up a now-very-familiar knife to Thomas’ throat. “Any last words, puto?”

So many last words.

So many things to apologize for.

So many words left unsaid. Not just to Khaled, but to Callahan, to Trémeaux, to Robinson, Kreuger, Martinez, Kościelsky, and of course to Tony. Young Tony, dear Tony, high as fuck at a church wedding Tony. His pain in the ass little brother and his only constant in his childhood, who never lived to see twenty-two years old.

Khaled and Tony were a lot alike in some ways. Smarter than they thought they were, yet looked up to him for no explicable reason. It was a shame Thomas never consciously noticed that similarity until now.

All this time, Thomas thought he bought Khaled as a form of penitence, to make up for killing that boy who was suspected of killing his brother. And while, yes, that was partially why he bought him, maybe he also bought Khaled as a way resurrect his brother. It had been so long since he’d seen warm brown eyes look up at him, he didn’t even know he missed it until he saw Khaled’s eyes that day.

“Forgive me…” he rasped.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the certainty that this was the end, making him see things, but for a second, Thomas saw a crack in that frosty glare Julio bore down onto him. For a brief second, a painful mix of shock, anger, sadness, and even sympathy flashed within Julio’s golden eyes, before the glacial cold vengeance covered them in its frosty glare once again.

“See you in hell,” Julio murmured.

A sharp pain sliced its way into his jugular and down. (Who the hell slices down?!) As the pain dulled and his vision started to go, Thomas’ ebbing consciousness latched onto a memory, one of the fondest memories he had of Khaled.

He’d had an intense nightmare within the first month of buying his new slave, and instead of deriding him or prying for more details than he was owed, the boy had heated him a cup of milk, rubbed his back, and stayed up with him until he was ready to go to sleep again, just like how he and Tony used to comfort each other after a nightmare. As the last threads of his vision faded and the boss’ surroundings sunk into darkness, he swore he could still hear younger Khaled’s words that night, murmured shyly as he still had his accent.

“Sleep well, Master.”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[biguyonline]

‘Toru’s Girl

Pairings: Satoru x (Fem!)Reader and Suguru x Satoru x (Fem!) Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Reader is called girl, and girlfriend but is never physically described (besides having eyes lol), masturbation, possessiveness, mentions of inflicting pain, cursefucker!Suguru, mentions of likening oneself to a monster, Suguru smokes a cigarette, Satoru being an asshat. Space cadet, melodramatic Suguru experiencing a bisexual awakening and a breakdown.

Summary: Reader and Satoru Gojo are a new couple, Suguru Geto finds himself jealous of his friends for more reasons than even he knew. Follow Suguru as he unearths his deeper (darker) feelings for his friends.

Notes: All characters are aged up, it’s Jujutsu Tech College over here y’all. This entire fic is inspired by the shower scene, you know the one. The idea for this fic came to me while listening to this song. While writing it, I also thought of and listened to this song and this song.

Satoru is his friend. Suguru stood staring himself down in the mirror, having to remind himself. Sobering himself to his situation. The water on his body cooling, having met the air. It beaded up in his hair and rolled down his back. Grounding himself in his reality. His feet were cold on the tile floor of the bathroom. Satoru is his best friend. The only person that has been here for him. Satoru is the only person that’s been able to help him get used to the sorcerer world, this reality. So much has changed and it keeps changing. There’s nothing left to hold on to. Suguru’s awareness came back to the sound of the faucet still on. He watched the water hurdle down the drain. This time the change wasn’t hard to define. But that didn’t make it any easier.

Suguru watched your eyes, they were glued to Satoru. All while Satoru yapped on about some nonsense that probably only you could pretend to stomach. He could see his reflection in your eyes. The way the morning sun showed off the twinkle in your eye, Suguru could tell that not only did you want Satoru, but that you are just as much of a smartass as him. He could see the love, desire, and the smug comeback you had for Satoru all before the words left your lips. Suguru could stay lost in your eyes, if they would ever meet his gaze.

“Hey, man!” Satoru snapped his fingers in Suguru's face. “Are you sleeping enough lately?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Suguru shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

“We’re getting ice cream before I have to do a field assignment today.” Suguru couldn’t tell if you were rubbing it in his face or inviting him to be a third wheel.

“Come with us, get out of your dorm. The rest of your day is gonna be boring anyway.” Satoru’s gorgeous smile was full of teeth that were going to fall out of his head if he continued to let his sweet tooth take charge of his diet. Not that Suguru found himself to be one to talk, he had a collection of unhealthy habits. Maybe that’s what’s left of their humanity.

"I've got something better to do today than rot my teeth with you two.” Suguru lied. “But I'll make time." The smile he faked felt real for a passing moment.

Suguru walked behind you and Satoru on the way to the creamery. He'd gone with Satoru countless times before you started tagging along. So why was he the one "tagging along" now? He watched your hips sway as you walked. It made him sick. He couldn't help but imagine your hips rocking and swaying on his best friend's cock. Satoru's arm around you began to wonder. Groping you in public?! Satoru would be so audacious. The way Satoru's arm fit around you so well left a lonely spot around Suguru. In that moment Suguru wished someone would hold him like that.

You and Gojo split some obscene pile of sugar. Chatting, giggling. You were animated as you talked, it wiggled the booth Suguru was sharing with you. The side of your body rubbed against his. Suguru wanted to plant his hand on your thigh to steady you, to feel you. Suguru questioned if he’d ever find someone like you, or if he’d have to take you. Suguru smirked to himself, he could have you if he wanted to. He fought away the thought. Suguru felt dirty for wanting you so badly. You belonged to Satoru, and as much as Suguru tried to respect that, he couldn’t accept it.

Suguru found himself playing along. Pretending that you and he could share Satoru, that you and he could be just friends. He couldn’t find another way to have both you and Satoru in his life so why change things? He wouldn’t lose his best friend just to have you. Not in his right mind. It was painfully sweet to have the both of you at his side and yet just out of reach. There was no reason to tear down the dynamic you and Satoru had built. You were happy, and Suguru thought he could learn to be. Suguru pulled himself from his thoughts when he noticed the tone of the discussion had changed.

“You mad?” Satoru taunted you. “As far as I can tell, you don’t have an argument.” Satoru winked at you before going back to his side of the sundae milkshake you were sharing with him. Suguru found it hard to tell when the two of you were flirting or arguing.

“Satoru, you shouldn't pick on your girlfriend. You’re hardly hearing her out.” Suguru tutted.

“Who else am I supposed to pick on then? You?” Satoru challenged Suguru, a sugarcoated shiteating grin spread across his face. “Ya think you know how to treat my girlfriend better than me?” Satoru’s words cut deeper than he knew.

“That’s enough.” You put your foot down. “This has nothing to do with what we were debating” You rolled your eyes. “I was enjoying our discussion until you two derailed it. I’m the one who’s going to have to go deal with some cursed spirit later, can we please just have a nice time?” You reached out and touched both their hands. Suguru smiled and his heart fluttered when you smiled back.

“It’s irrelevant that curses exist in context with the regular public, when they can’t even see them. What does it matter that they see us?” Satoru cleared his throat and settled back into the discourse the two of you were having.

Suguru recognized his age-old gotcha question and it was Suguru’s turn to roll his eyes. But he kept his opinions to himself this time. Having already argued that very topic into the ground to no avail, he opted to watch you try your hand at it while enjoying his milkshake.

As the two of you continued to talk at length Suguru couldn’t help but start to compare himself to Satoru, and wonder what exactly it was you saw in his best friend. Satoru is smarter, and very handsome in a different way, but Suguru judged himself to be much more charismatic, polite, and in touch with his emotions. All things Satoru lacked. Satoru is shameless, rude, but admittedly confident. Satoru’s confidence and jovialness were definitely his charms. His unique looks were captivating. Satoru has those gorgeous eyes everyone knows about but Suguru wondered if anyone had seen them as up close and personal as he had. Surely no one else has felt how soft Satoru’s tousled hair is, except maybe he’d have let you. So many things are effortless for Satoru, and the long and lean form of his body accentuates his grace, Satoru has poise when he wants to. Other times he does come off as lanky and awkward, its purposeful Suguru supposes, he does it in an attempt to be humorous. Which Satoru is not so effortless in. Suguru treasures how hard Satoru tries to make him laugh.

Suguru shook his head. He lit a cigarette and sighed out his first draw as he watched you kiss Satoru goodbye. You split away from Suguru and Satoru disappearing into the sea of pedestrians, it was just the two of them now. Walking back to campus together. The heartbeat of nostalgia was flatlined with melancholy. It stung in his chest. The ache of carrying unspoken feelings used the smoke in his lungs to tie a knot in his throat. He felt like his hands had rope burn from holding on to old times.

“You could be here with me right now.” Satoru hinted, a small knowing smile on his face.

“What?” Suguru stammered, only having heard pieces of what Satoru said.

“You’ve been stuck in here more recently.” Satoru jabbed his finger at the side of Suguru’s head. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Satoru shrugged.

“No worries.” Smoke trailed from Suguru’s mouth.

“Yeah, because you definitely do all of that for me.” Satoru wrapped an arm around Suguru’s shoulders. “Maybe I could try doing some of the worrying for you.” Satoru offered.

“No, I’m fine.” Suguru instinctually pushed away what was happening as he started to get overwhelmed. Satoru’s eyes wandered behind his heavily tinted glasses. He noticed Suguru’s body language changed into something he didn’t recognize. Timidness? It didn’t suit Suguru at all.

“Then pretend I didn’t say anything.” Satoru sighed. His hand trailed down Suguru’s side. Suguru felt like he was trying to play it cool while a snake wrapped around him. Satoru’s hand settled on Suguru’s hip and Suguru let it stay there.

Suguru’s white knuckle grip clenched the sides of the sink. He thought maybe if he looked hard enough into the eyes of this alternate self standing in front of him that then maybe they could swap places. Maybe then, life would be easier. Life would be different. Why was he here alone in his dorm room? Especially now, when there was a chance in that alternate reality he was peering into, he was in Satoru’s room. No, in this reality he chose to be alone with his spiraling thoughts. What was that? He asked himself for maybe the thousandth time because his feet were too heavy to walk next door and ask Satoru why he did what he did on their walk here. What didn’t you see in him that you saw in Satoru? What did Satoru see in him? A friend? Or something more? How would that make you feel?

Wasn’t love supposed to be what you and Satoru had? Not whatever feeling was happening to Suguru. Still, the more he felt like a monster the closer he felt to finding what this feeling must be. Suguru often liked to think about his feelings. He liked to find the logic in them, to make sense of things, to make things right. He never thought it’d feel so good to feel wrong. Suguru was never one to let go of his senses. There was always a point, always a cause, always a reason. Something deep inside him was calling on him to let go. Maybe Satoru had finally gotten to him? Satoru never had a cause, never stood for anything but himself. Satoru had you because he was selfish enough to claim you as his. What was love if not the jealousy inside Suguru that had grown large enough to eat you both?

Suguru’s hair stuck to the back of his neck. He pulled his hair into a bun to get it off of himself and peeled off his damp shirt. If he kept thinking about you and Satoru he was going to have to shower for the second time today. His thoughts waivered, flickering between lust and intrusive memories of different exorcisms he had performed. What if he could exorcise you like a curse? What would you taste like? What would Satoru taste like? How would Satoru feel inside him? How would it feel for the two of you to be utterly consumed by him?

“Fuck.” Suguru groaned low and breathy when he finally acknowledged how his body was reacting to his thoughts.

Still frozen in the eye of his own storm he could hardly bring himself to move. His hand at his side slowly drifts towards his core. He sighs again as his fist wraps around himself. His hips instinctively rut against his hand. Suguru hisses through his teeth, he opens his eyes he didn’t realize he had closed as he tries to bring back a part of him that isn’t just an animal. He settles against the cold tile wall of the bathroom, tightening his grip when he decides to fully give in to himself.

He pulls himself free of his pants and already beads of precum throb out of him and flow through the spaces between his fingers. His muscles twitch and his breath shakes as he tames himself. He starts a rhythm that’s just steady enough to appease himself. His strokes have a twist to them, like he’s wringing the precum out of himself. He moans, biting his lip hard enough for it to sting.

Maybe Satoru had you, maybe Satoru wanted you, but Suguru needed you. Suguru could feel himself losing who he thought he was. Nothing would make sense anymore without you, without Satoru. That’s why he needed you, why he clung to you. That’s why he’d dig his nails into you until he drew blood, just to hear you scream his name. His cock pulsed in his hand at the thought. He scraped his thumbnail up from the base to the tip, following the engorged vein up his shaft.

The sounds of pleasure bounce off the bathroom walls, echoing around Suguru. He was surrounded by himself in more ways than one. His movements become sloppier, his rhythm increases to a brutal pace, the same way he imagines he’d fuck you. Overpowering, all consuming, a force you’d be powerless against. Suguru could hear you brainlessly begging as he fucked you stupid. He bet Satoru never hurt you, but he would, and you’d love it.

Suguru’s movements became erratic, his chest heaved and his mind raced. He was reaching a fever pitch and balancing on a razor sharp edge. He could feel the ghost of Satoru’s hand on his hip. He could see in his mind Satoru knelt before him. Suguru envisioned you next to him with a look of post-orgasm high kissing up and down his neck, all while your boyfriend Satoru sucked him off. Satoru was so high above everyone. Satoru was unreachable, and untouchable. If Satoru ever stooped down to Suguru’s level, Suguru would make him live to regret it. If it was a fair fight, Suguru would win. If Satoru ever showed a shred of humanity Suguru would crush it between his teeth and revel in the feeling of it oozing down his chin and neck. He’d make Satoru what he knew he was really born to be, the strongest curse of them all.

Suguru’s breathing stuttered at the thought of the two of you becoming curses, and living under his control. The two of you belong to him. A low moan rattled his chest as he came hard. Thick ropes of white cum spurt onto his chest. One lands on his chin, another on his chewed and swollen bottom lip. His tongue lazily swipes it up as he opens his mouth panting to catch his breath. He groans and peels himself off the wall. Leaning forward he turned the faucet handle to start a shower.

[atomicradiogirl]

house md christmas episodes ranked with commentary:

s1e5 damned if you do:

overall: 4.5/5

medical case/patient interest/plot twist: 4/5 pretty interesting patient and case plus the copper IUD allergy twist was sooo smart

hilson: 4.5/5 they had christmas dinner together <3

medical malpractice: 2/5. house’s mistakes were rectified by cuddy, minimal antireligious remarks against nuns, no breaking and entering. house prescribed a patient cigarettes.

christmas spirit: 5/5 christmas songs used throughout and a patient was santa. as christmassy as it can get.

s2e9 deception:

overall: 3/5

medical case/patient interest/plot twist: 3/5 interesting concept but the overall twist wasn’t that shocking or interesting and i didn’t really connect with the patient all that much

hilson: 1/5. they have 2 interactions and they’re all cordial but nothing too special.

medical malpractice: 4.5/5 breaking and entering and obvious HIPAA violations. house flirting with lab staff to get what he wants. house falsified blood tests. poor treatment of a suspected mentally ill patient. house drugged a patient outside of hospital grounds with the risk that it could kill her.

christmas spirit: 1/5 just because it’s christmas time and there are decorations and it’s snowing does NOT make it a christmas episode. there is one christmas song at the end but no one says merry christmas. they wasted my TIME.

s3e10 merry little christmas:

overall: 3.5/5

medical case patient interest/plot twist: 4/5 interesting patients and commentary about disabilities and being “normal” and parenting as a disabled person.

hilson: 2/5 tritter arc plus wilson’s betrayal is so… but i love angst. at least they interact this time. wilson refuses to testify against him though. wilson still wants to spend christmas with house “thought you’d prefer people over pills” but house rejects him :( house ODs on oxy and wilson leaves him alone

medical malpractice: 3.5/5 house makes fun of little people. breaking and entering. HIPAA violation plus being rude to a grieving widow but he’s detoxing so i guess it makes sense. house tries to steal oxy from a dead man.

christmas spirit: 4/5 christmas songs used plus lot of decorations plus snow. christmas tree opening and PPTH has a whole nativity scene in the lobby. tritter wishes house a merry christmas.

s4e10 it’s a wonderful lie:

overall: 4/5

medical case patient interest/plot twist: 2/5 didn’t really care but it went along with house’s “everybody lies” philosophy. house performs a christmas miracle yayyy. the twist was cool

hilson: 4/5 “you are so full of love… or something” they’re so :) they interact a lot in this episode. “happy solstice house” :-)

medical malpractice: 3.5/5 why are foreman and taub questioning people?? house and a patient flirt? going through a patient’s computer.

christmas spirit: 4/5 house throws away all the diagnostic room christmas decorations. christmas songs used. secret santa!!! wilson in the reindeer hat!!!!! “you wouldn’t hang dreidels from a christmas tree” “you could”. house singing “god rest ye merry gentlemen”. house had a christmas epiphany!

s5e11 joy to the world:

overall: 3.5/5

medical case patient interest/plot twist: 3.5/5 general patient case isn’t that interesting but the clinic case of virgin conception was CRAZY (even though it was faked by house but whatever)

hilson: 4/5 wilson’s gift and note “greg - made me think of you” and an antique medical book?? that is sooo cute. also the way that wilson lied about a girl giving house the original gift because he was probably embarrassed to admit it was his but then he admitted it hehehe. house didn’t even open the original present.

medical malpractice: 2/5 shockingly minimal but house did fake a patient’s test results just to win a bet with wilson. cuddy does breaking and entering.

christmas spirit: 4/5 christmas music used. house says merry christmas. i mean it’s christmassy but not like that christmassy.

[tomatoland]

something i have noticed about mew is that although he dressed similarly to ray since episode 7, the designs or the patterns of his outer layer have slightly changed. he used to wear a lot of bold or edgy design/prints but i think when his moms visited him episode 9, he started to wear a lot more floral/plant designs? it may be a redundant observation or I’m observing too much, but mew mostly wear them around top or his moms? I’m curious to know if you have any thoughts about it.

+ since you have been putting down songs for topmew, i have one for them: again - eden, sophiya (i personally feel the lyrics fit them so well, since how many characters and viewers are so against them together🫢). Thanks for reading!

This song is absolutely beautiful and you're right, the lyrics fit them amazingly. I've been listening to it nonstop. Thank you so much for recommending it to me! <3

Observing too much? No such thing!

Yes, I do have thoughts. I'm actually really glad you asked about Mew's clothing because it gives me a reason to make some collages of my favorite characters.

The super deep-dive into Mew's clothing choices I'm sure you were not expecting.

Clothing can be considered armor we wear when we interact with the world. It's what others first perceive when they meet us. It tells people about who we are or who we want to be. Clothing can also give you confidence. And for Mew, it is exactly this. He even says as much to Cheum here.

In the first half of the show, Mew did wear some short sleeved button down shirts, quite a few actually. He usually wore lighter colors with more neutral patterns and ALWAYS with a t-shirt as the base layer.

The catalyst for the change in Mew’s clothes I would say is this moment in Episode 7, part 3, when Mew is the bathtub. This is quite literally Mew's re-birth as Mew 2.0.

The show also pointedly shows us this by contrasting the book shop scene with Ray in episode 8 with a flashback with Top from the first episode. Mew's shirts are the exact opposites. Instead of predominantly white with black graphics like with Top, it's predominantly black with white with Ray.

Mew in his revenge era as Jojo called it wears short sleeved button downs with louder prints with a black undershirt.

The patterns of some of Mew's shirt are closer to Ray's palette than his own. The Outkast one he wore with Gap and the Vegas one he worse when he went to Boston’s house are the most similar to something Ray would wear.

But Ray actually doesn't always wear a black undershirt. He seen just as often, if not more, wearing white undershirts. Ray's also worn long sleeve button down completely buttoned up with no undershirt or altogether different types of shirt. I was going to make a Ray clothing collage to prove this point, but there's already enough Ray content on this site, you're just going to have to trust me lol.

So before his moms visit, the patterns of Mew 2.0’s shirts are darker and more in your face. This is Mew with his battle armor on, trying to fake it until he makes it. But once his moms come, the patterns immediately change.

I think him coming from a warm, loving home with two caring parents is important for him as a character. His moms notice things like the pack of cigarettes on his coffee table. They immediately know something is up with him but they don't know what because he doesn't tell them. But they know this is not the Mew they raised or the one they last saw.

His moms have always been his strength. Their love for him is why he didn't think he needed romantic love, which is a strong stance to have. So when his moms visit, they are able to help ground him a little and he is able to reconnect to who he is. And as result, he softens his armor.

He still wears a a short sleeve button down, but now with more feminine details, softer colors and more whimsical patterns like the aquarium and the ships. These shirts are more Mew.

Now, let's talk about how Top plays into Mew's clothing choices because I actually have a lot I want to discuss.

Mew has only ever worn a black undershirt since that moment. Only ever black, which is extremely curious.

Because do you know who has only ever consistently worn a white undershirt throughout the entire show?

Top. Interesting, huh?

The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference. So even when Mew was rage angry at Top, subconsciously, he wasn't actually as indifferent as he pretended to be.

Mew wanted to become the opposite of who he was before and somehow ended up taking an element of Top's style with him.

Top coming to Mew's family's home is the turning point for TopMew Take 2. And their undershirt colors when they were side-by-side reminded me of something.

Do you see it?

Maybe this will help.

The visual representation of TopMew's fresh start is a yin yang symbol. Yin, the traditional feminine energy is the dark side and Yang, the traditional masculine energy is the light side. Two connected elements in perfect balance with each other.

They are both coming into this fresh start as equals with open communication and dialogue, of their own free will.

And because I love this symbolism, this is literally the Sun hugging his Moon and his Moon embracing him back 🥺

[candiedspit]

GRB 080319B 

For a month, I was a smudge. 

A mute monk in the bathtub, lukewarm water running as dull colors rolled around my head like fractured, aged marbles. Thoughts lost strength before fruition. I called out of work once a week, faked a cough, a car accident, another funeral. When I did make the drive out to the office, I spent most of the time typing a word, deleting the word, and typing the word again. I stopped taking calls. Mary left me beautiful voice messages. I listened to them while I laid on the couch, sprawled out like an active disease, furious tears streaming down my face. I knew it was stupid. A feeling cannot kill you. But then, I was being diminished. I was receding. 

I know you don’t feel well right now. But listen, I have these neighbors who still have their Christmas lights hanging up. It’s April. I sorta hope they leave them up all year round. 

I stayed frozen for a few weeks. 

Vitamin D and herbal teas, coffee and long novels. But then, I can’t explain it. It was Friday afternoon. Just a Friday afternoon. 

It began when I left the office. A slow bloom rose throughout my entire body. 

I noticed how all the buildings stood scraping against the most gorgeous, thin blue of the dying afternoon, rising evening. The wind felt kind. I didn’t go home. I went to the supermarket and held an orange in my hand, feeling the small indents with my thumbs, smelling the bright zest. It was as though everything was real again. That night, I bought a pack of cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked since I was nineteen. But I inhaled and let out a giant laugh at how lightheaded I felt, I walked through the streets like that, laughing and laughing, the laughter like the magician’s scarf being pulled out and out. It was a fantastic feeling. I felt fearless. As though I could scoop the fear and pain and shit out of myself like a pudding. I had capabilities. 

When I got home, I rushed in and had a shot of blueberry vodka and opened the windows and called Mary; she answered within a couple of rings. That gorgeous rodeo clown. I loved her as much as I loved anything. 

I never thought I’d hear your voice again, she said. But this worries me, y’know. How blue was the sky today?

I’m coming to see you, I said. Not tonight. But soon. I’ll stumble on your porch like a speedball. The sky was fantastic. I’m smoking.

Hm, she said. Listen, stay out of trouble. A feeling cannot kill you. I’ll save some tea for you. Come anytime. Come anytime. 

I couldn’t sleep. I played the same image in my mind, again and again. And words fizzed in and out too quickly for me to catch them. A church of nukes. Do you understand what you are signing? Perfume made of whale semen. Dominoes. 

In the morning, I could feel the angels looking over me. I imagined them like teenagers, shooting the shit, smoking and coughing and pointing. I spent the weekend in bars, meeting everyone on earth. A woman with a strong russian accent who told me the world was going down the toilet and we were all there for the ride. A man who asked me for three cigarettes and then told me he had coke if I wanted some. I spread a little on my gums. But it was a fifteen minute headache, it had nothing on the feeling within me, the glow which propelled and drove me around. I fucked the russian woman. 

I called out of work for the week, claimed I’d contracted HIV and needed time to grieve. I felt awful about the lie. It was ridiculous. But anything could happen. And I wasn’t wasting my time at a computer when I could see patterns in the streets. I wore a long, leather coat and wrapped it around my waist. And beneath, a black thong strung across my hips. I felt like a machine, I felt electric as I walked through the advertisement pus of Times Square, a cigarette beneath my teeth. I rode the trains for hours, befriending the other passengers. And for a moment, I forgot my address. It was nine in the morning. It was the middle of the night. I got nervous anytime I saw a police officer; there was a criminal in my heart. What was I doing? 

I went down to the village to visit Mary as promised. I felt breathless, sensitive to light. I was tired. It’d been years since sleep. I felt as though I was dying. A star exploding in reverse. Mary would know what to do. 

I knocked on her door and she answered as quick as she answered the phone. I smelled her vanilla scent. It made me nauseous. But I was so glad to see her; so glad she was there. I dated Mary for eight years. There was nobody on earth who knew me better than she did. 

You don’t look great, she said. Are you eating?

Not really, I told her as i walked into her apartment. I feel like I need a touch up. My engine is black. I’m running out of oil. I think I lost my job. I don’t know what day it is. 

It’s Saturday, she said. Three in the afternoon. It’s May and spring is here. Have a seat. 

I sat on her couch. 

I think I’ve been hexed, I said. A spell has been put on me. A poison. 

You’ve been here before, she said. Remember? That arrest in Ohio? Disturbing the peace? And the outburst in the museum. Banned from the gas station. A wild iris in your eyes. A desire for mountains. The call is coming from inside the house, Adam.

Mary gave me a cherry tart. I ate half of it and began to weep. Mary gave me a sleeping tablet. And when I woke up, I was horrified. 

When I got home, Mary had left me a voicemail. I laid down naked on the floor and listened. 

You’re a wife with cold feet. Shivering in the dressing room. You’re an astronaut grazing the face of the moon, blind to the wars on earth. You’re brave. You’re pathetic. You go to the amusement park to weep. You walk out onto the avenue to dance. You sneak into a club. And you feel nothing when the band plays, the gilded brass and vulgar scatting. 

And maybe you deserve it. 

[asirensrage]

Saudade - Chapter 31

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mikey x OC, Hanma x OC, Ran x OC, Mikey x OC x Draken Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Warnings: swearing, violence, threats of violence, murder, smoking, sex, consensual sex between teenagers, alcohol, recreational drug use, mention of trafficking, torture, family neglect, mentions of sexual violence. isekai OC. memory loss. unbeta’d **warnings are not exhaustive** Summary: No one seems to realize she doesn’t belong until she finally runs into her “new” brother, Hanagaki Takemichi. Now, hearing his story, Takara makes the choice to help him and hopefully find her way home, but faking it til you make it only lasts so long when you start losing the memories of the life you had before. As Takemichi becomes the only family she’s ever known, how far will she go to protect him?

notes: Well, we've made it past the halfway point of this fic. That means it's all downhill from here...or is it? I hope you've been enjoying it so far. I have. I love reading your comments and theories. Please keep sharing them. Thank you. As always, expect spoilers for the manga from here on out.

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Mikey doesn’t tell her why he wants to meet. He just tells her to get ready and meet him outside. He’s alone when she comes out, motioning for her to get on his bike and offering her his helmet. She accepts it, buckling it on before she wraps her arms around him. He takes off.

Takara turns her head, actually watching the way the world blurs around them as he speeds. It feels so simple on the back of a bike. There’s nothing more pressing than trusting the driver to take her where she needs to go, to make the right decisions. Takara can close her eyes if she wants to and let go. It’s better than smoking.

Mikey finally stops and Takara recognizes the area as one he’s taken her to before. The small taiyaki shop is open and she can smell the pastry and sweet sugar mixing with the scent of the ocean. Mikey gets off first before helping her down and he leads her to the wall that borders the water. He lifts her up without asking, setting her down to sit on the top of it before joining her. There’s no taiyaki this time, just the two of them and the sound of the waves.

Takara pulls her knees up to her chest and watches the water. Did she ever see the ocean before she came here? She can’t remember anymore.

“Takemichi told me everything,” Mikey says, drawing her out of her thoughts.

“About the future?”

“About you.”

“Oh, right.” Takara sighs and looks over at him, resting her cheek against her knee. “He mentioned he let it out by accident.”

“Hm,” Mikey nods. “Why do you protect him?”

“What?” she frowns and sits up, crossing her legs to face him better. “What do you mean?”

“He said you woke up one day as his sister. If you know you’re not actually his sister, why do you protect him? Why hunt down anyone who stood in your way to save him?”

“Why not?” Takara snaps, insulted by the question. “Even if we didn’t start as siblings, we are. Blood doesn’t mean shit if you don’t want it to. Besides…” she looks back at the water. “It’s not that simple.”

“Explain.”

She’s tempted to pull out a cigarette again, anything to ease the nervousness that burns in her. “Takemichi doesn’t know this,” she says softly. “You can’t tell him.” She looks at Mikey, trying to stress the necessity of it. “I haven’t…when I first arrived here, I had memories of this life, of growing up here with Takemichi, but it was faded. Like an old movie that you barely remember when you saw as a kid. I couldn’t make everything out, but I knew that it was there, that I had seen it. That I had lived it…even if I haven’t. But now…it’s switched. The life I led before I woke up here, before I was Takara, is…missing. There are things I don’t remember.” She takes a deep breath, trying to shove down the emotions rising up. “I’m losing who I was. The life of being Takemichi’s sister is becoming clearer and I can’t…I can’t even remember my brothers’ names or what my parents looked like...I just…I only have Takemichi now.”

“You have us.”

She snorts. “It’s not the same. He’s the only one who remembers what it was like before I showed up, when he was an only child. I don’t belong here, Mikey, but I can’t–I know I can’t return. So I’m stuck. I’m stuck living a life I didn’t ask for, with a brother who’s going to…to leave me here with a version of himself who isn’t him and all I can do is try to make sure he makes it to the future, that I protect who he’s going to be. I owe him that.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Mikey says. “You didn’t ask for this, did you?” He waits until she shakes her head. “You’re not alone and you’re not stuck. I told you before, Kara-chan, you’re ours.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. Besides, Takemitchy isn’t the only one who knows now.”

She inhales sharply because that was true. “You disbanded Toman.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t be the cause of their deaths. I made a promise to protect my friends. I will.”

It’s only because it’s Mikey that she says this because she knows that someone who has played the game long enough knows how the system works. “Another gang’s going to take Toman’s place.”

He’s silent for a long moment. “Yes.”

Takara nods, more to herself than anything. “How are you going to protect them from that? Who’s going to stop them from going after the former Toman members? You’re the reigning champions. Someone’s going to want a shot at defeating you, even if you’re not playing.”

“I will be.”

It takes her a second to realize what he’s saying. “...you disbanded Toman.” She watches him nod. “But you’re still playing?”

Mikey looks away from her. “If I want to protect them, to make sure they all get the future that they deserve…then I have to control it.”

It makes sense. It makes perfect sense but it’s such an act of fucking sacrifice that Takara wants to shove him into the ocean for. Even if she’s planning on doing the same thing. “You think they’ll let you?”

“They won’t have a choice.” He says it with conviction and she’s not sure if either of them means his friends or the potential opponents that await in his future.

“And if they want to join you?”

Mikey doesn’t answer.

Takara thinks about what she’d do. If anyone tried to stop her from winning something this serious, she’d cut them down…or out of her life. “Let me help.”

“No.”

Takara turns her entire body to face him. “I am going to be involved. Unless you kill me, I will find my way into whatever gang you lead because I need to know Takemichi will be safe. It won’t be enough to just trust you, Mikey. I will dig my way in one way or another.”

“Kara-”

She cuts him off. “No. You told me that you’d kill anyone who hurts me, Mikey. You said you would have helped me track down every member of Toman who betrayed you and kept me from helping my brother. That still stands. So let me fucking help you. If you help me protect Takemichi and keep him alive and safe, I’ll stand at your side. We can protect everyone better together.”

His eyes feel like they’re burning into her. “You’ll stay?”

“God himself couldn’t keep me from leaving…as long as Takemichi is safe.” She holds out her hand to shake. “I can be your vice-captain or the ace up your sleeve as everyone underestimates me. I swear, Mikey. In return for my brother’s life and happiness, I’ll stay with you.” She gives a small sardonic smile as she huffs. “Besides, where else am I gonna go?”

“We’ll have to cut them all out. You won’t be able to have the relationships you have now.”

“I know,” she nods. “I don’t care. I’ll give you everything in return. Just let me help you protect him. I need to know he’s safe. That he’ll be safe. Nothing else matters. Not even being alone.”

Mikey takes her hand. His grip is firm and warm. “You’re not alone.”

“Neither are you,” she says softly. She tightens her grip and nods. Takara waits for him to let go first, but he doesn’t. Mikey adjusts them so that they’re more holding hands instead of shaking them. “So,” Takara asks. “What’s the plan?”

🛼

Mikey doesn’t plan on starting to distance himself from his friends until after Takemichi goes back to the future. So he can’t stop him. The letter he’s planning on leaving in the time capsule is something hopeful for his friends because if the plan works, then neither of them will really be in contact with the others in twelve years.

The Takemichi of the future is only the way he is because he lived without her. He never had an older sister. Her alienation won’t have a big impact. Not until he comes back from this past and expects to see her. That gives her twelve years to work with.

Since it is their last week with his friends and with the Takemichi she knows is her brother, Takara is going to make it a good one. Everyone is surprised when she reaches out, but when she gives the excuse of promising to teach Mitsuya’s sisters and celebrate the end of a school year, they agree.

They don’t rent out an entire rink, but they do take over one. Takara has to teach most of them how to tie their skates properly and she holds Luna and Mana’s hands to help them stand while the others work themselves out.

Takara takes the time to kneel to be on the girls’ level. “Alright, it’s going to be a little scary, but it’s okay. You’re wearing padding to protect you and we’ll start slow.” The others she leaves to fend for themselves. Some, like Hina, listen to the lessons she gives the young girls. Takemichi can barely stand and watching him struggle and whine about it as he clings to the sideboard is enough to make Takara bend over laughing hysterically.

Mikey and Yuzuha don’t need any help. The two of them take to skating easily and Takara is pretty sure it's a translation of their skill in fighting. Though that didn’t explain the others. Mitsuya is steady but not confident. Hakkai seems to think he is going to fall and he does. Multiple times. It does not help when Yuzuha pushes him, just because she can.

Takara pulls Luna and Mana, skating backwards so she can keep an eye on them as she teaches them how to move and catch their balance. They should be in gymnastics with how young they are to help them because being able to move with fluidity can only serve them well, but Takara is well aware that not everyone can be able to afford things like that. So she’ll help as she can.

When the girls need a break, racing on their own to get back to their brother who praises them for their hard work and skill, Takara finally moves like she was born on wheels. It’s not the same as ice, but it’s pretty close. She speeds around people before showing the others different skating turns and spins that can be done. She leans back, trailing her fingers against the floor as she balances herself carefully backwards. She pulls herself up by her core and thigh muscles before making the choice to really stun them. She does a back handspring, landing on her wheels. She can hear the shocked exclamations of her friends before she skates forward and does a makeshift running front flip. It’s years of practice that keep her on her feet even as her skates skid out a bit on the landing. It gets her a round of applause from anyone who saw. She laughs and waves it off, thanking them.

She heads back to her friends, but before they can ask questions about how she learned it all, she does something that she knows might help part of the first stage of their plan. She smacks Mikey on the shoulder and says, “Tag! Catch me if you can!” and takes off.

He knows what she’s doing. She knows he does. That doesn’t stop him from chasing though. The game between them devolves quickly. Takara is laughing. Mikey is faster than her simply because of the force he can use in his legs to push him forward, but Takara has more experience and skill. When Mikey moves behind one of the bars set to help people who need it, she slides under it to tag him. As he chases after her, she yanks Takemichi in front where he’s clutching the sideboard and throws him in Mikey’s way.

Their friends cheer them on and the game finally ends in a draw as the two of them get kicked out. Takara laughs as she drags Mikey back to the group. The others have already relinquished and returned their skates and argue over where they’re going to eat. As the two of them catch up, Mikey squeezes her hand as she leads him to the bench to take off the skates. It’s a silent thanks. Takara just nods. She knows what he means. This is a memory that going to be burned into them, a reminder of why they’re going to take over the shadows to keep their friends in the light.

🛼

The time capsule happens without her. She’s not a part of that and doesn’t plan to be. Instead, Takara takes the time to strategize. She doesn’t actually know that much about gangs or territory or the route of power, but she’s good at thinking on her feet and she knows people. The more information she has, the more she can plan. She’s better at strategizing against other teams and utilizing the skills of her own to their best ability. Mikey’s skill is strength and charisma. Takara’s skill is being still underestimated and her speed and mind.

If she had woken up as Kisaki’s sister instead of Takemichi’s, the world would have trembled.

With the gaps in her knowledge and the free time she has with it being a makeshift summer vacation, Takara does the only thing she can. She researches. She doesn’t ask any of Takemichi’s friends for information, though she’s tempted at the very least to ask Yamagishi for his information because she knows he’s good for it from what she’s heard from her brother. She can’t let anything get back to Takemichi though, so she focuses on reading the news…and asking Yuzuha.

“You’re going to do something stupid again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Takara agrees. “I don’t think so though. I think if I get this right, it’s going to pay off exponentially.”

“Toman’s disbanded. You still going with your plan to sleep your way up?”

She laughs and grins at her friend. It’s not meant in insult. Takara leans forward, resting her chin on her hand as she braces her elbow on the table. “I think that with Toman gone, there’s a power vacuum. I need to know who’s going to fill it.”

“And dig your way to the top?” Yuzuha asks. She doesn’t sound judgemental. It sounds completely honest and questioning. Takara loves that about her.

“If I had my way, I’d be at the top. That way I could keep Takemichi safe completely.”

“Not if someone used him against you.”

“I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

Yuzuha stares at her for a long minute. “Okay,” she finally nods. “I used to be a runner for Taiju and the Black Dragons. I would collect the money they made off of their security gigs. I have a lot of contacts with people who buy shit from people like him. I’ll ask around and if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I know,” Yuzuha cuts her off. “But I have a feeling that you won’t just be keeping Takemichi safe. You’ll be protecting everyone in Toman who gets out. That means Hakkai too. If you help me keep him out of this shit and safe, I’ll help you.”

“Quid pro quo,” Takara muses. “Alright.” Takara nods and holds out her hand. “You can be my ace in the hole and I promise to the best of my abilities, I’ll keep our brothers safe.”

Yuzuha takes her hand and shakes it. “Deal. Now, there’s a lot you need to know…”

🛼

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